by Khan, Jen
I pick up one of my Fireballs and sigh. “We can stay for a few more drinks. Besides, Olivia would be crushed if we cut dresses, drinks, and debauchery short.” I focus my attention on the shot in my hand.
“Whatever you want, hun, but Holly?”
I look back to her and she resumes talking.
“He regrets the way he treated you and not being there for you when you found out that you were pregnant. It’s written all over his face that he feels responsible for the miscarriage. Please don’t let him go on thinking that he deserves to hold on to that for the rest of his life.”
She is right. If I go on letting Tristan think that he was responsible for the miscarriage, then I would be doing wrong by him. I can’t do that to him. It isn’t fair.
Emma’s hand slides along my shoulder and she leans in close. “Whatever you need, hun. I got you.”
I lean into her while the bartender finishes pouring our round. We load the drinks onto a tray and I carry them back to our table. My eyes meet Tristan’s, which look guarded yet warm. I feel a flutter in the pit of my stomach. God, I’ve missed him so much. He has looked great since he came back from Charlotte. He has gotten leaner and stronger if that’s even possible. The best part is that he looks healthy.
I set the tray of drinks on the table and serve the ladies and Curtis. Tristan stands, moves around the table, and pulls out my chair, motioning for me to take a seat. I glance around the table, taking in our friends, who were also taking us in. Braden quickly stares at the beer in front of him, picking at the label, Juice moves his eyes to the ceiling, and Curtis whips his head around, looking over his shoulder at the wall. Olivia ducks under the table while Charlena declares, “Lawwwwd, here we go!” Emma is smiling from ear to ear.
I roll my eyes. “Thank you,” I say.
Then his eyes light up and the smile on his face can only be described as pure elation. I have never seen him look so beautiful. Yes, beautiful is the only word that comes to mind.
Even though I got sideswiped by the unexpected appearance of Tristan, this evening is going well. Everyone seems to be having a good time. The ladies are laughing—Charlena is the main reason why as always—and the boys look like they wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.
I stole glances at Tristan on occasion during one of Charlena’s rants and caught him watching me. The first couple of times, he looked away the second I saw him. After that, he quit pretending and flat-out stated at me when I’d catch him. Then he would smile. He looks handsome in his close-fitting black tee, dark jeans, and boots.
The Fireballs are being shot and the fun has begun. I look around at our table. Everyone is talking, laughing, or singing. Olivia is singing loudly to the song on the jukebox and dancing in her chair with her arms in the air.
I smile, lean into Emma, and announce, “I’m going to the bathroom.”
I get up and walk down the hall that leads me to my desired location. Halfway to the bathroom, I feel movement behind me. I go to turn, but I am overpowered by a large body. I start to scream, but a hand covers my mouth and I am yanked into the solid form as an arm grips me around my waist. Whoever it is walks us out the back door to the alleyway. The door closes behind us and my eyes shift around rapidly, taking in my surroundings.
The streetlamp illuminates the parking lot. There are two dumpsters and old empty kegs stacked against the wall of the building. This is the spot where they hold Rally in the Alley. It is also where Emma was attacked by Delgado before he was sent back to jail.
“You scream, I shoot you,” he croons in my ear.
My body trembles and I nod my head, letting him know that I understand. In a nanosecond, I find my back against the brick wall and a big, scary man with his forearm at my throat. I try to get free to no avail.
“Your daddy sent me to convey a message.”
Of course this has to do with my father. My heart is beating painfully against my chest as I struggle against the scary man. I am clearly no match. He has a good few inches on me and at least two hundred pounds.
“Stop struggling, little girl, and listen.”
At his words, I do as I’ve been told.
“Listen good. You’re going to keep your mouth shut and not do anything stupid that might sway any decision that could result in your old man not getting his freedom.”
Is he serious right now? My father sent this man to threaten his own daughter. My body is pulled forward and slammed back. My head bounces and cracks against the wall. I moan out in pain.
