Broken Promises (The Secret Life of Trystan Scott #6)

by H. M. Ward

  I laugh and floor it as I hit the expressway. Nah, I would never do that. Even though I worked every day, I never purposefully stole something from someone else. In this case, they’re stealing my privacy. Bits and pieces of my life get snapped away until I don’t want to walk outside anymore. Imagine walking past a row of commission-based sales kiosks in the mall, all manned by people trying to sell you crap. Now imagine that each product equals a ten thousand dollar sale. The value increase makes each salesperson that much more aggressive. They don’t care what happens to me. If I run into the street trying to evade them and get hit by a car, that just means they’ll get paid even more for a shot of rock star Trystan Scott's demise.

  I let out a rush of air and wish my life weren’t so fucked up. I voice-dial Jon.

  He picks up on the second ring. “Hey, Trystan, what’s going on?”

  “The press found me at Katie’s. They’re going to camp out there waiting for me to come back. I can’t do that to her. I need a distraction. Any ideas?”

  “Give me a little bit. I’ll draw them away, for tonight at least. They’ll probably head back by morning.”

  “I’ll take anything you can offer. Mari’s talking to me again, and Katie needs me. I can’t ditch them, and I don’t want Katie to come home from the funeral home and run into the press. Anything you can do is appreciated.” I grip the wheel tighter and wish I hadn’t driven there. Someone probably spotted the plates.

  “I’ve got this, Trystan. I’ve been attracting and evading the press since I could talk. Give me an hour and they’ll be gone.” He disconnects, and I drive on in silence.

  * * *

  I ask Bob to meet me at Battery Park with the script. He's already there when I arrive, and he looks pissed. With his eyes hiding behind metallic sunglasses and his black wool suit, he looks like a Men In Black character on steroids. Tucked under his massive arm is the yellow envelope containing the script.

  Bob pushes off his old Caprice Classic, with oversized tires and chrome rims, and walks over to me. “I can’t protect you if I don’t know where you are, Trystan.” He hands me the envelope.

  “Sorry, I had to take care of something personal.”

  “Uh huh. And I’ve only been with you for a few weeks so I understand why you’d ditch me.” He’s being sarcastic. Bob has been by my side for nearly a decade.

  “Bob, don’t. Not right now.” I tuck the script under my arm, feeling like a dick. I’m about to ask him something, and he’s going to punch me in the face. At least, he’ll want to, before replying appropriately. “I need a favor.” I tip my head forward, indicating that I want his car. “Can we switch for a few hours?”

  “Awh, hell no! The paps found you, and you’ve cooked up something stupid with that Ferro kid again.”

  “Jon’s almost thirty.”

  “Yeah,” he grabs his face with his hand and pulls down as if he were wiping it off. “I know. Twenty-nine and three-quarters. You’re both kids compared to me. If you have to use my car to get away with it, this idea has dumbass written all over it.”

  I glance around, making sure no one is watching us, and then lower my gaze to the asphalt. I resist the urge to kick a rock. Bob’s right. I need to stop acting like a kid, but this isn’t what he thinks it is. “I may have accidentally led the press to Katie’s house. Jon is going to do something Ferro-ish to draw them away for the night. I need your car to go back.”

  Bob folds his arms over his chest. “Fine, but I’m driving you.”

  “You can’t. I’m trying to mend fences with someone, and I’d rather be alone.”

  “Trystan, you’re killing me. How am I supposed to do my job?”

  “Help Jon?” My voice is too high, and the command comes out as a question.

  Bob curses under his breath while pacing in a circle. When he comes back, he points his sausage-sized finger in my face. “If you fucking drive into something again, I’m going to kick your ass.” His nostrils flare angrily, but his hand drops and he steps back. Bob fishes the keys out of his pocket and tosses them to me.

  I catch them and nod my head in thanks. “That was an accident. I promise I won’t wreck your car.”

  Bob puffs up into my space, lowering his face until his chin lines up with my forehead. “A man’s car is everything, but I'm talking about you. If you do some other dumbass thing—and I don’t care if it’s drinking, parties, drugs or what—I’m done with you, Trystan.” His dark eyes are firm, and I can tell the crash rattled him.

