TRISTAN: The Ruins of Emblem #1

by Brent, Cora

  The one bright point in the evening was that my grandfather wasn’t home yet to witness my homecoming in a torn dress covered by a man’s black tee that smelled like soap and sandalwood. It smelled like Tristan.

  And so do I.

  My cheeks were burning as I dropped my purse in the living room and made a dash for the shower. I couldn’t pretend to be some virginal angel when it came to sexual exploits but never before had I screwed a guy on the side of the road two minutes after announcing I didn’t even like him.

  What’s worse, honesty forced me to admit that Tristan was the best goddamn sex I’d ever had. Sex with hair-on-fire, common-sense-killing orgasms that were still vibrating a few of the most important muscles between my legs.

  My only comfort was that I’d had the willpower to run away from him before he figured out that I’d consider crawling at his feet and barking like a dog if that was the price for earning some more time with his mouth and his dick and his hands.

  My loofa sponge got a good workout as I scrubbed at my skin in an effort to purge the lingering aftershocks of Tristan’s touch. The struggle was futile. I wouldn’t be forgetting anything about tonight. I’d be cursed with running the details through my mind at highly inconvenient moments. Perhaps I’d be pumping gas and flash back to the first jolting sensation of Tristan’s tongue on my breasts. Or maybe I’d be grading Orwell papers from my eleventh grade honors class and remember Tristan’s groan when he started stroking himself.

  But by the time I slipped on a pair of black cotton lounge pants and a dark pink tank top with the scripted letters LOVE that had once belonged to Cassie I was no longer feeling like an amateur porn star.

  No. I was feeling like an idiot.

  Emblem wasn’t the largest of towns. Emblem wasn’t even a medium sized town. No matter which direction I turned I was destined to run into Tristan sooner or later. Considering how often he’d been in my face since I arrived here all evidence pointed to sooner. While the thought of seeing Tristan again produced all kinds of intense fluttery feelings in my belly I also dreaded the knowing smirk that would be coming my way. Maybe he’d simply shrug and look elsewhere now that he’d gotten what he wanted. But I doubted it. Tristan enjoyed provoking me too much. And I took the bait far too easily.

  The living room couch, ugly though it was with brown flowers and shiny worn patches at the headrests, was a comfortable place to come to terms with the idea that Tristan Mulligan was going to be a permanent trespasser inside my head. I knew it even as I realized a guy like that probably screwed ten different girls a month and wouldn’t think of tonight as anything special, just one more triumph in a long list of conquests.

  I buried my face in a brown suede couch pillow that smelled like butterscotch and wondered who I could pray to so that no one who mattered to me would ever find out what I’d done tonight and who I’d done it with. Perhaps Greek mythology had a goddess for such occasions.

  The moaning doorbell saved me from prayer and I tossed the pillow aside before rising from the couch to see what was going on. The most likely scenario was my grandfather had forgotten his keys. But I did recall hearing about a recent home invasion in the rural outskirts, some drug addled creep with a crowbar on the hunt for some cash. I tensed before gazing through the peephole.

  My tension turned out to be justified, but for a different reason.

  For the second time tonight Tristan Mulligan was paying me a visit. I watched him through the peephole as he stared at the ground with his hands shoved in his pockets. I could have gotten my point across by shutting off all the lights and leaving him there until he gave up and got lost.

  If only that was what I wanted.

  Instead of being sensible I tucked my damp hair behind my ears, smoothed my tank top down and opened the door.

  “Hey,” he said and flashed a smile that I instantly hated for the way it melted pieces of me that I needed in order to stand up straight.

  I crossed my arms and took a stab at sounding cool. “Did you come back for your shirt?”

  He’d showered and changed into a fresh set of clothes that were a step above his usual fashion statement of ‘I pulled this out of the hamper and I don’t give a shit what you think.’ His short sleeve blue shirt was buttoned correctly and his blue jeans looked new. He’d also shaved.

  “I didn’t come back for my shirt,” he said and something was different about him. Something hesitant. Almost self-conscious.

