by Kristie Cook
I quickly realized there was only one other person on Tristan's team and, to my surprise, it was Owen. I shouldn't have been too surprised—half of the Cape's young set was probably on that court. Although the teams weren't even, two against five, it was obvious Tristan and Owen were winning. They were good. Really good.
I watched for about five minutes when the game ended. When no one on the other team wanted to play another game, Tristan and Owen decided to play each other. Before they started, Tristan took off his shirt and tossed it to the side of the court. Oh. My! Naturally, I continued watching.
It said a lot about Tristan's playing ability that it drew my attention away from his perfect chest and six-pack abs. Now that no one else was around—or so they thought, they still hadn't noticed me—Tristan and Owen really got into the game. They seemed to be trying to one-up each other as they sped up and down the court, now talking smack to each other. They were even better than they let on when playing the other team. And Tristan was noticeably better than Owen. It was unreal watching him. He was always at the other end of the court faster than seemed possible. His shots often made the ball a blur. And when he jumped…it was inhumanly possible for anyone to jump that high or that far. Sometimes Owen did something nearly as incredible.
Owen made a three-pointer and Tristan grabbed the ball and shot it from under Owen's basket, the one closest to me. I watched with amazement as the ball sailed across the court and swished into the opposite net.
Then they both froze with their backs to me.
The ball bounced toward the side of the court. They ignored it as they turned in my direction, both in a guarded stance. Oops . I hadn't realized I'd been creeping closer, watching them in awe and now I was caught. When they saw me, they both looked like they'd been caught doing something wrong.
Tristan was the first to relax. A warm grin lit his face.
"Alexis," he said, walking over to the chain-link fence surrounding the court.
I felt myself relax, too. I had frozen when they had. Since they knew I was there now, I took a few steps closer.
"Hey, Tristan, Owen," I said, feeling awkward.
"What's up?" Owen asked, now at the fence, too.
"Um, nothing. I was just taking a walk and saw you guys playing." I felt like an idiot now, like I'd been caught spying or stalking.
"Been watching long?" Owen asked. He glanced sideways at Tristan. Something in his tone made me feel even guiltier.
"No, not really."
"Oh, too bad. 'Cause I was just smokin' Tristan here," he said with a laugh, his tone lighter now.
"Ha! In your dreams, ya scrawny scarecrow," Tristan teased. I couldn't help my smile. Although his sleeveless shirt proved Owen wasn't exactly scrawny, his blond hair stuck out everywhere, so he did look kind of like a scarecrow.
"C'mon, moose!" Owen ran for the ball and dribbled it between his legs. "We got a game to finish."
"You'll stay?" Tristan asked me.
"I should be heading home. It's a long way back…."
"Please?" He smiled. "You can watch me make hay of the scarecrow."
I laughed. "All right, for a while, I guess."
I sat on a small stand of bleachers and watched as they finished their game. It wasn't nearly as fascinating as it had been earlier; they seemed to be holding back now. When Tristan hit forty points, their cut-off, I hopped off the bleachers, waved at them and headed for the beach, the quicker way home. As I stepped onto the sand, I glanced over my shoulder. They both walked in the opposite direction, toward the parking lot.
"You filthy slut!" a gruff voice snarled, catching my attention.
A man dressed in grease-stained jeans and a t-shirt, a younger woman in a bikini and a small girl, also in a swimsuit, were coming off the beach. The man's hand gripped the woman's upper arm as he dragged her toward the parking lot. Loaded with a bag and beach chair, she obviously had a hard time keeping up. The little girl, maybe six or seven, ran after them, stopping frequently to pick up the plastic sand toys she kept dropping.
"Please, honey," the woman begged, "you're hurting me."
"Good! You deserve it! You need to get some damn clothes on!"
"But we're at the beach ."
"Doesn't mean you need to be flauntin' all ya got!"
