Page 73 of Twisted Fate

My dad stands and holds his hand out to Mom while he shoots Tristan a wary look. “Aurora, see if you can find something of mine for Tristan to change into. I’m sure he’ll be comfortable in the guest room.”

“That’s not necessary, sir,” Tristan says. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“Nonsense,” my mom cuts in. “You brought Aurora all the way here. We aren’t going to let you turn around and drive back tonight.”

“It’s not a problem,” he assures her.

She nods. “Well, thank you again.”

He offers her a polite smile. “It was my pleasure.”

Mom and Dad walk toward the kitchen, leaving Tristan and me alone. “Thank you for bringing me home,” I say, looking at the carpet under my heels.

He cups my cheek and lifts my face so our eyes are level. “I’m glad I can be here for you.” His thumb brushes across my skin.

“Will you stay here tonight? Please?”

His forehead creases. “If that’s what you want.”

“Unless you need to go back. I know tonight was important.”

He smiles. “I’m confident Max and Skylar took care of it. If you want me to stay, I’m not going anywhere.”

Stopping in the kitchen where Mom and Dad are drinking tea at the breakfast bar, I let them know Tristan is staying.

Dad arches a brow. “Is there something going on between the two of you?”

“Dad, now’s not really the time to talk about that.” Not with Adam being sick, or with Tristan in the other room where he can hear us.

“The way he watches you,” Mom says. “You seem important.”

The heat rises in my cheeks. “I can’t speak for him.”

“Well, how do you feel?”

Oh, hell, what a loaded question. How desperately I wish I could confide in my mom about the feelings I shouldn’t have for Tristan, but the timing...I can’t right now.

“I feel like I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

She frowns. “Okay. We’ll see you in the morning, honey.”

I hug them both before returning to the living room. Tristan looks over at me but says nothing about what I said to my parents. I reach over and slip my hand into his, and we walk upstairs. We pass Adam’s room, and I pause. My hand is opening the door before I can stop myself.

Tristan steps inside with me, my hand still grasped in his, and stays silent.

I look around the room, taking in all his old video game posters. Clothes cover most of the floor, and his bed is unmade. All the poor kid wanted was to sleep until noon on the weekends, hang with his friends, and play video games. Now he’s stuck living at the hospital. He’s hooked up to machines and fighting to stay alive.

I blow out a breath, my chest heavy and my eyes watering again. “This isn’t fair,” I whisper.

“I know,” Tristan murmurs, squeezing my hand. After another few minutes, he guides me out of the room and down the hall until I stop at my closed bedroom door.

“You can’t laugh,” I say in a tired voice.

He peers at me. “Why would I laugh?”

“Just promise me you won’t.”

He brushes the back of his hand across my cheek. “I promise.”

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