Chapter One-hundred Fifty-Seven: Deimos and Tristan

Chapter 157

Deimos and Tristan

That evening, Tristan entered his bedroom and gasped when he saw Deimos sitting in one of his chairs.

Tristan: “Oh, Deimos, you scared me! I went by your house, and Monica said you weren’t there.”

He smiled. Deimos glared at him.

Deimos: “Did I surprise you? Were you hoping I wasn’t around?”

He asked sharply. Tristan felt a form of dread in the pit of his stomach.

Tristan: “What’s with the tone? Did I do something to upset you?”

Deimos: “Where’s your chocolate heart? Did you eat it to get rid of the evidence?”

He growled. Tristan’s eyelids dipped, and he shook his head.

Tristan: “Deimos, what is this about? Are you upset because I went to the theaters with Jordi?”

He asked with frustration.

Tristan: “And how did you know he bought me that? Were you following me?!”

He asked sharply. Deimos pounded the table by him, causing the books to fall over. Tristan jolted.

Deimos: “Answer me, Tristan!”

He barked. Tristan embraced himself.

Tristan: “Yes, Jordi bought one for me, but I didn’t eat it to ‘destroy evidence’ because I am telling you about it now!”

He said as his voice cracked.

Tristan: “If you didn’t give me the third degree and let me speak before lashing into me, I would have told you!”

He cried.

Deimos: “So it’s MY fault you allowed Jordi to flirt with you and give you that heart, huh?!”

He barked.

Tristan: “I’m sorry, Deimos! I didn’t flirt back, and he knows you and I are in love! I love you, but you hurt me a lot at that concert, and you’re hurting me now! I am SICK and TIRED of your tantrums and outbursts!”

He bawled through hot tears.

Tristan: “I miss the days when I could be myself around you, but lately, I feel like I can’t be! I feel like I am walking on eggshells with you! When you went away to that retreat, that hurt me a lot! I had to go alone with Celeste to rescue Jaxon!”

He sobbed and removed his glasses to wipe his eyes. Deimos looked away and cupped his mouth.

Deimos: “Sometimes… I wish you could be like Ashley. Ashley never finds fault with anything Lazaros does and worships him, despite him being a piece of crap.”

He hissed. Tristan looked at Deimos with sheer hurt in his eyes.

Tristan: “HOW COULD YOU SAY THAT?! You want me to worship you like an idol?! And tell you everything you want to hear and follow you around?!”

He cried.

Tristan: “I thought you loved me as I am!”

He picked up a pillow and threw it at Deimos. Deimos flinched.

Tristan: “GODDAMN YOU, DEIMOS! GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!”

He screamed. Deimos recoiled.

Deimos: “I’m sorry, Tristan! I just fear you will leave me because I know I’m not a good person!”

He whimpered.

Tristan: “If you’re aware of your shitty behavior affecting others, DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT! You sound like BLAIR now!”

He cried. Deimos’ eyelids dipped, and he heaved a deep sigh.

Deimos: “I do love you as you are, Tristan. I’m sorry I said that! I didn’t mean it! I couldn’t be around a doormat like Ashley!”

He said doggedly.

Deimos: “I just… see these other men and women who are so much better than me, and I get scared you would leave me for them, and I lash out! I am sorry, Tristan! I want to be a better man for you, but I don’t know how!”

He exclaimed.

Deimos: “I want to be the man you deserve! You don’t deserve someone like me! Ashley has low standards, and I know yours are higher!”

He cried.

Tristan: “If you want to be a better man for me, stop doing this, Deimos!”

He fired back and sobbed.

Tristan: “Stop lashing out at me every time Ivy shows a video of something or tells you something! Stop treating every discussion as a debate you have to win! Stop doubling down and admit when you’re wrong!”

He cried.

Deimos: “I’m not wrong for loving you, though!”

He blurted.

Tristan: “I know, but sometimes you go the wrong way about it…”

He whispered and embraced himself.

Deimos rose and put his arms around him.

Deimos: “I’m sorry. I don’t want to fall for Ivy’s traps… I want those days to be behind me.”

Tristan sighed and put his arms around him.