“I don’t think you heard me and I don’t like to repeat myself.”
“What makes him think that I hold any power to be able to do any such thing? I’m just a paralegal.”
“I don’t give a shit what you are.” His forearm presses deeper into my throat, threatening to cut off my air supply.
Something in me snaps and my survival instinct takes over. I take my heel and stomp the top of his foot. Scary Man cries out in pain, releasing me, and I run.
“I’ll kill you, bitch!” he screams. He catches me by the hair and turns me around to face him. I grab his face and tear at his skin with my nails, leaving claw-like marks from the side of his forehead and his cheek.
Now, I am being lifted by something strong and spun around into something else strong and powerful. I look up to see that I am being held by Braden. He pulls me away from the action. I am still looking at him while attempting to settle the panic that has taken over, but I start crying. His hand trails up and down my back, but his eyes are focused on something beyond me. I lean into him, turn, and see Tristan with Scary Man pinned to the brick wall, his hands at his throat. Scary Man is gagging, clawing at Tristan’s hands, and kicking his legs wildly. His eyes are bugging out and his face is turning purple.
My mind jumbled, my heart hammering, and my vision cloudy, I shut my eyes tight, trying to regroup, when it hits me. Tristan is strangling the life out of the man and Braden is going to let him do it. I may not like having scary ex-cons coming after me, but what I don’t like more is the possibility of Tristan going to jail for murder.
“Stop!” I shout. I struggle against Braden, whose arms hold me tighter. “Stop it! Tristan, stop!” I shriek. Then I hear the sound of heels clicking on the pavement.
“Braden, do something! Stop him!” Emma shouts.
Braden holds on tight to me, not making a move to put an end to this madness. I start crying harder. Tristan is going to kill him.
“Please. Oh god, please!” I beg.
In that moment, I watch as the fight leaves him. Tristan’s arms drop and he releases Scary Man, who sinks to the ground, holding his throat and gasping for every breath of air he can take in. Tristan pulls me away from Braden and sweeps me into his arms. Holding me close, he buries his face into the crook of my neck. His body is trembling, and it takes everything in me to hold him close. His arms tighten even further and I feel wetness forming on my shoulder from his frustrated and angry tears.
Charlena trots down the steps. “The police are on their way. And you!” she yells at Scary Man as she approaches him. “I’m gonna whoop yo ass until they get here.” We watch as she goes at him, hitting him and kicking him while he is down.
Scary Man is bent over, still trying to take in air, all while holding out his hands against Charlena’s attack. She kicks him in the gut so hard that he lands flat on his face. She jumps on his back and repeatedly punches him. I can hear her grunting with each blow. Then she holds him by the sides of his head and proceeds to smack it against the pavement, at the same time hollering, “Muthafucka. Tried to hurt my girl. I’m gonna. Put. A. Hurtin’. On. You!” She isn’t lying. Before she stands, she leans down into his ear and warns, “Don’t you come back, ya hear?”
As if this can’t get any worse, Curtis comes galloping down the stairs with a Holts menu in hand and begins slapping the man in the head. “Don’t you ever touch my sista from anotha mista. Ever!”
I release Tristan, who walks over to Charlena, rounding
an arm on her waist and pulling her off. Braden claps a hand over Curtis’s shoulder and guides him away.
Charlena walks to me. “You okay?”
I nod. The sirens that started off in the distance are now here. The two police cruisers pull in and they see to Scary Man.
Once Tristan is through giving his statement to the officers, he comes to me, wraps his hand around my upper arm, and pulls me behind him. I stiffen and try to dig my heels into the ground to stop us, which is completely useless.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m taking you home,” he clips.
“I came with the girls. They can take me home, Tristan.”
“No one is taking you home but me.”
I jerk my arm out of his hand. “The girls can take me home.”
“Clearly, you aren’t safe at home by yourself. You’ll be safe with me there. I’m taking you home.”
