Sudden anger snaked up through Tristan like wildfire. He pushed away from the workbench and felt the darkness descend upon him like night. Tears pricked his eyes as he spun away and faced the street from the open garage door. “He’s a dick is what he’s like.”
Michael stayed quiet, his steady, rhythmic breathing filling the gas-scented air in the still garage. Finally, Tristan heard his shuffling steps as he moved. A big hand clamped down on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Tristan couldn’t meet his gaze. He knew his eyes would give too much away. Instead, he stared at the street and Michael’s sky-blue Volkswagen Bug. He still couldn’t believe the big guy drove such a dorky car.
They both glanced over at the sound of a motor turning over. A few seconds later it died. Michael gave a small laugh. “That Noble. Always fiddlin’ with his bikes.” He peered down into Tristan’s face. “He’s kinda like you that way.” He pivoted and moved back to the workbench.
Tristan watched as he started putting the tools away neatly. It was almost time for Michael to go home. He hated for him to leave with things so awkward between them. He took a small step in his direction—literally and figuratively. “I don’t see my dad anymore.” He heaved a deep breath and looked in Michael’s eyes. There was true caring there and it gave him the strength to keep talking. “He signed over all his rights to my mom last year because he doesn’t want me anymore. He’s got a new family now.” He glanced away, then back. “Guess I’m old news.”
Michael carefully set down the tool in his hand and shut the lid on the box with a metallic clang. He got that weird thoughtful expression on his face that sorta freaked Tristan out, but sorta calmed him, too. He rubbed a hand across his big, bald head. “You know, Tristan, my friend. I’ve learned a few things in my life. And there’s something I want you to know.”
Tristan listened carefully, his heart racing, wondering if whatever Michael had to say could hold the key to his totally jacked up world.
Michael continued. “A father’s love and acceptance is important. But you have more than one father, child.” He glanced up at the ceiling. “And, sometimes, a family is the one we make with the people we are gifted with.”
Tristan stared at him, dumbfounded by his words. He didn’t understand them, nor could he believe they’d come from this guy’s mouth. “Whaaa?” he sputtered.
Michael’s face split into a smile. “Enough of that serious stuff. Can I use your bathroom?”
Tristan’s brow furrowed. “Um, yeah, sure.”
He watched as Michael disappeared inside, even more confused than he was before.
Family? Gifts? More than one father? What the . . .?
Several minutes later, Michael ducked back out. “Hey, dude. It’s gettin’ late. It’s about time for me to be hittin’ the road.” He made a beeline for the open garage door. “I’ll see you later?”
Tristan watched him lope toward his Bug. “Okay.” He raised his hand in a half-hearted wave. “Bye.”
Michael turned back to him just as he was about to drop into his little blue getaway car. “Don’t forget what I said,” he called. “Our family is the one we make.”
Tristan bit his lip and didn’t acknowledge him as the big guy drove off. He let the silence of the empty garage fill him as he slumped against the workbench.
Michael couldn’t have made it to the end of the street before his mom pulled up the driveway in her little silver SUV. She cut the engine and hopped out with a little smile just for him.
“Hey, sweetie. Where’s Michael?” She looked around the room as she approached.
He ducked his head, avoiding her kiss. “He just left.”
“Oh. I’m sorry I missed him.” She glanced at the newly assembled parts of his bike. “Wow! You guys did all this today?” She grinned at him, sparking newfound pride in their accomplishments. “Impressive!”
“Yeah.” He tried to be nonchalant and not show how totally stoked he was.
She ruffled his hair. “Very, very cool, baby.” She brushed past him into the house. “I’m cooking steaks for dinner,” she said before she shut the door.
He smiled to himself. His favorite. Well, besides pizza.
“TRISTAN!” she hollered not one minute later, making him jump clear outta his skin.
He hurried into the house. “Mom?”
“Back here!”
