by Clare James
“It changes everything,” I tell her. “Every damn thing.”
Aria
I’m wound so tight I can hardly walk. So I take off my shoes and run down to the beach. The rough sand on my feet and the salty air kissing my face would usually get me to loosen up to gain a clear head. I’m beyond it at this point.
There’s only one thing that would make me feel better and only person who understands what I need at my most human, primal level.
Tris.
His home calls to me. I always feel better when I can see it on the shore. Tris will come. He’ll be there. I’ll stay all night if I have to.
I settle on his steps to wait. It’s a stupid mistake.
An hour later, I see his shadow. Even in the darkness, I know it’s him. He’s not thrilled to find me on his step, and doesn’t even look at me when he storms up the stairs.
The screen door slams against the frame hard two times. I catch it on the third.
He’s in the kitchen with a beer and I make my way to him, drawn in such a way I have no choice in the matter. My hand runs the length of his spine. He turns around and buries his head in the crook of my neck. I stroke his head, running my hands through his mussed hair.
Tris tenses and his breath hitches.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
My hands move down his chest and he pushes into them. The touch, the connection, is something we both desperately need.
“No, Aria,” he says while he still can, before my hands reach the place of no return.
“I need you,” I tell him, my chest tight and achy. It’s been one of the worst days of my life and I just want him to take it all away for me. I need it. “I want you.”
Oh, he is so hard when my hands finally reach their ultimate goal. He grabs my wrists, but instead of pulling them away, he holds me to him. Into his throbbing erection.
I press my overheated body against him and begin moving my hands. Tristan releases the most pained sound. It’s a low cry – one I haven’t heard before. He’s in pain.
My fingers skillfully work the zipper on his jeans so I can have more, get closer. I want to feel all of him. Stripping him of his clothes, and making quick work of mine, I push into him. Skin on skin. I feel like I might explode – with lust, with want, and something I’m most terrified of…with love.
I’ve known for a few days now. I don’t know, maybe it never went away. I push the thought out of my mind and let Tris take over; he’s dying to.
He’s become so familiar and I get lost in his warm scent and tangle my fingers in his hair again while nipping at his lips. He still won’t give me anything yet. So pull his hair. Hard.
“Aria,” he hisses, circling his hands around my neck and I release my grip.
My body is putty in his hands and he handles me, marks me. He lifts me to his waist and my legs wrap around him while he carries us up to the bedroom.
He sets me down roughly on the floor, not meeting my eyes. It stings, the coldness of it all, but I don’t want to stop.
“Hey.” I place my hands on his face. “Are you okay?”
He shakes his head. “No. Not at all. And I’m in no frame of mind to be doing this.”
I can see the pain Alex’s visit has caused, and I can feel the history of hurt. It’s palpable. Still, this is the only way to get through it. This is how we work, how we communicate.
Panic is laced through my voice, when I say please.
“We both need this, Tris. Please.”
He pushes me down on the bed and covers me with his body. Normally, this would be when he’d whisper something sweet or filthy in my ear. This time, there are no words. Only touch and movement as we struggle to become one. This is us. No matter how close, or how entangled, we want more.
But when he stills, I’m not so sure.
I feel connected to him so deeply, so I wait in this vulnerable position as if proving I’m his and he can do what he wants with me. I pray it helps, but there’s a sick feeling deep in my core.
The taste of beer on his tongue is bitter as he plunders my mouth with a punishing kiss. But I open for him, accepting all of it.
Tristan then positions himself between my legs and I close my eyes, wanting to forget everything that happened today. Wanting him to fill me completely.
The crinkle of the condom wrapper makes my legs go weak. But I don’t have time to prepare because he slides in so fast and deep, I see stars.
The movements are rough; his thrust jarring.
And I let myself go.
I feel empty when we finish – like this part of us has run its course and come full circle. We’ve run the gamut of emotions, trying to control them with our bodies.
Sex for excitement; to cure boredom; for lust and desire; to seek comfort and release; for hate and revenge; to heal and even to love. Tonight felt like closure.
God, I hope I’m wrong.
“So when is the divorce going through?” Tris asks.
I’m spread out on the bed, but Tris sits. It’s never been this way and that sick feeling is back with a vengeance.
“I’m not sure,” I tell him. “It’s a long story, but right now we’re just waiting –”
“Fine.” He bites the word, not allowing me to finish. “I don’t even want to know.”
It was just like the day at the wedding – he was making up his own mind, not caring enough to listen to my answer.
It pisses me off.
Something changes in the air. It’s thick and stifling with regret, pain, and things we just can’t undo. With Alex back in the picture, it’s all been brought to the surface again. The shit just got real and there’s no going back.
I go downstairs to grab my clothes. Tristan doesn’t follow.
So I leave with my heart in my hands. And the hardest part? I don’t know if I’ll ever return again.
Tristan
After Aria leaves, I can’t stay at the beach house. Everywhere I look, I see her. Feel her. Smell her.
Things aren’t any better when I get back to Dad’s.
