by T L Swan
Something inside of me snaps, and I storm in after him. I find him in the kitchen.
“What is your problem, Fletcher?” I snap.
“If you don’t know what my problem is, then you’re purposely ignoring my problem,” he snarls.
I’m taken aback with his aggression. Fletcher never gets angry with me—never. “You are old enough to understand this, Fletch. I’m not the bad guy here. I’m acting on behalf of your dad.”
“What?” he cries as he screws up his face in disgust. “You think that you’re acting on behalf of Dad?” he scoffs.
I put my hands on my hips. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Dad sent Tristan for us, Mom.”
His eyes search mine.
“Don’t you see?” he yells. “Dad was the one who found Tristan and sent him to us.” His eyes well with tears. “What the hell would a man like Tristan Miles want with us . . . if Dad hadn’t arranged it in heaven?” he cries.
My face falls. Pain sears my heart. The thought of my beautiful Wade searching for a new dad for his children breaks my heart, because I know it is something that he would do.
If he could send the best man on the planet to me, he would have.
He did.
The room begins to spin. Everything becomes foggy as I imagine Wade watching me from heaven with my broken heart . . . his children with their broken hearts . . . unable to help us.
“You’re the only one who doesn’t see it,” Fletcher snaps.
“You think your dad sent Tristan for us?” I whisper.
“I know it, Mom. Harry and Patrick know it . . . why don’t you know it?” he whispers through tears. “How can’t you see it, Mom? When it’s all we can see.”
I drop my head and stare at the ground. Tears run down my face. They are hot and taste salty.
He runs out the front door, and it slams behind him. I put my face into my hands.
This heartbreak, this pain . . . I can’t do it anymore.
Make it stop.
The sun peeks through the curtains, and I listen to the lawn mower next door. Every now and then it runs over a rock, and it makes a jarring sound.
Why do they have to mow their fucking lawn every Saturday morning and wake the entire neighborhood?
They don’t even work. Why can’t they do it during the week?
Why so early on the weekend?
I get up and go to the bathroom and peer through the side of the drapes at the perpetrator. I should storm down there and give them a piece of my mind.
But I won’t, because this has been annoying me for years now, and I just smile every time I see them. They’ve had to put up with my hooligan kids throwing balls into their yard and riding their bikes across their lawn as a shortcut. I guess we’re even.
I grab my phone and return to bed. I cried all night last night. I feel like I’m having a fucking breakdown or something. Things can’t get any worse. I do feel a little better today, though, so that’s something.
I go onto Facebook and scroll through. I go to Instagram and browse for a while, and then a video comes up from my brother’s story.
He’s dancing in a bar.
Huh?
I go back and watch it again. It must be old footage. He’s out in the boondocks camping with the boys . . . where is this bar?
I read the caption: dancing the night away.
Huh?
I flick through to Bob’s Facebook page and scroll down. Sure enough, he’s posted a pic of himself getting on a plane, with the caption Florida here I come.
What?
I immediately dial his number. It rings out, and I call again.
“Hello,” he answers groggily in a very hungover voice.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“Florida.”
“Where are the boys?” I snap.
“Huh?”
“Where are the boys?”
“What do you mean? They canceled and said they couldn’t go. I came here with my buddies.”
I sit up in bed. “Bob, they’re not here. I haven’t seen them since Friday morning.”
“What?”
“I thought they were with you?” I cry.
“I thought they were with you!” he cries back.
“Oh my God,” I whisper as my eyes widen.
“What?”
“They’ve run away, Bob.”
“Holy fuck, call the police.”
Chapter 25
Tristan
I sit out on the balcony of my hotel room in Paris. I just got back from the hotel gym and am going in to the office this afternoon. I’m still working on the due diligence for Anderson Media. I want the deal closed early this week if possible.
The sooner I move on to new things, the better. I need to drag myself off the floor here. I can’t go on like this.
I just want it over with.
My room phone rings, and I frown. Who would be calling me in the hotel? Nobody ever does. I walk inside and answer. “Bonjour.”
“Mr. Miles?”
“Oui.”
“Vous avez des visiteurs.” (Translation: You have some visitors.)
I frown. “Qui est-ce?” (Translation: Who is it?)
“Juste une minute.” (Translation: Just a minute.) He passes the phone to someone.
“Tris?”
I frown and screw up my face in confusion . . . what? “Harry?”
“Come and get us.”
My eyes nearly bulge from their sockets. “I’ll be right down.” I run to the door and hit the elevator button.
They’re here.
I watch the dial over the doors, and I tap my foot. Come on . . . come on.
The doors open, and I rush out and look around to see Harry and Patrick sitting on the lounge waiting for me. They look up and see me, and both come running at me at a million miles per minute. They nearly bowl me over as they grab a leg each to hug.
I put my arms around them and hold them tight. “Where’s Mom?” I whisper into their hair.
“We ran away.”
My mouth falls open in horror. “Your mother doesn’t know you’re here?” I gasp.
They both shake their heads. “Nope.”
“Oh my God.” I take out my phone. “She’s going to be fucking frantic.” I call Claire.
