“She doesn’t want that.”
“You sure?”
I think back to the dock last night. She tore my world apart, then told me it was practice. I have no right to be mad at her. None. Katie’s position is incredibly vulnerable. I’m the boss taking advantage of the help, the best friend swearing he’ll help her find a boyfriend but wanting to keep her for himself. I’m being a selfish prick, but then again, it’s a role I’m familiar with.
“I’m sure.”
“What will you do when she meets someone?”
The words are a blow to the stomach. “I don’t know,” I say honestly. I have a brief flash of a future in which I watch from the sidelines while Katie spends her morning runs with someone else. My throat works, trying to contain words I know I shouldn’t say. “I really like her, Aiden.”
“I know, Tris.”
“I don’t think she feels the same.”
He sucks in air. I wait for him to reassure me that he thinks she feels the same, but he doesn’t.
Don’t be selfish, Tristan.
I still hear the words in my mother’s chiding, distracted voice, then my father’s deeper and even more distracted baritone. In my head, they’re reading the paper and not even looking at me while I stand in the dining room, the remnants of a prank sending blue paint down my chin and blood trickling from my nose. The colors swirl together on the marble floor, never mixing, just becoming a blurry swirl before my tear-filled eyes. The worst part of that memory is the tears.
“What if she did feel the same?”
That one’s easy. It’s a possibility so remote, it almost makes me laugh. No woman has ever liked me all the way. I have never been enough to make someone happy.
“If I thought I had even a fraction of a chance with Katie, I’d stop at nothing to have her.”
41
KATIE
Emory
So you and Tristan?
Sienna
Unless there are other hot bodyguards with red hair on his payroll?
Emory
Should we be offended that we didn’t hear about this first?
Sienna
I think we should be.
On Sunday, I wake up famous. Or infamous.
Despite his words on the dock, I haven’t seen Tristan for two days and it feels like I did ruin everything. I stopped by for our morning run on Saturday and he was out of the house. That afternoon I saw him walking to the stillhouse and he gave me a wave and a nod, but nothing more.
There’s a permanent, hollowache inside my stomach, and I vow over and over to never be this stupid ever again, if only things can go back to the way they were.
I’m pouring a second coffee and tugging on a tank top Sunday morning when I see the messages. Photos. I nearly choke on the scalding liquid when I see the video. Tristan has me caged against the wall in the shadows of the bar. The camerawork is horror-movie shaky, but the zoom function is good enough to make out our expressions.
We are lost in each other.
My stomach flips, and I watch the rest of the video with my mouth ajar and coffee held in the air. I didn’t realize how long people were watching us. It’s a full five seconds with Tristan kneeling at my feet. I’m smiling like I’m dazed. My hands are toying with his hair. He looks up at me as he writes.