Tristan: “Then stop and take a breather before you react… Talk to me. If you’re unsure about anything, please don't hesitate to ask me. I wouldn’t cheat on you… And yes, Jordi did engage in mild flirting, but no boundaries were crossed. My secretary, Rosemary, flirts with me, so why did Jordi bother you, whereas you brush off Rosemary?”

He asked him. Deimos looked away.

Deimos: “Because she annoys you.”

Tristan rolled his eyes.

Tristan: “She does annoy me, but Jordi wasn’t crossing boundaries, I don’t feel. You should know me better than this, Deimos. This behavior is what Blair would do and has done with Ashley.”

He chided him. Deimos closed his eyes and heaved a deep sigh.

Deimos: “You’re right, Tristan. I apologize for hurting you and jumping to erroneous conclusions.”

He said tenderly.

Deimos: “I love you so, so much. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Tristan smiled and shed a tear.

Tristan: “I forgive you, Deimos. I love you, too.”

He said softly.

Deimos closed the distance between them and wrapped both hands around the back of Tristan’s neck, bringing them even closer. Deimos’ kiss was all-consuming, rushing through him. There was only heat and sparks, want, need, and desire. His kiss radiated from the tips of Tristan’s hair down to the soles of his feet and back up again.

Deimos backed away and began slowly undressing himself. As each article of clothing hit the floor, Tristan’s heart beat faster. It’s as if Deimos were showing Tristan he’s not afraid to be vulnerable around the man he loves. Tristan swallowed.

Tristan: “Deimos?”

Deimos drank in Tristan and gazed at him as if he were the most precious thing in the world. Tristan’s heart hammered in his chest.

Deimos: “Tristan, I want you… I need you… I desire you…”

He said in a low voice. Tristan’s face flushed red, and he bit his bottom lip.

Wordlessly, Deimos slowly began undressing Tristan of his clothes, until he was only wearing a light blue pair of briefs. Deimos ran his forefinger down the length of Tristan’s cock, already hard, and growled. Tristan’s dick jumped in response, and he cried out in ecstasy.

Deimos: “On your bed.”

He instructed in a soft voice. Tristan nodded and lay on the bed as Deimos stalked toward him. Deimos saw a large wet spot on the front of Tristan’s briefs.

Deimos: “Don’t move.”

He growled.

He went to the nightstand on the left side of the bed where Deimos slept and pulled out a bottle of lube. Tristan reddened all over and felt himself growing hotter. He wrapped his hand around Tristan’s ankle and yanked, sending him sprawling backward onto the mattress. Tristan yelped and smirked. He loved being manhandled. He loved that Deimos was strong enough to heave him, but he was also gentle with his touches.

Deimos delicately brushed his fingertips over Tristan’s feet. Tristan squirmed and shrieked with laughter.

Tristan: “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! DEIMOHOHOHOHOHOHOS!”

He curled up in a fetal position as he laughed. Deimos grinned at him.

Deimos’ muscular arms wrapped with care around him, cradling him, as they kissed. Lips and tongue, drinking each other in and giving each other life.

He guided Tristan down until he lay on his back, tugging at his briefs, until he slid them down his hips and past his legs. Deimos gazed down at his beloved Tristan, naked before him. Deimos dreamed of this day for many years, and seeing Tristan naked sent thrills through him. He leaned in. Their chests, mouths, and cocks smooshed against each other. Deimos used his weight to press Tristan into the bed, and he reveled in every pound.

Tristan: “Deimos…”

He moaned.

Deimos: “Yeah?”

Deimos took one nipple and sucked on it, sending electric currents directly to Tristan’s cock. Tristan’s jaw tightened, and he dug his fingers into Deimos’ shoulders.

Deimos raised his head and reached up to cup Tristan’s face.

Deimos: “What do you want, Tristan?”

He whispered.

Tristan: “I want… I want you to be gentle… It’s my first time…”

He whimpered and swallowed hard. Deimos leaned in and kissed him.

Deimos: “As you wish, my prince.”

He smiled.

Deimos reared up on his knees and squirted lube on his hand. He positioned himself between Tristan’s thighs. The lubed hand went in Tristan’s asshole.

Tristan: “Oh, GOD!”