I watched the ground as they crossed my path. Though they were in public, I felt like an intruder. I pretended not to notice the squabble as it heated up behind me. I picked up my pace a bit, but the voices only became louder.
"Shut the hell up, bitch!" the man yelled.
"Daddy, no !"
I automatically turned at the girl's scream. The woman lay on the ground, staring wide-eyed at the man, who held his fist in the air. The little girl dropped her toys and ran at the man. And as soon as she was within arm's reach of her dad, the woman was suddenly between them, taking the blow.
The anger built inside me as I watched with horror.
"Daddy, stop it!" The little girl tried to grab her dad's muscular arm.
"Don't hurt her, Phil," the woman begged from the ground. "Please don't hurt her."
Phil raised his hand again. I don't know who he meant it for, but his intentions didn't matter. As he swung, his daughter threw herself at him, taking the smack in the shoulder. She crumpled to the ground next to her mother.
The anger within me surged to rage. Without thinking it through, I stomped toward them, intent on giving this human debris a dose of his own medicine. I was mad enough. Madder than I'd even been with James. I knew I could do it—I knew I could knock the crap right out of him. And I wasn't scared. If he hurt me, I'd heal anyway. Unless he broke a bone . I wasn't so sure about that. But I didn't care at the moment.
A few yards away, I stopped, about to warn him to back off. But I suddenly couldn't bring myself to do it. I just stared at him wide-eyed as he turned his dark eyes on me. Bad, bad, BAD! My sixth sense screamed.
"What are you staring at?" he snarled, turning toward me. "You don't wanna get involved, missy!"
Oh, crap! Crap, crap, crap! Now that his anger was directed at me, the fear washed away my own rage. I stood still, my hands balled into fists. What the hell am I thinking?! My heart pounded. I wondered if, with the fear rising, I still had enough anger to hurt him. The power was already dissipating as I stared into his angry black eyes. He took a step toward me.
"You need a little lesson, young lady," he threatened.
The mother and daughter both whimpered. I took a clumsy step backward as he advanced on me, tripped over my own feet and fell. He stood over me in an instant. I squeezed my eyes shut and instinctively raised my hands. They trembled over my face.
I heard a thud, but felt nothing. I peaked between my fingers. Phil was gone. He lay flat on his back on the ground ten yards away, staring up at… Tristan . A whoosh of air expelled from my lungs.
"I suggest you get out of here now ," Owen, now next to Tristan, said to the wife-beater. His words were polite, but his tone was menacing. I never expected Owen to be so threatening.
"You need to mind your own damn business!" the man barked.
" GO! " Tristan roared, his fist in the air, his arms bulging with obvious power. Phil flinched and his face paled under his dark tan. Then he scrambled to his feet and bolted for the parking lot.
Tristan followed, his fists clenched. I sat there, shaking uncontrollably, wondering what he would do. I didn't want to watch, but I couldn't make myself turn away yet. The mom and daughter watched Tristan, too, their tear-filled eyes wide with fear.
"Tristan, let him go!" Owen called after him. Tristan took a couple more steps, then stopped. Phil jumped into an orange, older model Camaro and peeled out. Owen rushed to me first. "You okay?"
"I'm fine." I nodded at Tristan. "Is he?"
"I don't know." Owen walked toward Tristan as he headed back to us and they both stopped within a few feet of each other.
"Did he hurt her?" Tristan demanded.
"Alexis is fine. Are you?"
> Tristan nodded. "What about the other two?"
They started back toward us. I crawled over to the little girl.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
She sobbed as she held her shoulder. The mother shook her head, dark strands sticking in the tears flowing down her bruising cheek.
"We need to go home," she whispered.
"You can't go home!" I gasped. "Won't he be there?"
"Not yet. He'll come later. But the longer we're gone, the worse it'll be," she explained.
"Then don't go!"
"You don't understand…."
She was right. I had no clue why she would want to go home to him.
"Is there anywhere else you can go? We can take you somewhere."
