Bankers' Hours (35 page)

“How? The office window faces the other direction, and isn’t the house in the way? How could you see?” I refused to think I wasn’t as stealthy as I’d planned.

“I came out back to feed the cat.”

“Cat?” I hated cats. No, actually, I didn’t hate them. That was unfair. I was allergic to cats, so therefore I generally stayed away from them.

“Yeah. There’s a black-and-white cat that hangs around the shop. I started feeding her a few months ago, and when she kept coming back I named her Oreo. I went out back to feed her just now, and I saw your car.”

“Oh. How’s Tristan?” I had to ask, even if it wasn’t related to the cat.

He shrugged again. “Not great. He’s really quiet.”

“I upset him, didn’t I?” I felt horrible.

“Yeah. I don’t know what you did, because I wasn’t listening to the argument yesterday, but he was really upset.” Wes was a caring sort of guy, I could tell. He had a soft smile and kind brown eyes. I hadn’t learned much about what he liked or if he had a girlfriend, but the idea that he cared enough about getting to know me because he was Tristan’s friend made me feel warm inside. I wanted to get to know him, but I hadn’t exactly gotten off to a great start with my new friendships.

Could I tell him? Would it matter? I sighed. “Yeah, I did something stupid. I’m hoping that he’ll be pleased to find me moved in when he gets home tonight. I haven’t brought all my stuff over yet because his house isn’t exactly clean, but I think it’s important to do it now.”

“You need help?” Wes asked.

“Don’t you have to work? Won’t you be missed?”

“It’s my lunch break.”

It occurred to me that Tristan often ate lunch at home. “Lunch? Is Tristan heading home for lunch?”

He shook his head. “He needed a part, and the place we normally use didn’t have it. He found one in Frederick, so he left to go get it. I offered, but he said the drive would help him clear his head. He’ll be gone for at least an hour and a half.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Then yes, I’d love for you to help me. Grab the pillows and my comforter and help me find a place for all my blankets. Then maybe we can go back to my house and grab the vases I left. I want it to be obvious I live
here
now. Once everything is moved in, maybe we’ll have time to break down my bed and move it into one of the spare bedrooms I cleaned out. I’ve always wanted a guest room.”

He smiled. “You got it! I’ll do anything for you if it makes Tristan happy.”

“That’s the idea. I only hope I’m right.”

WITH WES’S
help, moving my stuff in didn’t take very long. As I had realized at home—er, the rental house—I didn’t own much. By late afternoon I was officially living at Tristan’s. His kitchen was full of my things, and I hadn’t seen a mouse since cleaning the dead one out. Maybe it had been a fluke. Maybe mice were not living in his house. I would have to stock up the fridge if he expected me to cook dinner, because beer and pancakes weren’t real food, but that could be done later, maybe together. I liked food shopping, yet by the looks of it Tristan did not. Perhaps I could persuade him with sexual favors.

It was late, maybe 8:30 p.m., when I got a call from Tristan. It wasn’t the call, per se, that threw me, but the time. Was he calling to say he’d be home late? And why wouldn’t he have called before now? Or why hadn’t he just come home? And why did I always have to second-guess everything instead of just answering the call no matter the time? I was an idiot.

“Hello?”

“Grant, this is Jeff.”

“Jeff? Why are you…?” I let it hang when a feeling of dread washed over me.

“Calling from Tristan’s phone, I know. Listen. Tristan is fine. Really. He’s fine, but he’s in the hospital.”

“What?” I shrieked, piercing my own ears. “How? Why? When did he—”

“Grant! Listen, please. He… hit his head… in the shop. It was bleeding. He needed some stitches, and I suggested he get checked for a concussion.”

“I’m fine,” I heard Tristan growl in the background. “Give me my fucking phone.”

Jeff said, “He’s not very happy. Anyway, they said he’d probably be here another couple of hours for observation, so if you want to head over, I’ll text you the room number. Go in through the emergency entrance of Carroll Hospital Center.”

My heart was racing out of control. I was glad I didn’t have a history of heart conditions in my family, or I would have worried about having a heart attack. “O-okay. I’ll be there!”

“Grant,” he whispered. “Just so you know, because he won’t say, Tristan misses you and he needs you to be here.”

I heard Tristan again. “I told you not to say anything!”

