The next morning, snow had indeed accumulated to at least four inches, but the skies were clearing, and it would probably be gone within the next twelve hours, despite the chilly air. Rick called early, and it was agreed that they'd all meet on his land a half mile north of Amarillo by nine. Duke looked interested, but from the set of his mouth, Tristan rightly guessed he was preoccupied by the prospect of Seto Kaiba touching down at the airport without any advanced notice. Tristan left Duke alone in the kitchen, busy with calls to Serenity and some business associates. Apparently, they needed reassurance that Duke Devlin hadn't fallen off the globe. Tristan glanced into the kitchen occasionally when his knuckles needed a break from scraping the close quarters of the ATV's engine compartment. From the animated tone and gestures, he guessed that Serenity must be on the other end. It must be good to be rich enough to pay for the hellacious roaming fees, he thought, and went back to work, hitching the snow chains onto the four-wheeler's tires.
Tristan went to the toolbox, dropping the pair of pliers he'd just used back into the top tray. He stood, bent over the counter as he peered inside, brow furrowed over some hard, unexpected thought. Then, with a resolute nod, he flipped the lid shut and latched it. Tristan slipped back into the house, passing Duke, who paid him no more mind than a one-fingered wave as he went past to the bedroom.
The sheets were still tousled, and Tristan took in the landscape of folds and wrinkles with a satisfied smile.
The cedar box still sat on top of Tristan's bureau, surrounded by spare change and spare keys and a broken wristwatch and throat lozenge wrappers. God, he was a slob about some things. He tugged the box out of the flotsam and brought it over to the bed. The mattress curved a little under his weight as Tristan sat, the chip-carved wooden oblong in his lap. He flipped up the lid and stirred the photographs and movie ticket stubs overlaying the objects beneath. The gray velvet curve of an even smaller box lid met blunt fingertips as he pushed them aside. He brought it out and laid the cedar box aside, with a cautious glance toward the bedroom door.
Tristan pried open the lid and drew out the contents in one quick swoop, laying the now-empty little box back in place. When everything was replaced, Tristan held up his prize. A silver ring. It still dangled from the gold chain he'd threaded it on the December before. The gold chain he'd worn through a plane trip across the ocean.
The one he'd taken off in July, when he first seen the pictures of Duke and Kaiba posing together for the merger notice.
The gold of the chain didn't suit it. Silver, inset with little bricks of jade, the ring was etched with an inscription: You didn't get her. I won.
Tristan chuckled, soft and half bitten-off.
After checking the clasp to see that it was still reliable, Tristan unhinged it and slipped it around his throat. The slender silver circle hung not-quite-flat against the folds of his shirt, and he dropped it down underneath his collar. It came to rest with a small, solid thump just below his collarbone. The silver warmed to his skin in moments, and Tristan allowed himself an indulgent, sentimental smile. Just one.
Then he went back to the garage, and wrestled the last tire chain on.
In a few minutes, Duke poked him in the back and passed the sleek cellphone over his shoulder when he straightened.
"Serenity wants to talk to you."
Tristan raised his eyebrows, unable to hide his pleased smile. Duke elbowed him as he turned to escape to the kitchen's warmth again. "She still likes me better, so you can quit grinning like that."
"You wish," He retorted, and raised the phone to his ear after Duke closed the door gently behind him. "hey, Gorgeous."
"Tristan! I thought maybe you didn't want to talk to me anymore." Her voice was still genuine and warm, with the touch of flirtish pout that signaled just how much of a woman she'd become. She was no longer the demure youngster he and Duke had hovered over, and the last time he'd seen her, Serenity's chestnut hair was far, far shorter, cropped into stylish ragged edges that flipped out becomingly around her head. Like a badge of her new status: wife, and now mother. He could almost see her now, sitting at her dining room table, one pretty elbow on the edge.
"Should I? Duke tells me you're pregnant and you didn't tell me first. I won't be able to live with him and his ego now, you know."
