“No,” Ryan said curtly, averting his eyes.
Tristan smiled. “You liked kissing him better, didn’t you? Despite all your brotherly feelings for him?”
Ryan didn’t reply, but Tristan didn’t need him to.
“You wanna know something?” Tristan murmured, looking at the fireworks. “My leg will make a full recovery, but I’m not returning to football. Ever. I don’t want to. Because…I feel like Arthur’s involvement cheapened everything I’ve achieved in my career.” Tristan bit the inside of his cheek, his anger flaring again. “I’m going to business school.” He’d always had a knack for investing. It was something he genuinely enjoyed and was good at. “I want something for myself. Something mine.” Tristan glanced at Ryan and found him watching him thoughtfully. “You know, for a long time I tried to convince myself that I shouldn’t want something Arthur would approve of. Ever since I found out who my father was, I hated him, his family, and the family business. It just seemed so wrong to want to pursue the career Arthur would have made me pursue if I were his precious heir. But then I thought: why not? Why should his opinion matter if that’s something I genuinely want?” Tristan smiled grimly. Fuck Arthur. “Sometimes we have this deep-seated notion that something is wrong and we shouldn’t want it, but sometimes it’s just bullshit. Sometimes our own minds are our greatest enemy.” He looked Ryan in the eye. “I think you know what I mean. It’s wrong and weird only for as long as you let it be.”
He headed back inside, a spring in his step. He could feel Ryan’s heavy gaze on the back of his head as he left the terrace.
“When you’re smiling like that, you’re usually up to no good,” a familiar dry voice said. Zach.
Tristan put on a hurt look.
Looking unimpressed, Zach grabbed him by the waist and tugged him close. Tristan dropped the hurt act and grinned, looping his arms around Zach’s neck. “I was just helping people out,” he said innocently.
“I don’t even want to know,” Zach said before biting Tristan’s bottom lip and sucking on it.
Minutes later, when they finally parted for some air, Tristan stared into Zach’s gray eyes, fighting the horrible mushy feeling in his chest. Ugh, being in love was awful.
Zach smiled and kissed him on the nose. “Happy New Year, dollface.”
Sighing inwardly, Tristan stopped fighting the mushy feeling and pulled Zach’s mouth back to his, where it belonged.
Happy New Year.
For the first time in his life, he knew it would be.
At least for the two of them.
* * *
Ryan stood on the terrace for a long time after Tristan left.
No, kissing Tristan didn’t help. The kiss had left him cold. Kissing Jamie, for all its wrongness, had never left him cold. Jamie was warm, always warm, his mouth sweet and eager and Jamie’s, even if kissing it felt weird as hell.
It’s wrong and weird only for as long as you let it be.
If only it were so easy.
Sighing, Ryan ran a hand over his eyes. It didn’t matter now. He should go back inside. To the woman he was in love with. To Hannah. Jamie was gone—for good.
It still didn’t seem real.
Ryan stared at the fireworks as they flew up and exploded, creating a beautiful and colorful display. Jamie loved fireworks. He always got excited about them like a child.
A hollow ache twisted his gut as he realized that it was the first New Year’s in years that he wasn’t spending with Jamie. First of many.
Ryan lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply.
Behind him, the door opened and closed.
“You’ll catch a cold,” Hannah said.
His stomach churned as a sense of déjà vu hit him hard. Had it really been only three weeks ago? Three weeks ago right on this terrace he had chosen Jamie over Hannah. He’d been angry, he’d been heartbroken, but he’d also been determined to keep Jamie by any means necessary.
But it hadn’t been enough. Instead, it had fucked them up irrevocably.
He should have let Jamie go then. If he had chosen Hannah, none of that would have happened. He would still have had Hannah’s love and his own love for her wouldn’t have been tainted by his conflicted feelings for Jamie.
Ryan grimaced, angry with himself. Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. Could he spend two bloody minutes without thinking about Jamie? He had never noticed how much time he spent thinking about him until he consciously tried to stop. The problem was, when he actually managed to stop the intrusive thoughts, he found himself short-tempered, distracted, and feeling generally shitty. It was probably unhealthy as hell, but that was how it was.
“Ryan?”
“Sorry,” he said, reaching his hand out and taking Hannah’s hand. He squeezed it. “I’m sorry. I’m probably not good company now.”
Her blue eyes were thoughtful as she looked at him. There was wariness in them—something that hadn’t been there before. She was different. But then again, so was he. For the first time, it occurred to Ryan that they both might have changed too much to fit together.