Page 164 of My Unfinished Heart

He blinks rapidly and swallows hard.

“I have to try. He belongs…” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “He belongs with me. And with you. With all of us. This family.”

He tears up again, and he manages a very unconvincing nod. What he’s not saying could fill a book.

“We can figure it all out, but the three of us—for whatever reason, our heart strings are all tangled up with each other.”

He wipes his eyes. “Yeah, I know. And here I thought you were the one trying to untangle yourself from it, but it looks like it’s gonna have to be me again.”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “It doesn’t have to be like that.”

“But it is. It always has been.”

“Only because we’ve never tried any other way.”

His eyes search mine, and I see the desperation there. I don’t understand it, but I can see him fighting it. “What if I end up all alone?” he whispers.

I put a hand on the back of his neck, making sure he’s looking at me. “Buddy, I’ve got you now. I won’t let go. I need you to trust me.”

He keeps himself from crying again by releasing his own groan of frustration. “Ughhh… Why’d you have to fall for my best friend?”

“It was an accident,” I say.

“You going over to his house in the middle of the night and climbing a tree was an accident?”

“No. But it wasn’t a mistake either. There’s never been anyone else for me.”

Connor nods, and I can see the huge effort he’s making to suck it up. An effort I’ll be eternally grateful for. “I love you so much,” he says.

I smile, wanting him to smile with me. He can’t manage it.

“I do want you to be happy,” he says.

“Then you have to let me try.”

He nods again, putting on a brave face. “How can I help?”

“I just need his address.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

The Empire Strikes Back

I arrive at the Chase residence just after eight the same evening.

In the car, I take my panic attack pill, lean my seat back, put both hands on my face and breathe until seeing Tristan becomes more important than my fear he’ll slam the door in my face.

On the porch, I run a taming hand through my hair and prepare to meet his parents.

His father is an unexpectedly large man, taller than I am, with a goatee and glasses. The scant amount of hair remaining on his head is clipped so short, it makes him look nearly bald. His eyes are the exact color of Tristan’s.

“Hello," he says carefully, those eyes slightly narrowed.

I hold out my hand. “I'm Archer Brennan. I drove up from Austin to see if I could have a few minutes to talk with Tristan.”

He hesitates but doesn’t leave me hanging. He shakes my hand, and I try to match his firm grip. “Gary Chase. I know who you are,” he says, not appearing at all pleased I’m on his doorstep.

Understandable.