by Liz Gavin
She needed to convince Tristan she had changed, but how could she ask him to forgive her, when she had never forgiven herself?
4
Tristan
Tristan’s head pounded with a vengeance. He was aware it would be painful to meet Izzie again, but that devastating emptiness in his chest made for an unpleasant surprise. He always thought he would get furious, outraged even. When he envisioned that hypothetical encounter, he pictured himself dismissing Izzie with a few well-deserved arctic remarks.
He thought he was over her betrayal.
He thought he was over her. Period.
Instead, his blood turned to lava at the sight of her perfect round face framed by pitch black hair cut way too short. Large green eyes sparkled in the dim light of the restaurant, accentuating a turned-up nose and heart-shaped lips that wore a pale shade of rose. Such a subdued color, lightyears away from the dark mauve hues that used to stain his tank tops and mark his chest along with various other parts of his anatomy.
Don’t go there!
He made a superhuman effort to ignore his body’s reaction to her petite form. She had always had that power over him, turning him into a mess of quivering muscles that hungered for her soothing touch. For the longest time, Izzie was the only one who appeased that hunger. He was annoyed to learn she still sent his libido into overdrive. He wasn’t a hormone-driven teen anymore. He should be able to control his body.
Tristan banned traitorous memories of their good times to focus on the pain and humiliation she had introduced him to. He needed to send her back to whatever hole she had crawled out of, so he could return to his new life.
His organized life.
His pain-free life.
He didn’t want to know why she had returned. He didn’t care.
He didn’t want to find out if the rumors were true. He didn’t need her lying shit right now. He surely didn’t need to make her feel comfortable, when his guts felt turned inside out. Throughout the years, Tristan realized he had a hollow space where his heart had once been. Now, it felt like that gaping hole had swallowed his soul.
Izzie had made him heartless and soulless.
So why does my chest hurt so goddamn much?
A not-so-discreet cough sounded to his right and Tristan snapped out of the all-consuming trance he had fallen, when Izzie tilted his world out of its axis. He and Izzie were silently dueling right at his restaurant’s entrance, forcing Karen to remind him she had a job to do. Looking past Izzie’s head, he realized that at least five customers were standing, waiting to be taken to their reserved tables. None looked pleased.
Tristan acknowledged the group with a dip of his head and an apologetic grin, “I’m so sorry. Welcome to Chez Nous Bistro.” He nodded towards the hostess, who didn’t smile back at him. She would give him lip next chance she had. He deserved it. “Karen’s going to take good care of you. Enjoy your meal.”
He motioned for Izzie to follow him since she didn’t know the way, as he marched through linen covered tables where celeb-struck people gaped at them. He tried without much success not to stomp, deaf to the lively rendition of Mozart’s Serenade No. 13 that streamed from invisible loudspeakers. Noah, Nelson and Tristan busted their asses to put together the restaurant and it turned out a damn classy joint. He was proud of Chez Nous. He was comfortable there. It was an Izzie-free zone, his safe haven. He didn’t want Izzie in there. He didn’t want her to make new memories that would torment him later.
Not anymore.
On the other hand, he didn’t want to scare clients away, so he couldn’t take Izzie to the parking lot, nor could they stay in the lobby, or in the main room. The office was the only place left where they could have some privacy. He jerked the door open and waited for Izzie to enter, followed her in, then slammed the door shut.
“You’ve got a nice thing going here,” she praised, but he didn’t know if she meant the upscale restaurant, or the elegant office furniture.
Either way, he didn’t care. “Cut the crap. Why are you here?”
He ignored the twinkle in her green eyes that indicated her ache. He reminded his heart that he was heartless.
No feelings allowed.
He couldn’t budge.
If he hesitated for the briefest moment, he would give Izzie the upper hand.
In the past, her suffering had been his undoing.
Every.
Fucking.
Time.
Not anymore.
So why is my heart thudding against my ribcage?