  I leaned against the door frame. “Then what do you want?”

  “You know what I want.”

  That answer wouldn’t cut it this time.

  Tristan swallowed. He wasn’t staring at my chest or smirking as if he already knew all my secrets. He looked me in the eye.

  “I want to take you out for a drink, Cadence.”

  “A drink? Now?”

  “Sure. It’s Saturday night and the Cactus will be open for hours.” His hands were out of his pockets now and he made an apologetic gesture. “Sorry but there aren’t a lot of options around here. It’s either the Dirty Cactus for a few beers or guzzling a forty in the parking lot of the gas station.”

  I glanced down. “I’m not exactly dressed for public viewing.”

  Tristan wasn’t deterred. “So you’re saying you want to hit the gas station parking lot? I’m down with that. Probably a little classier than the Cactus anyway.”

  I laughed. He grinned. It was a nice moment so I opened the door all the way.

  “Give me five minutes. Feel free to hang out on the couch.”

  There was a lot I could accomplish in five minutes. I switched to a short denim skirt, added a bra and exchanged my sister’s old tank top for a navy blue crew neck tee. I dashed on a few touches of makeup, stepped into a pair of turquoise flip flops and ran a comb through my damp hair.

  Tristan had taken my suggestion and was waiting on the couch. The pillow I’d been suffocating myself with when the doorbell rang was in his hands and he was spinning it between two forefingers like a wheel. When I walked into the room he stopped and stood up.

  “You look nice,” he said and I wondered where this guy had come from, this polite guy who looked like Tristan and sounded like Tristan but chose his words carefully and spent nervous energy twirling a pillow in my grandfather’s living room.

  “Should we go?” I asked, retrieving my purse from the floor and extracting my keys.

  Tristan offered to drive and that seemed like a wise plan considering what had transpired the last time we were in my car. His pickup truck was a rumbling antique and he opened up the passenger door for me before heading around to the driver’s side. The thunderstorm had cooled the air enough to enjoy the breeze from the open windows. The sweet smell of the desert following a rain was far stronger here than it was up in the valley where asphalt and grime competed with nature.

  The Dirty Cactus was crowded and no parking spots remained in the gravel strip so Tristan had to park in an empty lot on Main Street.

  “What used to be here?” I asked because the boarded up building flanking the lot looked old and uncared for. I’d passed by in the daylight before and although empty buildings were nothing unusual in town this one caught my eye because of the old fashioned brick.

  Tristan considered the building. “I think decades ago it was the town hall. Then a bank, then an insurance company.” He shrugged. “It’s been empty for years, just another ruin in the town of Emblem.”

  He surely didn’t mean for the words to sound poetic but they struck me hard. I was aware that Emblem was struggling these days, even more than it had struggled back when my folks lived here. Real estate crashes, crime and the constant exodus of the town’s most promising youth had taken a toll.

  Tristan turned around. “You coming?” he wanted to know because I was standing in a dark parking lot and staring up at an empty building.

  I nodded. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

  The walk to the Cactus was short and I thought about reaching for his hand. B
ut hand holding still seemed a little too cutesy for Tristan and besides, I hadn’t yet made up my mind what I thought of him.

  The bar was hopping tonight, far more animated than I’d ever seen it. A row of ominous looking motorcycles were lined up out front like metal sentries. The wail of a screaming cat reached my ears and I cringed. A couple of bearded overweight men in worn leather cuts were leaning against the wall to the right of the door and smoking. One of them nodded to Tristan and he nodded back.

  “Who you got there, Mulligan?” the man asked.

  “Emblem High’s newest teacher,” Tristan answered and then he did something odd. He wrapped a possessive arm around my waist and drew me close to his side. “Cadence Gentry.”

  “Gentry,” the guy muttered and then cracked a grin that showcased his silver capped teeth. “Shit, I know that name.”

  Tristan guided me toward the door, which had been propped open with a large gray rock. “You guys coming inside?”

  The man shook his head. “Fuck no. Not until that freak is finished howling.”