The house is empty, eerily quiet.
Once I flick on the lights, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Dad’s chair is overturned and the house is in disarray. My eyes take in the room before landing on a piece of paper on the kitchen counter. A note.
Tristan,
We’re going to Memorial West. I’ve tried calling your cell and the beach house, but keep getting your voicemail.
Come to the hospital when you get this message.
Heddy.
I immediately check my phone, the one I wasn’t answering to avoid Aria. It’s full of more messages from Heddy.
6:00pm: Tris, your dad’s not looking so hot today. Have you noticed any changes?
6:45pm: Honey, I think we need to get Paul into the doctor tomorrow. Something’s not right.
7:30: I know it’s your night off, but I think maybe you should come home.
8:00: Tris, I think he’s having another stroke. The ambulance is on the way.
Dad is in surgery when I finally arrive and I feel like a piece of shit. This is exactly why he asked me to come home. So he didn’t have to go through everything alone.
Another reason why I can’t get wrapped up in Aria. It’s too damn much drama and I get in it so deep that everything else in my life suffers.
“Tristan.” Heddy finds me at the nurses’ station. “He’s still in surgery.”
I spend the night at the hospital and try to send Heddy home, but she insists on staying until we hear from the surgeon. At two a.m., a middle-aged man with tiny wire-rimmed glasses comes out to confirm that Dad did have another stroke and that we really won’t know the damage until the swelling in his brain goes down.
We have to wait and see.
It’s the worse night of my life. For so many reasons.
The next morning, I’m finally able to go in and see him. He looks frail without his permanent scowl and I find that I miss it terribly. But when he comes to, his ey
es still hold so much intensity, so much fight.
He reaches for me and I feel like a ten-year-old kid looking to my Dad for strength, but knowing I have to be the one to provide it this time.
I sit there with him for hours while he drifts in and out of sleep, terrified I’m not the right person for the job.
Later, I head out for a quick shower and to grab my computer, deciding to set up shop at the hospital. Still, I feel antsy all day, like I’m forgetting something.
It’s not until that evening that I realize I’ve missed my time with Caden. I hope he wasn’t waiting long.
The next day I don’t make it either. Dad’s stable and the doctors say his recovery is looking promising, but he’ll be in the hospital for at least a few weeks. They also want me to consider moving him to an assisted living facility.
I just hope I don’t have to be the person to suggest it.
Dad wakes up and strains to talk, still as ornery as ever, the old bastard. When the words don’t come, he gives up and points to the TV. I have to laugh at his tenacity and hell, I’m glad he’s still angry. It’s probably the best thing for him.
“Sure, Pops.” I get up and take the remote to turn it to his program. “I’ve got it.”
A little bit later we’ll eat lunch together and I’ll give him updates on the business. The muscles in his face don’t always cooperate, but his eyes tell me he understands.
Afternoons are meant for naps and therapy; evenings consist of dinner and more TV. We spend the first week with this routine and I’m not sure how much more of it I can take.
If the situation with my dad wasn’t enough, I’ve watched the drama with Alex and Aria play out on the local news, and even some of the sports networks. Where, in the past, I would’ve done everything in my power to avoid seeing it, I welcome it now. It’s confirmation that my inclination to end this thing with Ari was the right thing to do. Alex wants her back and that’s that. This time, I’m confronting the situation head on. Unfortunately, Cade’s in the picture, and knowing I’m losing him too is almost too much to handle.
Still, I manage to do just that.
I resume my teaching role and get on a schedule. I even get back to my projects, making plans for the future. My proposals are out and I’m working every connection. It’s only a matter of time before something pops.
But, in the meantime, there’s someone in particular who I need to see.
Aria
After Alex’s visit, the world goes to hell. Rumors about my family spread far and wide, and photographs of Caden and Alex are everywhere. And that’s when I hire the nastiest and most successful attorney in all of Florida. With no divorce in the works, turns out I have access to a shit-pot of money and Mr. Fischer will work for free until we reach a settlement.
Of course, I don’t care one bit for the money. But I will do whatever it takes to protect my kid. So if Alex wants a fight, he’ll damn sure get one.
Now, if only I could take control of the situation with Tris. But with him, there’s so many emotions tangled up in it, I can’t think straight. He’s changed everything.
You know when you see an accident or something really disturbing, you can’t unsee it. The image is burned in your brain forever. It’s the same with relationships – good, or bad, you can’t undo them. It’s there in a file with all the memories, threatening to be recalled at any moment.
And that’s how it is with Tris.
Three Wednesdays have come and gone, and it is the most hollow, somber feeling as they pass each week. Neither of us has tried to contact each other; it was pretty clear where things were headed the last time we were together. So why go through an awful break-up scene? That was the beauty of our arrangement. We didn’t owe each other an answer; we didn’t owe each other anything.
Still, those memories (the Tristan files) open at the most unexpected times. When I take Cade out for ice cream, or when I’m studying in the commons, even during Downton Abbey. They sneak up on me, crushing reminders of something I no longer have.