“Tristan,” she cries in a panic. “They’ve run away.”
“They just turned up here,” I stammer.
“What?” she gasps.
“Patrick and Harrison just turned up at my hotel in Paris.”
“What the hell?” she gasps. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“They’re okay, they’re okay,” I hear her tell someone.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“In the police station. Oh my God, Tristan,” she cries in relief. “Oh my God. It’s okay, Fletcher. They’re safe,” she says.
I flick the peak of Harry’s cap. “You’re in so much trouble,” I mouth.
“I don’t care,” he mouths back with attitude.
“I’m on my way,” she stammers. “Fletcher and I will catch the first flight out.”
“Okay.”
“Bye, Tris.” She hangs up.
I look down at the two boys as they stare up at me. “What are you two thinking?” I snap. “Your mother has been frantic,” I whisper as I gesture to the elevator. “You two are in so much trouble I can’t even believe it,” I whisper angrily.
They both smile up at me, and my heart constricts. I bend and take them both in my arms. “You little shits,” I murmur into their hair.
“We came to get you,” Patrick whispers into my shoulder. “We want you as our dad. We don’t care what Mom says. It’s up to us, anyway.”
I grip them tighter in my arms, and I could just burst into tears. We hold on to each other tightly for a long time, and I’m quite sure everyone around is watching.
I take their hands, and we get into the elevator. “Do you know how dangerous that was? How th
e hell did you get on a plane, anyway?” I ask.
“With your credit card.”
My mouth falls open. “You stole my credit card?” I gasp. “Oh my God. Harrison,” I scold him. “You are unbelievable.”
“No, I borrowed it. It was in Mom’s drawer.”
The credit card I had given to Claire for emergencies. The one she refused to use.
“You are grounded for life,” I whisper as I hold his hand.
He smiles cheekily up at me, and I smirk down at him.
I fucking love this kid.
We get to my hotel suite, and I flop onto the lounge. They both sit nearly on top of me. They tell me how they lied to Bob and to Claire and sneaked out and caught the train to the airport and then somehow got on a plane without being stopped. They tell me every single detail about their last fifteen hours, and I can hardly believe it.
Patrick’s little arms are tight around my neck as we converse, and Harrison’s hand is on my thigh. They are animated and cutting each other off and so proud of themselves for actually pulling it off.
“Why did you come here?” I ask as I look between them.
“Because we love you,” Harry says. “And we’re staying with you until you come home . . . and you can’t make us leave. You’re our dad, and dads belong with their kids.”
I pull them close and hold them tight. “I love you too,” I whisper into their hair.
My heart bursts with love for these boys.
I smile. It seems all this lying makes for two sweaty kids. “And you two need a shower. You stink.”
They moan.
“Where’s Fletch?” I ask as I lead them into the bathroom.
“He wouldn’t leave Mom alone for the weekend.”
I smile proudly. Always looking out for his mom. “That’s my boy.”
It’s just now 3:40 a.m., and the text I’ve been waiting for arrives from Claire.
Just pulling up at the hotel now.
She’s here.
I text back.
Concierge knows you are coming,
They have a key for you.
A reply bounces back.
See you soon.
I begin to pace; my heart is in my throat. Claire’s going to flip her fucking lid.
My God, that was so dangerous, what the boys did. Just wait till I get ahold of the airline responsible.
I take deep breaths. I’m nervous to see her.
It’s been a long, lonely, and hellish few weeks.
The door lock clicks, and the door slowly opens. Fletcher walks in, and I pull him in for a hug. Then I see Claire, and my heart drops.
She’s distraught, in tears, and pale. She looks like she’s lost a lot of weight.
“Baby,” I whisper.
She screws her face into tears, and I take her in my arms. She cries against my shoulder as I hold her tight. “Shh, they’re okay,” I whisper into her hair. “They’re asleep. It’s okay.” I lead her by the hand into the bedroom, and she kisses both their foreheads as they sleep.
“I’m going to kill those two knuckleheads,” Fletcher whispers.
“Get in line,” I mutter as I watch Claire sob over them.
I turn to Fletcher and pull him into my arms again. “Good boy for staying with your mother,” I whisper. I slap him on the back.
“Where am I sleeping?” he asks. “I’m exhausted.”
“In the room next door.”
“Good night, Mom,” Fletcher whispers.
Claire wraps her arms around him. “Thank you so much, Fletch. Good night, sweetheart.”
I close the boys’ door, and we walk out into the living room. I’m waiting for her onslaught.
I turn toward her. “Claire—”
“I love you,” she cuts me off. Her eyes are filled with tears, the pain in them unbearable for me to look at. “Whatever you want me to do,” she whispers. “Wherever you want me to live. I’ll do it.”
Her eyes search mine.
“Just don’t leave me again.” She sobs. “I can’t stand it. I can’t do this without you, Tris.” Her chest heaves with tears, and it’s obvious she’s been crying a long time. “Please don’t leave me again,” she begs in a whisper.
“Baby,” I whisper as I pull her close. I’ve never seen her like this. “I’m not. I promise. I love you. We can do it your way.” I hold her tight. “As long as I’m with you, it will be okay. I don’t need papers; it’s okay.”