  If I could tell him what happened, I would.

  There’s nothing to say, so I just nod. I rush over to his car, pull open the door and toss the script on the seat. It’s going to take nearly an hour to get back out to Katie’s—that’s just long enough for Bob and Jon to do their thing.

  Before I pull away, I notice Bob is still standing there, studying me as if evaluating me. I slide the window down, thinking I’ll reassure him that I’m fine, but he walks over and holds out an envelope—a small white envelope that looks like it came from the Hallmark store.

  I take it from him. “What’s this?”

  Bob checks my mail, sorting out the fan mail and sending the rest of it to my accountant. He’s never handed me mail directly before, so this is weird. “It’s something you should open when you have friends around, and not before.”

  “Bob, you’re shitting me, right? Is it blank?” He’s freaking me out a little bit with his behavior.

  The man shakes his massive bald head. “No, it certainly is not, and it checks out. Like I said, wait until you're with friends. Don’t open that alone.”

  “It's my father, isn’t it? Is he dead?”

  “Trystan.” There's a warning in his tone, and he reaches for the letter.

  I jerk it back and stuff it in my jacket. “Got it. Open it at Katie's, not a moment before—also, there’s some bad shit in there that may or may not be about my father. Great. Sounds like fun.”

  It sounds horrible. I haven’t seen my dad since I watched the cops drag him away. I assumed he was in prison or maybe on parole by now. No one told me he’s dead, so maybe that’s what this letter contains. I’m not sure how I feel about that since the man hated me.

  Why does bad news come in threes? First Seth died, now this. That means there’s still one more piece-of-crap disaster still coming.

  Chapter 23

  Trystan

  That letter is burning a hole in my pocket. I can’t keep my mind off of it. Mari’s got to think I have brain damage based on the way I'm reading my lines.

  Katie is lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Mari is sitting on the floor with a script, still feeding me lines from scene one. It’s pathetic.

  She finally puts the manuscript down and pushes up off the floor. She makes a beeline directly to me. I have no idea what she’s doing until she reaches into the inner pocket of my leather jacket. I swat her hand away, and she frowns. “Trystan, you can’t concentrate not knowing so just look at it already.”

  I try to laugh it off and turn up the charm. I offer her a full-wattage smile and dance away from her hands. “Look at what? Your beautiful face? I am, and it’s very distracting.”

  “Barf.” Katie makes the most unenthusiastic vomiting noises I’ve ever heard. She looks over at me. “You always take your jacket off.”

  “So?” Both women are staring at me. Mari’s fiancé is about to show up, and I don’t want to do this now. “I’m badass. I need to impress Mari’s future husband.” I grin at Katie, but she throws a pillow at my head. It misses me and rolls over the carpet.

  Mari is staring at the side of my face, and I’m pretty sure there will be burn marks on my skin in a moment. I round on her. “What?”

  She sighs with her entire body and her shoulders go slack. “You’re as impossible now as you were in high school. Just read the letter!”

  “What letter?”

  “WE CAN SEE IT.” Katie sits up and glances at Mari.

  I don’t realize
what they’re doing until they both rush at me from opposite directions. Mari slams into my side as Katie rushes at me head-on and knocks me to the floor. The next thing I know, Katie is lying across my legs and Mari is sitting on my chest. She flops backward, slips her hand inside my jacket, and pulls out the envelope. “Shit.”

  They’re both laughing, and it’s nice to hear, but I’m not ready to open that note yet. “Mari, don’t.” My voice comes out breathy because she’s on my chest. The touch isn’t skin on skin, but I feel her concern for me anyway. She rolls onto her stomach and props up on her elbows, waving the white envelope between her fingers as I try to get Katie off my legs.

  She meets my gaze and stops. The smile falls from her lips, and she realizes the letter contains bad news.

  Before she can say anything, the door swings open, and Derrick walks through with a pink bakery box. He stops, drops his jaw, and blinks. He snaps out of it, and mutters, “Oh, good. The orgy started without me.”

