by Kate Morris
He grinned lopsidedly and looked like a little boy. It was the first time he ever looked vulnerable. “I knew you would, Angel.”
How’d they go from sort of being friends to ‘Angel’ and holding hands. “Will…Tristan, will…” she asked softly and leaned closer, begging to be even closer to him.
“Yes, I will kiss you, but not right now. I want to. Trust me I want nothing more. But, Avery, I’m not done.”
Her cheeks pinkened.
“I love it when you blush,” he commented with a smile this time. He was so different than he used to be only nine days ago.
“Sorry,” she said and looked down at her knees instead with embarrassment. He tipped her chin up and cupped her cheek before letting his hand fall away. Avery didn’t have a lot of confidence in her thoughts right now but asked anyway. “Is that why you’ll be staying on the base? So you can be close to us?”
He shook his head.
“Oh,” she whispered.
“I’m living with you,” he clarified. Avery’s eyes jumped to his. “Yeah, I moved my stuff in a few days after your accident. It’s better this way. I need to be there to take care of you guys. I can’t do that from the base, and it’s all but evacuated now anyway. Plus, it’s too far away. Soon, gas could run out. I need to be close.”
“Wow, really?” she asked with shock. “What did my mother say about that? Of course, she’s practical, so…”
“Avery,” he interrupted her. The look in his dark blue eyes changed, and the intensity scared her. He shook his head.
“What?” she asked quietly. Goosebumps ran up the backs of her arms. “Tristan, what is it?”
He ran a hand over his face and got up. Then he knelt in front of her on one knee. It looked like he was about to propose marriage for real this time, but by the severity of his stare, she knew that wasn’t it.
“Avery, they’re gone,” he said softly.
“What? Who? What do you…”
“Your mother. Cyrus, Faith, Joy,” he said their names.
Her head swam with information, so she shook it once to clear it. “Wh-what…what do you mean? Where?”
“The day after you were in the accident, your sisters passed away,” he told her and took both of Avery’s hands in his. She continued to shake her head. “Your mother was sick the night I brought you in. They’d already set her up in a bed. She was upstairs with the kids. Was in a coma by morning. She went faster. Four days. They said they thought it was because…”
“No!” she blurted and hit him in the shoulder with the pad of her balled fist. “Stop it.”
“Because of the stress she was already under with the kids. She never knew about your dad or the girls. Or Cyrus.”
“Stop. Shut up, Tristan,” she said, tears running unbidden down her cheeks in steady rivulets like rainwater streaming down a windshield during a storm. She shoved at him and hurt her stitches. Tristan snatched her wrists and held them down between them.
“Cyrus passed the day after the girls.”
“No!” she screamed to the sky. Avery continued to try and hit him, but Tristan squashed her gently against his chest as she cried so hard she thought she might pass out.
He just kept murmuring things into her hair, “After I told them I was your fiancée, they let me be with them. I spent my time either with them or you. I…I didn’t leave them alone. I was there for each of them when it was…their time. I stayed and held their hands.”
“No,” she whimpered helplessly and hit his chest weakly.
“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this. The other kids are still okay. We’re gonna take care of them together. I’m not leaving you. I’ll never leave you, Angel.”
After a long time, her body sagged limply against his. She knew now why he hadn’t actually answered her directly last night at the hospital about her family. She also understood the sympathetic sad looks she kept getting from the staff. They must’ve known.
“Shh,” he cooed. “I’m right here, okay? We’ll get through this together. I’m not going anywhere.”
Five. Five of her family members were gone. They’d all been alive nine days ago when she’d wrecked. Now, all that was left was Ephraim, Kaia, Abraham, and Finn. They’d gone from a family of ten to one of five in the matter of a week. Her body felt exhausted and spent.
“We’ll take care of the kids, protect them so this doesn’t happen again,” he promised, this man who’d stepped in when no one else could, this man who said he was no good. He pulled back and wiped her tears with a wad of tissues. He knew this was coming. Then he gave the pile to her to blot her face and nose. Tristan unzipped his hoodie and pulled it around her shoulders, which left him in only a flannel shirt and t-shirt beneath it. “I’m not going anywhere now, okay? That’s why I discharged. I’m staying with you. We’ll figure this out together. I can even stay in your apartment.”
“No!” she said and clutched at his forearm, her nails biting into his flesh beneath the shirt.
“Okay, I’ll stay in the house. No worries. I’m not going to leave you, Avery.”
“The kids know?”
He nodded, “Yeah, I told them. The kids are handling this about as well as you could expect. It’s been hardest on little Finn.”
It was so weird hearing him speak of her family as if they were his, too.