Telling his traitorous ticker to be still, Tristan glowered at the woman standing next to him. Ignoring the perilous curves that the green silk of her calf-length dress hugged, he crossed his arms over his chest and frowned.
She nodded to the overstuffed leather chairs facing his desk. “Mind if I sit down?”
“Suit yourself.”
He chose to stand beside his mahogany desk while Izzie perched on the edge of one of chairs.
“What happened to Lilly?”
“What do you care?” Tristan muttered through clenched teeth.
Again, with the sad puppy eyes? He wouldn’t fall for that.
Izzie shrugged. “Your mom was always nice to me. Besides my parents, I didn’t have much of a family in Thousand Oaks. Lilly was kind of an aunt to me.”
“I remember how your parents spoiled you rotten.” Disdain framed his speech now. It wasn’t always like that.
Growing up, he had envied Izzie’s easy relationship with her loving parents. Lilly was an amazing mother, and he loved her dearly. She had more than compensated for the worthless excuse of a father, who took off before Tristan was born. As a kid, it had sucked not having a dad. Then, it had sucked more dealing with the long string of his mom’s boyfriends.
Izzie pointed her chin up and let his remark slide. “You sounded like there’s something going on with Lilly just now when I asked.”
“No. I said she was doing great.”
“You lied,” she deadpanned.
Damn it! She can still see through my bullshit.
Then, he reminded himself she had lost the right to that a long time ago.
His turn to shrug. “If you say so.”
“Not buying it.”
“Not selling anything.” They locked gazes and Tristan would be damned if he backed down first.
Time stood still.
Unable to stare into Izzie’s forest green eyes any longer, he caved in. “She’s sick, alright?”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“It is what it is, some sort of congenital kidney disease. She’s been on dialysis for a couple of years.”
This time there was no mistaking the pain that shadowed Izzie’s face, the hint of moisture that made her eyes glisten. A blue vein beat wildly on her neck as she combed her black pixie hair with her long fingers, locking them behind her neck for a moment, before returning her hands to her lap. He noticed she didn’t wear a ring on each finger as she used to, but she wore the Claddagh he gave her on senior prom night.
Not subtle at all, Ms. Anderson.
That solid wall he had built around his heart just got chipped.
Damage control was in order.
He reminded himself of Izzie’s betrayal and how much it had cost him.
He resumed scowling.
Before Izzie had a chance to say how sad she was for his mom, he needed to say something. He didn’t doubt her concern was sincere, but Lilly Knight was a major soft spot in his armor. Izzie knew it just too well. He needed to keep the upper hand. An attack sounded like the best defense.
“Cut the small talk. Why are you here?” Tristan repeated.
His office furniture had been hand-picked to put visitors at ease, which wasn’t working for Izzie. Watching her fidget with her hands got to his oversensitive nerves. Yet he waited for her next words.
When her tight lips remained sealed, he blew out an impatient sigh and draped one leg over the edge of the desk, resti
ng his ass on its top and dangling his foot. He hoped she bought into his unruffled act because the tight leash he kept his self-control under was about to give.
“After fifteen years, Izzie, why now?”
5
Izzie
Izzie doubted Tristan’s cool demeanor reflected his real mindset. As a kid, he hid vulnerabilities behind a stoic pretense. Back then, she always called his bluff. Then again, she was his confidant, the one person, besides his mom, Tristan would turn to in times of need.
She lost her safe haven status with him that night at Mark King’s house, when she trampled on Tristan’s heart, shattering his trust. She wasn’t sure she could read him all that well anymore. She hoped she was reading him wrong because the emotions she saw scared the shit out of her.
How can I mend this man if I’m the one who broke him?
Now she needed him whole and yet the moment she told him the truth about that night, it would wreck him all over again. Guilt and shame warred inside her, making her feel like she was standing on the edge of the highest cliff looking down. Izzie steeled herself and took the dreaded plunge.