He fisted the sheets beneath him as he felt Deimos' thick probing fingers in his ass. Deimos chuckled at his reactions. Tristan panted loudly.

Tristan: “Deimos, please…”

He moaned.

Deimos: “You want me, Tristan?”

He teased. Tristan gave him a beseeching look and nodded.

Tristan: “Please!”

He whispered hoarsely.

Deimos’s cock was thick. He pressed forward, inch by excruciating inch, until the head popped inside. He pushed, not easing up until he was entirely inside. Tristan’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he screamed out with pleasure.

Tristan sucked in shallow breaths and gasped. It was all he could manage with Deimos’ cock stretching him wide. Deimos’ cock was so thick and perfect.

Deimos began to move. Pleasure rippled through Tristan with every movement, washing over him until he couldn’t breathe.

He rocked up to meet Deimos, sending Deimos’ cock even deeper inside. He screamed, and Deimos grunted. Picking up speed, they moved as one, furthering their connection with every thrust.

Tristan’s fingertips scored paths down Deimos’ back. Deimos leaned in and sucked on Tristan’s neck. Their grunts and cries of pleasure filled the room, punctuated by the sound of skin slapping against skin. Pleasure built inside Tristan, straining against every muscle and every sinew, looking for a release valve. He didn’t try to fight it; Tristan leaned into it, holding Deimos closer as it burst from him and he climaxed.

Deimos climaxed, releasing his hot cum inside of Tristan. He collapsed on top of him, hot, heavy breaths against Tristan’s neck. Tristan laughed a bit as it tickled him.

Tristan ran his palm over the back of Deimos’ head, caressing his soft black hair. Deimos melted to his touch. The two shared a deep kiss, and Deimos pressed his lips against Tristan’s clavicle.

Deimos raised himself onto his elbows and slowly withdrew his softening member from Tristan. Tristan lay there, gazing lovingly at Deimos. Deimos rose from bed and extended his hand out to him.

Deimos: “Join me for a shower?”

Tristan smiled and took Deimos’ hand.

Tristan: “Of course, I’d be delighted.”

He purred.

~

When the two men got out of the shower, Tristan and Deimos lay in bed. Tristan wore his light blue silk pajamas, and Deimos wore a black tank top with blue plaid pajama pants. Tristan rested his head on Deimos’ chest as he listened to his heartbeat. Deimos held Tristan’s hand as he caressed it. The two men intertwined their fingers.

Deimos: “I love you, Tristan…”

He said a shade above a whisper. Tristan smiled.

Tristan: “I love you, too, Deimos.”

He nestled into Deimos’ chest, feeling loved, protected, and safe in his arms.

Tristan flicked his gaze up to Deimos, and he was already out like a light. Tristan smiled at him and always envied how Deimos could fall asleep so hastily.

He glanced at the clock on his nightstand. It was three o’clock in the morning.

So many thoughts ran through his mind. How did Deimos find out about the gift Jordi gave him? Did Ivy tell him, or did she record it and show him? He wondered. Deimos never mentioned speaking to Ivy, he thought. It wasn’t a secret, but I know Ivy’s patterns, he thought.

Then he recalled Ivy reading his mind about… him, and his heart sank. How do I begin to tell Deimos about this? And where do I even start? He wondered. Is it him or someone else? He pondered. No, it has to be him; I’m wishing it were someone else, but why is he helping Dougal, and how did he know Dougal terrorized us? He thought.

~

Deimos lay in Tristan’s bed. The scent of the fresh summer air and Tristan’s cologne pervaded the bedroom. Tristan stepped out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. Tristan brushed his hair and then dropped his towel. He tied his hair back into a loose ponytail. He went to his drawer, retrieved a pair of white briefs, and slid them on.

He then went to his closet, grabbed a white, pressed shirt, threw it over his shoulders, and slid his arms into it. He buttoned it up and then grabbed a gray pair of pants, sliding them over his legs and hips. He fastened them and slid a belt on through the loops on his pants. He got his black tie, popped the collar on his shirt, draped the tie around his neck, and tied it into a four-in-hand knot.

Deimos sat up and smiled as he watched Tristan move around his room, getting dressed. Tristan opened his drawer, grabbed a pair of sheer black socks, and sat in one of his chairs, putting them on.