For a long time, she stays and cries in my arms. I hate seeing her like this. She’s completely broken. She’s usually always so strong. “Come on. Shower.” I lead her into the bathroom and turn the hot water on. I slowly undress her.
She stands before me, weak and fragile. So not like my strong Claire.
My heart constricts at how much weight she’s lost. I walk her in under the water, and her sad eyes hold mine. “Can you get in with me?”
I take my clothes off and step in, and we hold each other under the hot water. Her head is on my chest, my arms wrapped around her small frame.
This isn’t like our normal showers together. This isn’t about sex; it’s about love.
My love . . . for her.
“I love you,” I whisper.
She screws her face up into my neck. “Don’t leave me again.”
“I won’t,” I promise her.
She clings to me. This is going to take a while to get over.
For both of us. But she’s here. My family is here with me.
We will get through this.
We have to.
I lie on my side and watch Claire sleep. She’s utterly exhausted.
It’s all caught up with her—the stress at work, our breakup, and then the boys going missing have her so wound up that she couldn’t stop crying last night. Her body simply gave out. Enough was enough, and in the end, I gave her two sleeping pills so that she could finally relax enough to fall asleep.
I hear an argument from the other room, and I smile. Who knew that the sound of early-morning bickering could sound so good? I get up and go to investigate.
“I don’t care if you didn’t bring any other shorts,” Fletcher snaps to Harry. “You’re not wearing mine. No wonder I couldn’t find any of my things to pack—they’re all in your suitcase.”
“Shh, Mom’s asleep,” I whisper as I walk into the room. “What’s going on?”
“Harry stole all of my clothes,” Fletcher whispers angrily.
“I did not.” He looks to me. “All my shorts don’t fit me anymore.”
“It’s too early for this.” I sigh. “Give Fletcher back his shorts. I’ll buy you new ones today, Harrison.”
“Well, that’s not fair,” Fletcher snaps. “Why does he get new shorts?”
“Can I have new shorts?” Patrick asks from bed. “I’ve been growing lately, and I need all-new clothes.”
Harry rolls his eyes. “Oh, stop it. You have not grown.”
I look among the bickering boys, and a broad smile crosses my face. I’m actually grateful to be hearing them fight . . . who would have ever thought? “I’ll buy you all new clothes today,” I reply.
Their eyes widen.
“But right now, I want you to get dressed, go downstairs to the restaurant, and have breakfast,” I say. “Eat something healthy from the buffet.”
“Are you coming?” Patrick asks.
“I’m going to stay here with Mom. You’ll be fine with Fletcher. Don’t go anywhere else.” I point to the two troublemakers. “You come straight back up to the room when you’re done. I mean it; you two are seriously grounded for life. Nowhere without an adult. Ever.”
Fletcher gives a smug smile to his two brothers. He loves that I class him as an adult.
I make myself a coffee, and they shower and mess around, and about half an hour later they go downstairs for breakfast.
Claire
I hear the front door shut behind the boys, and I call out, “Tris?” I’ve been waiting for them to leave. I knew if I got up
before they went, I would have to go to breakfast with them, and I want some time.
He appears at the door. “Hey.” He’s wearing nothing but navy boxer shorts. His beautiful body is on display.
I pull the covers back in an invitation.
He smiles and locks the door and climbs in and pulls me into his arms. “Are you all right?” he whispers.
I close my eyes as I lean against his chest. “God, I’m sorry about last night. I was a basket case.”
“Don’t be. You are so stressed; I’m worried about you.”
I hug him tighter. Feels so good to be safe in his big strong arms.
He takes my face in his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me before about Anderson Media being in trouble?”
I run my hand down over his washboard stomach. “I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Stop it. We need to talk about this.” He pushes my hand away. “So . . . you took it all on yourself?”
“Tris.” I sigh. “From day one you have been my knight in shining armor. Just for once I wanted you to be proud of me.”
His eyes search mine. “I am proud of you; how could you ever think otherwise?”
I drop my head as sadness rolls in. “Because I’m not proud of myself for losing Wade’s company, and I don’t know how you could ever be.”
He pushes the hair back from my face as his eyes hold mine. “It’s your company too, Claire. Don’t forget that. Wade may have started it, but you have flown the flag for five years alone.”
Five years alone . . . just hearing those words brings tears to my eyes, and I blink to try to hide them.
I’ve felt so alone.
“Baby.” Tristan pulls me close and kisses my forehead. “Let me in, Claire. I don’t want you to have to go through anything alone anymore.” He takes my face in his hands and stares into my eyes. “Okay?”
I nod through tears.
His lips take mine with a tenderness that rips my heart wide open, and I tear up again.
I’ve missed my man.
I slide my hand down his boxer shorts and run my fingers through his pubic hair.
His eyes hold mine, and I take him in my hand and slowly stroke him. I feel the blood rushing around his body, his cock hardening, and I stroke him again.
Our eyes are locked.
This is when we are at our best. Alone in bed, under the covers. Nobody here but us and the love that we share. “I need you,” I murmur.
