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“I know that,” he quipped, starting the kettle and searching for a clean mug. “That’s because you’re—” The sentence, the one that so often made me shudder, was cut short with a nervous chuckle. He wanted to assure me that he was aware how ‘unlike other women’ I was. As though not wanting to think about his hands on me, the only part of my memory of that night wassureI trusted, made me a rare sight. Instead, Tristan forced his attention back on the tea. “You deserve a proper apology, though. I want to take you out to dinner.” I kept my lips sealed as he poured the water, struggling to offer so much as a smile as he finally took a seat beside me. “We could go someplace nice.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I should make it up to you.”
With every inch of distance he tried to close, my body recoiled. Being stupid enough to let myself be alone in a room with Tristan was what got us into this mess in the first place. He was nice. He was relatively harmless, unaware of the damage he was causing, but Tristan wasn’t my problem to fix. I’d learned that lesson the hard way.
“Youreallydon’t need to, Tristan. I’d rather we just moved on. It’s not like we have to be best friends or anything.”
“I’m sorry,” he blurted, panic streaking his face when my shoulders hiked. “I must have just drank too much.” I wanted to murmur out that it was fine, that all I really wanted was to be alone, but my voice wouldn’t come when the boy leaned forward again. “If I did something that made you uncomfortable, I really didn’t mean anything by—”
My body didn’t light up until that small movement of his hand. When Tristan raised his hand to touch my cheek, it was like white lightning through my very bones. I jerked to my feet fast enough to knock over my drink, and when a foot of space wasn’t enough distance, my vision washed. All I could smell anymore was blood. All I could see what Josh laying on the ground that night. All I could hear was the anger, the disgust on Michael’s lips.
If he saw him like this, would he try to kill Tristan too?
Was anyone safe around me anymore?
“Jesus, Bridget, I didn’t—”
“I said it was fine, Tristan.”
My eyes squeezed shut when I needed help controlling it— the sickness, the memories, the prayer that my archangel would come when I needed him. But Michael wasn’t here anymore. He wouldn’t be here ever again, and the only person who could deal with Tristan was me.
Brushing my hair out of my face, I sucked back a breath. “I don’t think dinner is a good idea.”
“Why?” At first, the puppy-dog eyes almost made me feel guilty. But Tristan never could hold it for long. Another breath brought a wash of anger, a squareness to his shoulders. “It’s one dinner, Bridget. I’m not trying to—”
“I’m seeing someone.”
I hated the lie. I hated that Tristan already knew it was a lie, that my wandering eyes had given me away so quickly. More than anything, though, I hated the need in my stomach.
I shouldn’t have to pretend there’s someone else to get a semblance of peace.
“Who?”
My gaze stayed pinned to the far side of the room. “You don’t know him,” I quipped, crossing my arms over my chest. “And I really don’t think he’d appreciate you being here, so maybe you need to—”
“He doesn’t control you.” Sickness snapped my head back— just in time to catch that disfigured sadness. Men like Tristan had a habit of building me into something I wasn’t, into something that deserved their pity. Tristan stepped closer. “We’re co-workers, aren’t we?”
“Tristan.”
“Co-workers go out to dinner all the time,” he rushed. When his eagerness, his annoyance, broke through the mask, Tristan tried to soften himself again. “I just want to make it up to you.”
I wanted to say no.
I wanted to destroy whatever demented hope still lived in his chest, but as Tristan’s hand reached out to me, as his fingers brushed my recoiling skin, I blurted out the only thing I could think of: “Fine.”
One word earned total relief from him. My stomach knotted a little harder as his grin returned and Tristan straightened back up. I didn’t want to go to dinner with him. I didn’t want to go to dinner withanybody, but I wasn’t sure tonight was the night to hurt him anymore.
We were friends, weren’t we?
Friends ate together, didn’t they?
“I’ll find us someplace nice,” he noted, adjusting his jacket and making his way towards the door. “We can get dressed up, just like old times.”
“You really don’t—” When his head didn’t so much as tilt, I sealed my lips again. Tristan was already halfway out of the kitchen, like a salesman who was scared I’d go back on my word. “Fine.”
“Tomorrow. I’ll stop by your desk tomorrow and we’ll talk then, alright?”
