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CHAPTER21
Remi
What the fuck did I do to my life?
Tristan’s gone… I drove him away by refusing to admit what I know to be true. I’m deeply in love with him. My chest physically hurts—it must be heartache.
But what if he’s right? Maybe it is better for both of us that we’re apart.And maybe if I repeat this to myself a thousand times, I’ll believe it.
Stretched out on the couch, gazing at the exposed duct work hanging from the ceiling while sucking with gusto on my fifth beer of the night, I dwell upon the unexpected and unwelcome change in my life.
Fortunately, I remember what it’s like to be alone on Saturday nights. Up until a few months ago, unless I had a male visitor who shared a few heated hours with me in bed, all my Saturday nights were spent alone in my loft. Back then, though, I never felt lonely. Which could be because I was frequently drunk off my ass and couldn’t feel much of anything.
Tristan and his family ended years of my self-imposed isolation. If he and I weren’t here at the loft on the weekends, we slept in his tiny twin bed at his apartment so we could take care of the kids. I never resented sharing Tristan with them. I treasured the family moments.
A wave of pain cuts easily through my thoughts—a warm knife through butter.
I’ll survive this. I’ve been groomed to endure the pain of profound loss and isolation.
That sweet, emotionally connected interlude in my life is over. And by continuing to hang around the kids, I’d be hurting Tristan. He told me he needs time away to adjust to our breakup. He also said I need time away from him. But the kids—it doesn’t seem fair they should suffer.
I experienced loss as a child—it kills me to inflict that kind of pain on them. Too bad I can’t see a way to avoid it.
I hoist my ass from the couch, shuffle to the kitchen, and pour four fingers of whiskey. After draining the glass and braving the burn, I refill it and return to the couch where I can get back to my overthinking. I smile; soon, I’ll be too numb to torture myself this way.
Tristan said everything would be okay… but when?
My only consolation is that I won’t have to endure the loss of a precious Wilder family member to a tragic accident or devastating illness. With them out of my life, I’m again safe.
Sipping thoughtfully on the brown liquor in my shot glass, I admit the pathetic truth. I never did manage to free my mind of the incapacitating anguish of losing my parents. And God knows, I can’t go through that kind of suffering again.
What happened with Wendy today was a harsh reminder of why I don’t emotionally attach… to anyone. Human life is way too fucking fragile—little Wendy was a fraction of a second from being taken from us. And it was my fault, just like it was my fault Mom and Dad were driving on an icy road—rushing home to throw me a birthday party—on the night they were killed.
There’s a knock on the door that I want badly to ignore. But it could be Tristan, reconsidering his decision. I need to talk to him—maybe it’s not too late to come clean.
I stumble across the living room to the entryway and slide the heavy door to the side. The smiling face is one I’ve lately come to appreciate but is not the face I crave. I hide my disappointment by turning my back to Dacia.
“What do you want?”
“Hello to you too. It’s time for my Saturday night check-in—so where’s your gorgeous boyfriend?” As always, her banter is witty.
Too bad I’m in no mood for fun and games. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Whatever you say.” She pushes past me, calling, “Hey, Tristan, where are you?”
I step beside her. “He’s not here.”
“Why the hell not? Tara has the night off, so you guys aren’t on kid duty.”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but Tristan and I are taking a break from our… dating relationship.” I head into the kitchen, grab a bottle of beer from the fridge, pop off the top, and hand it to her.
“What the fuck did you do, Remi?” She grabs the beer and sucks down half in several swallows. “How did you manage to screw it up with him?”
“It wasn’t my decision.” Not that I left him much choice.
She follows me to the couch. “No shit—I sure didn’t see that coming.”
I sigh. Tristan made his decision based on what I refused to admit. “You’re right, though. I was the one who screwed it up.”
We drop onto separate corners of the sectional and gawk at each other until I lift my glass of whiskey and pour the remainder down my throat.
“So, you’re gonna try to drink him away?” she asks.
“That’s the plan.”
“Want to talk about it?” Her tone softens. Slightly.
I shake my head, but my loose lips have a different idea. “He wanted more than I could give.”
“As in, he wanted you to admit that you were, in fact, boyfriends?” The sharp tone returns.
“Something like that.”
“I don’t get you, dude. You had the hottest, sweetest guy in Garner City. A built-in family too. But you’d rather be alone.”
Dacia hits the pathetic nail on the head with her rash assumption, so I nod.
“What about the kids? You gonna break their little hearts too?”
“I can’t see them anymore—Tristan asked me to give him some space.”
“Well, you can’t just dump them like trash on a sidewalk.” Dacia makes no effort to hide her irritation.
Self-preservation forces me to glance away. “What choice do I have?”
“Strictly for the kids’ sake, I’m gonna help you out.” Her words express tolerance, but her glare is lethal. “I’ll talk to Tara and figure out where you can meet up with the kids without running into Tristan. Maybe you can ease your way out of their lives rather than tragically disappearing… the way their fathers did.” She drains her beer.
“I’d appreciate that.”
“So, you’re gonna let Tristan go without a fight?” Her curled lip lets me know what she thinks of the idea.
“He’s better off without me,” I reply and mean it.
“Keep telling yourself that.” Dacia slams her empty bottle down on the coffee table. “I can’t stay. Got plans to watch late-night TV with Tara.”
I wish like hell I was going with her. “Have a blast.”
“Yeah, whatever.” She stomps toward the door.
This is for the best, I remind myself sternly.
I still don’t buy it.
* * *
