by Jordan Ford
~ H xxxx
Tristan chuckled, picturing her upon a horse, yelling at Curtis and his mother while they hovered in the kitchen. His fingers were poised to type back when a new message appeared.
In all seriousness though, why don’t you just talk to them? You could always tell them you don’t want to be part of the wedding.
~ H xxxxx
He swallowed, the idea of that much honesty cutting his air supply short. He tapped his index finger on the keys, picturing the conversation for a moment. His lip curled and he shook his head, typing back:
I can’t do that. My mother would flip out. She already hates that I chose Dad. If I don’t go to the wedding, she’ll be crushed. I can’t do that to her. I may not agree with any of her choices, but I can’t hurt her like that. Like you said, she is my mother.
~ T xxxxxx
She is, and I understand exactly where you’re coming from.
Don’t be afraid to say how you feel though. It might help set you free.
~ H xxxxxxx
I’m not trapped in a tower. I can leave whenever I like.
~ T xxxxxxxx
She didn’t reply to his final email. There were no more growing lines of kisses, just a dead silence that told him she wasn’t willing to go there again. He probably shouldn’t have sent it. There was no winning the argument with her. He couldn’t free someone who wanted to stay trapped. Just like she couldn’t help someone who didn’t want it, and he couldn’t make two oblivious lovers understand how much damage they’d caused.
Slumping back with a sigh, Tristan waited another ten minutes before closing his laptop and heading back into the living area.
His mother was watching Castle—her favorite detective show—so he sat down beside her and lost himself to a world of crime fighting in an attempt to forget about his stubborn girl and the hopeless situation they were both stuck in.
The rest of the weekend went smoothly. Quietly, but smoothly.
Tristan’s leg bobbed like a jackhammer as they drove north. He’d missed Helena, hated not having her just next door, knowing he could sneak up and see her whenever he liked.
A hot blush kissed his cheeks as he gazed out the window and smiled.
He was so whipped.
“So, do you have a big week at school?”
Mom had already asked him that. They’d exhausted all small talk within the first twenty-four hours of his visit. Since Tristan wasn’t willing to give them much more, the rest of the time had been filled with wedding chatter. He’d silently endured it, not complaining but not smiling either.
“It’s not too bad. I have a few assignments looming and a couple of tests, but no exams yet.”
“Have you—?”
He glanced at her, noting the way her cheekbones protruded as she hesitated over her question.
“Have I what?”
His mother smiled, her right shoulder hitching. “You just seem a little happier. Still really quiet, but you’re smiling, freely almost, and I’m… I was wondering if you’ve met someone…or joined a sports team again?”
It was an effort to keep a straight face. The woman seriously did not give up.
Tristan licked his lips, fighting his grin and going for what he hoped looked like a casual nod.
“I think I’m just finding my way, feeling more settled. I haven’t picked up baseball again yet. But you know, I’m not actually missing it.”
Her expression was pensive, but he could see her battle to keep it that way. She cleared her throat. “I’m so surprised by that. You were obsessed as a kid.”
He shrugged. “People change. I’ve kind of lost my love of the game.”
Her face crested with sadness, and she blinked rapidly while looking at the road ahead.
“Don’t be sad. I’ve—I’ve found new things to fall in love with.” He smiled at her. “I got an A+ on my latest English assignment.”
“Really? Wow! That’s great, sweetie.” She flashed him a grin, but it was fleeting, soon swallowed back and replaced with a sad smile that hit him in the chest. “I’m so glad you’re happy,” she whispered.
He opened his mouth, closing it again when his courage failed him. Soon the only sound in the car was the turning of wheels beneath them, the smooth hum as they sped north along the main highway.
Tristan kept glancing at his mother, her strained expression making her wrinkles show. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the wheel, the ridiculous rock Curtis had given her glinting in the afternoon sunlight.
Tristan looked away from it, the muscles in his jaw working overtime. Finally he let out a soft huff and turned back to her.
