It was another thing they had in common. Another thing that somehow bound them together. And damned if he didn’t wonder what else there could be that he didn’t know about.
Chapter Eight
Tristan
It was like déjà vu, meeting with Mateo the same way he’d done with Josiah years before. Every instinct inside Tristan told him to pull back, to walk away, because he found it almost comforting having this routine with Mateo. Part of the comfort due to the reason he’d told Josiah—in a way it felt like Mateo had always been a part of them because he was such a huge part of Josiah.
Which pissed him off and made him wonder why he’d met with the man four days in a row. Yet, even the few times he tried to talk himself out of going, or into turning around, he never did it. And then there was that word again...comforting. He’d never really felt comfortable in his own life, even before Josiah turned it upside down. Tristan felt like he had everything he needed: money, stability, his own form of power. Even with that, he’d always felt restless. His mind was always going. He felt the only sort of calm he’d ever really know with Josiah, and yet he had a piece of it here, too. Walking with Mateo, and now feeding Josiah’s birds.
It made his gut ache, his mind telling him to pull back. He’d already opened himself up to Josiah as best he could, and even he knew it wasn’t enough. How the hell could he let himself get close to someone else?
He wondered if Mateo felt the same. They hadn’t talked more about their individual pasts, which he was grateful for. They spoke a lot about Josiah. Mateo told him he’d taken a lot of his general education classes in prison. Jesus, how in the hell had he ended up spending time with an ex-con? Time he actually enjoyed.
Tristan watched as Mateo suddenly stopped, pulling a phone out of his pocket. He hit the camera button and aimed. Tristan followed where he pointed, not seeing whatever it was Mateo thought he needed to take a picture of. A few people walked around on the sidewalk. There was a homeless man wearing layers despite the heat, who was bent down, holding a cat who rubbed against his face.
Mateo took a few pictures before sliding it back into his pocket without a word.
Before he got the chance to ask him about it, Mateo spoke. “I should go, and I’m sure you have shit to do. I need to get to a Laundromat and wash some clothes.”
Jesus, he’d forgotten the man was paying weekly to live in a hotel. He didn’t let him think about what he was about to say. Just spoke. “Come to our house to do it.” He’d only worked half a day this morning, and was supposed to be finishing up at home, anyway.
Mateo shook his head. “What are we doin’, man? We don’t fucking know each other. I’m a criminal, and you’re a goddamned lawyer. We’re both in love with the same fuckin’ man, and I’m supposed to come and do laundry at your house?”
It wasn’t anything he hadn’t thought. Anything he still didn’t think about. And he knew this couldn’t be the first time Mateo did, either. Yet, they were both still here. “Veto.”
“What?”
Tristan chuckled, surprised the word had come out. Instead of explaining, he said, “I don’t know what we’re doing.” It was the only answer he had, but then he added, “It’s something I used to say to Josiah.”
Mateo let out a deep breath and swallowed. Tristan watched his Adam’s apple move and wondered how many times Josiah had kissed Mateo there. Wondered what he tasted like.
Neither said anything else as they walked to Tristan’s BMW, close enough that Mateo’s arm brushed his as they moved. Neither of them pulled away.
They were quiet as he drove to Mateo’s hotel. Obviously, he knew that Tristan had been the one to tell Josiah where he was staying. He waited in the car while Mateo went to get his things, wondering what they were doing just like Mateo had been. But it felt wrong walking away, leaving the man who had done so much for Josiah, even if all he was doing was giving him a free place to do laundry.
It only took a few minutes for Mateo to get back to the car. As he pulled onto the busy San Francisco street packed with traffic, his mind went back to what he’d thought about while he drove to Mateo’s hotel. That Tristan knew where it was because he’d told Josiah. He’d sent Josiah to him. Sweat beaded on his brow, making Tristan turn up the air conditioner.
“What’s wrong?” Mateo asked.
“How do you know something’s wrong?”
“You get stiff as a fuckin’ board when you get pissed about something. You also touch your wrist, but I’m guessing you didn’t do that this time because you’re driving.”