Deimos: “Morning, my beautiful prince.”

He sang. Tristan lifted his head to gaze at him and giggled. Tristan rose from the chair to go to his closet. Deimos rose, embraced him from behind, and rested his chin on his shoulder.

Tristan: “Coucou, mon chéri.”

Deimos kissed his neck, and Tristan giggled. As Tristan sauntered to the closet, Deimos slapped his ass. Tristan let out another peal of giggles.

Tristan pulled his black waistcoat off the wooden hanger and shrugged into it, buttoning it. He then attached his pocket watch to the buttons and placed it into his pocket. He then retrieved his gray suit jacket from the closet and slipped it on.

Tristan picked up his briefcase and left the room. Deimos heaved a deep sigh and went to the bathroom, took a shower, and brushed his teeth.

~

Tristan sat at the kitchen island as Victor dished up his breakfast, which consisted of toast, bacon, and scrambled eggs. Victor wore a light brown plaid button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, bellbottom jeans, and dark brown flip-flops. Victor placed a china teacup in front of Tristan and poured some vanilla orchid black tea into it.

Victor: “Coucou, mon fils! J’ai préparé ton thé noir à la vanille et à l’orchidée!”

He sang.

Tristan: “Merci, Papa.”

He smiled tightly and picked up the cup of tea and blew on it. Tristan munched on some bacon and read the newspaper.

Victor: “Tu as bien dormi?”

He smiled. Tristan smiled and sighed happily.

Tristan: “En fait, oui, j’ai bien dormi…”

He said softly. Victor smiled at his son.

He then gasped and snapped his fingers.

Victor: “Oh, Tristan, tu as reçu une livraison ce matin! C’était un bouquet de pieds d’alouette!”

He went to the mudroom. Tristan raised an eyebrow.

Tristan: “Tu sais qui a envoyé ça?”

He asked as his father brought in a purple vase filled with several purple larkspur flowers.

Victor: “Je ne sais pas encore…”

He muttered as he placed the flowers on the table. Tristan felt a sense of dread wash over him. If Deimos ordered those, he would have told him.

Victor plucked the card attached to the bouquet. It was a black card with gold lettering.

Victor: “ ‘Désolé, j’ai raté ton anniversaire. On se reverra avant que tu ne t’en rendes compte.’ ”

He read it off to him. Tristan’s heart thundered in his chest.

Tristan: “C’était écrit en français?!”

He gasped. Victor slowly raised his head and nodded soberly. He showed the card to Tristan. Tristan went ashen.

Victor saw the back of the card, and it read, “Sincères salutations, Barnabas Chatrian.” Victor’s eyes filled with fear. Tristan rose.

Tristan: “Qu’est-ce qu’il y a, Papa?!”

He asked breathlessly, and Victor slowly turned the card around. Tristan clasped his hands over his mouth to stifle a scream.

Victor: “Tristan, pourquoi fait-il ça?! Pourquoi ton oncle te contacte-t-il maintenant?!”

He cried and trembled. Tristan pressed his hands against his temples.

Tristan: “JE NE SAIS PAS!”

He cried.

Victor wrapped his arms around his distraught son. Tristan hugged him back.

Victor: “Tout ira bien, Tristan. Je ne le laisserai pas te faire de mal…”

He crooned. Tristan forced a smile. No, nothing will be okay, he thought. He sighed.

Tristan: “Je devrais aller travailler.”

He whispered through a strained smile.

Victor: “Es-tu sûr que tout ira bien?”

Tristan smiled a bit and nodded.

Tristan: “Bien sûr. À tout à l’heure.”

He kissed both of his cheeks, and Tristan left.

Deimos stood by the corner, listening on. He wore a Megadeth tank top, torn jeans, and black socks. What the fuck was that about? He wondered.

Tristan slid on his black wingtip Oxfords, tied his shoes, and went to his car. He started it and pressed the button to open the garage door. He drew a long breath and looked behind his shoulder as he backed out of the garage and made a turn to drive down the driveway.

Victor took the bouquet of larkspur outside and threw it in the bin. When he returned, he removed his glasses to wipe his eyes and saw Deimos. He put them back on.

