Chapter Six
Tristan
Tristan gave up on sleep hours before. He’d always suffered from insomnia, and taught himself to function on about four hours of sleep per night. When he was young, he taught himself to be a light sleeper. It was the least he could do for his mother—keep an ear out in case she needed him. Not get hours of sleep when she spent ninety percent of her time trying to support them.
The actual insomnia didn’t start until college. His Masters in Law, plus the time he spent studying and learning stocks, fueled him better than sleep ever could. Burned a fire beneath his feet that kept him from ever slowing down. Not to mention how he learned so much about stocks. Or the way he earned money back then, not only to invest, but to take care of his mom. Thoughts about that time in his life made him squeeze the pencil in his hand, breaking it.
If there was one thing Tristan would always be able to do, it would be to financially support himself.
Around five a.m. his cell rang. With a steady hand, he reached out and picked it up from the desk in his home office.
Ben, again. Much better than it being Isabel, though.
“Why are you calling me so early again?” he said in place of hello.
“I’m in New York. It’s not early for me.
“Yes, but it’s early for me.”
Ben chuckled. “I may never have been your boyfriend, but I am your friend. I know you, Tristan, and I know the only time I can reach you. You can’t tell me you weren’t awake.” He paused before continuing. “I can call you that, right? Friendship doesn’t create too many ties for you, does it?”
Sighing, Tristan leaned back in his chair. “If you don’t want me to hang up on you, I’d change the direction this conversation is going very quickly.” He held a finger to the pulse in his wrist, concentrating on the beat.
“It’s been two weeks since you were supposed to call me back. I decided if I kept waiting, it would never happen.”
One, two, three, four, five...
“I’ll be out west in a week. It’s a quick trip. Only a few days, but only one of them is taken with business. What’s your schedule like?”
Another man would offer his friend a place to stay. Maybe clear his schedule for a visit from the only person he still talked to from college. But that wasn’t Tristan. The thought of someone else sleeping in his home made the beats in his wrist speed up. Even when they’d been sleeping together back in New York, they always stayed in Ben’s dorm, and then his apartment.
A lunch. What kind of man didn’t have lunch with his friend when he came to town? But he knew Ben. Seeing him always came with questions, with worry, when Tristan didn’t like either.
“I won’t get in your business. I promise. Even though you’re an asshole, you’re a friend, man. It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other.”
Friend? What did Tristan even know about the word? Business he understood. Money he understood. Ben knew him probably better than anyone, other than his mother, yet Ben didn’t even know Tristan’s mom was alive, least of all anything about her or Tristan’s past.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Ben sighed, and he had a feeling the other man knew that meant no.
“I’ve known you for years, Tristan. We studied for our LSATS together. I probably wouldn’t be where I am without you. You’re really not going to make time in your day to have lunch with me?”
Billows of guilt blew through him. “I said I’d see what I could do.”
They hung up the phone right after that. Tristan went straight for the shower. Afterward he dressed in a black suit, packed his briefcase, and went out to his BMW.
One, two, three, four, five.
He pretended to count the beats of his pulse, even though he couldn’t while he was driving. Morning just started to settle into the city. Too early to go to work, yet he’d known that when he left.
As though it had a mind of his own, his car led him toward his mom’s, though he knew he wouldn’t go in and see her. He parked at her building, where he had a permanent parking spot, before heading to the Warf.
A million times he almost turned around, fire blazing through his veins that he even came this way at all. He didn’t know what he was doing here. All he’d known was he couldn’t be home, and he suddenly thought about those stupid birds. He hated birds. Always had. Yet that didn’t stop him from heading toward the water.
As soon as Tristan got close, he saw him. Mornings in June were still cool in San Francisco, so like that day two weeks ago, the younger man wore a hooded sweatshirt.