He followed the sound of her panicked voice to the bathroom and found her ankle-deep in water, her face awash in alarm. Water was spewing from the back of the toilet at a furious rate, drenching his mom’s legs as she fumbled behind the bowl reaching for something.
“Come here, Tristan, and help me look for the shut-off thingy to get this water stopped!”
He waded in and the cold water drenched his jeans. He sucked in a surprised breath and bent over the toilet to look. He reached in and fumbled a bit, his hand brushing his mother’s as they both felt around for a stop valve of some sort. Too bad he had no idea what he was searching for.
“I think that’s it,” she said, grabbing onto something metal. He felt her hand and gripped it as well. “Oh, jeez, this is a mess.” She sounded like she was on the verge of tears.
She turned the knob. The valve didn’t budge. She twisted the other way. Nothing. “Help me!” she cried.
He tightened his hold and they both yanked on the thing as hard as they could. It was like the darn thing was superglued in place. He knelt down and peered closer. “I think it’s rusted,” he said, peering up into her frustrated eyes.
“Shit!” she said, her voice cracking. “Sorry. I meant shoot.”
He rolled his eyes and cocked his head toward the water. “No, Mom. You meant shit.”
A short laugh burst from her lips. “You’re right. I meant shit.” She pressed him aside and bent over. “Here, let me see. Maybe I can get it. We’ve got to get this shut off or we are screwed!”
He moved toward the door and watched, wishing for once that he was bigger and stronger and able to help his mom with more things around the house. She squatted and peeked under the commode.
“Sweetie, go get a, uh . . .” She looked at him with a confused, girly expression, “tool thingy for me to grab this with. Whatever you’ve got.”
He smiled. He could do that. He rushed off and grabbed a wrench from his toolbox and returned it to her.
“Thanks, baby.”
She turned and worked it around the shut-off valve behind the toilet. She twisted herself at an awkward angle, trying to force the knob with all her might. But his mom was pretty itty-bitty. She adjusted her grip and tried again, blowing the hair from her face. He silently willed the rusty thing to give way. Instead, she lost her foothold on the slick tile and slid backward, slamming her back into the corner of the sink.
Her head snapped back then forward as the wind was knocked from her and an ooommph rushed from her lips. Her legs buckled beneath her, her ankle twisting at an unnatural angle. Her final sound was an agonized scream as her eyes glazed over with pain.
Tristan’s heart knocked against his ribcage. He knew he wasn’t strong enough to do much for her. “Mom, Mom,” he panted, backing away from the door. “I’ll . . . don’t . . . I’ll get help,” he said as he rushed outside and sprinted like a madman to the first place he thought to go.
Chapter 9
Noble straddled his Hog, just about to crank her up and give his tune-up a test run when Tristan came bolting in the open garage door, breathless and wide-eyed.
“Help,” he heaved between pants. “Need . . . your . . . help.” He bent over like he was about to puke and sucked in air like a starving man.
Noble jumped from his bike and rushed over, his eyes scanning outside for any sign of Sweet Cheeks. “Where’s your mom?” he demanded.
&nbs
p; The kid tilted his head toward his house. “Inside,” he sucked in another breath. “She’s hurt . . . water . . .”
Noble didn’t hear another word. He took off for next door, his legs pumping beneath him in a mad sprint. He mounted the steps and burst in the front door, his eyes scanning the living area for her. “Hello?” he called out.
There was a whimpering cry from down the hall. “I’m here,” she answered, her voice weak with obvious pain.
He rushed toward her voice and stopped short when he found her amid a free-flowing river of water, propped between the toilet and the sink, her ankle cradled in her hand and tears streaking down her face. She looked up at him and a fresh cry burst from her. He wasn’t sure what to do. The carpet squished beneath his boots as he took a step in her direction.
“Are you okay?” he asked, venturing into the mini lake that was her bathroom.
She shook her head. “Hell, no.”
