Chapter 24

24

TRISTAN

As we spill into the house after midnight mass, Nina escapes upstairs with a playful wink in my direction. My heart races with anticipation, itching to chase after her and transform those playful smirks into breathless moans.

Just as I’m about to excuse myself to bed, Dylan claps a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, man, you up for some Call of Duty ? I’m still wired from all that sugar before mass.”

“How many marshmallows did you eat?” I tease playfully while discreetly glancing at my watch. I wince—1.07a.m. glows back at me accusingly. “Dude, it’s late. Maybe we should just hit the sack. Santa won’t come if we’re still awake.”

Dylan snorts and rolls his eyes. “Very funny. C’mon, just one quick game. I promise I’ll go easy on you this time.”

I hesitate, my gaze darting to the stairs. Nina is waiting for me. But Dylan is my best friend, and blowing him off would only make him suspicious. I sigh in resignation.

“Fine, one mission. But you’re going down, Thirty-three.” I whip out my phone and tap out a quick message to Nina asking her to wait for me.

As I hit send, I picture Nina reading it in bed, her blonde hair tumbling over her naked shoulders—she probably isn’t waiting for me naked, but that’s how I like to picture her. My heart clenches. What I wouldn’t give to be up there with her…

“Earth to Tristan! You coming or what?” Dylan calls from the top of the basement stairs, jolting me out of my Nina-induced haze.

“Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on,” I mutter, shoving my phone in my pocket and hurrying after him.

As we descend into Dylan’s man cave, I vow to thoroughly crush him as fast as humanly possible.

I fidget with the controller as we settle on the sagging couch while the combat scenario loads on the giant-but-ancient flatscreen—too slow for my liking. Dylan throws me a smug grin, and I can’t help but smirk back. It’s game on.

Soon, gunfire and explosions erupt from the surround sound speakers, rumbling in my chest.

“Watch your six, Eleven!” Dylan whoops as he mows down a line of enemy soldiers in a hail of virtual bullets.

I roll my eyes and hunker down, fingers flying across the buttons. “Please. I’ve been watching our six all night.”

We fall into the familiar rhythm of the game, but my mind keeps wandering to the gorgeous blonde waiting for me upstairs. I can almost feel the silk of her hair, the warmth of her skin…

“Hey…” Dylan says casually, hooking me out of my fantasies— too casually . “Have you heard from your parents today?”

The question takes me by surprise, pulling my focus from the gunfight onscreen. I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “Nah, man. I doubt I’ll hear a peep, even tomorrow.”

My parents’ neglect stings, but I’m used to it by now. No Christmas wishes, no birthday calls, nothing new.

“That’s messed up,” Dylan mutters, brow furrowed as he takes out a sniper and reveals the real reason why he’s asked me down here for this late-night game. To check on me. Make sure I’m okay. “Sorry your folks are such dipshits.”

A lump forms in my throat at the fierce loyalty in his voice. Dylan has always been there for me, through thick and thin. Every time my parents canceled a visit to New York last minute, he was ready to take me out and cheer me up. Even when it was the other way around, and I went to California for a planned visit only to find the house empty, he’d fly over at a moment’s notice, pretending he’d love nothing more than to fly six hours cross-country for a weekend trip.

During COVID, he stayed in New York—one of the worst places to be on the planet—with me. And I know he did it only not to leave me there alone in our apartment. During the pandemic, Nina went home for long stretches of time, but Dylan never left me. Only Skyping with his parents and sister. If not for me, I’m positive he would’ve stayed with them. That it was hard for him to be separated from his family at a time when we didn’t know if the world was ending. If he’d ever get to see them again.

And when we both got the Coronavirus before the vaccine was out, he barely sneezed, but I was thrashed for two weeks. And Dylan was basically my nurse the entire time.

He’s my only emergency contact, for fuck’s sake. My ride or die. I go to him for work problems, health problems, women problems…

Well, I’m surely not going to him with women problems now.

The guilt churns in my gut as I think of my clandestine trysts with Nina. I’m the dipshit, sneaking behind my best friend’s back.

The guilt gnaws at me as we continue to play. Dylan doesn’t deserve to be lied to like this. But I can’t stop myself from wanting Nina.

“Shit, watch out!” I yell as a grenade sails toward Dylan’s avatar. He curses and dives for cover, the explosion rocking the screen.

“Close one,” he huffs, wiping imaginary sweat from his brow.

I force a grin, trying to shake off the heavy thoughts. “Getting slow in your old age, Thirty-three?”

“Old? I’ll show you old.”

He shoots me a baleful glare and redoubles his efforts, fingers blazing across the controller. I lose myself in the mindless violence, laughing and trash-talking like old times.

But in the back of my mind, Nina beckons, a siren song I can’t resist. I need to end this game, fast, before I do something I’ll regret. Like confess my sins to Dylan and beg for his forgiveness… or worse, abandon my best friend on Christmas Eve to go have sex with his sister.

Some hero I am.

As the game finally ends—Dylan wins, I was too distracted to play well—we make our way up to the first floor. We reach the landing, and Dylan pauses outside my door, his brow furrowing.