The woman didn't answer me, but stood up and brushed herself off. She pulled a pair of cut-off shorts and a t-shirt out of her beach bag and put them on. She held out a sundress to her daughter, who slowly rose to her feet, wincing as she put weight on her left foot. The mother then pulled keys out of her bag and shook them.
"We'll go to my sister's," she said. She tried a smile. It looked forced. "I drove us here. I can get us to her house."
"Isn't there something we can do for you?" Tristan asked.
She bit her lip and blinked rapidly, holding back more tears. She answered quietly, "I think you've done enough."
She turned and headed toward her car. Her daughter tried to follow, limping and still holding her shoulder. Tristan gently scooped her up and Owen and I followed. Tristan set her down in the passenger seat of a blue Ford coupe. The three of us watched as they left, Tristan taking a few steps forward, as if he wanted to follow them.
"Will she really go back to him?" I asked.
"Probably," Owen said. "But we've done all we can."
"No, we haven't," Tristan grumbled, that steely undertone in his voice.
"Tristan…leave it alone," Owen warned, eyeing him carefully. "Maybe you should go. I'll take Alexis home."
Tristan spun around. "No, I'll take her."
Owen shook his head. "That's not a good idea. Sophia…"
"Sophia can deal with it!" Tristan barked, apparently not completely over his anger. I flinched and his eyes flew to me.
It was very fast and I could have imagined it. But for half a second I thought I saw what Carlie might have been talking about. The sparkles of gold in his eyes looked different, more like sparks of fire. His eyes looked… frightening . Maybe everyone else had been right. I waited for the nudge to return. Or even for the alarms. But nothing happened.
He must have seen something in my own eyes, though. His face immediately softened and his body relaxed. What anger he might have had just a second earlier—whether at the wife-beater or at my mom, I wasn't sure—didn't show in his eyes as he studied my face.
"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, his voice smooth and silky again.
I forced a small smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Are you sure you are?"
The gold flecks sparkled now as he smiled slowly. He nodded. "If you are, I am."
I gave him a bigger smile, then turned to Owen.
"Thanks for the offer, Owen, but Tristan can take me home. I'll take care of Sophia."
Owen narrowed his eyes as they bounced between Tristan and me.
"I'm gonna lose my job," he said with a sigh.
"No, you won't," I promised. "It's not exactly in your job description to be worried about how I get home."
He muttered something under his breath. Tristan smiled slightly, as if he'd heard.
"You're sure?" Owen asked me as he turned for his car.
"I'm positive. Sophia will get over it. Besides…it's not like she's my mother ." So, that wasn't exactly true, but they didn't know.
Owen snorted, jogged to his car and left.
I looked up at Tristan. "You really don't mind, do you?"
The corners of his mouth twitched. "A little late to be asking, don't you think?"
"So…you do mind? You need to be somewhere else? I can walk…."
After all that happened, I really didn't want to walk all the way home by myself now. But I would if I had to.
He chuckled. "I said I'd take you home."
He put his thumb under my chin and tilted my face up toward his. That strange current pulsed through my jaw and up to my temples. He gazed into my eyes, making my bones soften.
"There's nowhere I'd rather be," he murmured. My heart skipped. He smiled before letting go. "Ever been on a bike before?"
I followed him to the motorcycle, pleased it wasn't the crotch-rocket he usually rode to campus. The Harley came to life with its distinctive rumble. I climbed on and looked around for something to hold onto and found chrome handholds on each side of the seat. He looked over his shoulder at me and glanced down at my hands. He probably expected me to hold onto him. Part of me wanted to, but that was a closeness I wasn't quite ready for.
"Ready?" he asked.
I nodded.
It would have been a lot less tense if I had held onto him. It couldn't have been more unnerving with that small space between us. As the bike rumbled under us through the streets of the Cape, I felt arcs of electricity jumping between us. I was woozy by the time we pulled in front of the cottage and it wasn't from the vibration of the motorcycle.