  Tristan chuckled and led me inside, keeping his hand on my back the whole time and as curious heads began to swivel in our direction I realized why. He was making a statement. Whether it was for my benefit or for his was unknown but the effect was the same. He was letting anyone who might be interested know that I was with him tonight.

  There was a strange mix of company in the room, ranging from tough looking biker dudes to men wearing prison guard uniforms to women of all ages who drank hard and laughed loudly. I glimpsed Leah busily pouring drinks and began to wonder if she ever had the opportunity to leave the bar. She had help tonight, a yawning thirtyish blonde and a big guy with Popeye-sized forearms who probably did an outstanding job of taming anyone that considered making trouble.

  Meanwhile, the wailing hadn’t quieted but actually wasn’t caused by a cat after all. A bald man with a straw colored beard and an upper chest tattoo that said HELLHOUND was standing on a bar stool with a microphone and slaughtering a Beyonce song. When someone threw a handful of pretzels at him he sputtered and glared but then resumed singing.

  I had to lean close to Tristan to be heard. “Biker karaoke night?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Every Saturday.”

  I didn’t at all mind the presence of his hand on my lower back. I saw the way other men slid leering glances in my direction and then looked away when it was obvious I was with Tristan. A few of them greeted him with waves or joking obscene gestures and I felt some surprise that he was obviously well liked, at least among this crowd.

  Leah caught my eye from behind the bar and she seemed first surprised, then amused at the sight of me being paraded around by Tristan Mulligan. I blushed and gestured with a tiny shrug that said I just couldn’t help myself. She smiled and winked.

  Tristan had somehow located a newly vacated table all the way in the back. He caught Popeye’s attention and held up two fingers while HELLHOUND mercifully relinquished the microphone to a woman who began belting out a Madonna tune that was far more pleasant to listen to.

  I hung my purse over the chair, pushed closer to the table and found Tristan staring at me, which prompted an epidemic of dancing nerves in my belly that I couldn’t understand.

  So what if he was the best looking guy in the room?

  And in this town?

  And maybe in the entire state?

  We’d already had sex. The dirty, grasping, totally uninhibited variety. He’d heard the sound I made when I came and I knew how he shuddered as he filled a condom.

  So what the hell was left to be nervous about?

  Popeye carried over a pair of beers and Tristan put up a hand in protest when I reached for my purse. He already had some cash out and was passing it over.

  Beer reminded me of a thousand raunchy college parties that had grown tiresome after a few years but I could use a dose of relaxation so I took a few sips.

  Tristan didn’t take a drink, instead running his finger across the narrow rim of the bottle. “You have a big family,” he observed.

  I didn’t usually think of my family as being large. It was only when my mind started wading through the interconnected web of uncles and aunts and cousins that I realized how blessed I was to have so many amazing people in my world.

  “You must have been bored at dinner,” I said. “Since most of the talk revolved around members of the extended family.”

  “If I was bored it would serve me right for elbowing my way into the situation.”

  “Is that an apology?”

  He chuckled. “No.”

  “Figures.”

  “Anyway, I wasn’t bored at all, hanging out with your folks. But I did get kind of confused sometimes. So many names to remember. Next time I’ll ask for a flow chart.”

  “Or a spreadsheet,” I agreed.

  “A fucking Venn diagram.” He finally took a swallow of his beer.

  The woman who’d taken over from HELLHOUND actually had a decent voice. And she really liked Madonna because now she was singing Crazy For You.

  “Can I clear up any of your confusion about my family?” I asked.

  He became thoughtful. “Your cousin Derek is the one who…”

  “Was charged with drunk driving, yes. Spent a few months in the delightful state facility down the road here. But he’s come a long way and he’s in a good place now.”

  “And he has brothers, right?”

  “Two of them. You’ve probably heard Brecken talk about Thomas because they’re good friends. Thomas just started ASU with a baseball scholarship. And Kellan, well, Kellan is in a class by himself.” I smiled to myself as the thought of my incorrigible cousin.

  “And Jake is one of your cousins too?”