  Mari pushes up, walks over to him and kisses him on the cheek. “Awh, you brought dessert.”

  “Yeah, I got those mini cannoli you like.”

  Katie suddenly jumps off my legs and rushes at the box. “Dibs! This is my dinner, bitches! Get your own.” She grabs the box and disappears into the kitchen. Before anyone can say anything, she stuffs one in her mouth and smiles. Cream oozes from between her teeth.

  That’s the thing with Katie—she puts herself last, always trying to make other people forget their troubles, even when she’s drowning in them. No wonder why she didn’t want to be alone tonight. I laugh, I can’t help it. She looks disgusting with saliva and crème oozing from her mouth.

  Katie puts up her hands like a zombie and frankenwalks toward Mari. “Brains! Brains!”

  I fold my arms over my chest and tuck my chin, hiding my laugh. Mari scowls at me. “Hey, I’m just glad she’s not coming at me.”

  “You suck! Stop!” She backs away from Katie, laughing until she’s trapped in a corner. Katie kisses both of Mari’s cheeks, sliming her with cannoli filling.

  They’re both laughing hard, and even the douche is chuckling. I need to try and be nice to him, for Mari. I walk over and hold out the metaphorical white flag. “Did you get a cake?”

  His gaze cuts to mine and his smile falters. He’s suspicious. “Yeah, why?”

  “Is it a cassata cake, by chance?”

  Mari hears me through Katie’s slimy kisses and they both turn around and look at us. “That’s not funny, Trystan.” She waves a finger at me.

  “It’s not a good idea. Derrick brought the cake.” I glance at her and notice a blur of white tucked into the front pocket of her jeans under her oversized sweater.

  Derrick doesn’t miss a beat. He’s got the cake in his hand and scoops up half, dumping it in my palms. Maybe he’s not an asshole? He nods at me and indicates we should rush them, making a Katie and Mari cassata cake sandwich.

  Both women scream when they see us coming, but they're trapped in the corner with nowhere to run. I cream Katie, pushing the cake into her cheek while Derrick gets Mari. They both shriek with laughter. Katie rounds on me and jumps. I could escape her bear hug, but I let her get cake cream all over me until she sticks out her tongue.

  “I’m going to lick Trystan Scott!”

  “I don’t think so.” I try to escape, but Mari grabs one of my arms and Derrick grabs the other. They slam me back against the wall, and Katie licks the side of my face, leaving a trail of slime.

  When they release me, they’re all laughing so hard they can’t breathe. I act like it’s gross, but I’m smiling, too. Mari’s doubled over with tears in her eyes. She’s leaning against Katie, and they’re both covered with white cream. There’s a blob of cake in Mari’s dark hair, but she doesn’t seem to care. The two of them slide down the kitchen wall, caught in a fit of giggles until they can’t laugh anymore.

  Derrick heads off to clean up in the bathroom. I grab a kitchen chair and sit down, still covered in cake and Katie slime.

  She’s too young to be a widow. Grief rushes back, and suddenly I feel hyper-aware that Seth isn’t here. This is the kind of thing that would have happened with him. I know Katie and Mari are thinking it, too, because the mood suddenly plummets.

  I grab a cannoli from the box and lift it in the air. “To Seth, and all the times he made us laugh. As long as we keep going and don’t take life too seriously, we’ll do him proud.”

  Mari smiles. She grabs a cannoli from the box and lifts it. “To Seth, and all the times he grinned and said, ‘do me.’”

  Katie snorts and grabs a cannoli. She lifts it into the air and all three of us tap them together as if they’re champagne glasses. “To Seth, wherever you are, know I’m thankful for all the laughter.”

  Chapter 24

  Mari

  Something weird is happening—Trystan and Derrick are getting along. You know, maybe Katie’s right—they do look similar. I didn’t see it until they were sitting next to each other at dinner. Oh, God, now I'm ‘that’ girl, the crazy one who dates clones of her ex.