“You know, I—” He sighed and licked his lower lip. “I hate what you did to Dad…to our family. You lied, and you cheated. I’m sure you had your reasons, but whatever they were, what you did was wrong.”
She whipped to face him, staring at him with wide eyes before remembering she was driving and turning back to face the road. Her skin was white, her lips trembling.
Tristan pursed his lips and shrugged. “But I don’t hate you…and I didn’t choose Dad because of what you did. You’ve been trying to win me over ever since the day you started cheating and it’s getting kind of old.”
Her expression buckled, lines lacing her face as she fought a sudden onset of tears.
“Why did you choose your father?” She choked out the words.
“Because you had someone to come home to.” Tristan swallowed. “And he didn’t.”
Her lips wobbled, making a funny shape before she pulled them back into line. “I always thought you were trying to punish me.”
He scoffed, shaking his head and staring down at his shoes. “Not to be harsh, Mom, but only narcissists think that way.”
Her lips parted, a quick scowl surfacing before scuttling into hiding behind a sorrowful frown. “Just as long as you’re happy,” she finally murmured. “That’s all that matters to me.”
Gazing at her with the best smile he could muster, he nodded. “I am. I’m really happy.”
She met his smile with one of her own and the thick fog that had been pushing the car into the road lifted. Tristan sat up straight, feeling the effects of it. The lightness was helped along by the giddy bubbles popping in his belly, reminding him that very soon he’d be wrapping himself around a shining light that smelled like jasmine and tasted like summer-berry lip gloss.
21
Summer-berry Lips
Much to Tristan’s relief, his mother dropped him and left, not bothering to come into the house and start a fight like the last couple of times. Tristan raised his hand and waved her off, waiting until she was down the road before bolting inside.
His father was on the couch in his usual spot, feet on the coffee table, beer in hand.
“Hey, Dad.” He brushed past him, taking a cursory glance at the screen and noting the Yankees were set to win the game. Tristan rushed up the stairs to dump his stuff and get over to Helena’s place. Skipping back down, he smiled at his father when he glanced over his shoulder.
“How was it?” His dad turned away from the game, his smile slightly bemused. “You catch up with some of your old friends or something? There was that girl, wasn’t there? What was her name again?”
“No, Dad. I didn’t see my old friends.” Tristan chuckled, clearing his throat and forcing his lips to behave.
“What’s up with you lately?”
“What do you mean?” He checked his expression, hoping it was sitting bland and even.
His dad shrugged, swiveling back to the TV and taking another swig from his bottle.
“So, I’m just gonna go for a walk.” Tristan pointed over his shoulder as he walked backwards into the kitchen.
His dad paused, the beer halfway to his lips. “O-kay.”
“To get dinner stuff.” Tristan pushed up his sleeves.
“Cool.” He couldn’t see his father’s face but took his head nodding as a license to skip out. His dad never usually a
sked where he was going or what he was up to. He could probably tell him the truth and he still wouldn’t mind, but Helena was Tristan’s secret and he wasn’t about to change that. He just had to remember to run to the store before coming home. A can of soup and a loaf of fresh bread would have to do for dinner.
“I’ll see you soon,” he called, racing out the back door.
He was tapping on Helena’s window within ten minutes. Her long braid flicked down her back as she jumped up and ran across the room. She lifted the window quickly, helping him in and wrapping her arms around him before he’d even had a chance to stand straight.
“I know it was only two days, but I missed you,” she whispered against his shoulder.
Tristan closed his eyes with a relieved sigh, gliding his arms around her waist and pulling her close. She giggled when he lifted her off the ground, the sweet sound kissing the side of his neck. Placing her back down, he let her go and lightly held her face, his thumbs brushing the edge of her jaw. He could drown in the turquoise oasis of her gaze. Her eyes were a deep spring, reflecting the stars of a brilliant night sky.
She smiled, her white teeth straight and perfect, her sweet pointy nose wrinkling between her eyes.
