by Wylder Stone
Stepping just outside the front door onto the porch, he noticed the car was still where he’d left it. She didn’t leave. When he walked back up the step, something caught his eye through the front picture window. It looked into the front sitting room, the only place he hadn’t looked because it too was dark and he assumed unoccupied. Trista. Her silhouette was highlighted by the bright moonlight that crept in.
He went back inside and stood at the entrance to the sitting room where Trista sat completely silent, all alone, unsure what to do. This was completely out of his realm of expertise. He went to her. The article about her death that Owen had shown her earlier in the day had her complete attention. Tear-streaked cheeks glistened in the moonlight, and his heart sank.
Standing in front of her, he said, “You are doing the right thing. Had you stayed or turned a blind eye, you eventually would have been named an accomplice. Even if you never stumbled upon his crap, they would have nailed you, too.”
“But I didn’t know. I just…I thought he was having an affair…or two,” Trista admitted, total defeat lacing her broken words.
“Can you prove that?” Owen asked, careful with his tone and choice of words.
Crushed was the only way to describe her expression. “You honestly don’t think I would have been okay with what he was doing had I known?”
“Of course I don’t, but it would have been our burden to prove. You’re his wife. They would wonder how you didn’t know. It’s better this way. I promise you, Trista.”
As she continued staring through the front window, he saw her lip quiver in the moonlight. “You mean Molly Jensen. I saw the purse and wallet you put on my bed earlier. I found the money, but then I saw my face next to that name.”
“I’m sorry you have to do this, Trista.” Emphasizing her name seemed important at that moment. She was only Molly to the rest of the world if they happened to look in, but she was still Trista.
“Well, the town seems nice. It’s cute. Maybe it won’t be so bad. Besides, no one here will notice that handbag is a cheap designer knockoff from three seasons ago.” Her attempt at humor to lighten the mood only drove her farther into whatever storm she was standing in. The tears came hard and fast now. “Maybe tomorrow, it will be easier to be Molly Jensen?”
Trista was having trouble coping with the idea that she, her baby, and her sister no longer existed. That was to be expected, and everyone deals with grief in different ways, but what Owen didn’t expect was how her sadness pained him. He was at a loss, so Owen did the only thing he knew to do and put his arm around her.
She laid her head on his shoulder and began to sob. Her anger, her sadness, and the grief flooded through her tears and body-quaking shakes, but she was getting it out. For now, anyway. There was certain to be more. Since Owen didn’t do emotions and certainly didn’t deal with tears of this magnitude, he just let her cry as it ebbed and flowed. He would be her rock for as long as she needed one because he didn’t know what else to be.
Time started to run together, the hours passed on, and Trista finally calmed after falling into a fitful sleep. He held her like that for some time while he thought about the sacrifice she was forced to make. It seemed Owen had his own emotions to work through, but they were all for her, not himself. She didn’t deserve this. She certainly deserved better than her bastard husband ever gave her.
With her legs pulled under her on the couch they occupied, she softened, nuzzling into him. It felt good. Owen liked having her there, holding her, comforting her even if it was wrong of him. He would do it as often as she needed him to.
Owen leaned down, and whispered softly, “It’s not prison, Tris. You’re saving lives. You’re selfless, brave, and making someone else’s wrong right because that’s who you are. This is how you stay alive, here with me, because I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you…ever again.”
Owen pulled her into his arms in one quick motion and stood, carrying her through the house to her room. He held her close to his body and breathed her in before he laid her on her bed and pulled a blanket over her. Before leaving, he watched her for a while, making sure Trista stayed asleep. He stroked his hand across her hair, brushing it away from her face in an affectionate gesture.
He left her bedroom door open, as he did his own, so he could hear her through the night. Hopeful she would manage a decent night’s sleep. Owen knew he wouldn’t. He would listen for her and be right back at her side if she needed him through the night. It was all that he knew to do for Trista, and he was happy to do it. For now.
11
A new day, a new attitude, a new person. Trista wasn’t kidding when she said she would meet Owen for morning workouts. At the crack of dawn, however, she wished she had thought better of it. No going back on her word now, though, not after the fit she went through. She needed to prove not just to Owen but also to herself that she was made of something more than spoiled privileges. It was time to discover who Trista was and what she was made of.
Regret wasn’t the right word for it, but the previous night’s meltdown showed a vulnerability that made her feel weak next to someone who had to have seen more than most, given his line of work. Trista didn’t care if he saw her raw and emotional, but she needed to show Owen and mostly herself that she could pick up the pieces and create a different outlook. One that was stronger and less needy. She wasn’t a fool. Trista knew those emotional wounds were still open, raw, and not going anywhere, but she could work around them, build on them, and handle them better the next time they festered.
Conquering her new demons was the objective – Owen Force was the method. If she was going to survive this, Trista had to survive him. He was hard, steely, had the emotions of a root, and grunted a lot, but the night before, Owen had been kind and comforting, albeit awkward for him. She craved that comfort. Trista supposed she had for a long time, and now it was there, right in front of her, and she was afraid to take it because of where it was coming from.