She had to start somewhere, so she decided to go with the end. “I’m sorry.”
Tristan’s gaze bored into hers, yet she didn’t cower. She prayed he didn’t notice the slight twitch on her upper lip, or the vein throbbing in her neck. One perfect eyebrow lifted, and his eyes abandoned hers to focus on those exact spots.
Shit!
“That’s it?”
He was toying with her like a big cat with its prey. She could tell. His words sounded flat, but his lips curved in a mocking smirk, his blue eyes gleamed glacial sparks that burned her face and scorched her soul.
He went on. “After all these years, after the hell you put me through, that’s all you’ve got for me? You’re sorry?” He gasped and closed his eyes. When he reopened them, the pain that turned his blue stare into dark pools ripped her heart out. “You didn’t cheat on a test or cut the checkout line at a grocery store. You fucked my best friend at a party he was throwing for me. Mark was more than a father figure to me. He was my mentor. I got that record deal because of him. He threw that party to celebrate it, and because I told him I was going to propose to you.” Izzie’s stomach hit the floor as blood drained from her face. She never knew that. “I had a real shot with my own band. I wasn’t going to be ‘Mr. Izzie Anderson’ anymore. I wouldn’t be in your shadow as you preferred to keep me,” he whispered, tight-lipped. The ground vanished from under her feet. Tristan raised his voice when happy, and lowered it when disgusted. Or angry.
She shook her head, too overwhelmed to articulate a response. She never knew he felt that way about her success.
She found her voice. “That’s not true and you know it. I wouldn’t be anything without your support and your talent. You were never ‘Mr. Anderson’ to me. I told you a million times we were partners. I loved you, goddamn it.”
“If you truly loved me, you would’ve been faithful.” His voice dropped as his stare turned icy. He hopped off the table, bracing his hands on the armrests of her chair, looming over her, “If you truly loved me, I wouldn’t have sauntered into Mark’s bedroom in the middle of that party to find your lips wrapped around his cock, now, would I?”
Izzie racked her brain for an appropriate comeback and came up empty-handed. Stunned by the emotions his raw words revived, she shrugged. That snapped something inside Tristan. He held her upper arms, squeezing them against her body, pulling her from the chair. Normally, her head reached his chest, but she tiptoed as he pulled her up until his hot breath brushed against her cheeks. Her eyelids dropped to protect herself from the burning rage she witnessed in his eyes.
Tristan had never been violent toward her, he would never hurt any woman, but people change. Maybe, the damage she had caused him ran deeper that she imagined.
She winced and squinted her eyes, bracing herself for an assault.
It never came.
As fast as he had seized her, Tristan shoved her free. Disoriented, Izzie grabbed the chair for support as she reopened her eyes to find his back turned to her, hands splayed on the polished table top. Deep breaths came out of him fast and furious, tension etching the large expanse of his back.
In the past, snuggling against Tristan felt like heaven. Every time Izzie needed to hide from the evils of the world, Tristan’s warm chest welcomed her, soothing her pain away. His heartbeats used to be her favorite lullaby. Time and distance played a cruel trick on her, shrinking the true value of those precious moments. Stinging tears pricked the back of her eyes as she grasped the enormity of her loss.
She swallowed hard, she wasn’t a wimp.
She needed Tristan’s help.
Failure wasn’t an option.
Izzie squared her shoulders ready to reveal her reasons for reaching out to Tristan after all those years.
His next words killed her newfound courage. “I swear to God, I’ve never laid a finger on a woman. I abhor men who do,” he muttered without turning around to face her. “I refuse to let you steal that away from me as well. Leave.”
She choked at the vivid memories of Lilly Knight’s screams during her sleepovers at Tristan’s house. Izzie was four and Tristan was about six. She would sneak into his bedroom when the banging and shouting started at his mom’s room, crawling under the covers with him. He would hold her tight without saying a word. That silent reassurance comforted her into sleep. It wasn’t until much later in life that Izzie realized he was quiet because he was as terrified as she was.