“Yeah. Grant, he needs you.”

I was grabbing my keys even before he hung up the phone.

I ARRIVED
at the hospital twenty minutes later, and Jeff met me out at the front desk. “He doesn’t want to talk about it,” he told me as we waited for the nurse to open the security doors. “Don’t ask him to. Just take whatever he’s saying, and wait until you get him home to ask for details. He fell and hit his head. Leave it at that.”

I followed him through the doors and down the hall. “Why do I get the feeling there’s more to this that you’re not saying?”

Jeff answered, “Because there is. We’ll talk about it when you get him home. Promise me.”

“I promise,” I said, wanting to break that promise even before I learned why I made it. I didn’t like feeling forced to comply with something I didn’t have all the facts on.

Jeff stopped in front of room 3 and pulled back the curtain for me. My heart just about stopped, seeing Tristan on a hospital bed in a hospital gown, head wrapped in bandages. A soft cry escaped my throat, and Tristan opened his eyes.

He sighed. “I told you not to tell him,” Tristan said, glaring at Jeff.

Jeff replied, “And I told you I’m not listening to you when you say stupid things.” Jeff turned his eyes to me. “Grant, I’m going to leave you here. I’m tired, and I haven’t eaten all day. Stay with Tristan, and let me know when they release him.”

“Okay, I will,” I said. Jeff patted Tristan’s leg and then left me alone with him. I stepped closer and took his hand. “What happened?”

“I hit my head,” he said, looking away.

“Is that all? Then why are they keeping you here? You look fine.”

He still wouldn’t look me in the eyes, but at least he hadn’t pulled his hand away. “My blood pressure won’t come down. I told them I’m stressed and that it would come down once I got home to my own bed, but the doctor said it has to come down before I leave.”

I looked at the monitor. It read 157 systolic over 109 diastolic. I didn’t know much about blood pressure, but I was pretty sure that bottom number needed to be under eighty. “That’s really high.”

“Yeah. I told them I’m stressed about being
here
, but they said being in a hospital shouldn’t make it spike that high. They wanted to know about my family history. The thing is, I don’t know my family history, and I wasn’t about to call my mom to ask her about it while I was in here.”

“But what if it’s vital?” I asked.

“It’s not. I know why I’m stressed. I know why I’m in here.”

Suddenly I was seeing my name printed in neon on the monitors. It was my fault. I started weeping quietly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do all this.”

Tristan immediately brought his eyes to meet mine. “No, baby, it’s not your fault.” He reached for my face. “Come here,” he said, touching my cheek and bringing me close enough to kiss. “This isn’t about you. Yes, I admit I was angry, really angry, but not like this.” He squeezed my neck and jaw and kissed me harder. After several kisses that left my toes numb, he let go of my face and leaned back on the pillow. “It’s about Teresa. I’ll talk to you about it when I get home. Not here.”

He stressed the point much as Jeff had. “Okay. Home. Fine,” I agreed.

As if he couldn’t find anything else to say, Tristan said, “Thanks for coming.”

I gave him a smile that strained to hold my tears at bay. I never wanted to see him like this again. It hurt my heart. “Thanks for not making me leave.”

Tristan scooted over as far as he could on the bed. “Come here.” He patted the bed beside him and opened his arms.

Climbing into a bed made for one was a challenge, but lucky for me I was small. I laid one leg over his and my body against his chest. I closed my eyes as I snuggled close. After a short time, I heard the monitor beep and the blood-pressure cuff inflate. Tristan didn’t move, so neither did I.

Another few minutes, and a doctor entered the room. “Well, Mr. Carr, I can certainly see what, or who, makes your blood pressure go down.”

“This is Grant.”

“Ah! The husband. It’s nice to meet you,” he commented cordially. The doctor walked closer to the monitor. “This number is much better. If in another twenty minutes it remains this low, we’ll release you.”

“Thank you,” Tristan said, still holding me firmly to him. Even if I had wanted to get up, Tristan wasn’t allowing it.

The doctor pointed to me. “I recommend more of that, and less falling on your head.”

Tristan chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do.” He gave me a squeeze.

“Remain calm, and I’ll inform the nurse of your release and my instructions for aftercare. Make sure you aren’t alone for the next few days, and if you experience vomiting or blurred vision, call your primary care physician.”