  I was startled by the mention of Jake’s name although I shouldn’t have been. Over dinner I’d heard my mother talking about the planned visit that Cami had already confirmed to me.

  “Jake was adopted by my Uncle Creed and Aunt Truly when he was a toddler. We were really close growing up but he moved out of state about five years ago and he doesn’t visit much.”

  “So what’s wrong with him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Tristan gestured to my hands. “You started twisting your napkin around as soon as his name came up so I figured there must be a reason why.”

  There was a reason why, a reason I’d never admitted to anyone.

  “I can’t believe I’m telling you this but one night we were at a party out in the desert and I was drunk and I sort of tried to kiss him.”

  I paused and peeked at Tristan to see whether he was going to blurt out some sarcastic commentary. But he stayed quiet and waited for me to continue.

  “Of course we’re not cousins by blood so there’s nothing to get all grossed out over but it didn’t matter because he pulled away. And the next day I was mortified. Maybe I was trying to force something romantic between us because I’d never met a guy who could keep my interest for longer than five minutes. Anyway, shortly after that he left the state and we’ve just never been as close as we once were. I feel like it’s my fault, that I broke the bond we shared.”

  I was slightly horrified by all the words that had just come tumbling out of my mouth. They’d always been there, hovering beneath the skin, awaiting the chance to emerge. And it was kind of funny how that chance came in a place called the Dirty Cactus while spilling my guts to Tristan Mulligan.

  “You didn’t break any bond or whatever,” he scoffed. “This Jake guy’s a dipshit.”

  I wanted to laugh even as I felt the urge to defend Jake. “He’s not a dipshit.”

  “Well he sure sounds like a raving dipshit.”

  “Tristan.”

  “I bet he drives a dipshit car, like a sports convertible in cherry red.”

  “I have no idea what he drives these days.”

  “Probably eats dipshit food like black bean vegan hamburgers.”

  I flung my balled up napkin at him. �
��You’re impossible.”

  He checked his watch. “Guess what?”

  “What?”

  “I have good news. More than five minutes have passed.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You said no guy could keep your interest for more than five minutes.”

  “And how do you know you’ve kept my interest and that I’m not just being polite?”

  His hand found my knee under the table. The effect of his touch was automatic. I sucked in a sharp breath and leaned forward as his fingertip brushed the inside of my knee.

  He didn’t miss my reaction. “That’s how I know, Cadence.”

  Tristan’s hand left my knee and I crossed my legs.

  “So now that I have some details on the Gentry family can I clear up any of your confusion?” he asked.

  “You don’t have any family left in Emblem, do you?” I asked.

  “Nope.”

  “So why did you leave your brothers and come back here?”

  “Because at the time I was seventeen and pissed off at everything and everyone. And because this was home.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  “I’m free to leave anytime I want.” He grew thoughtful. “I do regret the fact that I gave Curtis such a hard time. He was trying to do the best he could and keep me from making his mistakes. I know how much it tore him up when I took off.”

  “You guys seem like you’re getting along okay now.”

  Tristan slouched in his chair a little and began toying with the beer bottle again. “We get along fine.”

  “This is nice,” I said. “Sitting down and having a real conversation without arguing like we usually do.”

  He looked up. “That was arguing? And here I thought you were flirting with me.”

  I kicked him in the shin. He laughed.

  “Do you like your job?” he asked when he was done laughing.

  “Yes,” I said and a mix of emotions welled up inside of me. “I like teaching. I like the kids, even the ones who glare and tell me to fuck off and pretend they don’t care about anything. But sometimes at the end of the day I wonder about things. Like yesterday, there’s a girl in my fourth hour class who sits in the front row. Every other day she’s rapidly taking notes and eagerly listening every minute until the bell rings. But yesterday she fell asleep at her desk. After the bell I pulled her aside and asked her if she was sick and her eyes filled with tears and she started apologizing and saying she hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before. I was confused and she had to explain to me that sometimes the crappy cafeteria lunch is the only meal she gets in a day.”