I turn around to walk away and she calls out to me. “Tristan! Please take it!” I continue down the concrete path in the campus courtyard. “Tristan!”
When I turn around, she seizes the opportunity to hurl the necklace at my face, then she spins around and runs off in the direction of the dorms. I pluck the necklace off the concrete and tuck it into my pocket. I think I always knew this would happen. Though I certainly did try, I knew nothing and no one could fill the hole in Ashley’s soul. And I may never forgive myself for that.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Senia
Recovering from the wedding – and hangover – of the century would be a lot easier if Tristan had his amazing steam room to sweat out the two bottles of vodka he drank last night. Ugh! Just the thought of it makes me sick. I’m glad I’m pregnant and I don’t have to deal with hangovers for at least another eight months.
“So I take it we’re not going to breakfast with everyone before they leave for their honeymoons?”
He grunts and, for a moment, I think this is his response. Then, “You can go. I can’t eat anything right now.”
I prop my head up on my elbow as I trace shapes on his bare back with my fingertip. “Were you drunk while Chris and Claire were singing last night?”
“I don’t remember,” he mutters, then he shifts a little and the way the muscles in his back flex under his skin is so sexy. “Can you get me a bottle of water?”
“Yeah, and I’ll order you the room service hangover cure.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know. Probably Gatorade and a butler to hold your puke bucket.”
I continue lightly stroking his back and he turns gingerly onto his side to face me. “I don’t need any of that shit. I just need you and some water.”
I slide out of bed and grab a couple of bottles of water out of the mini-bar. I set one down on the nightstand then I open the other and hand it to him. He guzzles half the bottle in one shot then he twists the cap back on and beckons me back into bed.
“I promised your dad I’d keep my dick in my pants while we’re in Vegas.”
“WHAT?”
“He made me promise. But don’t worry. I canceled tomorrow’s flight. We’re leaving tonight instead. We’re not staying another night in this hotel room. Besides, I think the point is moot now that he knows you’re pregnant.”
“What time is our flight?” He grins as he takes the bottle of water and lightly presses it against my bare belly. I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth. “That’s cold!”
“I know, unlike you,” he says, tossing the bottle onto the floor as he lifts my camisole and leans in to take my nipple into his mouth.
All I can think of, as he uses his fingers to stimulate me, is those two minuscule sentences he uttered last night, which obviously meant nothing to him. Yours will be better. I promise.
I push him away and he looks confused. “I have to take a shower,” I say, sliding off the bed again.
“I’ll come with you.”
“No. I want to shower alone.”
He sits up in the bed looking even more stupefied. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, I’m just … I …” I roll my eyes at my inability to form a complete sentence. “I think we should talk about what’s going to happen when you go on tour.”
He reaches for the other bottle of water on the nightstand and shrugs. “What’s to talk about? I’m not going on tour. I’m staying here.”
“When did you decide this?”
“Last night.”
He stares at the gauze taped to his wrist for a moment, almost as if he can’t remember getting the tattoo, then he rips it off. He gazes at his wrist for a moment then lets out a deep sigh before he chugs some more water.
“When were you going to tell me?” I ask as I approach the bed. I want to see that tattoo.
He watches me as I approach with one eyebrow cocked mischievously; he knows I want to see his new ink. He holds his wrist out for me to see and now I’m confused.
“I was going to tell you today, I guess.”
“What does one-two-three mean?”
“I’ll tell you later. You’re not ready.”
I turn to head back toward the bathroom. “You need to tell me what time our flight is, so I can be ready.”
“I have a plane on standby until seven p.m. I was thinking we could join the mile-high club tonight.”
I stop at the bathroom door and look over my shoulder. The sly grin he’s wearing is hot enough to burn a hole in those thousand-dollar sheets. Who cares about what he may or may not have said at the reception last night? The sexiest, sweetest, most complicated guy I’ve ever known just gave my best friend a house for her wedding gift and asked me to join the mile-high club. I’m thinking he kind of has the hots for me.
I beckon him with my finger and he chuckles as he slowly slides off the bed. But we never make it to the shower together, because the phone call Tristan receives at that moment changes everything.
Chapter Thirty
Nine Years Ago
I try not to cry as I ride my bike back to Grandma’s house – my house – but I can’t fight the tears. I don’t know what I just did to that girl, but I know I hurt her; and I know that neither of us will ever be the same.
I keep my hoodie pulled low over my face despite the fact that it’s a ferociously humid afternoon in the middle of September. Sweat drips down my face and neck. It even drips down my forearms and my hands begin to slip on the handgrips of my bike. But I’m hopeful that if anyone sees me crying on the corner of Avent Ferry and Gorman, they’ll think it’s just the unbearable heat that’s reddened my eyes and moistened my cheeks.
I make it home a few minutes past three in the afternoon. Letting my bike drop onto the parched lawn, I race up the porch steps and throw open the front door without regard as to whether anyone is standing on the other side. The tiny air-conditioning unit that juts through the half-open window has done a pretty successful job of keeping the house cool and I quickly peel off my hoodie to let the cool air wash over my overheated skin.
“Tristan! You’re soaking wet!” Grandma cries as she enters the living room from the kitchen, wringing her hands on a damp towel that hangs loosely from the pocket of her apron. “And you’re red as a lobster! We’re you riding your bike in this heat? What – what’s that on your T-shirt? Is that … blood? Are you hurt? Did your mother hurt you?”
For the briefest of seconds, I consider telling her everything. Then I think of that shotgun in my face, and the look on Grandma’s face if she ever finds out what I’ve done, and I know I’ll never tell.
“Got a bloody nose on the way over here,” I reply, smiling for the first time in weeks. “I’m okay now.”
She tilts her head as she reaches up and brushes my sweaty hair away from my face. “You’re not going back there, are you?”
I shake my head, too afraid that if I speak something may slip out.
“Good.” She pulls the towel out of her apron pocket and drapes it over her shoulder. “I just made some of your favorite lemon cookies and I’ll make you a sandwich. You must be hungry. Go on and take a shower and get changed.”
She looks at me for a moment and I have a feeling she wants to say something too. Maybe Noah’s mom has been here and she wants to reprimand me. Or maybe she somehow knows what happened at Elaine’s. Either way, she doesn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry, Grandma.”
“For what?”
“For leaving you.”
Something about these words gets to her and she bats her eyelashes to blink back the tears. “You go on and get clean.” I turn to head for the bathroom, but she grabs my arm. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?” I nod and she responds with a nod. “Go on now.”