“Maybe I did save him, but it doesn’t change what I did. That it was my fault he was out there in the first place. That I left him. It doesn’t change the fact that years later, after Josiah was safe here, I was so angry at myself, so pissed at the fucking world, that I found out who helped that night, the one I missed. That time, I didn’t let him get away.”

That’s when the nausea he hadn’t felt in so long hit him, almost took him over. That hadn’t been about protecting Josiah. It had been about revenge...And anger at himself for losing Josiah. He brought his hand up to cover his mouth.

Tristan was silent for what felt like an eternity before calmly, in a monotone voice, speaking. “That’s what could come back to haunt you?”

“Either of those incidents can. People on the streets talk, especially to save their own asses. There’s no guarantee I didn’t piss off someone else with a big mouth that will happen to find out. And Javier’s the one who got rid of the first body.”

Silence again, except for the sound of his heart slam-dancing in his chest.

“Are those the only two lives you’ve taken?” There was a tenderness to Tristan’s voice he hadn’t had moments before.

“Directly. I still sold drugs to people, Tristan. I knew the people I associated with were taking people out every day. When I was a kid I watched my father string a man up, let him force me to beat him before he blew his brains out in front of me. I’m far from fucking innocent.”

And he hated himself for it. Hated what he did and the fact that Tristan knew, or the things Josiah knew. As much as he’d wanted to pretend he belonged here with them, he didn’t. If Tristan was smart, he’d kick him out right now, because as weak as it made him, he wouldn’t leave unless Tristan asked him to.

Tristan leaned forward, elbows on his desk. Deep breaths filled the room as he looked down at the table, hands on the back of his head.

“I’m okay to fuck around with, but you don’t want me in your life that much. You don’t want me to go into your madre’s home and sit at her table knowing who I am. I’ll make an excuse to Jay.”

Mateo pushed forward, only getting halfway to his feet, when Tristan’s voice stopped him. “I grew up on those same streets you did.” He didn’t look up, still with his hands on his head, staring down at the table as he talked. “When waitressing didn’t pay the bills, my mom fell in love with a man who she thought would. It wasn’t long before she was turning tricks. Before people fed her the same kind of drugs you were probably selling.”

Fuck. Mateo fell back into the chair, feeling as though he would disappear at any second.

“I prayed every fucking night for the balls to take her away, to kill the man who did that to her, the same way he was killing her, but I never had them. I know she did what she did to try and survive, just like...just like you did. You survived and you protected and defended what was yours. Josiah. Do you want to know what I did?” He spoke more softly than Mateo had ever heard him speak. With more pain in his voice than Mateo knew was possible.

He didn’t know if it was the right thing to do, or if it would help in any way, but he pushed to his feet again, this time walking over to Tristan. He thought Tristan would fight him when he pried his hands away and tilted Tristan’s head up. “What did you do?”

Tristan gave a humorless laugh at that. “Nothing. I hid in closets as a child, counting my fucking pulse because it gave me something to concentrate on rather than what I heard. And when I got older, I did nothing to find the people who had hurt her. I went to fucking college, telling myself money would save us. I...” His voice broke before he jerked away from Mateo’s grasp. Mateo grabbed for him again, but Tristan shoved to his feet, breathing heavy.

“What? What did you do?” Mateo grabbed Tristan’s arm when he tried to walk away, turned him and pulled Tristan against his own body. “I told you my shit, you give me yours. What the fuck did you do?”

Mateo grunted as Tristan shoved him backward, into the wall. But then his body was there, too, lined up against Mateo’s, holding him against the wall.

As though someone flipped a switch, the rigidness in his body evaporated. He sagged against Mateo with his face in Teo’s neck. “I sold myself to the highest bidder,” he whispered. “I made money for school and to take care of my mom by letting someone fuck me. I was his paid whore for years. A whore to his friends, and then I would take that money and buy her food. I’d spend it on my stupid fucking education, because I somehow made myself believe that if I could take care of us, everything else would go away.”