She was married, happily at one point. What did that say about her? It was becoming painfully clear that her marriage was very one-sided and that vows and honesty were optional, but she had been committed on every level. She had loved Cesar. She knew she did. But now, Trista had to wonder – had it still been love or simply habit that connected them? What made her go to his office that night? Was it love she was fighting for, or was she looking to confirm her suspicions so she could end a loveless marriage. Either way, she’d stumbled upon much more.
When Owen’s evening of comfort and kindness gave her more than her entire marriage could, Trista had to assume it was just habit between her and Cesar. Despite the realization, she was still married, and she needed to remember that. The old Trista had died – figuratively anyway – and she wouldn’t let the new Trista be a lesser version who lacked a moral compass.
This was a chance to be a better version of herself, a real-life do-over. Starting with Owen’s morning boot camp. Trista wanted to exceed his expectations – for Owen to eat crow after that smirk he gave her on the matter. Truth be told, she wanted to exceed her own expectation and overcome all of her pampered obstacles. Being up before the sun was a good start.
She dug through her single bag, looking for something to wear. Owen did most of her packing, and he was as practical as they came. Neither had been thinking about clothing options for exercise. It was a pack and get the hell out situation. She pulled out a tank top and a pair of sleep shorts, though they left Trista feeling a bit on display.
They were just clothes, and she was just going to exercise. She was dressed to sweat and make a point, mostly to herself. The new Trista wasn’t interested in turning this into a fashion show, nor was she dressing to impress anyone. This was for her.
12
Owen was surprised to see her so early. At home, Trista tended to sleep later, letting the nanny tend to Mason first thing. It wasn’t because she was an uninvolved parent. It was because Trista stayed up half the night, waiting for her asshole husband
. A husband who didn’t come home most nights.
Owen felt that pinch in his chest again. Trista was a loyal, doting wife – spoiled but loving –and Cesar couldn’t be bothered to appreciate what he had in her. She was the woman you wanted to come home to and be proud to call your own. Owen was glad Cesar was out of the picture, and she got a second chance at a life she deserved.
He hoped her death, staged as it was, pained Cesar more than it pained her. He also hoped her pain was enough to steer her clear of assholes like Cesar. For that, he felt slightly guilty, but only for a second, maybe two, because she deserved the world, and if a broken heart led her to something better, so be it.
“You’re up,” he said, unprepared for her.
“Yeah, well…exercise,” Trista said, tossing her arms in the air with equal parts enthusiasm and sarcasm. “So are we going to talk, or are we going to do push-ups or something?”
“Something like that.” He chuckled. “Are you good?”
She smiled sweetly, knowing exactly what he meant. He was checking on her. It was kind and endearing. “I am. I am all good. One hundred percent…no…one hundred and ten percent good. For now.”
“Alright then. Let’s stretch real quick, and we’ll start with a run around the ponds.” Owen matched her smile, happy to see that despite all she was forced to work through, Trista was fighting back and finding her way. This was the Trista he knew – the one she was destined to be.
“The ponds, as in, more than one?” She had underestimated their playing field, it seemed.
“Yes, more than one. This one here,” he said, turning and pointing at the pond just off their deck, “is the smallest. There are a dozen of them out here between the trees and such. We’ll mostly run the perimeter and let nature work us out.”
“Okay.” A nervous squeak entered the equation when she looked at the size of their pond as the smallest and thought times twelve. “R-ready when you are.”
Owen ran her into the ground. It wasn’t intentional. He just took his cues from her. The more he pushed, the harder she pushed back, and it was good for her. She persevered and overcame every obstacle Owen tossed at her, no matter how painful or hard. Exercise imitating real life? Definitely.
There was never a plan to go easy on her or lighten the workout. Trista either kept up, or she didn’t. He was pleasantly surprised by her actions. Sure, she tripped over a log she was supposed to jump back and forth over. Then she underestimated a puddle that she attempted to hurdle and fell ass first in the marshy gunk that surrounded one of the ponds. A twisted ankle and sprained thumb later, Trista came out on the other side covered in mud and sweat, feeling stronger than when she started, even if she could no longer breathe or stand upright.
Every emotion she had been faced with, every fear or superficial tantrum was left out on their course. He had no doubt there was plenty more to work on, but her drive was born of circumstance and desire. The desire to overcome, and she did.
The final quarter mile had her much slower than he was, but he waited on the back deck with a bottle of water for her.
“Thirsty?” Owen asked, handing her the water.
“God, yes,” Trista panted, taking the water and collapsing in one of the outside chairs.
“I wouldn’t drink that too fast or sit right away. That was a hard workout. Stretch, let your body…”
He didn’t finish his thought before she stood quickly, up on her tiptoes, dancing around in pain, “Ooh, ouch, ooh, ouch. My toes, they’re…ooh, ouch.”
“Cramping. That’s why you need to stretch and cool down first. Just do what I do.” Owen led Trista in some easy cool-down stretches while she caught her breath. “You’ll want to drink a lot of water to stay hydrated, or that will keep happening.”
“Thanks for the tip. I’ll remember that.” Trista smiled, despite the aches and exhaustion.
