by Lila Price
I refuse to go anywhere. “Of course I heard them, and I don’t care.”
“You should. They were absolutely right about me.”
I fold my arms over my stomach, afraid that I’ve already lost him, because he is lost—in all the bad things anyone has ever said about him, in the darkness of that closet his biological mom used to keep him in. But I can open up that door and let in light. Can’t he see that?
“They’re not right,” I say. “They don’t know the Tristan I know.”
I can’t see his face because he’s still standing outside the car, but I can see the way his arm is tensed as he plants his hand on the roof, as if he’s fighting something inside himself. I’m bracing myself, too, hoping he doesn’t tell me to get the hell out of his car again, hoping he doesn’t truly believe our parents are right about him.
“Sosie,” he finally says, his voice so contained that I know he’s gritting his teeth, “why would you think there’s a future here?”
No. I’m not going to hear this, and I press my arms against myself, staring at the dashboard.
Out of the corner of my eye, through the oncoming tears, I can see him bend a little lower, almost looking at me but definitely not; he’s staring at the ground while his hair covers his face. I can hear the resentment as he says, “You’re the one with the future. They made that damned clear, and I’m only going to destroy it.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yeah, it is.”
He really does seem to believe it, and it’s all I can do to keep my tears from rushing out of my eyes and my voice from cracking.
“I’m never going to believe that,” I insist.
“And we’re never going to be anything.” He lets out a serrated breath. “Now get the fuck out of my car, Cherry.”
My world spins as if he casually walked by it and slapped it into angry, cruel motion. I feel as if I’m off the only axis that was keeping me straight, and I spin and spin as his words drill into me.
Before the first sob comes, I burst out of his car and walk away with as much dignity as I can. As I hear his car’s motor start and then the squeal of tires, I don’t turn around to see him driving away. I don’t let it bother me that he’s so easily able to blow off these past few days and what we’ve found between us.
All I know is that I’m alone, all alone without even my parents, and my heart feels as if it’s being shoved through a grinder.
That’s when I start to walk away from home, somewhere, anywhere that won’t remind me of the normal world that’s just crashed down around me. Somewhere I don’t have to see Tristan wherever I look.
I end up at the neighborhood park, hugging my legs, my face pressed against my knees, my back against the trunk of an oak tree. My phone is by my feet, and every once in a while the ringtone goes off. Each time I hear “Single Ladies,” I shut the events of the morning out of my mind.
I don’t want to think about getting caught, don’t want to think about what came afterward. I can’t think about it, because my heart hurts so badly that I’m afraid I might die. I just want to fade away before anyone else comes to the park and finds me in a decimated heap.
I know who keeps calling me anyway, and it’s not Tristan. There are several messages from my parents—yeah, as if I’m going to call back—and one from Julia, who’s probably wondering if we can have that movie day today.
God, to think that yesterday I’d been doing normal things like planning a movie day with my friends. I feel like nothing is ever going to be the same again without Tristan. I feel hollowed out, and the only thing that can take his place is…
Nothing.
When my phone rings again, anger rises in me, and I reach down to see if it’s my mom’s number on the screen again. But it isn’t.
It’s Brent’s name. Brent, the only person who even halfway knows what I’m going through.
Without thinking, I answer.
“Hel—?” My voice is a pathetic croak, and I try again. “Hello?”
“Sosie?”
Yeah, if I heard me on the phone, I’d be wondering who was answering, too. “It’s me.”
“Great, ‘cuz I’m calling to see if ‘me’ can pick up an extra shift at the bar tonight.”
When was I next scheduled to come into the club? I can’t remember. Then I laugh to myself, thinking, Why does it matter?
“Is that a yes?” he asks.
Yeah, I’m ready and raring to go to work. I still feel the dried tears on my face, and dressed in Tristan’s clothes, I look homeless. Actually, isn’t that sort of what I am right now since the last place I want to go is back home?
A little sob escapes me.
“Sos?” Brent asks.
Hazily, I realize that I’ve got an alternate uniform in my work locker, but if I take off these clothes and put those on, then I won’t be able to smell Tristan’s lingering scent on his shirt. Just the thought of losing that makes another sob well up in my throat.
“Are you…crying?”
“No,” I say.
“It sounds like you are.”
That damned sob comes up but I bite it back.
“God, Sosie, listen. Forget work. I haven’t grabbed breakfast yet, and I was thinking about heading to the café next to Shady’s. You up for some of that?”
He obviously knows I could use a friendly ear. Once again, I feel guilty because I don’t deserve a guy like Brent in my life. If only he knew how screwed up everything is with me…
Still, it’d be nice if I could tell someone.
“I don’t have my wallet,” I say, even more of a loser.
“Breakfast’s on me.”
“And I look like I jumped in a pile of clothes and came rolling out with whatever stuck to me.”
Silence, with a big question mark punctuating it.
“Long story.” I sigh. “But, yeah, coffee would be good.”
So, so good.
It doesn’t take me long to walk to the café—in my wanderings, I headed toward downtown—and the moment I enter the nearly empty, chrome-lined restaurant, I see Brent sitting in an upholstered booth.
