Zach quietly walked to the bed and stared at the back of Tristan’s head. Despite his words to Gabe, he wasn’t all that sure that Tristan would want to see him. He’d made a lot of assumptions about Tristan. He couldn’t know for sure that he hadn’t imagined what wasn’t there. As much as it pained him to admit it, he couldn’t trust himself when it came to Tristan: He was unreasonable around him, behaving like a man possessed, just wanting to have him in every possible way. The truth was, he wanted Tristan to want him. He wanted Tristan to need him. There was nothing rational or practical about it. Tristan was trouble. Tristan was a complication he didn’t need in his life. And yet, he wanted the brat in his arms, all his for bitching at, kissing, scolding, fucking and adoring, with all his prickly attitude. It was irrational as hell. And that was why he couldn’t trust himself to interpret Tristan’s feelings correctly.
Zach lifted his hand and brushed a long, dark eyelash off Tristan’s cheek. It was moist.
Flinching, Tristan turned his head and stared at him unblinkingly. His nose was red, his lips were chapped, and his eyes were red and wet. There was nothing pretty about him right now. Zach wanted to kiss him.
So he did.
He leaned down and fit their lips together. A soft, little whine escaped Tristan’s mouth. Burying his fingers in Tristan’s hair, Zach kissed him deeper, sucking and biting on those plush lips. Sweet mercy. He couldn’t get enough of this mouth. Tristan’s hands looped around his neck, raked through his hair and tugged him closer, those little sighs and moans going straight to Zach’s dick—and his heart. Christ, how the hell had he gotten in so deep, so quick?
Suddenly, Tristan tore his mouth away and glared at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Kissing you,” Zach said, kissing one corner of his mouth and then the other one.
Tristan’s lips parted before he smacked Zach on the head and pushed him away. “Stop that!” Tristan’s brows drew together suspiciously. “Why are you here?” His eyes narrowed. “Are you feeling sorry for me?”
Zach laughed. “God forbid. Who in their right mind would feel sorry for you?”
The suspicious look didn’t vanish from Tristan’s face, though his shoulders relaxed a little. “Then why are you here?”
Zach took a seat on the bed. “Am I not allowed to be worried for my former patient? Your getting injured in your first game doesn’t exactly put me in a good light.” He had meant it as a joke, but he instantly regretted it when Tristan dropped his gaze. Zach stroked the inside of Tristan’s wrist until Tristan lifted his eyes again. “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Zach said roughly.
Tristan smiled. The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll never play football again. But otherwise I’m just peachy. You can go now.” He pulled his hand away from Zach’s and curled it by his side.
“You can play again—”
“Don’t,” Tristan said. “I don’t want comforting lies. Not from you.”
Zach looked at the cast. “I won’t lie to you,” he said. “I’ve had patients with less severe broken leg injuries than yours who couldn’t successfully return to professional sports. I’ve had patients who made successful comebacks and were as good as new.” He looked Tristan in the eye. “But you can play football again for sure. Even if not professionally, you can—”
“If I can’t play professionally, there’s no point,” Tristan said, his eyes glistening. He smiled. “You called me narcissistic once and you were right. The fans are important to me. When they sing my name, urging me forward, it’s—it feels so…special. I feel…” He trailed off, a wistful look on his face.
“Loved?” Zach said quietly.
Tristan’s jaw clenched.
“You loved feeling loved,” Zach said. That wasn’t a question, and with every moment that Tristan didn’t deny it, Zach was more and more certain that he was right. “That’s why you think you have to play professionally to feel it again.”
Tristan averted his gaze.
Taking Tristan’s chin with his fingers, Zach tipped his face up, forcing him to meet his eye. “You won’t need football for that.”
Tristan looked at him unblinkingly, as if he didn’t understand what Zach was talking about.
At last, his eyes widened. He flushed, scowled, then looked away before darting a glance at Zach again. If it had been someone else, Zach would have thought Tristan was shy.
Tristan gave him a scathing look. “Where’s your fiancee?”
“I don’t have a fiancee,” Zach said. “Not anymore.”
Tristan seemed to stop breathing. He just stared.
“Why?” he said at last.
“We talked,” Zach said curtly. The conversation had been the hardest in his life. He knew he and Donna would be okay eventually—they’d been friends far longer than lovers, and their friendship couldn’t be destroyed easily—but right now he wasn’t exactly Donna’s favorite person in the world. “We decided it would be pointless to marry if I want to be with someone else. She deserves better. We both do.”