The tears Izzie fought before now rolled down her cheeks. Humiliation and shame made them burn. She hesitated, trying to find a way to reason with him. She owed him the truth, at least the part of it she could offer. She had come to Brazil to set things straight.
Still not facing her, he growled, “Now.”
More than the rumbling sound of that single word, his glacial tone spurred her into action.
Dropping the hand she had raised to touch his tense shoulder, Izzie scuttled out of his office, leaving the door ajar. She darted through the crowded restaurant paying no heed to the heads that turned or the curious whispers that followed her. She didn’t care if people recognized her, took pictures or posted them on social media. She didn’t give a damn about any of that.
I’ve damaged him beyond repair.
She broke her heart when she broke his.
Neither would ever be whole again.
She didn’t stop until she reached the town car parked in front of the bistro. Hopping in, she shut the door and rested her head against the tinted window. As the driver pulled away and headed towards her hotel, she looked out of the window, but her eyes glazed over.
She had no tears.
Not anymore.
She felt empty.
Defeated.
Izzie appreciated the driver for a silent ride through the rain-washed streets, but it did nothing to calm her down. Disconnected scenes and fragmented memories clashed in her head. She shut her eyes and rubbed her forehead as if the gesture could erase years of suffering.
She had been clean for about a decade, but she recognized the emotions that could trigger a relapse. She fumbled inside her designer bag for her phone. Her sponsor’s number was the first one on the call log.
“What’s up, gorgeous?”
“I screwed it up big time. I told you this wouldn’t work.”
Jim Evans was old enough to be her grandfather, which put Izzie at ease around him and was essential for his positive influence. He also didn’t give a rat’s ass about her celebrity status. Having grown up as the troubled son of an unhinged, dysfunctional movie-star couple, Jim had seen Hollywood at its worst. No one surprised him. Nothing shocked him.
He was genuinely fond of Izzie though and became her sponsor when she started in the NA program. He had stuck by her side through struggles, small victories, and inevitable setbacks. His encouragement had helped Izzie move through the twelve steps.
“Making amends is just the starting point with Tristan. I didn’t even get to that.”
“You knew it wasn’t going to be easy.”
“I had hoped it wasn’t going to be this hard.”
“Chin up, Izzie. You can do this. Now backtrack a little. Tell me what happened from the beginning.”
She relayed to Jim the details of her meeting with Tristan. Every single embarrassing one. She never lied to her sponsor. That would defeat the purpose of having one in the first place. He hung on her words and coached whenever necessary. By the time she opened the door of the presidential suite she was in, Izzie was wrapping up the phone call.
“We might be thousands of miles apart, but I’m just a phone call away.”
“I know, and I appreciate you for it. It means a lot. Good night.”
When Izzie opened the minibar to get water, she eyeballed the miniature bottles of vodka, coveting the quick fix they promised. She grabbed a large bottle of Pellegrino and quickly shut the door.
Although her downfall had been cocaine, and resisting alcohol wasn’t normally a big deal for her, she was feeling way too crappy. Izzie knew better. Being clean meant abstaining from any kind of drugs, booze included. She poured the bubbly water into a tall glass and gulped down most of it, ambling to the opposite side of the living-room.
As the cool liquid soothed her dry throat, she gazed out the floor-to-ceiling balcony doors overlooking a dark bay. She opened them and stepped out, letting the night breeze wrap around her like a warm shawl. That was her first time in Florianópolis. When she had toured Brazil, she never played there. She was surprised to find a vibrant city sprawled across an island blessed by luxuriant nature, but one of the biggest revelations the city offered her was a Golden Gate-like bridge that connected Florianópolis to the main land. Tossing her head back to finish up the water, she contemplated the structure’s silhouette illuminated by fairy lights as the full moon shed a magical light down the bridge and the ocean.