Page 81 of The Man I Love

They left without saying another word, the boys only giving Tristan a sideways glance as they slipped on their shoes.

After the door closed, Tristan walked to his desk and hung his clipboard on the wall. “I wanted to tell you so many times,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. His gaze remained fixed on the ground, as though shame had stolen his ability to look at her again.

“Why didn’t you?” she choked out, her voice raw. Emotion tightened her throat, making it nearly impossible to force the words out.

He walked to his desk, picked up a paperweight, then set it back down, his movements tense, as if he were a teenage boy fighting the urge to throw it. His fingers lingered on the smooth stone, and for a moment, she could almost see the man inside him trying to rein in the headstrong child. The reckless teenager who had driven too fast and jumped off buildings on a dare.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, his voice heavy with something she couldn’t quite name.

Her heart squeezed and she thought she might pass out. “What happened?” she asked, glancing around the garage. She’d heard the answer from Penny, but now she wanted to hear it from him. In his words.

He was quiet for a moment, but then he lifted his chin. “I trusted the wrong people,” he said. “I took him under my wing, and he used it against me. His voice was quiet, haunting, and it reminded her of the words he’d used when he left her in her apartment in New York.I. Trusted. You.It all made sense––whya perceived betrayal would have hit him so hard when he was dealing with this back home.

“I thought that if I just hung on a little longer, things would balance out,” he continued. “I’d been through hardship before—things always settled after a while, but this time was different. Jerry’s father didn’t care about losing money. His plan was to choke out the market and monopolize it. To make the competition so great that I, as well as other companies, couldn’t compete. It didn’t matter how much money I spent, he had more, and I lost everything so fast.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me?” Sam asked, unable to keep the hurt from her voice.

“I don’t know.”

That was the second time he’d said it, and she couldn’t take it anymore. “Why, Tristan? After all we’d been through?—”

“Because you would’ve come back!” His voice was loud, booming, and she took a step backward.

His face instantly twisted with regret, and he came closer. “I was ashamed,” he finally whispered. “I was so fucking embarrassed. You were getting your big break, and I couldn’t stand the thought of you giving that up just to watch me fail.”

She inhaled deeply, her chin trembling. “You didn’t fail, Tristan. You’re still here.” Her voice was soft, almost breathless, but he heard her.

“How can I take care of a family”—he gestured vaguely around the garage, then stopped himself—“never mind.”

She stepped closer, her tone gentle but firm. “No. What were you going to say?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, grabbing a stack of papers and straightening them unnecessarily on his desk.

“Tristan,” she said, pausing as if searching for the right words. “Tell me.”

His hand hovered over the paperweight before picking it up again. He squeezed the smooth stone in his palm, his knuckles whitening. “I can barely afford the roof over my head, Sam. How am I supposed to take care of a baby?”

She stepped closer, pulled the sonogram photo from her bag, and laid it gently on his desk. “She”—her voice trembled, but her words were strong—“doesn’t need your money.”

She waited for him to look up before she continued. “She needs a father. A man to show her what unconditional love looks like.”

Her chest tightened as memories surfaced, each one of a man who somehow taught her self love. “She needs you to support her dreams when no one else does.”

A vivid image flashed in her mind: him sitting beside her at the bar, his boot hooked on the rung of her stool, his voice steady and sure as he told her not to give up on her art. It wasn’t just encouragement—it was belief.

“She needsyou,Tristan,” she finished—her voice shaking with emotion.

“And what doyouneed, Sam?” he asked softly.

She fisted her hands at her side and looked down at the ground.

He stepped closer, his fingers wrapping gently around her arm, and tilted her face up toward his. “What do you need?” he asked again, his voice firmer this time, pleading. “Please, tell me.”

She swallowed hard, her throat tightening as she reached into her purse and pulled out a tri-fold brochure her OB had given her in his office. It was for a birthing class she’d convinced herself she didn’t need. They were so late in the game she thought it would be useless, but standing here now, in front of him, she reconsidered.

“There’s a class tonight at seven,” she said. “I’m supposed to have a partner, and I really don’t want it to be my mom.”

It was barely an olive branch, but it didn’t seem to matter. His entire face softened.

---