Page 14 of I Could Be Yours (The Toronto Terror #6)

NATE

“ W hat’s in the box?” I check my pockets to make sure I have everything I need before I head over to see my brother.

“Dunno. It has my sister’s name on it. She probably sent it here by accident.

” Flip stands in front of the stove, stirring cheese powder into the pot.

The guy loves neon noodles. There is a salad on the counter, as well as seasoned, cooked chicken breast—both provided by Rix—so at least all his food groups are covered and there’s some balance.

“I can drop it off at their place.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Flip dumps most of the pot onto his plate alongside the chicken.

“Not at all. I’m on my way there now.” The guys’ weekend is around the corner. I’ve kept the location under wraps, so it’ll be a sweet surprise, but there are a few details to iron out.

“Okay, cool. Rix will appreciate it.” He turns to face me. “Heard you’re quite the dancer.”

“Fuck off.” I shoot him the bird, shove my feet into my shoes, grab the box—it’s surprisingly light—and head for the door.

Of course Tristan or Rix said something to him.

Essie was a cheerleader and a gymnast. So maybe I watched a couple of tutorial videos prior to our lessons.

I wasn’t going to be upstaged by Little Miss Sunshine and Rainbows.

Her ex being there shifted things, though.

If that had been Lisa with the guy she dumped me for, I don’t know that I would have been able to keep my shit together.

I probably would have turned into a giant asshole instead of a sheet of plywood.

The more time I spend with Essie, the more intrigued I become.

Sure she bounces back after heartbreak, but it still hurts her.

I could see it on her face, feel it in her stiff posture.

How many scars does her heart have? How deep are they?

Flip’s laughter follows me into the hall.

I take the elevator to the lobby and walk the two blocks to my brother’s building. We’re experiencing a typical July heatwave, so even this late in the day, the blast of air conditioning when I step into the foyer is a welcome reprieve from the humidity.

My brother buzzes me in. The door is propped open with the safety latch when I arrive. I still knock and poke my head in, to be safe. “Tris? You here and decent?”

He rounds the corner wearing a pair of gray shorts and a black T-shirt with the word BAE in pink block letters. “Hey, bro. How’s it going?”

“It’s going.”

He pulls me in for a one-armed back pat, then steps back, glancing at the box tucked under my arm. “What you got there? Something for the guys’ weekend?”

“This was dropped off at Flip’s, but it’s for Rix.” I set the box on the counter.

“Oh. I bet that’s the thing she’s been checking for compulsively this week. Thanks for bringing that over.” He heads for the fridge. “Can I get you something to drink? Or eat? Bea made blueberry muffins, and raisin bran, and banana walnut.”

“She on a nervous baking kick?” Rix loves to make food, but when she’s stressed, she makes a lot of food. As of late there have been more deliveries than usual for Flip, and he and I have been invited for impromptu dinners because they have no room in their fridge.

“You know it.”

“All of Rix’s muffins are magical, so I’ll take whatever. Where is she, anyway?” I’ve come to really enjoy Rix. She’s soft and kind and like the sister I never had.

Tristan sets the container of blueberry muffins on the counter. “She’s at Essie’s.”

“Everything okay?” I haven’t said a word to anyone about that kiss/make-out session at the stag and doe, but I don’t know if Essie kept it to herself. I doubt Tristan would be all that enthused if he knew.

“Yeah, it’s all good. I think they’re planning their girls’ weekend.” He loads a plate and puts it in the microwave for thirty seconds.

“You find out where they’re going yet?”

He shakes his head. “I can’t really push Essie to tell me when you’re keeping the boys’ weekend all hush-hush.”

“I can’t believe Ess hasn’t even told you,” I muse. It’s been hard enough keeping the boys’ weekend to myself, and Tristan hasn’t been needling me for information.

“She knows it wouldn’t take much for me to spill the secret to Bea under the right circumstances.” He snaps a quick pic of the box and sends it to Rix.

The microwave dings, and I retrieve the butter dish from the cupboard and a knife from the drawer.

Flip and I come over for dinner at least once a week, so I’m familiar with where everything is.

Rix always sends us home with leftovers.

It’s the closest thing to a family dinner I’ve had apart from holidays since I went away to university.

Growing up we were always eating on the run.

Tristan had hockey and so did Brody, and I had robotics competitions.

It was a lot for a single dad to juggle.

Tristan and I take seats at the kitchen island. I pop the top off two muffins, add a pat of butter to each, and pass the knife to my brother .

“What’s in the box, anyway?” I ask.