Victor: “Oh, hello, Deimos! Nice to see you here! I have breakfast made and your dark roast coffee just as you like it.”

He said meekly. Deimos nodded and sat down.

Deimos: “Everything okay?”

Victor: “Yes, why wouldn’t it be?”

He forced a smile and dished up Deimos’ breakfast and poured his coffee. Deimos gaped at him incredulously.

~

Deimos walked down Tristan’s driveway and went to his bin. He opened the lid and saw the bouquet of larkspur in there. Why would he throw these away? He wondered. Did Jordi send these?! He thought as his face flickered with rage.

Celeste walked up to him and waved. She wore a leopard print bustier, a leather skirt with a chain around it, torn nylons, thigh-high boots, a spiked collar, and a leather jacket.

Celeste: “Why are you going through Tristan’s trash, Deimos?”

She tilted her head. Deimos pulled out a bouquet of larkspur.

Deimos: “To see who these came from!”

He huffed and snatched the card, tossing the flowers back in the bin. He raised an eyebrow.

Deimos: “It’s in French.”

He mumbled. Celeste flapped her hands.

Celeste: “You know it’s Wingsday at Danny Donger’s! You buy ten wings and get ten free!”

Deimos raised an eyebrow quizzically.

Deimos: “...All right, I can take you.”

She shot her fist up in the air.

Celeste: “Yay, and you can ask Fabien about that card!”

Deimos gaped at her. How did she know I was going to do that? He wondered.

~

Deimos and Celeste sat at a table inside Danny Donger’s. Deimos looked through the menu, and Celeste knocked on the table like drums. He smiled at the bacon cheeseburgers, knowing how much Tristan loves this with extra pickles. Fabien approached their table wearing his Danny Donger’s uniform and retrieved his order pad and pen from his server pouch.

Fabien: “Hey, friends! Rather than repeat the same phrase, what can I get for you?”

Before Deimos could speak, Celeste rose.

Celeste: “WINGSDAY! I want ten wings and get ten free with three-mile sauce!”

She slurped.

Celeste: “And onion rings, fries, and beer-battered shrimp. And ooooh, could I have a tub of Cajun mustard? To drink, a root beer float with pralines.”

She nodded. Fabien smiled as he wrote down her order. Deimos groaned. She’d better be paying for this, he thought bitterly.

Fabien: “And what do you want, Deimos?”

Deimos: “I’ll get the wing special with the hottest sauce you have. Beer-battered onion rings and a Corona Extra.”

He nodded. Fabien wrote down his order.

Deimos: “And I need you to translate this for me.”

He slammed the card down on the table. Fabien flicked his gaze to the card and raised an eyebrow.

Fabien: “Just a second.”

He nodded. He went up to the pass-through window to hand their order to the cook.

Fabien returned with a Corona Extra and a root beer float with pralines and cherries. He placed it on their table and sat with them. Celeste’s violet eyes sparkled at the root beer float. She plucked the cherries and popped them into her mouth. Deimos pushed the lime wedge into the beer and gulped it. Fabien withdrew his cigarettes from his pouch and a lighter. He lit it up and looked at the card.

Fabien: “ ‘Désolé, j’ai raté ton anniversaire. On se reverra avant que tu ne t’en rendes compte.’ ”

He read it off and flipped the card over.

Fabien: “ ‘Sincères salutations, Barnabas Chatrian.’ ”

Deimos raised his eyebrows. That name again?! How did I miss that? He wondered.

Celeste: “What does it say?”

Fabien cleared his throat.

Fabien: “It says, ‘Sorry I missed your birthday. We’ll see each other again before you know it.

Sincerely, Barnabas Chatrian.’ ”

He replied. Deimos furrowed his eyebrows.

Fabien: “...Who is this Barnabas guy, and why did you ask me and not Tristan?”

He locked his gaze on Deimos.

Deimos: “I overheard Tristan and his dad speaking this morning, and both were speaking in French. That card was attached to a bouquet of larkspur, and Victor threw it away. I thought Jordi sent it.”

He huffed. Fabien’s expression went blank.