She nodded. “Where are they? Their…bodies? Was there a funeral while I was…”
“No,” he shook his head. “No funerals. Nobody gets a funeral now. It’s too much for the funeral homes to handle. They were cremated.”
She cried again for another few moments. Not even a grave marker to remember them by.
As if reading her thoughts, he said, “Abraham and I made crosses and carved their names in them. We staked them in the ground by the fence. The one separating that farm from your property in the backyard.”
Avery reached up and cupped his cheek. She whispered in a croak, “Thank you.”
“We should go,” he said and stood. “The kids are anxious for you to be home. They need you.”
She nodded and stood on shaky legs. Then she almost passed out. Tristan lifted her gently into his arms and carried her back to his truck as if it were such an easy task. Once in it, he fastened her seatbelt and kept his hand on her thigh.
“I know this is a lot. Just try to breathe. You’re gonna be okay. You’re a fighter, Avery Andersson. You’re my angel. You’re going to survive this. I promise. And the kids need you. I need you, too, okay?”
She didn’t feel like a fighter. Tristan surprised her by pressing a kiss against her forehead before shutting her door. Then he drove slowly the rest of the way so she could collect herself. He drove them home, to their home now.
Chapter Twenty-eight
A week went by as he and Abraham went on runs at night where they’d meet up with Spencer and collect as much as they could for the winter. The drops from the military up in Canton were slowing down. He had to pay more now for each skid of supplies. He and Abraham were also looting businesses and grocery stores, pharmacies, and restaurants. They weren’t the first to hit any of them, so there wasn’t much left on any of the shelves. Things were going from bad to worse. America was collapsing. Millions were dead in American with the death toll around the world in the tens of millions. Tonight, they were meeting his L.T. to loot the base since it was delayed. The last man was sent away yesterday, and he got a call from his lieutenant to come tonight.
Unfortunately, Avery was still walking around in a stupor like the former shell of the girl he first met who was so optimistic and happy and sassy. She moped, cried a lot at night when she was alone upstairs in her parents’ bedroom where she now slept, and barely changed out of her clothing or took showers. Finnegan clung to her as if his life depended on it, though. Kaia and Ephraim were polar opposites. Kaia would work out on their parents’ exercise equipment in the basement and take out her anger with her throwing knives at the padded target outside.
She was really good with a bow, too. Ephraim was quiet and kept to his room mostly reading books. None of the kids were doing well. Abraham was dealing with it better than anyone else, and Tristan figured it was because he saw himself, at sixteen and the oldest boy, as their protector.
“Avery,” he said as he knocked and entered her bedroom. He slept downstairs and not in her apartment. She didn’t want him that far away. It was almost nine a.m., and she was still in bed. He was beginning to worry about her. She was normally up around six and making breakfast. He noticed her light was on late last night, though. He knew she was depressed but didn’t know how to help her. Hell, her mother was his therapist. Clearly, mental healthcare wasn’t his specialty. A lot of men in the military committed suicide, and he didn’t want her doing the same.
Tristan approached the bed and sat on the edge near her. She was peacefully asleep, although there were used tissues on the nightstand as if she’d cried herself to sleep again last night. He didn’t need the physical evidence. When he walked around at night checking on the place, he heard her, even though he could tell she was trying to be quiet. It crushed him inside a little every time he heard it. Tristan didn’t know how to comfort her. He wasn’t exactly a hugger, but Avery made him want to be.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” he said and gave her shoulder a gentle shake.
She moaned softly and rolled onto her back. Then she laid her arm above her head. He remembered her looking this sensual that night he’d checked on her when he’d first spent the night. It seemed like years ago. Tristan reached out and ran the backs of his knuckles down her cheek. Her small grin gave him a smidgen of hope.
“Ready to get up?” he asked softly, wishing he could just join her. “Renee will be here soon.”
Her eyes popped open. Then she blinked slowly. Her pale brows and black eyelashes perfectly complemented those silvery blue eyes, as if God had that plan all along when he’d created her.
Unfortunately, she closed her eyes again. Then she surprised him by capturing his hand in hers and skimming his middle finger across her lips. Well, that was new.
“Want to get a shower?” he asked.
She nodded and rolled over onto her other side.
“Come on, lazy bones,” he said and pulled the covers away. Mistake. She was wearing a pink satin short set that exposed her long, tan legs. “I want to check your staples, too. And change that dressing.”
She groaned and tried to pull the cover back up.
“Nuh-uh,” he said and slid his arms under her. She was easy to pick up, so Tristan sometimes lately resorted to that to get her moving in the morning. “Come on. Let’s go to the bathroom.”
