by M. K. Easley
His weight on top of hers was the best thing Tristan had ever felt, and she stared up at him, trying to catch her breath.
“You gotta stop looking at me that way,” Beckett murmured, shaking his head. “You're killin’ me.”
Tristan shifted beneath him, feeling his hardness through both of their jeans, and he briefly closed his eyes. He was killing her, too, and she gave some serious thought to throwing caution to the wind and letting things keep going from here.
“Beckett,” Tristan whispered, and he gazed down at her, the love she'd read on him shining like a beacon directly into her heart. She knew she had to stop this now, before Ray wandered downstairs into something he'd never unsee, and, more importantly, before she'd had a chance to get herself on birth control.
“Tell me your middle name,” Tristan continued, still whispering, and the tension broke as they both dissolved into fits of laughter.
Beckett took his cue to sit back up, pulling Tristan up with him, and he impatiently waited for the blood to start recirculating through his whole body.
“OK, OK,” Beckett agreed, to Tristan's surprise. “But you can't make fun of me.”
“I wouldn't make fun of you,” Tristan said seriously, and Beckett smiled.
“I know. And I'm just joking; you can laugh if you need to. It won't hurt my feelings.”
“It can't be that bad,” Tristan replied, waiting.
“It's Bartleby.”
Tristan sucked her lips in, trying in vain to keep a straight face.
“Oh,” she squeaked, and Beckett looked at her in mock outrage.
“That's…” Tristan began, frowning hard in an attempt to keep her face under control. “That's not bad.”
“It's terrible,” Beckett said, laughing. “And I'm kidding. It's actually Beauregard, which is not much better, but definitely better.”
“Oh thank goodness,” Tristan let go of the breath she'd been holding, laughing and shaking her head.
“I appreciate your efforts in keeping a straight face there though,” Beckett told her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It was almost Herculean.”
***
As it approached eleven o’clock, Beckett walked Tristan to his door.
“Thanks for letting me spend the day here,” Tristan said, her hand on the doorknob.
“Thanks for spending the day here,” Beckett replied with a smile.
Tristan tucked her hair behind one ear, suddenly looking nervous, and Beckett put his hands around her waist, walking in close to her. He kissed her, and Tristan grasped his biceps, kissing him back.
“When can I see you again?” Beckett asked, pulling away just slightly.
“Um,” Tristan blinked, forcing her brain to start working again. “Tomorrow morning I have a doctor’s appointment, and then I’m working from twelve to eight. You can come see me at the shop, if you want, or I can see you on Tuesday when I’m done work. I’ll be home by two, probably.”
“I might come by the shop, but I’d like to take you out on Christmas Eve, if you’re free.”
“I’m free.” Tristan smiled.
Beckett released her, looking sorry about it.
“Great. Then I will see you either tomorrow or Tuesday.”
“Goodnight Beckett.”
“Goodnight Tristan.”
Chapter 21
Early the next morning, Tristan drove across town to the Lavelle Free Clinic, signing in and having a seat, pulling out her phone to pass the time while she waited. Nearly one hour and a brief, perfunctory exam later, she left the clinic with a birth control prescription in one hand, and four sample pill packs in the other. She drove from the clinic to the pharmacy, avoiding the eyes of Gerald Franklin, who’d been the pharmacist since Tristan was born, as she slid the paper across the counter. Ever the professional, Gerald said nothing as he keyed the script into his computer, his face rivaling that of the best poker player. Tristan knew, rationally, he probably didn’t care, but it didn’t make the whole exchange any less awkward.
“If you wanna wait, it’ll take about fifteen minutes.”
Tristan nodded, sitting down in one of the four plastic chairs lined up in the tiny waiting area. The time passed quickly, and she thanked Gerald as she took the white paper bag, shoving it into her crossbody and beating a hasty retreat.