He knelt down in front of her just as Tristan banged in the front door and made his way behind him. “Let me see.”
She didn’t move.
Water continued to pump out of the pipe around them. He caught her gaze. Tears had made her amber brown eyes hauntingly fragile. He reached out and touched the hand that held her injured foot. “Let me. You’re hurt.”
She blinked once then let go, her fingers brushing across his. He looked down and gently took her foot in his hand. Her ankle was obviously swollen and already bruising an angry purple. She flinched and hissed between her teeth at the slightest touch.
“Sorry,” he mumbled as he gingerly released her. He stood and glanced at the wrench and rusty valve on the commode. “I need to get this water off for you first. Let me go shut it off outside the house.” He turned to go but paused at the door. “Then I’ll get you outta here.”
She didn’t say a word, but nodded gratefully and swiped at the tears still flowing down her cheeks.
Tristan followed him outside to the backyard where they quickly shut off the main water supply to the house. He peeled off his wet boots and socks and set them outside the front door so he wouldn’t track any more water through her already waterlogged house before returning to her in the bathroom.
Silently, he went to her and knelt down to help her scoot out of the cramped space she’d ended up in. Her tears had dried up, but she fought back little winces of discomfort with every movement.
Her gaze locked on his as he placed one arm under her knees and one behind her back. She automatically wrapped her arms around his neck and clung as close to him as she could get, her eyes never leaving his face. She was so tiny and frail in his arms, he was afraid he’d break her.
A soft gasp escaped her as he stood. He remained still a moment to allow her to get her bearings. She shifted her weight fractionally, bringing herself in closer alignment with his chest. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair.
His eyes darted to her lips—they were the softest pink and parted as she took a gentle breath. His gaze traveled back up her delicate face. Her fingertips were making sweet, maddening little circles at the base of his skull.
He didn’t move. He couldn’t. He simply stared as cool water slid over his feet and soaked into his jean legs and her eyes held him captive.
“Mom?” Tristan’s uncertain voice broke the moment.
Braelyn didn’t take her eyes off his face. “Yes, baby?”
“You okay?” he sounded unsure.
“Yeah.” She licked her lips. “I’m fine.”
Noble shifted and carried her from the bathroom, breaking their eye contact and severing the arc of whatever connection was bouncing between them. It was too much. Too much, too fast. It had to be his protective instincts because she was hurt, he reassured himself.
He carried her to the living room. “You think you need to go to the hospital or something?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s not broken. Just put me down here.” She indicated the couch behind them.
He nodded once and gently deposited her on the sofa before facing Tristan. “Can I borrow some of your tools? I’ll see if I can fix your toilet.”
Tristan glanced at his mom, who seemed a bit shell-shocked, but otherwise didn’t say anything. “Yeah. Sure.”
While the kid was out getting the tools, Noble went to the kitchen to make Braelyn an ice pack for her ankle. He rifled through her drawers, finding utensils and multicolored pot holders, until he came up with a gallon-sized Ziploc and opened the freezer to fill it with ice. He pulled back his hand, startled to find it shaking.
He took a breath and quickly finished his task. He brought it to her and pressed it into her hand. “Here,” he said. He didn’t give her a chance to thank him or comment. He grabbed the toolbox from Tristan when he returned and they ducked down the hall.
It didn’t take long, nor did it take a rocket scientist, to see that the toilet had been tampered with. Noble grunted and glanced up. “Now who in the hell would snap this piece off?”
The kid shrugged. “I’ve no clue. Michael was the last one in here, but why would he do it? And I wouldn’t have.” He bit his lip. “Everything in this house is old. It probably snapped from old age, dude.”
Whatever. Luckily, it would be easy enough—if a mess—to fix. He ran to his house for a part then patched it all up before he and Tristan mopped up the soggy mess of the bathroom.
When they were done, he found Braelyn lying on the couch with her eyes closed and her ankle propped on a pillow with the ice pack. She opened her eyes when she heard them come in. She smiled sleepily.
