The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(74)

Tristan Miles was made for touching.

He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt and a navy cap. I love him dressed like this, all casual and hot.

“I came to watch movies with Patrick,” he announces.

What?

Patrick’s eyes widen in amazement. “You did?” Patrick looks to me. “He came to see me, Mom.”

I smile at my baby’s over-the-top excitement. “Thank you. That’s very nice.”

Patrick grabs Tristan by the hand and pulls him to the living room. “What do you want to watch?” He gasps. “Oh, Mom.” He turns to me, and it’s obvious his little mind is going a million miles per minute. “Do we have popcorn? Can you go and get some for us?” His eyes widen as he remembers something else. “Oh. Tristan, do you want pizza? I know it’s your favorite. Mom, can we have pizza, please?”

Tristan messes up Patrick’s hair. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.” They fall onto the couch together, and Patrick sits so close he’s almost on top of him.

What is he doing here? It’s Friday night. Surely he has better things to do than hang out with my kids.

Maybe he wants to be here . . . excitement runs through me.

Stop it. Play it cool. He’s probably just being nice . . . so nice.

“Give Tristan some room, bubba,” I remind him.

Patrick’s face falls as he realizes what he’s doing, and he moves back. Tristan grabs him and pulls him close again. “It’s cool. Stay close, brother.”

Patrick smiles goofily up at him, and I bite my lip to hide my smile as my heart swells. Seeing Patrick with Tristan is chicken soup for my soul.

So. Cute.

Harry stomps down the stairs and stops still when he sees our visitor. “What are you doing here?” he snaps.

“Harry,” I warn him. Tristan puts his hand up to silence me.

“I’m here to visit Patrick and your mother and Fletch. What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” Harry gasps, indignant.

“We’re watching movies. Go away, Harry,” Patrick barks as he flicks through the channels with the remote.

Harry glares at Tristan, and Tristan winks back with a smirk.

“I thought your car broke down,” Harry blurts.

“Oh, it’s at the police station.”

“What for?” I frown.

“It turns out that somebody put sugar in the gas tank, but it’s okay. They’re getting the fingerprints from the car now that we know what is wrong.”

Harry stares at him.

Tristan smiles and casually looks at his watch. “They should be making an arrest tonight sometime.”

“Oh, what are they going to do?” Harry scoffs.

“Vandalism is a crime, Harrison. Google the jail time. I’m not making this up.”

I frown as I look between them. What’s going on here? Have I missed part of the conversation?

Oh dear God, no . . . it wasn’t Harry, was it?

Harry scratches his head and looks around nervously. “Mom. I . . . I . . . can I go to Brendan’s house?” he stammers. “It’s urgent.”

“Okay, yes, but only for half an hour.”

“Okay.” He runs out the back, and the door slams hard behind him.

“Wonder what’s wrong with him?” Tristan asks.

“I don’t know.” I look out the window and see him run into the garage. “He looks like he saw a ghost.”

Jesus.

“What do you want to watch, Tricky?” Tristan asks.

Patrick frowns. “Tricky?”

“Well, your name has the word trick in it.”

“It does?” he gasps.

Tristan frowns. “Yes, it does. You know that.”

Patrick’s little face falls in disappointment that he doesn’t.

“Patrick has dyslexia,” I announce.

Tristan’s face falls. “You do?”

Patrick twists his little hands together nervously on his lap. “I’m getting better at it.” He looks to me. “Aren’t I, Mom?”

I smile broadly. “You are, baby. I’m so proud of how hard you’re working.”

Tristan’s eyes hold mine, and I know he wants to ask a million questions but is holding his tongue.

Patrick taps his leg and seemingly brings him back to the moment. “What do you want to watch?”

“Ahh!” We hear Harry scream from outside. I hear something hit the side of the house with force.

“What in the world?” I frown.

Harry comes stomping in like a madman. His face is murderous.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“This.” He holds up his skateboard.

“What about it?”

“The wheels are missing.”

All four wheels are missing from his skateboard. Patrick’s mouth falls open in horror. “Oh no,” he whispers.

“That’s terrible,” says Tristan casually. “Who on earth would have been in your garage, Wizard?”

“That’s what I want to know,” he snaps. He storms back out of the room and out into the yard. “When I find out . . .” he calls.

“What are we watching?” Tristan asks Patrick.