“I will.”

He stuck out his hand. “May I never see you again, Mr. Carr.” He grinned. “Good to meet you, Grant.” He walked out and closed the curtain behind him.

I TEXTED
Jeff as soon as we left the hospital. Tristan was quiet on the way home, and I couldn’t discern whether it was from the stress of being in the emergency room for hours, from the head wound, from whatever was going on with Teresa, or from our previous argument. I pulled into the driveway, and Tristan got out before I even walked around to his side of the car. Yes, he was very self-sufficient.

I allowed him to walk through the door first, and then nearly ran into him as he stopped short just beyond the threshold. He turned sharply and said, “You moved in.”

I shrugged and answered humbly, “I’m not sure how you can tell.”

“That’s your lamp and your afghan,” he pointed out. “And the pillow with the fringe you play with every time you sit on the couch.”

“I don’t know how you know that when you haven’t sat on the couch with me that many times. But yeah, those are mine. I didn’t realize how little I had until I brought it over here. Wes helped me set up my old bed in one of the spare bedrooms. I want to buy a new couch, and I think the carpet needs to go, but—”

Tristan grabbed my face in both hands and kissed me. It took seconds for him to deepen the kiss. He moved his hands and held me securely around the back of my head while squeezing my ass with his other hand. After kissing me for a few minutes and pulling me snugly to his groin, he said, “I know it’s late and we’re both tired, but I need you, baby.” Tristan’s voice was ragged and desperate as he kissed my neck and jaw. “I need you now.”

I hopped into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. It was a strange maneuver, I’ll admit, making me feel like a teenage girl hopping into the embrace of the captain of the football team. Tristan, however, grunted hungrily; holding me up by my ass, he headed straight for the bedroom. He dove onto the bed, pinning me underneath him as he ravaged my neck. He adeptly unbuttoned my shirt while continuing to kiss me, rocking not so subtly against my crotch.

“I missed you,” he rasped, his voice heavy with lust. “Can’t sleep without you.” He opened my shirt, lifted my white T-shirt, and tongued my nipples. He sucked on one and then bit it—hard.

I cried out, “Ahh!”

“I’m sorry,” he said, laving the spot he’d bitten and blowing on it alternately. I had to admit, I liked when he did that, although the pain I could do without.

I rubbed his smooth, bald head, and after a time Tristan stopping playing with my nipples long enough to remove both shirts. Then he nibbled on my nipples again, which made me giggle because I thought his nipple addiction was cute.

He reached down and undid my belt one-handedly after groping me through my pants. Maybe it was to make sure I was interested. Maybe it was to stimulate me. Maybe he liked feeling me harden through my clothes, as he was often in the habit of groping me like that.

“Are you sure you’re allowed to have sex with a concussion?” I asked as he removed my pants and underwear.

He nodded. “As long as you don’t shove me up against the wall.”

I snorted with laughter. “Yeah. I can really see me doing that.”

He licked from my balls to the tip of my cock, smiled, and said, “I think over time I’ll be able to stir up the bad boy inside of you.”

I gasped as he licked me again. “Oh yeah?” I questioned, barely able to speak when his tongue was on my dick, yet knowing what he said was truer than he realized, since I’d already come to that conclusion myself. Tristan was making me more daring and less obsessive. Or more obsessive over things he’d enjoy, and less over every little item out of order. Case in point: I was aware of how sweaty I’d been earlier in the day, and I considered suggesting a shower since he had to be sweaty from work and stuff, but then he licked me again and lapped the precome from my slit, and my brain shut off. Giving in to my baser desires had allowed me to let go of anal-retentive ones.

Tristan confirmed, “Oh, yeah. I can see you wearing a leather harness and smacking my ass with a riding crop.” I would have laughed, but he grinned again and held my cock to his face so he could nuzzle it. The sensation took my breath away. I felt the stubble on his cheeks. It prickled my sensitive skin, yet his movements drove me crazy. He was rubbing my erection all over his face, his cheeks, his lips, under his chin, and back again. I pulled on the sheet, twisting it in my fist. He wasn’t kidding when he’d said he liked to play. He was “playing” now, and I was seconds from begging. Yet Tristan, cool as he could be, just kept talking. “I even have a box of toys I plan to use on you, but only when you’re ready.”