At his words, panic rises in me. “You think he sent more than that guy?” I ask.
“I think that your father is desperate and will do just about anything to guarantee that you don’t talk and ruin his chances at an early release. I don’t plan on allowing anyone else to get that close to you again. You get me?”
I cross my arms over my chest, throwing him the best attitude I have.
Tristan’s head falls back, closes his eyes, and mutters, “Lord, give me strength.”
“Strength for what?”
He sighs, drops his head back to my level, and trains his eyes on me. “Listen, the only way I’m leaving you alone tonight is if you have a mini arsenal at home. I want to know that you have a handgun, a rifle, a shotgun, and a semi-automatic weapon, are an expert shot, and can throw knives. Wait! Can you throw knives? Because, cupcake, no lie, that would be pretty badass.”
I do a slow blink because I have no response to that.
“No? Then I’m staying at your house. First thing in the morning, we get you a stun gun and pepper spray. I’ll show you how to use them. In the meantime—”
I interrupt him. “You’re staying with me?”
Tristan nods and releases the dimple. “Bet your sweet ass I am.”
The alarm blares every morning at six o’clock. I push back the covers, kick my feet over the side of the bed, and pad my bare feet to the bathroom. I do my morning rise routine which includes throwing my hair in a messy ponytail so that I can wash my face and brush my teeth.
I shuffle, still half asleep to the kitchen. Coffee is the only thing on my foggy brain. I pour water into the decanter, and hit brew, listening to the water bubble through. I walk to the living room and stop dead in my tracks. My eyes travel along the couch, landing on a very shirtless, sexy, well-defined, tattooed chest. They move down and get another treat—a ripped abdomen followed by a pair of jeans sitting low on hips that are showing off that sexy V that men with bodies of gods are blessed with.
“Morning, cupcake,” Tristan greets.
I jump.
He walks to me and cups the back of my head, bringing me to him. He wraps his other arm around me and kisses the top of my head. My body comes alive at his touch, rooting me to my spot, as he walks around me to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
I stand here frozen for a few beats. My blood is pumping so hard that I can hear it rushing in my ears. Opening my eyes, I notice that I am in nothing but a blue, fitted tank and boy-short panties. Hell. I completely forgot that he stayed the night last night. I had set him up on the couch with a pillow and blanket before going to bed. I slept like a rock for the first time in months.
I take a calming breath and go to my room, rummaging through my drawers and pulling out a pair of yoga pants. I walk back to the kitchen to see Tristan setting two mugs of coffee on the breakfast bar.
He looks over at me, his eyes roaming the length of me. With a smile, he says, “Don’t put pants on because of me. I prefer the other look.” Then he winks.
“Do you want me to make you some breakfast?” I open the refrigerator and give him a rundown of what I am stocked up on. We opt for bacon, eggs, and toast. Tristan helps me by preparing the toast while I fry the bacon and scramble the eggs. We move in sync throughout my kitchen. When I need something, it is as if he already knows what it is. Who knew he would make such an awesome assistant in the kitchen?
“Tristan, can I talk to you about something?” I ask, hoping that this conversation goes smoothly.
“Sure, cupcake.”
I let out a huge sigh. “Listen, I’m really sorry that you had to get involved in that last night. I’m also sorry that you ended up on my couch. I had no idea that my father sent someone after me. As a matter of fact, I almost can’t believe that he would actually send someone to hurt me in order to keep me quiet—as if I have any power or control over what happens to him.”
I stare at him, waiting for a response. Any response. He still has that messy, just-woke-up look to him. It suits him well. Hell, any look suits him well. He is watching me closely.
“Tristan?”
Still nothing. He takes a step in my direction, yanks the spatula from my hand, and turns off the burner. In an instant, I find myself in his arms being kissed. This kiss isn’t sweet—it is rough. Carnal, if you will. It is all tongue and moans. Our bodies can’t get close enough. I dig my fingers into his shoulders and hold on tight. He lifts his head, and I follow with my mouth. I’m not done yet.