"Aw, a decade later almost, and you're still fighting over me? I meant to tell you, Tristan, but things kind of got in the way. Duke was living with us then, and he was with me when I found out. Poke him for me, will you?"
"I will," Tristan smiled against the receiver.
"Anyway, how're you? Duke didn't tell me much about how you're doing, except that you and he were getting reacquainted, which I'm so glad to hear. And that Seto's supposed to be flying in to see him."
They chatted for a few minutes, and then after a short silence, he heard her voice again, soft as a caress.
"Will you take care of him, Tristan? Like you used to. He doesn't want anyone to know, but…after his father passed away…he's not as independent as he'd like everyone to think."
Tristan only murmured assent. He already knew. "Count on it, Gorgeous. It's gotta be late where you are."
"It is." She understood the subtle hint. "I'll get some sleep, before you order me, and you take care of yourself, Tristan. Don't go too American on me before I'm ready, okay?"
"I won't," He laughed, "just so long as you make sure you send me pictures when you pop that kid out."
There was silence on the other end. "You're not thinking about coming back before then?"
"No, not really. I like it here. I'll come back and visit, I promise!" He hurried to reassure her, before she started another round of questioning. "I really have to go. Sweet dreams, kiddo."
"I love you, Tristan."
"Me too."
She laughed softly, and he heard the muted click of her receiver hitting the cradle before the cellphone went silent. He carried it back to the kitchen, picking up two pairs of leather fleece-lined gloves from the workbench as he passed it. They hit the table with a wet slap beside Duke's elbow as he sat by the window, peering out at the snow and the neighbor's dog in the next yard over, exulting in the miniature drifts.
"Ready to go?" Tristan asked, handing back the borrowed cellphone and stealing a sip of Duke's coffee on the upswing. He grimaced over the taste. Too sugary, but it was hot.
Duke nodded. He'd pulled his hair back in a ponytail, and at Tristan's insistence, added Tristan's camouflage ball cap over that, clicking the sizing band closed underneath the black tail of hair. Thankfully, he'd thought to bring a heavy jacket with him and borrowed a pair of Tristan's boots. He grinned up at Tristan after tying the laces closed. "Shit, you've got huge feet."
"Runs in the family." Tristan shrugged, ridiculously pleased by the comment.
Tristan's ATV secured in the bed of his pickup, they drove out to Rick's place, which just happened to be where the Quarter Horses he'd ridden lived. They were quiet now in their paddock, chestnut and roan faces lowered, but from the tossed look of the fresh snow covering the ground, Tristan guessed they'd made quite the time of it earlier in the morning. Duke watched them through the windshield with polite interest when he pointed them out as they pulled into Rick's driveway. He never had been the animal type.
There was a line of pickups where the driveway paused in front of the redhead's farmhouse. A few still had a four-wheeler in the back, red, yellow, and camouflage, or so thickly layered with grime that the color was indistinguishable. A knot of men in their late twenties clustered around the rear fenders of one of the pickups, a few with coffee cups or thermos lids steaming; one with a bottle of beer. Tristan looked at Duke. He'd perked up, eyes were bright with interest now as his gregarious nature showed through. He turned his head back to the driveway, hiding a grin as he parked beside Rick's blue Silverado. He supposed it might not come across as a compliment to say that a few of his friends had golden retrievers that acted the same way around people.
Rick detached himself from the group and ambled over to the side of Tristan's truck, a blue-eyed blonde man and a copper-colored husky in tow. Tristan rolled down his window, and Rick leaned in on the ledge. He was all smiles, as usual. When he'd first come to Texas, Tristan met Rick at a local rally, and the lanky redhead latched onto him, made friends, and introduced him around. "Hey, you made it! We were gonna give up you."
"Sorry about that. Got a late start." Seeing the curious tilt of Rick's head, and looking back to see Duke giving Tristan's friend the same quizzical look, he was quick to introduce them. "Dev, this is Rick Lyons, the guy who adopted me when I first got here." Rick flashed a blazing white grin.
All teeth, Duke observed, with just a hint of possessive acid.
