The words stabbed him like a knife. It was worse than any physical pain he’d ever felt. Worse than the hole in his shoulder where he’d taken a bullet. You’re the only person who’s ever known me.

He didn’t say that, though. Didn’t say a word as Josiah turned away. Didn’t say a word as the bastard in the suit wrapped an arm around Josiah. Didn’t say a word when they stopped less than ten feet away from him.

Mateo watched Josiah slip a hand in his pocket. Reflex made his hands shoot out to catch the thing that Josiah tossed his way.

His finger brushed over the edges at the top of the queen until Josiah disappeared from sight.

***

Mateo lay on the bed in the rundown hotel where he’d been staying. He glanced at the small kitchen but didn’t feel like eating. He held the queen in his hand, rolling it between his fingers like he’d been doing for hours.

He still had it. Josiah not only kept the queen, but he carried it with him. Everything inside him wanted to take that as proof that Josiah was still his. Or fuck, that he belonged to Jay. He didn’t give a shit as long as he could claim him in one way or another. But what the hell did he have to offer him? He was fresh out of prison. An ex-gang member who’d done things he’d never forgive himself for, and didn’t even know where his life was going.

He should have known better than to go down by the water. No, that was a bullshit thing to even think because he knew it was a lie. He could say he went there to say goodbye, but he went because he knew Josiah would go. When he left the graduation, he’d gone straight there. When important shit happened, Josiah wanted to be somewhere that was close to his heart.

He wondered if that suit knew shit like that about Jay. If he knew him the way Mateo did. He probably knows him better...

Fuck that. Mateo wouldn’t let himself believe that.

He squeezed the queen in his hand. He also knew it was bullshit to tell himself he could just walk away. Not after having Josiah in his arms again. He had to be near him, no matter how much it would hurt to see him with another man. Teo couldn’t stay away.

Chapter Two

Tristan

Tristan watched Josiah as he lay naked in their bed. He had his eyes closed, yet Tristan knew he was awake. It was after eight on a Saturday morning and his lover had yet to get out of bed once.

“I hope the birds aren’t starving.” He brushed his finger back and forth across Josiah’s collarbone.

He slid his eyes open and looked up at Tristan. “They’re birds. They’ll find food.”

“Would you have said that a week ago?” Tristan cocked one of his brows. They both knew the answer to that question, so he wasn’t surprised when Josiah didn’t reply. He hadn’t been to the water once in the week since they’d seen Mateo.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” Tristan’s arm flopped to the bed when the body beneath it pulled away. He watched as Josiah disappeared behind the door.

Pushing to his feet, Tristan pulled on a pair of sweats and went straight to his office. The ache in his gut didn’t go away as he collapsed into his desk chair. The image from Josiah’s graduation day played in his head for the millionth time. Seeing Mateo there. Knowing who he was. Fighting the—hell, he didn’t even want to think about the emotions he’d been holding back as he watched Josiah step into the man’s arms.

And seeing the way they both relaxed into each other.

He picked up a pencil, rolling it through his fingers until suddenly the damn thing snapped. He was hard on his pencils.

Nine years apart, and a connection was still between them, visible even to Tristan’s eyes. And the knowledge there, in the back of his head, that Mateo would give Josiah the things Tristan couldn’t.

There were things Tristan could give: Help with his business, a home...but the emotional pieces were trapped inside him. Probably always would be.

Leaning forward, he hit the button to turn on his computer. He counted the hours as they passed. Tristan buried himself in his work like he always did, trying to lose himself in definites. He needed facts that were written in stone—things he could control—and emotions weren’t that. No, he couldn’t control every aspect of his job, but work was tied with facts. Tied to how hard he worked, and what he could prove, not to his heart.

Josiah didn’t knock on Tristan’s office door all day, and Tristan didn’t come out. Around five, he leaned back in his chair when he heard a soft rap on the door. “Tristan? I made some dinner.”

Standing, Tristan pushed a piece of paper into his pocket. Josiah leaned against the wall when he opened the door. “I told you I don’t want you to have to cook for me anymore.”