“Hey.”
He tamped down his automatic visceral reaction to her sexy smile. “Hey. It’s all fixed.”
She sat up. “Thank you so much for coming to my rescue. Again.” She laughed softly. “And again.”
He nodded once and headed to the door. “Yeah, no problem.”
“Wait.”
He turned with his hand on the knob.
She was standing, her weight on her uninjured foot. “Would you like to stay for dinner? It’s the least we can do to thank you for all your help.”
He glanced over, tempted, and saw a glimmer of hope in Tristan’s eyes just before he saw the trust and . . . attraction shining clear in hers. His gut clenched. He couldn’t handle this.
“No. Thanks.”
He opened the door and stepped out, quietly closing it behind him.
Braelyn watched Noble leave and wondered why it hurt. Couldn’t the guy just stay for dinner? Did he have a girlfriend? She thought about the way he’d gazed at her—all but eating her alive with his eyes. God, she hoped he didn’t have a girl. And the way he picked her up and carried her like she was a feather? Her heart went pittery pat.
Well, whatever. The man obviously wasn’t interested. She shouldn’t be, either. Her track record with men wasn’t exactly stellar. She was focused on raising her little man right now, just like she should be.
She hobbled on her sore foot to the kitchen. She stopped, surprised, when she found Tristan sitting quietly at the table reading.
“Whatcha doin’?” she asked, peeking over his shoulder at his book. When was the last time he’d had one of those?
He glanced up. “Homework.”
“Homework?”
“Um, yeah. Midterms, Mom.” He rolled his eyes and turned back to his studies.
“Right. I forgot,” she lied. She wanted to kiss this Michael guy. He was doing wonders for her son. Miracles.
“So,” she interrupted him again, earning herself another hard stare. “Dinner? I was gonna do those steaks. But since I jacked up my ankle, I really don’t feel up to cooking them tonight. Whad’ya say to ordering pizza instead?”
He glanced back down to his book. “Cool.”
Whatever he was readin
g, must be good. “Okay.”
She picked up the phone and dialed the number to order delivery. She turned and glanced out the window while she waited on hold. Noble’s truck still sat in the driveway. She was pretty sure he would be leaving in about an hour. How sad that she knew his schedule. She did wonder, though, what he did so late at night.
Finally, someone picked up to take her order. She rattled off her and Tristan’s usual.
She glanced again toward the big, sexy truck parked next door and was bombarded with an instant visual of his large, warm, brown hand holding her pale foot as if it were a delicate flower. It was easily the most erotic thing that had ever happened to her in her life—pain or not. But it was probably the man himself.
Well, she decided, if he wouldn’t have dinner with them, she could still feed him. On a whim, she ordered another pizza to be delivered to his house. She sure hoped, being a man, he loved all things meaty.
Chapter 10
Michael was in a catch-22. Things were going super with Tristan. Better than he’d hoped, actually. The boy was opening up to him, they were spending lots of time together. Their bond was special. And he knew that Tristan was an integral piece to the puzzle. But, things were moving frustratingly slow between Noble and Braelyn. A half-dead, frozen sloth’s pace, really. They appeared to be cordial, if a bit distant, but that was a far cry from the love match he was hoping for.
He sighed as he sank into his seat next to Ariel at their weekly AA meeting, and reminded himself that patience was, indeed, a virtue.
“Hey, boss.” She tapped his thigh and offered him an ultra bright smile.
He smiled at her ensemble for the day—lime green capri pants and a rainbow-colored vest over what could only be described as a hot, hot pink, shimmery blouse. “Ariel. You’re looking especially colorful this evening.”
“Thank you!” She bounced her crossed leg and exuded general happiness with everything in the world. He wondered if she knew something he didn’t, or if she was just too new to understand what they were up against with this whole love game.
The Halo Effect (Cupid Chronicles) Page 7