"And Rick, this is Duke Devlin. He's…my best friend from back home."
"Dude, you're from Japan too? Well, welcome to America, Duke Devlin. Nice to meet you." Rick extended a genial, thickly-gloved hand through the window and across Tristan to Duke.
Duke accepted it and murmured, in accented English, "Call me Dev." Tristan caught the sudden low tone of his voice, and turned in time to see the dark-haired man shoot him a pointed glare.
Rick saw the look that passed between them, and his eyebrows rose. He backed away from the truck, still smiling, albeit cautiously now. His dog came to his hand, and he rubbed her fuzzy tawny ears.
"What?" Tristan mouthed silently, still looking at Duke. The other man shook his head and pulled the handle on his side of the truck, sliding out to the ground. Tristan turned then to look out at Rick, and shrugged. He rolled up his window and got out. By the time he'd folded down the tailgate of his truck, his best friend had insinuated himself into the group of men. He climbed up into the bed and unclipped the tie-downs. Rick and the blonde – Michael, Tristan recalled belatedly – carried over a reinforced sheet of plywood and set it against the end of the bed at an angle, and helped him get the ATV down the ramp and onto the ground.
"That friend of yours all right?" Rick asked, tone low as he and Tristan bent to check the tire chains one last time.
"Yeah, he's all right." Tristan tossed his head, flipping a tendril of hair out of his eyes as he looked over his shoulder at where Duke had gotten the entire group to laugh over something. "He's just kind of different."
"Oh, okay. I thought maybe he didn't like me or something. He looks kinda familiar," Rick mused, looking now, too, "you bring him out here before?"
"Nope," Tristan replied immediately, hoping Rick hadn't gotten a good look at him at the gas station, "he's only been in for a few days. First trip to the U.S."
"And he's seeing snow in Texas? Picked a good time," Rick laughed.
"Yeah." Tristan straightened, dusted off his hands, and shook Michael's hand as he tried to remember where he'd seen the blonde before. Rick headed back to Duke and the rest of the group to let them know they were moving out, and when Michael left, Tristan threw a leg over the seat of his ATV and turned the ignition over. He slid a pair of reflective wraparound sunglasses over his eyes against the glare, and drove up to where Duke stood. Grimacing in concentration, Duke gripped his shoulder for balance as he mounted behind him. Thin arms padded with canvas and down slid around Tristan's waist in a fluid, open-palmed manner that was blatantly not platonic.
"Just your best friend, huh?" Duke murmured against his ear, and Tristan winced at the obvious hurt in his voice. He tried to answer, but his friends surrounded him and passed him on their own four-wheelers, and he twisted the throttle aggressively to catch up, drowning himself in the buzz of the engine.
Duke seemed to forget the awkward introductions quickly, however, as Tristan accelerated. They played all morning, then all afternoon like big children in the empty pastures. They threw snow on each other, slicing deep arcing furrows in the fresh, feathery white as their tires lost traction and spun them in circles. An impromptu snowball fight began when Rick leaned down and scooped up a handful from a passing drift to hammer into Tristan's shoulder. Duke ducked away from the blow with a shout of surprise, and laughed at the disgusted downturn of Tristan's lips as he shook chunks of snow out of his hair. "Want me to get him for you?" Duke asked, forgetting himself and his anger as he was caught up in the moment. Tristan stopped, grinned back at him, and waited until he'd caught up a hard-packed chunk of snow from their tracks, before riding up on Rick's left side to wreak snowy vengeance when the tossed missile hit him squarely between the shoulderblades. Others took sides and dashed into battle, laughter ringing across the open land. Tristan stopped and peered over his shoulder while the four-wheeler hummed underneath them.
"You can be my wing man, anytime."
Then he let Duke man the controls, clinging to his waist as his companion experimented with the accelerator and the brake in frantic bursts. "This isn't like a motorcycle!" He shouted over the engine in frustration
"I know!"
"How do you turn the…?"
