Page 29 of Finding Michael

“Molly?”

“Uh-huh. I hear you two dated.” Tristan sliced one of the shells. “Not long.”

Embarrassment washed over Michael. Everyone in town knew everyone else’s business, but still. He’d never be able to downplay his past. “Yeah, for a few weeks.”

“Found out you’re better as friends, eh?” Tristan winked. “I’ve been there. What happened—if you don’t mind me asking?”

He minded, but he’d have to talk eventually. “She wanted sex and I couldn’t. I love her and I wanted to be with her, but I couldn’t…you know.” He wanted to hide. He knew his limits and being around Tristan pushed all of them.

“Been there, too.” Tristan nodded. “More than once.”

Michael ate in silence. He preferred the quiet. Conversation wasn’t his strong point and Tristan kept asking things he wanted to ignore. He’d dug himself a huge hole at Al’s place and couldn’t see a way out.

Tristan finished eating first and sat back in his seat. “Damn. She is a good cook.”

“Uh-huh.”

Tristan dragged his bag over to the table, then withdrew an envelope. “You eat. I’ll talk. I can see you’re all tense.”

Gee whiz. Thanks.

“My uncle wrote you at least two letters. I found these on his desk. I thought they were scratch paper and scribbled notes for my story on the back. According to Al’s words, you weren’t supposed to read them.” He opened the envelope. “I think you should.”

“Tristan.” He nearly choked on the pasta. “If he said no, then no.”

“You’ll understand him better.”

“Just tell me what they say. I can’t read them.” He didn’t want to. He’d break down and he refused to do so in front of Tristan.

“It’s not as bad as you think.”

“I doubt that.” He rested his fork on the remainder of his dinner. “Al didn’t want me and pushed me away when I was dumb enough to tell him I loved him.”There. Now he knows. Fuck.Michael blinked back tears. He’d thought he could handle the split, but even fifteen years on, the break-up still bothered him.

“Just read it.” Tristan shoved the envelope over to Michael. “I understand how he felt. Part of me wants to be upset with you. I can’t imagine you were with him. But the rest of me isn’t mad. I see in you what he did. He loved you, but his version of love was to let you go. He seemed to think you were meant for something more.”

Michael downed half the bottle of beer to fortify his nerves. He didn’t want to know, but he needed closure. He pushed his half-eaten plate of pasta away and opened the envelope. “Here goes nothing.”

Tristan swirled his beer around in the bottle. He wasn’t sure how Michael would react to the letters. If he were in Michael’s shoes, he had no idea how he’d feel. If he had a clue that the man he loved wasn’t pushing him away for purely selfish reasons, he might have felt different. But he wasn’t Michael. For all he knew, Michael would be destroyed.

Michael pushed the letters away and rested his elbows on the table. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What are you thinking?” Tristan whispered. “Michael?”

“I’m numb.”

Now there was an emotion Tristan could understand.

“He loved me, but hated me. I don’t get it.” Michael stared at Tristan. “He hated me.”

“He didn’thateyou. What bothered him was your youth and freedom. It’s not the same.” Tristan downed more of the beer. “You’re not the object of his fury.”

“Feels like it.” Michael toyed with his silverware. “Why couldn’t he tell me? That’s the other part I’m struggling with. I kind of understand his dislike for youth and freedom. He’s from a different era than we are and it wasn’t easy for him to come out. That makes sense, but I didn’t set the rules. I mean, okay, hate me for what I can’t control, but why let me think he just plain hated me? We were friends. I supported him when he met Emerson. Hell, I encouraged them to get married. He didn’t listen, but I tried.”

Tristan sighed. Michael was so much more than Al had given him credit for in the letters. Michael was a special man. Tristan leaned forward in his seat and folded his hands on his lap. “I don’t have all the answers. I don’t even have half of them. What I do know is that he was a complex man.”

“How do you remember him?” Michael asked. He reached for Tristan. “I mean, when you think of your uncle, what comes to mind?”

He laced his fingers with Michael’s and marveled for a moment at the tiny gesture. Michael—a man who could be so closed and cautious—trusted him. He’d reached for Tristan. Had Tristan worn him down that much? Or was this how things were meant to be? He and Michael were meant to go through this experience together. He swiped his thumb across Michael’s knuckles. “Al was my uncle. He didn’t care about the money my parents had and he didn’t want it. He could be grouchy and coarse, but he insisted on taking care of himself. He planted things, kept himself in shape and expected me to be self-sufficient. I used to think he was a jerk for pushing me to experience life without money. Then I grew up. I understood. I had to stumble a lot and sow my share of wild oats, but I saw how he wanted me to be more. The same goes for how he treated you.”

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