Words were lost to him. He was sucked in by her beauty—the glossy sparkle on her lips, the tender way she drank him in. He leaned toward her, stopping a quarter inch from her lips and breathing in the jasmine swirling around him. She always did this to him, put his senses into overdrive, intoxicating him and turning his mind to putty.
His eyelids fluttered closed, her warm, tickling breath wrenching him in and closing the space between them. Her summer-berry lips consumed him. He lightly gripped the back of her neck, increasing the pressure. Before he could stop it, the tip of his tongue snuck out for a proper taste. Her fingers curled into his shirt as he brushed his tongue along her lower lip. She let out a sweet gasp, her breath a warm sigh against his lips. And then she opened her mouth, her tongue peeking out to say hello.
Tristan tipped his head, deepening the kiss, lightly thrusting his tongue into her mouth to see what she would do. The tip of her tongue swirled around his, a heady dance that turned his stomach into a rollercoaster ride. It dipped and spun as he sucked in a breath, opening his mouth fully and drawing her in.
Her tentative tongue darted out to explore, meeting him halfway before skipping out again. He lightly sucked her bottom lip before she pulled away from him, that sweet sigh tickling the air once more.
Her eyes were wide, her breathing a rapid caper. Tristan lightly squeezed the side of her neck, his thumb resting on the tip of her chin. She was still clutching his shirt, and her mouth opened and closed a couple of times before she finally smiled.
“That was…” She blinked, then swallowed. “That was…”
Tristan grinned. Since when was Helena Thompson ever lost for words?
“Do you want to do it again?”
She bobbed her head and lurched back into his arms, her mouth hitting his with energetic confidence. He held her close, sliding his arms down her back so he could pull her against him. Her slender body fit perfectly within his arms, her inquisitive tongue dancing with his in an all-consuming moment that blocked out the entire world.
Even the creak on the stairs.
22
The Dragon
Helena’s tongue was spellbinding. Tristan lost the ability to think clearly. Time stood still; the air was sucked from the room and a soft hum buzzed around him.
And then the attic door rattled.
“Helena, I—”
Her mother’s sharp cry ripped the couple apart.
Helena spun, her long braid hitting Tristan’s arm. He rested his hand lightly on her hip, supporting her weight when she nearly stumbled.
The dragon’s eyes darted to his hand before flaming with pale blue fire.
“Mother. Wha—I…” Helena’s breathing was rapid, not the sweet caper from before but panic-filled puffs that Tristan had never heard before.
Everything about her mother’s expression was sharp, from the dip between her eyebrows to the point of her chin. She had the same build and complexion as Helena, a blonde, pale angel, although this one rode a horse of fire and wanted to slash him in half with a blazing sword.
“Get your hands off my daughter.” Her voice rang with a low, hard edge, making her sound like a man.
It was damn intimidating.
“Sorry, ma’am. I…” He backed away from Helena, stepping around the quivering girl and thrusting out his hand. “I’m Tristan Parker. I—”
“Get out of my house.” The blue fire in her eyes was becoming dark with fury, her molten words hot in the air.
“Mother, please.” Helena touched her stomach, leaning forward as she implored, “He’s my friend.”
The dragon’s head snapped towards her, indignant puffs spurting out of her flaring nostrils. “How did he even get in here?”
“He…” Helena pointed over her shoulder at the open window.
“Are you out of your mind?” She stormed across the room, practically knocking Tristan over in her attempt to get to the window.
The pane slammed into place, making Tristan flinch. The woman spun back and snatched Helena’s arm, dragging her closer. “You don’t even know this boy. How could you be so stupid?”
“He’s a good person. He’s not going to hurt me.” Helena kept her voice even and sweet. Her milky white fingers rested on her mother’s cheek. “It’s okay. I’m safe. We’re safe.”
“He is not safe. I don’t know him and I want him out of this house!” She accompanied her shout with the point of a shaking finger, snapping her gaze to Tristan. “Get out! Get! Out!”