“You did good out there. I’m a little impressed. Tomorrow will be easier. You know the route now and what to expect,” he said, drinking his own water.
Shocked, she turned to him wide-eyed. “Tomorrow?”
“I do this every day – twice around, actually. You don’t have to, though. You’ll probably be too sore tomorrow.” Owen teased her, knowing it would get a reaction out of her and ensure Trista accompanied him again.
“Oh, I’ll be there. I can do it. Before you know it, I’ll have a big, beautiful body like yours with all the…muscles, and…that came out wrong.” Embarrassed by her unintentional admission, Trista dropped her head to hide her crimson cheeks.
“Uh-huh, beautiful, like me…got it.” Laughter escaped him, a sound she didn’t hear too often.
A dramatic teasing eye roll later, Trista added, “Just forget I even said that part. No matter what I say, I don’t think I can fix it, so…forget it.”
“Got it.” He appeased her with a playful wink as he headed into the house. “Why don’t you hit the shower first?”
“We can shower at the same time if you want to.” It wasn’t until Owen turned around with raised eyebrows and a sultry stare that Trista realized what she had said. “Oh, my God. I mean…we have two showers. We can shower together…in different showers!”
“Thanks for clearing that up.” Owen tried not to sound disappointed. “You need the heat and water pressure for your muscles, or you’ll be sore by evening.”
“I’ll be fine, but thanks.” Trista walked around him without another word or eye contact and went to her room and closed the door.
Her abundance of confidence and stubborn disposition left him laughing. Despite her insistence that she didn’t need the head start on the hot water, he knew Trista would, even if it meant Owen took a cold one. He needed one.
She worked hard trying to keep up, and every bend, crunch, and pull-up in those tiny shorts flashed the bottom curve of her backside and her tiny tank left curves on display as well.
He tried not to look, but with his hands around her waist, helping her through pull-ups and holding her feet through crunches made that an impossible task. He welcomed the cold shower in his near future.
Owen was a gentleman and a professional who knew where to draw the line. Trista challenged that line, though, like no one else ever had. He couldn’t give in to her unintentional allure and act on urges that were nothing more than the result of his lengthy dry spell. He’d been on this case for so long, he just needed the comfort of a woman who wasn’t in his protective custody. In the meantime, these morning workouts just may be the death of him.
Finally ready for the day, Owen searched the house for Trista without any luck. She had long since been out of the shower. He heard it turn off before starting his, but Trista never left her room. With the door closed, he gently knocked to no answer. Though he knew they were safe, for now, a stir of unease got the better of him. Whether it was something sinister or just a relapse of her emotions, he was prepared for anything when he opened the door. Always her protector.
The anxiety softened when all he found was Trista sound asleep on top of her already made bed, still wrapped in her towel. He paused to take her in since staring, in general, was rude, but if she didn’t know, it didn’t count. Trista was peaceful, her expression free of worry or anger. He hoped her dreams were equally void of anguish.
Moving closer, he placed a bottle of water on her nightstand that he had grabbed from the kitchen when passing through while he looked for her. When he pulled the folded blanket from the foot of her bed over her she let out a deep sigh. Maybe it was relief. Perhaps she’d worked out some of those hard emotions she’d been packing. Maybe discovering her strength was the best way to heal.
She snuggled into the blanket, her newfound comfort. He hated himself for the thoughts crossing his mind and the vision of her now and forever engrained in his head. It lacked control, was utterly impulse-driven, and as far from professional as he’d ever been.
This wasn’t like Owen. Trista was under his skin in a good way that left him bad. She’d played a role in hi
s silent affections for some time, despite his best efforts. Trista was married, after all, and Owen wasn’t a home-wrecker. It didn’t matter that her marriage was technically over. She’d died according to the rest of the world, and the minute she was done testifying, any judge would grant her divorce, no questions asked. Her marriage was nothing more than a technicality at this point. But Owen was a man of honor and wouldn’t cross that line, no matter how tempting. Her appeal was out of duty, obligation, the need to protect. Nothing more.
He didn’t have time for anything other than a one-night stand with a girl who didn’t even know his name. Anything more, and he had an instant target in bed next to him. That thought alone, as he slowly backed away from Trista’s bedside, excusing himself from her room, was what he needed. Even if there were mutual affections, at some point, there could be no future. His life was far too dangerous, full of too many enemies, and he would protect her from it all by protecting her from himself. He wasn’t good for anyone. Especially Trista Ryan.
13
The sunlight creeping through the blinds and curtains woke Trista from her unintended nap. Feeling every muscle as she stretched, Trista remembered how her early morning had started. She couldn’t forget it, even if she wanted to given the sore muscles. It was late morning, according to the clock on her nightstand. She had slept for several hours after her workout with Owen.
She smiled at the thought of him, and awareness began to set in when she saw the bottled water sitting next to her bed. He had checked on her and must’ve covered her. With a quick jolt, Trista sat up and looked under the blanket, recalling that she hadn’t even dressed when she first laid down. Trista hadn’t meant to fall into a deep slumber, so she hoped she didn’t flash Owen with a free show, having only been covered in her towel.