Chapter 126

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The comfort and familiarity of White’s wrapped around Tristan and soothed him a little. His club was the one place where he could be alone with his thoughts in a place that did not hold memories of Sam in it. The low hum of conversation, the air, redolent of smoke, brandy, and polish; the clink of crystal and china were all calming and familiar. He shook out a copy of the Times and held it before him like a shield. A silent message about the need for solitude, a barrier against the encroaching world. He couldn’t read a thing, mind; he just hid behind it whilst he thought. He was in a completely impossible situation. If he offered Sam work, paid work, Sam would still feel beholden to him. If he didn’t then he would feel like a kept man and leave. If he offered Sam money to stay and Sam did stay, he would forever wonder if he had simply stayed for the money or because he loved him.

Brutal, really.