“You sure you’re okay, man?” he asks, searching my face. “I know the holidays are tough for you.”

My chest tightens. Of course he noticed my mood, even though I tried my best to hide it. I was fine until we served up the chocolates, but going to midnight mass always triggers bitter memories for me. It reminds me of when I was the only kid left at boarding school for the holidays and I was forced to attend alone in that giant, cold church that made me feel like an abandoned orphan in some Dickensian tale. It’s a pain that never quite leaves me, even now when I’m surrounded by people who care.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lie smoothly, pasting on a smile. “Just tired, you know? Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”

Dylan doesn’t look convinced. “You know I’m here if you need to talk. Anytime.”

Affection surges through me, warm and steadying. This is why Dylan’s my best friend—he sees me, really sees me, in a way no one else does. He knows about my screwed-up childhood, the Christmases spent alone while my parents chased their ambitions. How adrift I feel this time of year.

And yet…

Remorse twists my insides again. Because despite his unwavering loyalty, I’m keeping secrets. Big ones. Like the fact that the second he goes to bed, I plan to sneak down the hall to his sister’s room. He’s brought me into his home and I’m taking his trust and crushing it under my boots like a ball of snow.

I swallow hard. “I know. And I appreciate it, seriously. But I’m good, man, I promise.”

“If you say so.” Dylan grasps my upper arm with a firm, reassuring grip. “Get some rest. Tomorrow we’ll tackle the Thompson family’s legendary Christmas lunch. You know my mom’s been prepping for weeks. Remember to wear your stretchy pants.”

“Sounds perfect.” I force a grin, praying he can’t see through it. “Night, Dylan.”

“Night.” With a final squeeze of my arm, he turns and pads down the hall to his room.

I watch him go, my smile fading. Some best friend I am. If he knew what I was about to do…

Swallowing the bitter taste in my mouth, I slip into my room and shut the door. Only a few minutes now. Then I’ll have what I’ve been craving all evening—Nina, in my arms. No matter how wrong it is.

Nina

After reading Tristan’s message, I flop down on my bed, staring at the ceiling as my mind races with possibilities. The minutes crawl by, each one feeling like an eternity. I try to distract myself with a book, but the words blur together, my thoughts consumed by Tristan and the uncertainty of our future.

As the clock ticks past 1.45, I feel my eyelids growing heavy. I fight against the pull of sleep, determined to wait for Tristan. Exhaustion has almost taken over when the creak of my bedroom door jolts me wide awake, and my heart does a little happy somersault in my chest as Tristan slips inside, his expression a mix of fatigue and relief. “I thought your brother would never stop talking,” he exhales, his voice low, threading through the quiet of the room like a secret.

Without another word, he crosses the space between us, each step purposeful, with an intensity that pulls me in with the strength of a black hole—an endless void that will swallow me whole. As Tristan reaches the bed, I sit up, my palms sweating as his eyes lock with mine.

He cups my cheek, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. “Sorry for making you wait.”

I lean into the contact, my eyes fluttering closed as I savor the warmth of his skin against mine. “It’s okay,” I murmur, my voice just above a whisper. “You’re here now. What did Dylan want?”

“Oh, nothing, just a game before bed.” A shadow crosses his face, telling me he’s not being entirely forthcoming. I can’t tell if it’s hurt, guilt, or something else entirely that I’m witnessing.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s all good now that I’m with you.”

His lips brush mine, soft and reverent. I can tell there’s more he isn’t sharing with me. But what he can’t say in words, he expresses in the way he touches and kisses me.

Tonight, our connection feels different, deeper, transcending the physicality of our previous encounters. There’s a deliberate tenderness, a gentle exploration that speaks of more profound emotions stirring beneath the surface.

I melt into the kiss, my fingers threading through his black hair, pulling him closer. As we unite, I’m acutely aware of the shift in our dynamic. The urgency that propelled us before gives way to a more measured, soulful exchange. Tristan’s eyes find mine and never leave. In those piercing blue depths, I read an unspoken promise, a vulnerability that we had both shielded from the other.

Each touch, each caress, feels like a discovery, revealing layers of emotion that had been carefully guarded. His hands map the landscape of my body, leaving trails of fire in their wake, and I arch into him, desperate for more.

“Tristan,” I sigh, my voice trembling with the weight of my feelings. “What are we doing?”

He stills, his forehead resting against mine as he takes a shuddering breath. “We’re falling, Nina,” he whispers, his words ghosting across my lips. “Falling into something real, something that scares the hell out of me, but something I can’t resist.”

Butterflies explode in my stomach at his admission, a mix of joy and trepidation coursing through my veins. “I’m scared too,” I confess, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “But I want this, Tristan. I want us.”

An awed smile spreads across his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leans in to capture my lips once more. “Then let’s be scared together,” he hums against my mouth. “Because I’m not letting you go, Nina Thompson. Not now, not ever.”

As we lose ourselves in each other, wrapped in the promise of a future that’s equal parts thrilling and terrifying, I let myself believe Tristan Montgomery, the last person I would’ve imagined on the planet, might be my Prince Charming after all.