To her relief, no one was in the immediate area when Tristan got home, so she went straight up to her room and shoved her sample packs into one of her desk drawers, the newly opened blister pack following once she’d dry swallowed the first pill. Her parents, or Sol, at least, would most likely not care that she was starting birth control, but it was a conversation Tristan was in no rush to have right away.
She dressed for work and went downstairs, joining her family for breakfast before it was time for Evander to drive her to Rise and Grind.
The day was slow, likely because it was two days before Christmas, but the bright spot was Beckett stopping by shortly before her shift ended, offering Tristan a ride home. Tristan agreed, texting Evander to let him know he didn’t have to come get her.
“So I don’t know if you heard,” Beckett said, as they pulled into Tristan’s driveway. “But Dean LeFebvre called in everyone who attacked you and their families. They’re all suspended with Emmeline.”
Tristan shook her head.
“I hadn’t heard, but good.”
“Apparently they all corroborated what Emmeline said at the meeting. That she’d been planning it for awhile, and that Eva had been following you that day and had told them where you were.”
Beckett put the car in park and looked at her regretfully.
“I’m so sorry, Tristan.”
Tristan shook her head.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault.”
“I knew Emmeline was a bitch, but I didn’t realize how terrible she was until this past year. And I swear to you I had no idea about Eva at all.”
“Beckett,” Tristan said, looking into his eyes. “I’m not blaming you for what happened. Please stop blaming yourself.”
Beckett nodded, running a hand through his hair, but he still looked troubled.
“So tomorrow,” Tristan said, trying to distract him from his guilt. “I was thinking of going to volunteer over at the food kitchen for the dinner rush. Do you want to come?”
“Sure,” Beckett nodded, smiling. “Good idea. You're working until two you said?”
“Yes. I'll probably come home and shower and head over there around four.”
“Do you want me to pick you up? I was thinking afterwards we can go for a drive, try to find the worst Christmas decoration setup we can.”
Tristan laughed.
“That sounds perfect,” she said honestly.
“Perfect,” Beckett echoed, his eyes meeting hers in the glow of the dashboard lights.
“I'll see you tomorrow,” Tristan said, staring at his mouth. Talk about perfect. “Thank you for the ride home.”
She kissed Beckett, and he slipped his hand around the back of her neck to kiss her back, which was quickly becoming her favorite thing he did.
She floated into the house, out into the kitchen to make a late dinner, which she ate in the living room with Oceana and Ember, ignoring their playful jabs about Beckett. She zoned out in front of the TV, thinking of Beckett, of how comfortable she felt around him already, a thrill of anticipation growing outward from her belly when she thought about their days to come.
Tristan’s glow was dimmed only by the thought of returning to school -- she didn't know how Beckett would marry the social life he currently enjoyed with a relationship with her, but she had to believe they would figure it out together.
Chapter 22
Tristan arrived at work, bleary-eyed, at five A.M. the next day. She had suspected the shop would be dead due to it being Christmas Eve, and she was right. Aside from maybe three of her regular customers coming in for their usual, downtown Lavelle in its entirety was a ghost town.
&nb
sp; Tristan decided to sit at a table by the window, because she wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t fall asleep standing up if she stayed behind the counter. She scrolled through her phone, sipping a cinnamon latte and enjoying the music that played softly over the loudspeakers. The shop door bells jingled, and Tristan looked up, surprised to see Joe, who she’d thought was in New York.
“Good morning,” Tristan said, standing. “I thought you were going back up to New York for the holidays?”
“I am,” Joe said, disappearing into the back and reappearing behind the counter. “I forgot to do the deposit last night, so I just need to grab that before I go. You got any plans for Christmas?”
“We don’t really celebrate Christmas, per se,” Tristan replied. “But we like to do the twelve days of Christmas, so tomorrow we’ll start exchanging small gifts until January sixth.”
“You guys pagans or something?” Joe asked, and Tristan suppressed a smile.
“Something like that, I guess.”