Fabien: “No, that isn’t Jordi’s MO, and he doesn’t know French anyway. Jordi tends to start small and works his way up until he realizes the other party isn’t interested in him or catches on that he’s only with him or her to fill in the empty void that can never be filled.”

He said bitterly.

Fabien: “Anyway, he wouldn’t use an alias.”

Celeste: “No, but you would.”

She nodded.

Fabien: “What, you think this is me?”

He laughed.

Celeste: “No, but that stuff you said about Jordi… Do you think that applies to you, too?”

Fabien paused and scowled.

Fabien: “I left Craig because he was draining me. I should have left him sooner. I leave people; they bore me. I don’t do it to fill in some void or look for someone to entertain me so I can forget I have a shitty grandparent and a shitty boss. People leave him, but I leave others.”

He said flippantly.

Celeste: “Do you? You seem hurt Jordi blew you off.”

She knit her eyebrows. Fabien shifted his eyes.

Fabien: “I’m NOT! He sympathizes with fucking Fatley, and he needs Tristan to fill in his void!”

He huffed.

Fabien: “Anyone who feels sorry for that fat wombat isn’t cool enough to be my friend anyway.”

He grumbled. Deimos rolled his eyes. I really couldn’t care less, he thought. All I know now is that Barnabas knows Tristan, and he kept this from me; he thought and cupped his mouth.

~

Jaxon and Tristan were seated at a table in Alice’s Dream for lunch. Jaxon wore a white pressed shirt, a black vest with the buttons undone, blue jeans, and Chelsea boots. He and Tristan were smoking cigarettes as Jaxon looked through the menu.

Jaxon: “I never saw so many varieties of tea in my life.”

He laughed a bit. Tristan smiled tightly. Jaxon flicked his gaze on him and had a hunch something was bothering him.

The waitress approached them and reddened at the sight of the two handsome men seated before her.

Waitress: “Hello, gentlemen, are you two ready to order?”

Tristan: “I’ll have hibiscus blossom herbal tea.”

He smiled.

Jaxon: “Kiwi lime ginger herbal tea is good.”

He nodded.

Tristan: “And could we have an order of a dozen macarons? Mixed flavors. I am fine with almost any flavors, sans coffee and matcha.”

He added. She took their order down and left.

Jaxon: “What’s wrong?”

Tristan: “Nothing is wrong, Jaxon. I had a wonderful night with Deimos.”

He smiled and felt fuzzy inside. Jaxon chuckled.

Jaxon: “Oh my God, you two made love, didn’t you?”

Tristan reddened.

Tristan: “Jaxon, keep it down.”

He whispered and snickered.

Tristan blushed and bit his lip. He then slowly nodded. Jaxon laughed softly.

Jaxon: “You never forget your first time. I am not speaking of whatever that was with Noriko but my first time… making love.”

He sighed.

Jaxon: “The first time I made love was to my Green Queen.”

He said softly. Tristan returned the smile.

Tristan: “I know this, Jaxon… It’s… an amazing feeling…”

He sighed happily and gazed out the window at the blue sky.

The waitress returned with their cups of tea and a tray of various flavors of Parisian Macarons.

Tristan: “Thank you, miss.”

He said genially. He picked up a vanilla rose macaron and took a bite. Jaxon picked up a red velvet macaron and took a bite out of it.

Jaxon: “So you had a wonderful night with Tristan. What’s bothering you?”

Tristan’s expression darkened.

Tristan: “I don’t wish to get into it right now, Jaxon. I want to tell you all when the time is right.”

He drew a long breath.

Jaxon: “Maybe there will never be a ‘right time’. You have to rip it off like a Band-Aid.”

He knit his eyebrows.

Tristan: “I know, but I feel… we have to be united to face this.”

He said firmly. Jaxon looked away.

Jaxon: “Oh, you want me to forgive Deimos.”

Tristan heaved a deep sigh.

Tristan: “Jaxon, you can’t force feelings or forgiveness, but I feel… this is something where we all have to work together.”

He drew a long breath. Jaxon embraced himself.

Jaxon: “Okay, I will work with him for you, Tristan, but I am not ready to forgive him.”

Tristan drew another long breath. He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and sipped on his tea.