When I get to him, he doesn’t comment on what a mess I am. He only envelopes me in a hug as I sink against him, tears taking me over again.
“Is it that guy you told me about?” he asks.
I nod, and I know he still has no idea I’m out of my head because of my own stepbrother. Brent sits me down then orders for me, and just having him next to me, not judging me—at least not yet—is enough.
He reaches over and thumbs away a tear on my face, his blue eyes kind. Friend’s eyes.
Then those eyes look away from me, toward the door, and they get suspicious.
I follow Brent’s gaze, and when I see Tristan standing there, ready to explode, my heart nearly does the same.
3
I’m caught between running to Tristan and throwing myself into his arms and staying rooted in the café’s booth. Tristan’s gaze is fixed on me so intently that both options make sense—and yet don’t make sense.
Why is he here? How did he find me?
Didn’t he just leave me in the dust a couple hours ago?
But I forget all those questions, because I am so drawn to him. Every emotion I ever dreamed of is written on his face, and it’s clear that he regrets leaving me like he did, with such hard words and a gutted heart.
Around us, everything fades away -- our waitress behind the counter, Trent, the few customers in the other booths. It’s almost as if the two of us are in our own bubble, separated from everything we can see outside of it.
He found me, I think. He never meant to leave me behind, and he’s here now…
But just as I believe he’s going to stride across the room and sweep me into his arms, his gaze slides to Brent, whose fingers are still on my cheek, in the process of wiping away one of the tears Tristan left me with.
My bubble bursts as Tristan’s eyes narrow and his spine stiffens.
&nb
sp; I half expect him to rush over here to wrap his hands around Brent’s throat in a jealous rage, but instead, he slowly begins to move toward us.
“It didn’t take me more than a second to regret how I left things with you.” I’m in his sights now, only me, no one else. “Right afterward, I turned around to come back to you. I saw you walking down the street, but then you disappeared, Sosie, just like that, out of view.”
Next to me, Brent is guarded, but I’m not. I still want to jump up and embrace Tristan, telling him that if I’d known he still cared, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere.
Tristan’s almost to our table now, and he keeps talking. “After driving down every street in this town, I thought maybe you’d gone to Shady’s, so I drove toward it, only to see you come in here, and I thought, Now’s your chance. Explain everything to her. Don’t let her go.” Now it looks as if his broken heart is reflected in his eyes. “Then I saw this cozy little scene.”
With a crashing realization, I know that this won’t go anywhere good.
“Hey, man,” Brent says in a low voice. “I don’t know what you think is going on but—”
Tristan storms the rest of the way over, and it’s not anger that’s driving him—he’s here to lay claim to me.
Brent stands up. “Back off, man.”
But it’s as if a switch turns the room from light to dark, and I can see the same thing happen in Tristan’s eyes: he transforms from the man who only wants to possess me to someone else entirely—someone controlled by those demons from his past, someone fighting to never be controlled by anyone else again. He reaches for Brent and grabs him by the collar, hauling him over the table, sending coffee cups smashing to the floor. As Tristan bares his teeth, I pull at his shirt, trying to pull him off of Brent.
“Stop!” I yell. “Tristan, stop!” It’s as if the night when he came to my defense at Shady’s is happening all over again. It’s as if Tristan will always be this full of fury, and as much as I want him, I don’t want this.
He hesitates, gazing at me, and I see the struggle in him—the light and dark and all the gray in between. My heart seems to ball up in my chest as I recognize how much he still needs me and what he’d do to have me.
Brent is grasping Tristan’s wrists, and Tristan seems to realize that he’s still manhandling him. He loosens his hold on Brent’s shirt as if he knows better than to punch out someone who’s no physical match for him.
But Brent pushes it. “I’m just glad you got to me before you got to her.”
A slow burn consumes Tristan as he tightens his grip on Brent’s collar again. “What did you say?”
Brent’s voice is choked. “You can hurt me all you want. Just don’t hurt her.”
Something explodes in Tristan’s gaze, and he hurls Brent around and throws him into a cluster of chairs, which clatter everywhere.
“I’d never hurt her, you motherfucker,” Tristan says.
Brent is sprawled over the floor, and he holds up his hands in front of his face, anticipating more. For a split second, I see Tristan’s remorse, but most of all, I see the demons that are still there…and the insane jealousy that’s made him into this out-of-control beast.
But it’s his rage that scares me more, not because I think he’s going to direct it at me, but because he can’t contain it.
“Get out,” I say, my voice trembling as I stand in front of him.
His hand is shaking as he pushes his hair back from his face.
“Get the hell out of here,” I repeat, “before you hit more than rock bottom.”
He shakes his head. “Is he more than a boss to you? Tell me.”
“That’s none of your goddamned business!” I say, not sure why. Maybe because I want to hurt him, maybe because I want to shock some sense into him. Because it’s like he has no idea what he’s just done to Brent, like he doesn’t even give a shit that he’s created an entire shit show.
“It’s sure as hell my business,” he says.
