Jesus, what had he been thinking? He knew he wasn’t the type of man Josiah should be with. They’d gone over that. But he hadn’t been able to hold himself back. He wanted to taste him, wanted his tongue in Josiah’s mouth and to feel his body wrapped around him.

Big fucking mistake. If he hadn’t known it before, he definitely did the second Josiah’d admitted he hadn’t even kissed a man in almost six years.

Tristan was on edge all day. His pulse was going haywire every time he touched it.

He stayed at the office until almost eight p.m., working in the empty building. Work was supposed to help. It always did, but it wasn’t now. Damn Josiah and the walks. What had they done to him?

After work he didn’t go home. Spent an hour driving around the city before he found himself parking at his mom’s. Before he found himself walking over to Fisherman’s Roast. He needed to get those goddamned walks back. He wasn’t sure what they did to him, but it was something. The only way was to talk to Josiah. Explain to him that the kiss had been a mistake, and try to find whatever it was they’d discovered the past few months.

He snuck inside the small coffee house. It was obvious they were about to close for the evening. He looked around, hoping to spot Josiah. There were two men working. With Josiah nowhere in sight, he headed for the door again.

“Hey! Are you looking for Josiah?” A blond man walked over to him.

“Yes. I thought he worked today, but I guess not.” He tried to sound as though he and Josiah were close. In a way, they were—or they had been.

“The boss always gives people the day off for their birthday.”

The reminder kicked a rock into his gut. He’d wanted to see Josiah for his birthday. That’s what part of this was about.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. I’m his friend Elliot. I wanted to thank you for letting him stay with you. I can’t believe his asshole landlord kicked him out with no notice. I told him he could stay with me, but my place is small so he figured it would be better to stay with you.”

One, two, three, four, five.

“No problem. If you’ll excuse me. I need to go.”

Tristan shoved the door open, almost hitting someone as they walked by. He didn’t stop. Kept heading toward the water.

Josiah had been kicked out? He told his friend he was staying with Tristan. Where the fuck was he staying if he had to lie to Elliot about it? That wasn’t Josiah. He couldn’t see him lying about anything. Not answering, yes. A direct lie, no.

It wasn’t his business, and he didn’t want it to be his business, but that didn’t stop him from needing to find Josiah. Needing it in a way he wasn’t familiar with.

Rain started to come down but Tristan kept walking. Kept going down the path they’d walked on a hundred times. Farther and farther from Fisherman’s Roast, through the dark night.

In the distance, he made out a figure sitting on the bench. It was Josiah. His worry deflated the closer he got. Tristan didn’t stop until he got to him. Josiah wore his hood over his head, his arms wrapped around his knees as he sat there in the pouring rain.

He looked up as Tristan reached him. No doubt he had tears mixed with the rain sliding down his face. “It’s my birthday,” he whispered. “That’s when he gave me the queen. He said it’s because I was the strongest person he knew.”

Tristan’s heart ached like it hadn’t since he was a kid. Without a word, or thought, he wrapped his arms around Josiah and picked him up. Settled a little into his touch when Josiah’s arms wrapped around his neck.

“Where are we going?” Josiah shook as he spoke.

“Home.” Then he walked through the dark and rain, hoping for the first time that something had the power to cleanse them both from their pasts. And that he was making the right decision with this friendship, mutual care, whatever it was.

Chapter Eight

Josiah

Cold shook him bone deep. His eyes couldn’t focus, blurred with moisture and seeing double as his body trembled.

Josiah tried to look around Tristan’s house as he led him, by the hand, but it was no use.

“This way. You need to get into a warm shower.” Tristan’s voice was steady, but clipped.

Josiah followed as he brought him to a bathroom that was at least three times bigger than any bathroom he’d ever had. Cold rocketed through him again, making him reach for the counter to keep his balance.

“Sorry...sorry...sorry...” His mind realized he kept repeating the word, but he couldn’t seem to make himself stop.