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“Yeah, and that’s why I don’t do relationships. People are selfish and disappointing. I knew better than to get into anything more than dates and sex. I knew not to open my heart. This always happens.” Her pulse raced, and a lump formed in her stomach.
She swallowed it down. She looked at his eyes, which were now wide and pleading. Her voice became quiet. “It’s not worth it, Tristan.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but she shook her head and turned away. Without looking back, she climbed out of his truck and walked into her house.
Kristen was there when she walked in and was leaning against the counter with a bottle of water. “What happened?” She handed one to Stacey.
Stacey took it, unscrewed the top, and took a drink. Swallowing the water again pushed the lump back down deep where it needed to stay. “Let’s just say he didn’t disappoint.”
Kristen let out a loud sigh. “Stace, come on. Whatever it was can’t be that bad. You said he was just about perfect.”
Stacey banged the water bottle down on the counter. “Yeah, and I also said that there had to be something I was missing. And there was. I let my guard down around a spoiled rich kid, and he turned out to be a manipulating liar.” Her voice grew louder, and her pulse raced.
She needed to calm down. This shouldn’t surprise her. All guys turn out to be manipulating. That’s why she didn’t do relationships.
Kristen reached out, but she put her arms up to keep her away. “I can’t now, Kristen. Just don’t.”
She walked to her room and closed the door.
Tristan sat stunned as Stacey left his truck. As she walked away and never looked back, his heart split in two. “What the hell just happened?” His hands came up to his hair and brushed it back, holding it in place. Did she really just walk away from me? From us?His thoughts were wild, but he didn’t want to believe. No, He couldn’t believe this really all just happened.
He picked up his phone and sent her a text. He wanted her to come back out and talk. Their relationship was too important to just turn away from.
He waited for an answer, but none came.
Anger caused his heart to speed up, and he punched the dash and pounded on his steering wheel. Now, not just his heart hurt, but also his hands and fists. “Great job, Tristan.”
Was he talking about hurting his hands or not coming clean about Aunt Elie?
He wasn’t sure.
A light came on in Stacey’s bedroom. It cast a soft glow between the folds of her blinds. He wanted more than anything to go in there and put his arms around her and hold her until she realized her mistake.
He opened his truck door and stepped out. He leaned against it and stared at her window. All he had to do was walk to the door and knock. Someone would let him in, and he would get her to listen to him until she forgave him.
Forgave him for what? It’s not like he intentionally kept something from her or lied about who he was. She was so damned negative about everything when it came to guys and relationships. But she finally opened up and gave her heart to him. He could have at least told her about his aunt.
Hindsight and all that bull shit. DAMN!!! He hopped back in his truck and slammed the door. The tug of war inside his heart was driving him crazy. He let out a yell, put the truck in gear, and pulled out of her driveway.
Tristan made it home and was pulling through the gates in record time.
It was a good thing he didn’t pass any cops. He was sure he was going over one hundred. That would have been just what he needed to end this perfectly shitty night—a trip to jail for reckless driving.
The dancing was in full swing when he drove up the driveway. He forgot about the fundraiser. He could just say fuck it, turn toward the party, find someone to dance with, and forget about this nightmare. He was sure that there would be some willing participants who would gladly spend some quality time with him, both in his arms and in his bed. That’s what he would have done in the past. That’s what he would have done before Stacey.
He sighed and kept following the driveway. He was no longer in the mood for partying. If he couldn’t dance with her, he wouldn’t dance at all.
Once he parked in the garage, he headed toward the bar and made himself a drink—Jack and Coke—he wanted something strong. Stronger than beer. Before he walked away, he poured himself a shot and downed the dark whiskey, enjoying the burn as it coated his throat.
Once he filled the ice bucket, he grabbed the bottle of Jack, the open can of Coke, and one other, and went out to the patio, turned on the gas fireplace, and sat by the pool near the fake cheer of the fireplace, ready to finish his night.
Just himself and ole Jack.
Shit. He dumped the rest of the second Coke can into his glass and filled it with ice. This would be his last drink. Make it count. He poured the Jack until the glass was filled. When he sipped, he grimaced. Good and strong. Perfect.
He checked his phone, and the last text he sent was still not answered. Rage filtered through his veins. She was ignoring him. “What the hell?” He spoke to the air and let his phone fly. It crashed into the brick wall, and he heard what sounded like a few pieces hit the ground. It didn’t matter. If she wasn’t going to text him back, he didn’t need it.
“Bro, what’s wrong?”