Tristan: “I know Deimos’ temper is a bit much, but he does care about you, and he tells me how sorry he is about what he did.”

He explained.

Jaxon: “You can’t keep excusing his shitty behavior because you love him! That blue bitch sent that video of you and Jordi to Fabien. Deimos was with us, and I could tell by his tone he laid into you rather than asking you about it.”

He said sharply. Tristan drew back and looked away.

Tristan: “Ah, so this is how Deimos knew about that. I knew it was Ivy.”

He laughed a hollow laugh.

Jaxon: “It feels to me like you keep letting him off the hook rather than holding him accountable for his actions. You don’t deserve to be his emotional punching bag, and neither do I!”

He said doggedly. Tristan bowed his head and raked his fingers through his hair.

Tristan: “Jaxon, you didn’t hear me out or get my side of the story! I did reprimand him, and he did apologize! He wants to do better!”

He said pleadingly.

Jaxon: “Yeah, until you do something to get on his radar. Then he tells you something that cuts you to the core. He starts feeling sorry for himself and beats himself up when the other party calls him out on his bullshit. So, no, he has to do better, or this is going to repeat itself.”

He huffed.

Tristan folded his hands and heaved a deep sigh.

Tristan: “I am not a doormat to Deimos, Jaxon. I do reprimand him for his actions always, but I also love him. I know he’s better than this. Whether you forgive him or not is up to you. But I do know Deimos cares deeply about you. He wouldn’t beat himself up if he didn’t. He never does when he tears Ivy or Blair a new one.”

He smiled a bit. Jaxon sighed and took a sip from his tea.

Jaxon: “I’m sorry… You’re right. I know he’s better than this, too… That’s why it hurts so much… I want to move past this, but…”

He set his cup down and drew a short breath, locking his gaze on Tristan.

Jaxon: “I need time.”

Tristan nodded, accepting his answer.

Tristan: “I understand.”

~

Tristan walked to his curb that evening carrying several bags of trash. Ivy walked up to him with Samson in a stroller and waved.

Tristan: “Get away from me.”

He hissed.

He opened the lids on the bins and tossed the bags of trash inside.

Ivy: “I take it you never told Deimos about Barnabas.”

She sang. Tristan turned to her with a sneer.

Tristan: “Ivy, I don’t want to TALK to you or LOOK at you! GET AWAY FROM ME!”

He snapped.

Ivy: “Why is your uncle contacting you, Tristan?”

She asked, and Tristan froze.

Tristan: “NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS! STAY OUT OF MY LIFE!”

He screamed and stormed off. Ivy’s bottom lip trembled as she watched him go, and she started crying.

~

That night, in Clertaux, Nouvelle Gaule, the floor creaked and thumped in a large, elegant Gothic Victorian living room. A large, button-tufted brown leather sofa with carved wooden details was the centerpiece, topped with several red and maroon pillows. A wooden coffee table stood in front of it, holding a candelabra with a lit candle, a tray, and a stack of books.

The room was dimly lit, with the primary light source being a large, ornate chandelier featuring multiple bulbs, as well as a table lamp and several lit candles scattered throughout the space, which created a warm, moody glow.

Dark maroon drapes framed tall, arched windows, and the walls were a deep charcoal. The walls are also decorated with several framed oil paintings of white-haired individuals from the 19th century and early 20th century, all with ornate gold frames.

The floor was made of dark wood, and a large, patterned Persian-style rug in shades of red, navy, and cream covered it. The overall impression is one of old-world sophistication and coziness.

Sitting in a large, dark leather chair in front of a crackling fire, a man’s purple-sleeved arm was visible as he flipped through various pictures of Tristan in front of his law office. There were pictures of Tristan in court, Tristan smiling in his office with Rosemary and Erin, Tristan and Deimos having dinner, Tristan at Seashell Cove with Deimos, Jaxon, Celeste, and Chelsea, Tristan at Chelsea’s funeral, and Tristan at the naturalization ceremony for his US citizenship.

Dougal stomped in and stood in front of the man holding a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli, grinning inanely.

Dougal: “Can you open this for me? And heat it up in the microwave? I don’t know how to do either.”

The man tightened his fist as it shook with fury.