  I don’t want to think about it. I’m happy with Derrick and, after the initial shock of it all, he's taken the whole rock superstar ex-boyfriend thing pretty well. They seem to be talking easily, which feels weird. I expected them to hate each other with a little more gusto.

  Maybe they’re being nice for Katie’s sake. Whatever the reason, I’m glad they’re not fighting.

  Even though the envelope is folded in half, it keeps poking me from my pocket, forcing me to remember it's there. I don't want to push Trystan to open something like this in front of Derrick. His mind is somewhere else tonight like he’s looking over his shoulder. I’ve glanced out the window a few times without seeing any reporters. I’m sure he’s worried they’ll camp out at Katie’s apartment, but they haven’t so far.

  Trystan is leaning back in his seat in the kitchen chair with his legs kicked out under the table. He seems comfortable even though I know he’s not. He isn't finished grieving Seth, and whatever is in this note is going to be bad. Trystan glances at me across the table, smirking, before tapping me with the tip of his boot. I smile back and avert my eyes. I don’t want him to know I’m thinking about him, worried about him, or anything else.

  I don’t know how to fit him into my life or if I want to. For the next few days, he’ll be around for the funeral, and after that it’s only a few days to learn the script, and he’ll be gone again—if that’s what I want.

  That’s the one thing I can sense from Trystan. He doesn’t know what I want. He can’t read me, and I know why. It’s because I haven’t decided. I don’t know if I can let go of the betrayal and the pain he caused, or if I even want to. How do I erase something that completely crushed me?

  Katie kicks me under the table and offers a toothy smile. She’s still wearing cake in the ends of her hair, although she’s washed off her makeup and slicked her hair into a ponytail. She lifts a glass of milk in the air. “To you guys. Thanks for hanging out with me tonight. I know it feels like a bipolar emotional roller coaster, which isn’t fun. To friends—old and new.” She tips her head toward Derrick. “Thanks for not screaming when we destroyed your cake.”

  He shrugs. “Some cakes are created for eating. Other cakes are created for fun.”

  I glance at Derrick from the corner of my eye and then at Trystan. He’s nodding and holding up his cup of milk as well. Katie dumped all the liquor down the drain before Trystan came back, unwilling to aid in his self-destruction. No one seems to notice its absence—not out loud at least—and the cake tastes better with milk than alcohol, anyway.

  “Well said,” Trystan agrees with a nod. I should be happy, but I’m not.

  I glance at Katie, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Something isn’t right, but I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe I’m mental? Today has been insanely long. I brush aside my apprehension and help clean up the kitchen. After every last bit of cake is cleaned up, I follow Derric
k to the door while Katie and Trystan finish loading the dishes.

  Derrick pulls me to him and slides his hands down my back to rest just below my waist. His voice is soft and deep. “I had a good time tonight. I love you.” He lowers his lips to mine and kisses me slowly. His hands press on my back until one lifts to my bra and presses harder, forcing my breasts into his chest. It’s a passionate kiss for him, and for a second I wonder why, but then I feel it—Trystan is there, and he’s watching us.

  Shyness floods me, and I pull away. My face flames red, and I look at the carpet, trying to hide it. Trystan doesn’t say anything. He just flops down on the couch and turns on the TV.

  Derrick gives me a look and then his gaze cuts to Trystan before returning to me. He leans in and kisses my cheek, seeming to understand that I don’t want to make out with him in front of people. Before he pulls back, he whispers, “You never pulled away in front of Katie, but I understand if you want to give him some time. I can respect that, as long as it’s not forever.”

  “It won’t be.” My hands splay across his chest, and I look up to see uncertainty in his icy blue eyes. I wish I knew what he was thinking, but I don’t.

  He smiles. “Good.” Derrick kisses me on the cheek again and heads out.

  By the time he’s gone, Katie has snuggled into the chair, and the only spot left to sit is next to Trystan. Stop acting like a child. Adults can be friends with their exes. Get over it already and stop being stupid. I plop down on the cushion next to him, careful not to touch him, and feel the letter stab me. I’m about to pull it out when I look up at the TV. “What the hell is that?”