"That was…different," he muttered after shutting off the engine. He felt it, too!
It must have been after six since Mom's car was already there. I hoped she would stay inside and mind her own business.
"Thank you," I said as Tristan and I stood in the driveway. "For everything, I mean."
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Did I scare you?"
"Um, no," I lied.
"I'm sorry. I was a little pissed off."
"Hmm…yeah, a little." I smiled to show him it was okay.
"What were you thinking anyway? You looked like you wanted to hit him or something."
Ha! If he only knew. Now that it was all over, I realized how incredibly stupid I'd been. If I had punched the wife-beater like I wanted to…well, it could have been a catastrophe. Tristan and Owen would have seen what a freak I was and Mom and I would have to move already. But worst of all, I probably made things a lot worse for the woman and her daughter.
"I don't know. It made me so mad to see him hurt them," I said. "I'm just glad you got there when you did."
"Me, too." He looked into my eyes and I saw something unreadable in his. Concern? It was still there when he changed the subject. "So, what was with you today? I tried to catch up with you when the team was done, but you took off like you were escaping. You seemed lost in thought all afternoon."
Of course, he'd noticed. He usually walked me to my car and I hadn't even thought about it. "Yeah, I guess I was…lost in thought. Sorry if I was rude."
When I looked up at him, he seemed to search my eyes for an explanation. I didn't give one. I couldn't tell him about Mom or Carlie and what they both had to say.
He held my eyes as he lifted his hand to my face and stroked a current across my cheek. A shudder tried to work its way down my spine, but I fought it back.
"You'll make it up to me," Tristan said with a smile.
"I can do that," I promised with my own smile.
And with perfect timing, the cottage's front door opened. Mom didn't say anything, but I felt her glare.
"I better go," I muttered.
"See you later, ma lykita ," he said quietly.
I raised an eyebrow. He smiled and shook his head. Mom cleared her throat from the door. I sighed with frustration.
I gave Tristan an apologetic smile and then marched into the house. Neither Mom nor I said a word as I brushed past her into my room and slammed the door shut.
Chapter 5
The sun on my face woke me in the morning. I opened the window, breathed in the fresh air and let the morning's coolness clear the nightmares out of my groggy head. In my dreams, I fought with Phil all night long. My body now felt like I actually had. I didn't h
ave time to dally, though, or I'd be late to class. When I stepped out of my room to go shower, I nearly tripped over a small suitcase in the hallway and I immediately panicked. We're leaving? Already?! But I like it here!
"Mom?" I asked shakily. She came into the hallway, pulling her door closed. "What's the suitcase for? Are we leaving already?"
"I'm just going out of town for a couple days," she said. She sounded more relaxed than she had in days or weeks.
Whew . But then I realized what that meant.
"You're leaving me? Alone?" She'd never left me alone overnight.
"I'm…going to a booksellers' convention. My first holiday season's coming. I need to make sure I know everything I should be doing." She spoke quickly and wouldn't look directly at me. She lied, but I didn't know why. "Owen said he can work today and come in at one tomorrow and close up, if you can open the store and stay until then. Of course, we're closed Sunday and I'll be back Sunday night."
"No problem," I mumbled, following her into the kitchen. I wasn't worried about having to work. It was being alone that scared me. What if they find me and I'm all alone? I fought a shudder.
"Thanks, hon." She picked up her travel mug and planted a kiss on my forehead, before turning back toward the hallway. "Call Owen if you need anything—his number's on the fridge."
She stopped and turned back into the kitchen.
"Do me a favor, please? Keep your distance from Tristan at least until I get back? We can talk about it then, okay?"
I plopped into a chair and shrugged. I hadn't planned on seeing him anyway. Except for that one time at the coffee shop, I never saw him on weekends.
"Please? Promise?" She nodded her head slowly, part of her persuasion technique. Next, she would reach out to touch my hand or arm.