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“It’s okay.”
“Is it?”
Tristan hated how hopeful the words he spoke made her feel. Didn’t he know how devastated she’d be once he lost interest in her? And he would. It was inevitable.
“Tristan…” He leaned in close. She thought he’d kiss her, but he stopped short of doing so. “Do you know how damn much I want you to be a part of my life?”
“Bullet,” Tristan scooted back and put her hand on his. “We hardly know each other.” She tried to make her voice sound light, as though his words weren’t setting her heart on fire.
But it didn’t work. Bullet’s eyes grew dark, and his nostrils flared. He pulled her chair back, closer to him. “You’re wrong about that, darlin’. We know each other very well. When I close my eyes, there isn’t a single part of your body I can’t picture. I memorized the look you get on your face when I take you over the edge. I know every freckle on your nose.” He ran his finger over her collarbone, and then downward. “And the ones that are sprinkled here, and here.” His finger dipped inside her v-neck to touch the lacy edge of her bra.
“There are other things I know about you too.” He le
aned forward and put his lips against her temple. “I know how damn smart you are.” He kissed across her forehead. “And how creative.” Bullet put his fingers on her chin and tilted her head up. He looked straight into her eyes. “I also know that you haven’t figured out how to let go and let this thing happen between us. You don’t wanna care what other people think, but you can’t help yourself.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but Bullet put his finger on her lips. “And you know me,” he continued. “You know you can trust me, and you know exactly how I feel about you. You’re just not ready to hear it.”
He was right. She wasn’t ready to hear it. Every word he said terrified her. She’d experienced the gut-wrenching pain of a cowboy breaking her heart one too many times already.
“Just wait,” she warned. “Wait until you’re on the road. Night after night, pretty cowgirls will invite you into their bed, and you—”
“No, Tristan, I won’t. I’m not him. I’m Bullet. I’m not the asshole who put this fear of trust in you.”
“Can you honestly tell me you don’t have a trail of broken hearts in your wake? Honestly?”
She knew, by the way his expression changed, that she was right.
“What’ll it take for you to trust me, Tristan?”
“I don’t know.” She was being honest, too. She didn’t know. Time, she supposed. But even with time, how could she know for sure? There were times she couldn’t be on the road with him, and then she’d wonder if he was with other women. That’s how it had been with Harris, and it tore her up.
Bullet lifted her hand and rested her palm against his chest. “Feel that? It’s my heart, and it belongs to you.”
Those words. She’d heard them before, almost verbatim. Harris told her the same thing, and she’d been stupid enough to believe him. She’d vowed never to make that mistake again. Her eyes filled with tears, and she tried to turn away from him, but he wouldn’t let her.
“What? Tell me what just happened. Is it so wrong that I want to give you my heart?”
“It isn’t that—”
Tristan froze when her eyes met Liv’s. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. It was as though everything and everyone around her came to a complete standstill as she watched Liv walk toward her. Tristan looked down and saw that Liv was carrying her phone. Why did Liv have her phone? Had she left it on the table? What in God’s name was happening?
“Tristan, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. It’s your dad,” she heard Liv say. “We need to get you home.”
“What’s happened?” Bullet heard his mother ask Lyric, who had rushed over as soon as she saw Liv approach Tristan.
“I’m not sure,” he heard his sister answer.
Liv was standing in front of Tristan, with her hands cupping her shoulders. When she said, “It’s his heart,” Tristan literally crumpled in his arms. He caught her the moment she lost consciousness, and held her until she came to. The pale gray color her skin had turned terrified him.
She looked back and forth between Liv and him. “Will he be okay?” she asked, in no more than a whisper.
“We don’t know much at this point, sweetheart,” Liv told her. “Ben is making arrangements to fly you home now.”
When Ben came back inside and walked over to the table where Bullet still held Tristan as close to him as he could, and reached out to take her hand, Bullet wanted to hold on and not let her go.
“The plane is ready for us,” Bullet heard him say. “We’ll get you home.”
Tristan stood and let Liv and Ben take her away from him. She didn’t say a word, didn’t look back; she just kept walking.