He groans and kisses me again, walking me backwards to the bar, caging me in. The kiss deepens—if that is even possible. It is full-on tongues, groping… Our hands are everywhere. I can feel the wetness pooling between my legs, and the ache is indescribable. I clench my thighs together to try to quench the need that’s building.
Tristan pulls his mouth away and tucks my face into his chest, breathing hard.
“Tristan?” I whisper against him, confusion eating at me due to his change in temperature. Scorching hot to subzero in two point five seconds. I don’t get it.
His answer is one word: “Breakfast.”
I jerk out of his grip and reach for the spatula, but he grabs me, setting me back against the bar. I look at him and mutter after clearing my throat, “I have to finish cooking the bacon. I know you don’t like soggy bacon. If you want your bacon crispy, then you’ll let me get back to it.”
“Relax, cupcake,” he responds gently.
“I can’t relax. I have to finish your bacon. Then I have to shower and go see that sorry excuse of a father of mine and—“
“The hell you are. You are not going to see that man.”
“Excuse me?”
“You are not going to see that man.”
“I have to, Tristan.”
“That man sent someone to shake you up last night. A man who would gladly beat the shit out of a woman to keep her mouth shut without giving it a second thought. Do you really think that I’m going to let you go see that asshole?”
Good point.
“Tonight, you stay at my place,” he states very matter-of-factly.
I stare at him, confused. “Excuse me?”
“I have an early morning grappling session with one of my boys in training. If I stay over here, I would have to get up a lot earlier than I normally would, and I’m not leaving you alone.”
Is he serious? “Tristan, Scary Man is in jail. I’m certain there is no way he can get to me from behind bars.”
“You’re staying with me tonight.”
“No, I’m not.”
Tristan crosses his arms over his chest. I mirror his stance. We watch each other in a standoff. Who will look away first? It won’t be me.
“Holly, who is to say that your father didn’t call in reinforcements when he got the word last night that his boy went down for attacking his daughter?”
Another good point. Hell.
“Again, you’re staying with me tonight.” He pulls me back into his arms, where I feel a little too comfortable. “Pack a bag before you go to work. I don’t want you coming back here
alone. When you get off this afternoon, come straight to my place. I’ll have dinner for you.”
I nod against his chest.
“And, cupcake? I’ve missed you so much these past few months.”
My body tightens and my back goes straight. I’ve missed him too, but I don’t want to admit that to him. This is a temporary situation. Once I know that I’m in the clear, this will end. Best not to get too wrapped up in it.
“Breakfast,” I announce.
And we eat.
I just finished listening to hours of Curtis swooning over what he calls ”your hunky sex on a stick.” He was convinced that this was a shift in the cosmos. I was finally getting my happiness. I had to remind him that just a few months ago—weeks for that matter—he was casting voodoo spells on him.
Now, moving down Main Street on my way to Tristan’s, I can feel my stomach tighten. Tristan still makes me nervous when I’m around him. Top that off with the anticipation of seeing him and I want to throw up.
I park the car behind the building and climb the outside steps that lead to the apartment. I find him in the kitchen preparing dinner. Several pots and pans are on the top of the stove. I drop my overnight bag by the couch and take in the place. I haven’t been here since that night. I swallow the panic threatening to bubble out of me. Be cool, Holly.
I stand at the kitchen counter and immediately start taking off my jewelry—first the necklace, then the bangles, and now the rings. I set everything in a pile on the counter, pull off my heels, and see Tristan standing in the middle of his kitchen, watching me. I can’t decipher the look on his face. Whatever that look is, it is causing a feeling to swirl around in my chest and deep in my belly. Once he realizes that he’s been caught staring, he blinks and smiles at me. A big smile. I really did miss him.
As the night goes on, we eat and talk about work and the gym. I’m invited to come back any time to pick up where we left off on self-defense classes.