I glance at Brent, who’s getting up from the floor, apparently unhurt, although I can tell he’s shaken.
“What’s it going to take for you to get a hold of yourself?” I ask. “How far are you going to go?”
Now I can see a lot more guilt and regret, maybe even shame in the way Tristan’s skin is growing ruddy. But hell if he can’t bring himself to apologize.
I look away from him. I don’t want to look at him anymore, mostly because I see what I do to him, how I make him so crazy.
Too late, I realize that, earlier, my parents had averted their gazes from Tristan, too.
“Even you, Sosie?” he asks, his voice mangled.
I don’t answer, because doing so would only mean that I’m okay with his temper, and I don’t want to see Brent thrown across a room again; I don’t want to dread that every man I talk to will get his ass kicked by my hot-headed…
I don’t even know what Tristan is anymore.
At my silence, Tristan backs away, then stalks toward the door, and I’m not sure if it’s because that’s the only way he can control himself or if it’s because he doesn’t want to look at me, either.
I ache. I want him back. I want to be in our house again, together, alone, where nothing else had touched us…
In the aftermath, our waitress sends me a disgusted glance from behind the counter. The same goes for the other customers, who then go back to their breakfasts as if they’d just tuned out of an ugly ultimate fighting match.
Brent is standing now, dusting off his jeans. The relief I feel is like tainted air in my veins: lighter, but leaving me empty in the end.
“So he seems like a really nice guy,” he says wryly then rubs his shoulder.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, but he waves me off. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” But it did. And it’ll happen again and again unless…
I don’t even know what to do now.
“Hey, what hurts the most is my dignity,” Brent says. “It’s not every day my manhood is challenged by a guy who can toss me around like a sack of potatoes…a guy who happens to be your maniac stepbrother.” Brent laughs, and there’s an anxious way about him that makes me think he’s more ruffled than he’ll admit.
I don’t even have the grace to be humiliated by his conclusion that Tristan, my own stepbrother, is the guy I gave my heart to, the guy who broke that heart. I’m so beyond that it’s not even funny. Nothing is funny anymore.
Brent pats my shoulder, and even though he means well, I don’t feel any better than I did when I came here.
Actually, I don’t think I could feel any worse.
4
Seeing the way Tristan reacted to seeing me with Brent helped me to get a grip, to look at how I was losing so much more than Tristan. It made me realize that the thing with my parents…I needed to make it right. Especially with my mom.
And that’s why I’m home again.
Mom is sitting across the kitchen table, and I’m doing my best not to think of the poached eggs and toast Tristan made for me in this room the morning after I truly became his. If I think about the sweetness of that gesture, I’ll lose it, and that’s not an option with my mom here, fidgeting with an unlit cigarette, looking anyplace but at me. The thing is, she hasn’t smoked for years. Obviously Tristan and I have driven her back to it.
How far have I alienated my parents because of my love for him?
I take the first step in finding out, hoping she’ll meet my gaze. “I’m sorry things went down the way they did,” I say carefully.
She creases her brow. “That’s what you’re sorry for, Sosie?”
There’s no anger, just quiet resignation. Thank God she’s calmed down as much as I have. It’s a decent start.
I go a little further. “If you think I’m sorry that something happened between Tristan and me, I’m not.”
She finally looks at me. Her bobbed brown hair is disheveled, as if she’s been running her fingers through it. My stepdad went for a long drive after f
inding Tristan and I together, and he’s still not back. The stress of everything is apparent on my mom’s face.
“He’s your stepbrother,” she says.
“I think we both know that’s not the real issue.”
She shakes her head then sets the unlit cigarette down. We both watch as it rolls off the table and falls to the floor.
“At first,” she says, “I was sure that this was some sort of latent rebellion from you. You decided to do something that you knew would shock and anger me because—”
“Because you think I’m still pissed at you for what you pulled with my real dad, chasing him away with your manipulations when I was a kid,” I say, finishing her thought for her.
“Pretty much.”
“Mom.” I rest my elbows on the table, tired. So suddenly tired. “What happened with Tristan wasn’t about you in the least.”
“Then what was it about?” She looks even more tired than I feel as she crosses her arms over her chest. “He’s your—”
“Stepbrother. You’ve said that already, and believe me, I’ve been fully aware of that the entire time.” And it didn’t stop me from falling for him.
Mom pauses, then goes on. “I keep telling myself that you’re both adults. You’re not truly related and you knew exactly what you were doing with him. You’re a smart girl, Sosie, but he’s…Well, Tristan’s always been more experienced in so many ways—and most of them aren’t good.” She sighs. “I wish you’d thought about it a little more and chosen someone who suits you.”
The memory of the awful words that my parents said to Tristan slam right back into me. Before now, she didn’t make bad decisions or get off track.
Before now. Before Tristan.
“Sosie.” My mom uncrosses her arms and leans her elbows on the table, too. Her eyes are reddened from the crying she must’ve been doing. “Just because you’re under Tristan’s spell doesn’t mean you shouldn’t accept the truth about him.”
“That he’s pure trouble and is going to totally destroy my life?”