“Well I don’t care what you are, your Dad is a genius and I am forever grateful for that, so I hope you and yours have a nice holiday.”
Tristan frowned.
“Sorry, my Dad?”
Joe looked at her like she should know what he was talking about.
“Yeah, your Dad. Urien? He saved Rise and Grind.”
“What?” Tristan asked, surprised. “What do you mean?”
“I was struggling bigtime my first year here in Lavelle. I didn’t have a pot to piss in, but I took a chance and I contacted the first consulting firm I found in New Orleans to see if there was any saving this rinky dink little shop that had always been my dream. Your Dad is who they sent me. We met three times, and on our third meeting he said to me, ‘Joe, if this doesn’t save your business, I promise you I’ll pay your consulting fees in full. You won’t be out another penny.’” Joe shook his head. “You don’t find people like your Dad anymore, you know? Anyway, he didn’t just save my business. He made it boom. If things keep going this way, I’m gonna open a second shop in New York.”
Tristan was flabbergasted.
“I had no idea.”
“Why would you?” Joe shrugged. “Anyway, I’m outta here. Give your family my best. And if this place is still this dead at noon go home if you wanna, OK? Also, in case you’re gonna ask, no, your Dad isn’t the reason I hired you.”
Tristan laughed.
“OK. Merry Christmas, Joe.”
“Merry… whatever you celebrate, T.” Joe waved his hand at her and left the shop, and Tristan shook her head, sitting back down with a smile. She knew very little about the kind of work Umbris did, but it was cool all the same to hear he’d facilitated Rise and Grind flourishing.
The shop traffic did not pick up, but Tristan stayed until one-thirty anyway, needing to make as much money as she could. She had one more customer before her shift ended, and then she cleaned everything until it was sparkling, restocked, straightened up, and went home.
Beckett picked her up just before four o’clock, and they headed to the food kitchen for the dinner shift. The evening passed quickly, the place swarming with people; the atmosphere was warm and welcoming, the Christmas music cheerful, and the giant pine tree at the front of the room pleasantly scented the air around it. Tristan and Beckett stayed to help clean up, and finally left close to nine o’clock.
They drove through Lavelle in Beckett’s old green Jeep, out through the main road into the adjoining communities, talking and laughing as they took in the best and worst displays of Christmas cheer they could find. When Beckett pulled into Tristan’s driveway after midnight, she was sorry their night had come to an end so quickly once again.
“Tomorrow we’re gonna go see my Aunt Olive, so I won’t be around,” Beckett said, looking regretful. “But I’ll see you on Thursday?”
“I’m working in the morning and my whole family is going to the food kitchen to volunteer for a while in the afternoon, but I bet I can squeeze you in somewhere.” Tristan grinned.
“I bet I can squeeze you in somewhere, too,” Beckett said, reaching over and hoisting Tristan across the console and into his lap.
Tristan squealed in surprise and, laughing, settled into his arms. Beckett kissed her, his lips soft yet firm against hers, and Tristan clung to him, the rush of passion between them sweeping her away. Beckett’s hand crept beneath her shirt, his hand warm, and he held her waist, his thumb stroking over her skin.
Tristan broke their kiss first, looking at him while she tried to catch her breath.
“I was thinking maybe we really can go camping in a few weeks, if you want. There’s this little place by the river that I go to a lot, to be alone. I think I’m the only person in Lavelle who knows about it. There’s just enough room for a tent and a little fire.”
Beckett nodded.
“Let’s do it.”
Tristan kissed him again.
“I should go in.”
Beckett nodded.
“You should.”
Tristan looked surprised, and Beckett gave her a rueful smile.
“You being in my lap is getting painful.”
He shifted beneath her for good measure, and Tristan struggled to keep a straight face.
“Sorry.”
“You should be.” Beckett grinned, kissing her one last time, and Tristan slid back into the passenger seat.
