Page 131 of Reckless Obsession

I step out onto the back porch, freshly showered and wearing Tristan’s clothes.

I am a big guy, but his shirt still hangs loose on my frame, the soft fabric carrying his scent — clean, woody, with that faint trace of cologne he always wears. The shorts are a little big too, the hem brushing my thighs. It feels strangely intimate, like being wrapped in him even when he’s not touching me.

The backyard is beautiful in the deepening evening light. String lights woven through the trees cast a soft, dreamy glow over everything, turning the space into something almost magical. A bonfire crackles warmly in a stone pit, flames dancing and throwing flickering shadows across the grass. A jacuzzi sits off to the side, quiet and inviting, steam rising gently into the cool air. And just beyond the tree line, I can see the river’s faint shimmer, its gentle rush weaving through the quiet like a lullaby.

It’s very peaceful. The kind of place that makes you want things you have no business wanting.

Tristan stands at the grill, broad shoulders relaxed as he tends to whatever he’s cooking. The smell hits me first—savory, smoky, mouth-watering. My stomach growls before I can stop it.

He glances up when he hears me approaching, and for a second his eyes linger. They trail over the shirt, the shorts, the general disaster of me trying to look unaffected while drowning in his clothes.

I walk closer, drawn by the warmth of the fire and the smell of the chicken and steak skewers he’s grilling, then settle into one of the chairs near the pit. The heat licks pleasantly against my skin, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, something in me loosens rather than tightens.

It’s dangerous to feel this settled in a place that belongs entirely to him. More dangerous than I want to admit.

I pull my knees up slightly, watching him move between the grill and a small table where he’s laid out plates, and I let myself, just for a moment, stop performing indifference.

Then I ruin it, because apparently that’s just who I am now.

“I know why you’re acting this way,” I say, eyes fixed on the fire instead of him.

Tristan pauses, tongs hovering over the grill. “What way?”

“This.” I wave a hand vaguely at the whole ridiculous setup. “The cabin. The barbecue. You suddenly being soft and attentive like you’re trying out for husband of the year.”

His head turns slightly, but he doesn’t look at me yet.

“Maksim—”

“It’s because of the panic attack.”

The words land between us.

Everything around us keeps moving anyway. The river runs through the dark behind the house. The fire burns. Something on the grill crackles as fat hits the flame.

But Tristan goes quiet.

I hate that I can feel my heartbeat speed up.

“You saw me like that,” I continue, trying to make my voice light and careless, but it doesn’t work. “You saw me lose it on your family’s dining-room floor. So now you’re being all soft and concerned, bringing me into the woods to feed me grilled meat like I’m a wounded animal you found by the side of the road.”

“That isn’t what this is.”

I laugh once, but it comes out thin.

“Isn’t it?”

He puts the tongs down.

The sound is small, metal against the table, but it makes me look up.

Tristan is watching me now.

There’s no pity in his face. If there were, I could work with that. I could get angry, throw something sarcastic and sharp enough to make him back off. But he just looks… serious. As if he’s choosing his next words carefully because he knows I’ll pick them apart otherwise.

“You think this is pity?” he asks.

“I think you saw something you weren’t supposed to see,” I mutter. “And now you don’t know what to do with it.”