The trouble is, I didn’t know that kind of love existed. But it does and I can’t unsee it. I know.
It was so much better when I didn’t.
Cade knows I’m sad. He is too. We both lost something precious, but we hold onto each other like always. As long as I have him, I’ll be okay.
There is one thing that does make me feel better when the Tristan file opens. My volunteer work at the hospital. And a special crotchety old patient.
It turns out, the volunteer program is part of Intro to Nursing, so I get hands-on experience and credit for my work. Not to mention my aversion to blood and gore is slowly fading. I even watched a blood draw last week.
“Hi, Mr. Green.” I pour him a glass of water and pull a chair up to the bed.
His eyes say hello.
Mom told me about his stroke and I tried to get in touch with Tris, but he wouldn’t take my calls. Not that I expected him to.
Pauly, however, seems to like me here. I do most of the talking, but he still communicates with me. With his eyes, a word here and there, a funny gesture, or a nod. He especially likes when I talk about Tris. It breaks me a little each time I do, but it’s what Pauly needs right now. So I give it to him.
And that has to mean something. Like maybe, some day, I just might be good at this.
Tristan
Back to my old routine, I walk by the diner in the afternoon. There on the bench are two of my favorite people: Cade and Amelia. It’s just like I hoped. Our days are numbered and I can’t stand the thought of missing the few visits we have left.
“Tristan.” Amelia wraps me in a hug. “I was so sorry to hear about Paul. How’s he doing?”
“As well as can be expected,” I tell her. “Unfortunately, it looks like he’s going to need more care, so I’m checking out facilities.”
“Are you sad, T?” Cade asks.
“A little bit, buddy.”
“Mommy is too,” he says and there’s a squeeze deep in my chest. “She visits your daddy sometimes.”
“Aria’s volunteering at the hospital,” Amelia explains.
“Good for her.”
“Do you want to go to the park, Tris?” Cade asks.
“You know,” I tell him. “I think I could really use that.”
Time with the kid is exactly what the doctor ordered. But when we come back, Aria’s waiting, juggling four grocery bags.
“Using my kid as a chick magnet?” she asks as she sets the bags down on the bench. I think she somehow knows I can’t handle her kindness right now.
“You know it.”
“Well, you better work fast,” she says. “This little man’s going to be awfully busy in the fall and won’t have time for your mischief.”
“I don’t think I’m going to be here come fall, anyway,” I tell her, knowing she will most likely be gone by then as well. At least according to the news.
“What about Pauly?” she asks.
“I’m close to accepting an offer on his business, and now that he’s going into assisted living, there’s no reason for me to stick around.” It’s what I’ve been telling myself, even though Heddy says differently. She has the delusion that my dad needs me and that he’s better with me around.
“Oh.” It’s all Aria says.
“It’s time to get back to my real job in California.”
“Sure,” she says. “Yeah, I think you should.”
“I am,” I say, feeling the heat burn behind my words.
“Good,” she replies.
“Fine.”
“Fine. I’m sure you’ll be able to make arrangements with the women out there for any day of the week your heart desires.”
“Nice, Aria.” Damn, even now she can’t resist sticking it to me.
“What?” she asks. “That’s all you ever really wanted, right?”
“If you believe that, then I was doing something really wrong the past few months.” This is bullshit and I’m not going to l
et her reduce what we had into something sleazy.
“What are you saying, Tris?”
“Forget it.”
“Right, just like you wanted.”
“Whatever,” I say, so incredibly irritated that I lose all communication skills.
“Okay, well, I better get these bags up to the apartment.”
Then she leaves, and I feel my heart shatter with each step.
Aria
Seeing Tris with Cade again is more than I can take. And now he’s moving? I don’t know whether to be pissed at him and his stupid proposal, or pissed at myself for not fighting hard enough to keep him.
Cautiously, I grab the bags. Tristan watches me, I can feel him.
“I’m going up, Mom.” I let her know so she can watch Cade. Though they did suspiciously back away once Tris and I started talking.
“Here, let me help,” Tris says, catching up to me.
He reaches for a bag and his warm scent floods my space and I can’t think for a moment. I also can’t let him help me anymore, it hurts too much. So I keep walking, refusing to acknowledge him.
“Will you stop and let me carry that for you?” He’s on the heels of my feet.
“No,” I call over my shoulder.
He closes in.
“Jesus, back off.” I nudge him with my hip.
Tris follows me up to the apartment and has his chance at the stupid bags when I set them down and riffle through my purse for the key. There’s no keeping him out when I open the door.
“Why do you have to be so tough, Ari?” he asks, bringing the groceries into the kitchen.
“Because I’ve had to be, Tris. I didn’t have help in Iowa. I was on my own, and once I came to terms with that, it was fine. I was okay. And now, I’m starting all over again. I let you in. And once again when things got rough, you couldn’t listen. You couldn’t have faith in me.”
“I wonder why I’m this way,” he fires back. “You should ask yourself. Dig deep, Aria. You did this to me. You broke me.”