“I’ll see you on Thursday. Have a nice visit with your Aunt.”
“See you Thursday, Tristan. I will.” Beckett smiled at her, and Tristan waved at him before hopping out of his Jeep.
She crept into her dark, quiet house, going up the stairs just as soundlessly. In the privacy of her bedroom, she lay back on her bed, biting her lip and grinning like a goof over the power she wielded over Beckett’s libido.
Chapter 23
Christmas morning dawned gray and glaring, and Tristan got out of bed in a huff much earlier than she wanted. She yanked her curtains closed, plunging her room into darkness, and crawled back under her covers for the next several hours.
When she’d awakened again, in a much better mood, Tristan joined her family downstairs. Though they did not celebrate Christmas day, Umbris had made a full breakfast spread that had Tristan’s stomach growling. She loaded up her plate with French toast, bacon, and eggs, poured herself a glass of orange juice, and joined her siblings in the living room.
Beckett had messaged her to say Merry Christmas, so Tristan chatted back and forth with him for a while before he let her know they'd arrived in Barataria and he'd talk to her later.
The Wallaces spent the remainder of the day at the house, Sol painting the shed in the backyard with the occasional assistance of Evander, and Umbris holed up in the den, working.
In the late afternoon, Evander came back inside, pointing at Tristan.
“You’re it.”
“I’m not dressed to paint,” Tristan complained, looking down at her leggings and gray t-shirt.
“You couldn’t be more dressed to paint,” Evander corrected, heading up the stairs to shower.
On a groan, Tristan rolled off the couch, Olivia looking at her sympathetically.
“Why can’t you go?”
“I have cramps,” Olivia said immediately, and Tristan rolled her eyes.
She slipped her feet into her sneakers and went outside, crossing the yard to where Sol stood looking at the mostly finished shed, which she’d painted a deep, rich turquoise with bright white trim. She wore denim overalls over a white tank top, her hair pulled back in a low ponytail, and she looked all of about twenty years old.
“Oh, Trinity, there you are,” Sol greeted, smiling over at her as Tristan came to stand beside her. There was a smudge of white paint on her cheek.
“Evander tagged me in,” Tristan replied, taking the paintbrush Sol held out to her.
“All that’s really left is the trim, but I appreciate your help.”
They got to work in comfortable silence, Tristan focused on the t
ask at hand. When she noticed that Sol had glanced at her a few times without saying anything, she looked over at her.
“What?”
“What?” Sol asked, sounding mildly bewildered.
“Why do you keep looking at me?”
“Because you’re so pretty.” Sol smiled, and Tristan rolled her eyes, her own smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Still, she waited.
“You and Beckett,” Sol began casually, swiping her paintbrush back and forth over the wood. “Are now a you and Beckett?”
“We are.” Tristan tensed, but Sol’s face barely changed as she nodded.
“I figured that would happen.”
Tristan didn’t know what to say to that, so she didn’t say anything.
“He seems nice.”
“He is nice.”
“So far.”
“So far?” Tristan raised her eyebrows.
“It’s easy to be nice when no one’s watching.” Sol glanced over at Tristan, who was opening her mouth to retort. “Though Beckett is good, so he’ll probably do the right thing when school starts up again.”
“I guess we’ll see.”
While her immediate reaction had been defensive, Tristan would not pretend she didn’t share Sol’s reservations.
“Do you know where he’s looking to go to college, if he’s planning on going that path?”
“Ward Livingston University is his top choice, but he doesn’t think he’ll get in, so he’s expecting Tulane or LSU.”
“Does he know what he wants to major in?”
“Psychiatry,” Tristan replied, still inexplicably surprised. “With a specialization in veterans affairs. It’s a cause close to him; his Paw-Paw was a veteran.”
Sol raised her eyebrows briefly, nodding.
“I’m impressed. I didn’t think most seventeen and eighteen year olds had any idea what kind of career path they’d like to walk.”