Tristan shuffled backwards and bumped into the doorframe.
“Mother, please.” Helena grasped the dragon’s arm, trying to stop her from going after Tristan.
She strained against her daughter and bellowed, “Leave!”
Helena lost the battle, her fingers slipping through the fabric of her mother’s blouse as the woman wrenched her arm free.
Tristan’s heart raced so hard and fast, he almost felt sick. His gaze shifted to Helena, who gave him a sad, desperate appeal. Her eyes shimmered with tears. The thought of leaving her with her psycho mother nearly killed him.
He stood tall and tried for another attempt at diplomacy.
“Please, ma’am, I don’t—”
The dragon’s steps were gunshots on the wood. “I will call the police. You’re trespassing. You were not invited into this house.”
“I invited him.” Helena’s shout was ignored.
“Leave now!”
“Please, Mrs. Thompson, I—”
“Out!” The wild-eyed woman snatched a book off the shelf and hurled it at Tristan. He raised his arm and batted it away, but had no choice but to bolt when she collected an armful and turned them into cannonballs.
Helena screamed, “Mother, no!” as he raced down the stairs, nearly slipping on the narrow wooden steps. They creaked and groaned beneath him, but the sounds were drowned out by the thump of ominous feet crashing behind him. A book crashed into the wall by his head before flopping to the ground and tumbling down the staircase. He jumped over it, nearly tripping on another book that shot past his ankles.
“Mother, please, stop!” Helena cried again.
Tristan lost his footing and stumbled out of the stairwell, landing in the corridor with a thud.
“Get out!” the dragon raged, her voice taking on a feral quality that was terrifying.
He scrambled up, ducking his shoulder to avoid another book, and took off down the next staircase. He scanned the house, searching for a quick exit. It was like running through a museum—shiny wooden floors covered with Persian rugs and antique furniture. Every picture frame was intricately carved, and every bookcase and piece of furniture looked as though it belonged in Cinderella’s castle.
Reaching the bottom stair, Tristan stumbled into a formal-looking parlor.
A large harp rested next to an old-fashioned piano, a plush velvet footstool beside it. Shelves lined with hard-covered books and porcelain statuettes covered two of the walls, and above the fireplace rested a cased sword with an elaborately carved handle.
Tristan’s lips parted in confusion as he took in the out-of-era surroundings. Helena was living in a madhouse.
Helena.
He glanced over his shoulder, hating the idea of leaving her. But he wasn’t about to get bashed in the head with a brick of paper either. He had no doubt the crazy woman would call the cops if she felt like it. He had been trespassing, in a sense. He’d climbed in through a window, after all.
Another book sailed past his head and crashed into the wall behind him, marking the floral print wallpaper.
“Mother!” Helena’s voice was high and pitchy—a desperate sound that tore at Tristan’s insides.
He stopped next to an antique-looking china cabinet and spun around to face the dragon, lifting his hands as two white flags.
“Please, I’m sorry I upset you.”
“Leave! Leave!” The woman’s face was deranged with fear and rage. Her pasty white chin trembled, her forehead creased into a vicious scowl. Eyes that he assumed were normally bright blue were two swirling dark masses that Tristan couldn’t breach. The woman was certifiably insane. He had no chance of winning any kind of battle.
“I’ll leave.” He backed toward the main entrance. “Please calm down and I’ll go. I just need to know that Helena will be safe.”
“She’s my daughter! I know what is safe for her. Her well-being is my only concern, which is why you must get out.”
“I’d never do anything to hurt her. You have to believe that.”
“OUT!” she screamed, hurling another book. He ducked and the book hit the picture behind him, splintering the glass.
He spun to look at the destruction, taking in the photo of a happy family with carefree smiles on their faces. They were dressed like characters from a fairytale. A handsome king held his queen close while his blonde princess rested her head on his shoulder, her tiara askew and her smile radiant.