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“I have to go. My siblings are waiting for me. I’ll meet you at the main office at nine.”
He’s not stupid. I’m running and he knows it.
“I’ll pick you up at eight thirty. We can drive together.”
Drive. Together. So we can talk about all of this even more? No, thank you.
“No need. I’ll catch a ride over with Hayley.” She’s doing a clinical at the hospital across the street and we’ll be taking my car, but if I tell him I’m dropping her off, he’d probably offer to do it for me. The considerate ass.
“Tristan.”
I shut my eyes and suck in a breath.
“Dammit Victor. I’m trying to get some space. Can’t you understand that? I need to be somewhere where you are not right now. Please. Please, just pretend you already picked up on that and let. Me. Go. We can talk all you want tomorrow after the meeting, okay?”
“This is what you want?”
I’m not sure what he’s referring to, but yes. I want space. I want to pretend we’re happily married. I want to survive this meeting with my boss. I want to keep my job. I want…
I nod and he blows a breath.
“Okay.”
This time he steps back and I feel the cold knife through me as his expression shutters. No more glare, but no more smile, either. My eyes burn and my throat feels thick. The apology sits heavy on my tongue, but I swallow it down.
I tuck my phone away, take a deep breath and back away from the stoic player standing in front of me. Guilt chews through my stomach again. That man should never do anything but smile.
The private terminal has cleared out, just a man with a mop cart emptying the trash can on the other side of the space. That’s my cue to leave, too. Walk away.
“You know what I regret?” I call out as I put my hand on the door and Vic’s head snaps up to look at me. “That I finally had you in bed and I don’t remember any of it.”
For a moment, his mouth drops open in shock. Then the grin spreads and his dimples appear as he throws his head back and laughs.
And I leave before I can ask him to help me fill in the blanks with fresh memories.
I don’t broach the subject of talking again. After everything else, Tristan’s been vocal about needing space, so that’s what I am trying to do. My intention is to snag her right before we walk into Bob’s office. I’ll buy her a tea, ask how she slept, and then give her a play-by-play of the night in Vegas, but everything changes in the morning.
It starts with my phone vibrating so hard it falls off my bedside table. When I wipe the sleep from my eyes and pick up the damn thing, I almost drop it again. I’m not unused to social media attention, but the little red flags on my phone seem to have given up the good fight. My phone looks like it has chicken pox with the number of dots all over my screen. I have twenty-five missed texts—I snort at the fact that it’s the same number as my jersey—thirteen missed calls, uncountable numbers of social media notifications, and yeah, it’s still vibrating in my hands.
Mom is standing in the hall, her own phone pressed to her ear.
“He’s up now. Hold on.” Her eyes dip down the length of my body and back up, before zeroing in on my left hand ruffling my hair. “I don’t see it,” she says into the phone. “I’ll call you back.”
“Erik?” I ask as she slides her cell into her pocket, and I’m on alert when she nods. My relationship with Erik has been tense since his cancer diagnosis at sixteen. He’s finding his way back to us, or us to him, but he isn’t one for random morning phone calls. “Everything okay with him? With Quinn’s dad?” Sean Cooper is another cancer survivor. He’s been in remission for a while now, but we all still worry. I’m not sure that ever stops.
“Yep. Sean’s fine. Quinn’s fine. Erik’s good.” Mom’s eyes dip to my hand again. “A little birdie told us some interesting news.”
Another call scrolls across the screen of my cell phone. My agent’s number. I send him to voicemail. I’m already running late for the day, and my mom is more important than the guy sitting at his fancy desk out in Los Angeles.
I pause.
Except LA is three hours behind us. Which means it’s—I check the clock—five in the morning his time. Not that I care. I’m running late to meet with Bob and Tristan. It’s possible my priorities are a little out of whack. If my agent is calling me this early in the morning, it’s not usually a good sign, but I refuse to be tardy to this meeting. I refuse to leave Tristan hanging.
Stay married. We have to…the words roll through my brain, echoing as they bounce off sluggish neurons. She asked me to meet her at the office. She asked me to stay married. I will give the woman anything she asks for. Except a divorce.
My phone rings again and I look at my mother. She smiles.
“Go on, you know he’ll just keep calling and he’s already cranky that he had to get up early.”