“Don’t know. There’ve been a lot of deliveries lately, and unless they’re addressed to me, I leave them alone. Last week I accidentally opened a box from a lingerie store and got in trouble because it was supposed to be for the wedding night, and I ruined the surprise.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. She had to order something new, and I almost made her cry, so now I just steer clear,” he explains.

“She cried over lingerie?” Rix is pretty levelheaded most of the time.

“She spent hours searching for the perfect set, and it was expensive. I wish she wouldn’t stress over money so much, but hopefully with time that’ll ease up.” He slathers butter over his muffin tops.

“She and Flip had it rough when they were young.” I see hints of his thriftiness all the time. He always grabs extra vegetable bags from the grocery store, and he never throws out leftovers, even if they would barely qualify as a snack. I bite into the muffin and groan. “Man, these are good.”

“I know,” he mumbles around a mouthful.

“Mom never made us treats like this.” The words are out before I can call them back. It feels like a bad omen to talk about her.

He pauses, his muffin an inch from his mouth. “She call you again?”

“Not in the past week or so.” My stomach twists. I wish I hadn’t opened this can of worms, and that I could lie to him about it.

His eyes narrow. “When did she call last?”

“Before the stag and doe. I didn’t answer.” But I stupidly listened to the voicemail again.

Tristan nods. “I left her a message a week ago. It wasn’t particularly kind or friendly, so I’m hopeful she got the message to fuck off.

I just want to keep her away from Brody.

” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“I don’t want her to fuck with his head the way she keeps trying to fuck with ours. ”

“It was easier when she just stayed gone,” I agree. Easier to bury the memories, easier to pretend she wasn’t still out there, that she hadn’t left us.

Tristan leans back in his chair. “You know, if you want to talk to someone about it, I can hook you up with my therapist.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” I take another big bite, but it tastes like cardboard now.

Tristan sighs and laces his hands behind his head. “I felt the same way for a long time. But I know I’m fucked up because of the way Mom left. We all are. Talking about it sucks. It hurts.”

“So why do it then?” I can’t think about it without having feelings, and hashing those out with some stranger is a hard nope.

“Because I was hurting Bea, and I hated myself for it,” he says somberly.

My head snaps in his direction.

He raises a hand, reading the shock on my face. “Not physically.”

Relief dissolves the weight in my stomach. “Then how?”

“Emotionally, which is just as bad, if not worse in a lot of ways.” He swallows and fidgets with his napkin.

It’s clear this makes him feel…something. Sadness? Guilt? Discomfort? I get the last two. I feel those every time I think about Essie. Along with lust.

Tristan and Rix didn’t have the easiest start, but they’re here, trying to make it work. Even after all the shit we’ve been through, Tristan managed to find love and keep it. For now. “Worse how?”

“I didn’t know how to deal with my feelings, and I have a lot of them when it comes to Bea.

In the beginning, sometimes they came out in unhealthy ways, and I couldn’t give her the parts of me she deserved because I was too fucking afraid.

But therapy has helped. It’s not easy, and some days I feel like a giant bag of shit. ”

“But why do it if it makes you feel like trash?” Every call I avoided from our mother put me in a mood for days. I can’t even fathom what talking about it would do.

“Because Bea doesn’t deserve to feel bad because I can’t handle my feelings.

I used to shut down when things got hard, but that’s not fair to her.

I can’t walk away from the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.

I love her so fucking much. I want to deserve her, deserve the love she gives, deserve her patience and kindness and goodness, but that won’t happen if I don’t deal with the shit that made me so closed off and angry.

So I talk to someone every other week, and Bea and I go together once a month.

We talk it through now, and she calls me on my shit when I’m being a dick.

It’s a leap of faith, and she’s worth it. ”

“I thought Lisa was worth it.” For a year and a half I thought I had stability, someone to lean on, someone to love. And then she found someone else, someone better, took it all away, and left me with more holes in my stupid heart.

“I know. I’m sorry that didn’t work out.”

“It was for the best.” She’s still dating the guy she cheated on me with, so they’re obviously better suited for each other.

His phone buzzes with a message. “Looks like that package was supposed to go to Essie’s.”

“I’ll drop it off.” I finish the rest of my second muffin.

“You want to go through the guys’ weekend stuff first?”

“Nah. I can stop by tomorrow.” I stand and round the counter, putting my plate in the dishwasher and washing my hands.

His brow furrows. “You sure you don’t mind?”

“It’s really no problem.” I don’t know why I’m in such a hurry to leave, other than this conversation makes me uncomfortable and for whatever reason, I want to see Essie. Maybe so I can get the details on their girls’ weekend.

That’s probably it. I’m competitive. I need the guys’ weekend to rock. What other reason would there be?