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The world faded while rough hands pulled at his pockets.
21
THE WRECKAGE
I was steepinga tea bag when the doorbell rang.
Smiling, I trotted downstairs, looking forward to a night with a hot personal trainer in my bed.
But when I glanced through the peephole, I froze. The wrong trainer stood on my doorstep with his bike over his shoulder.
Inhaling against the sudden lurch of my gut, I opened the door. “What are you doing here?”
Tristan wore a pained expression as he stared at his feet. “I came to apologize.” He looked up. “Can I come in?” It was pouring, and he looked like a water-logged dog waiting to be kicked.
I bit my lip. “It’s late.” And I expected Aithan any minute.
He cleared his throat and fiddled with the gloves he wore when he biked, a birthday gift from me. “I know. But I really need to apologize, Zel. This is hanging over me. Please? Give me a chance to explain.”
I sighed. Everything told me I should close that door and order him to stay away. Hell, the protection order said that. My father would scream it. Drew and Aithan would shake me for not listening to my own reasonable inner voice.
Instead, I stepped back and let him in.
Tristan was a dick. And he was rude. But he’d never been violent. I didn’t truly believe he would’ve hit me the other day.
I crossed my arms and glared at him. “You spat in my face.” I could acknowledge his regret but still nurse my own anger; the two were not mutually exclusive.
His expression fell and he squeezed his eyes shut. He shook his head and, somehow, looked even more hangdog when he met my gaze. “And I’m really, really sorry. That was such a complete dick thing to do. God, Zel, I’ve never acted like that before.”
Still, I wasn’t quite willing to let him slide into forgiveness so easily. “Is there a video?”
“A what?” He looked genuinely confused.
“Deep. Throat. A video.”
Tristan’s expression crumpled again. “Ugh, no. Hell no. I’d never do that. I’m not that big a douchebag. Besides, I was always too focused on you, uh, sucking my cock to think about filming it. And no way I want the whole world seeing my dick.”
“Then why’d you say that?”
He leaned his bike against the wall and took off his cycling shoes and his jacket. He blew out a long, slow breath. “Because I’m an asshole.” He shook his head and his eyes darted around, as if searching for answers. “Honestly, Zel, I’ve screwed up so much. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You weren’t.” I headed up the stairs without waiting for him. “I’m making tea and there’s still cold brew.”
He followed. “Thanks.”
He pulled off his gloves as he sat at the kitchen counter. When I passed him a cup of coffee, I saw the knuckles on his right hand. They were bloody, swollen, and skinned. The entire back of his hand was black and blue.
“Tris, what did you do?” I grabbed his wrist and inspected the damage. “Road rash?”
“No.” His shoulders slumped and he swallowed. “I punched a wall.”
“Seriously? That was stupid.”
“Yeah, I’m good at that lately.”
I shook my head. “Go wash your hand. I’ll get bandages and ointment.”
He went to the kitchen sink while I got the first aid kit from the powder room. “You can’t do this to yourself,” I said as I put the kit on the kitchen counter. I blotted fresh blood from his hand. “Not again.”