Just then, Duke overcompensated and a twist of his wrist sent the ATV shooting forward, spilling Tristan off the backside and into the snow. A chorus of laughter rose from all sides, and Duke tried to turn back to see what he'd done. Tristan rolled and whipped his arm out of the way just before the right side tires could run over it. "HEY!"
"Shit!" Thankfully the designer managed to figure out the basic controls, and the machine hummed to a halt short of causing any real damage. Tristan got to his feet, dour, shaken, and caked with snow. Duke looked up at him with wide eyes. Then he tumbled off of the four-wheeler and into Tristan's unsuspecting arms – they stumbled together and went over backward in the snow.
"It's okay! I'm okay!"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry oh fuck I'm sorry! I almost killed you!"
"Dammit Dev, everyone's looking!"
Duke looked up at the onlookers. Looked down at Tristan. Grimaced and got to his feet, not offering his friend a hand up. Rick appeared at Tristan's elbow. "You all right, dude?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." He spared a glance at Duke, who wasn't looking at either of them, busy picking caked snow off of his gloves. "I think I'm going to take him home. It's getting late anyway."
"Oh. Hey, that's cool." Rick arched an eyebrow at him, and Tristan inwardly cringed. He hadn't told the redhead anything – about himself, or about Duke, or Kaiba. He wasn't sure how these people would react, and it was already hard enough to sell his bikes as a foreigner…
Until he realized that Rick's eyebrow was more an 'are you sure?' gesture, as when he'd let the growing tension show on his face, the redhead just clapped him on the shoulder, squeezed, and turned away. Not suspicion. A glimmer of hope, then – maybe he could tell Rick. But now wasn't the time.
"Tell the guys goodbye for me, would you? We're heading out."
"Sure thing, Tris. See you around."
Tristan turned back fully to Duke, who stared after Rick's bright shock of red hair with disbelief and a hint of – was that jealousy?
"He called you…!"
"I think it was a mistake."
"Or maybe he's—"
"No. C'mon, let's go." Tristan hadn't liked the audible sneer in his companion's voice, and got back on the four-wheeler. After a moment, Duke joined him, though he clung to the rack on the back of the machine for balance instead of Tristan's waist.
It was easier to get the machine back into the bed of his pickup than to get it out, and soon enough they were pulling out of Rick's driveway and turning onto the road back into town. Duke didn't speak to him until they reached the Amarillo city limit sign.
"You haven't changed at all, have you?" He pulled his gloves off, loosening the fingertips first, and ripped his ball cap off, compulsively reaching back to straighten his ponytail with clipped, aggressive motions.
"What are you talking about?"
I thought you'd changed since you were here. I thought maybe you'd stopped caring about what other people thought of us. But you still do. You're still afraid."
"What? That's a load of shit!"
"Oh really? Then why is it that those guys all just think I'm your friend?"
"Best friend," Tristan clarified weakly.
"Yeah. Don't they have a word around here for that? Oh, that's right," Duke snapped his fingers, "fuckbuddy."
"That's not—"
"Well, that's what we are, right? I mean, you sleep with me, but I'm still just your friend. At least as far as any of your other friends are concerned."
"Why the hell do they matter?"
"They don't! They're not the problem! You are!" He crossed his arms over his chest and dropped into sullen silence. They rode that way for another ten minutes, until Tristan turned the corner that led back to his garage. He braked abruptly, sending the pickup into a nosedive and jerking the seatbelt against Dev's collarbone.
"What is you problem?" He demanded, and when Tristan didn't answer, he followed the other's gaze out the windshield.
He bit his lip, arrogance gone.
A strange car sat in Tristan's driveway.
Its fenders weren't besmirched with road grime, but a cake of melting snow sat on its hood.
Tristan swallowed hard, and accelerated again, pulling past the car to park in the space beside it. It had rental plates.
A long-legged shadow in an immaculate tailored overcoat unfolded itself from the padded bench under the overhanging eave of the house beside the front door.
"You certainly took your time in getting here," a deep, breathy voice criticized. Blue eyes turned down to meet a set of shocked, upturned green. "Duke."
Seto Kaiba.