He set her on her bottom on the counter space between the two sinks. Then he bent over and lifted her pink, satin top. She’d lost weight during the eight days she was under. She lost more weight in the last week since she’d been home because she was depressed.
“You’re getting skinny, Miss Swedish Bikini Model. Don’t make me force feed you,” he warned. “I will.”
“What’s it matter?” she asked in a gravelly voice from crying all night.
“The kids need us. That’s why it matters,” he said in a sterner voice. “So, you will eat. And you will take care of yourself so you can take care of them.”
“They’ve got you now,” she mumbled pointed one slim finger at the center of his chest. Then she laid her hand flat there for some reason.
He tried a different approach and picked up her hand from his chest, showing her the ring he bought her with looted goods, “See that? No way am I raising these kids alone. We’re in this together.”
“We’re not really engaged,” she said in a snotty tone.
“Maybe we’ll have to change that,” he returned before he could stop the words from coming out. Tristan looked up at her. She was awake now, that was for sure, because her eyes widened. Her hair was messy and unkempt but also very, very sexy like that. At least she was focused and alert and not the zombie Avery he’d been looking at for a week. “Now hold still and let me remove your dressing. Then grab your shower, and I’ll replace it.”
She frowned at him as if angry and held her arm out of the way as he carefully pulled the adhesive tape and bandage off.
“Good, just like that doctor said. Some more fell out. Less staples for us to remove.”
“I have to go back to have them taken out,” she said. “That’s what you do post-op. You go to the doctor who did the surgery, and they take them out. We’re not supposed to do it.”
“Maybe before all this. Not anymore. I’m going to give these another day, and then I’ll have to remove them myself.”
She grimaced.
“It won’t hurt,” he promised. “I swear. I’ve looked at it closely. The scar is only about four inches long. It’s healed and closed really well. Won’t hurt. Scout’s honor.” Tristan held up his fingers in the boy scout salute.
She hesitantly hooked her finger around his three. “You said you weren’t a boy scout.”
“I’m just the grown-up version,” he joked, getting the faintest glimmer of a grin.
He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her finger. Then he enfolded her hand in his and kissed that, too. He needed to be extra gentle with her right now. Everything about her, mentally and physically, was like delicate crystal, ready to shatter at any moment.
“Get your shower. I’ll find you some clothes.”
She nodded, stared another moment at him as if she were surprised he kissed her hand, and he helped her down so she didn’t hurt her stitches. Then he left and went to her parents’ closet where he’d taken all of their clothing and shoes and stored them in boxes and tubs and put them in the storage room in Avery’s apartment. He didn’t know what she’d want to keep or not. While she was in the hospital, he was busy. He’d also moved her things into their closet and dressers. He didn’t want her going up the hill to her apartment for things in case something happened.
Tristan chose jeans, a white turtleneck bodysuit, and warm socks. He knew she’d find one of those frumpy, thick cardigans somewhere discarded downstairs. He missed his opportunity. He should’ve burned them while she was in a coma. Then he rifled her panty drawer and picked out a champagne colored lace bra with gold threads running through it and matching lace panties. He had to clear his voice, and his head, to stop from thinking about her in these items. As she’d pointed out, she wasn’t really his fiancée.
“I’m done,” she said from the doorway in her white silk robe that barely came down over her thighs. Tristan slammed her drawer shut as if caught being a peeper. He quickly handed her the folded pile of clothing. “Thanks.”
He ducked his head once in a nod and left her to get dressed. He collected her discarded clothing and towels from the floor and put them in the hamper and made the bed.
“I’m ready,” she announced a few minutes later. “Can I dry my hair first?”
“Sure, I’ll just run this downstairs and check on the kids. Take your time.”
Kaia was already on the treadmill in the basement according to Ephraim, who was with Finn and the bird, Mr. Gray.
“Where’s Abraham?” he asked.
“Splitting firewood,” Ephraim answered.
He nodded. “Cool. You guys getting hungry?”
“Starving,” Finn said.
“Hey, I bought some granola bars,” he said. “Have some of those with the leftover scrambled eggs from yesterday, okay, guys?”
He stole the granola bars along with a truckload of other foods from a dollar store in town the other night while everyone at home was asleep. He didn’t know shit about growing a garden, but he knew how to sneak in and out of a place easily.
Ephraim gave him a nod, took his little brother’s hand, and led him into the kitchen. Finn had informed Tristan when he was helping put away the groceries he looted that the granola bars he ‘bought’ were coated in chocolate and his mother didn’t approve of that kind of sugary junk food for break
fast. That had stabbed him in the heart. Dr. Andersson was a really cool woman. She loved her kids and her job. She was professional and caring. He couldn’t imagine her being anything but the best mother. She was a natural born nurturer of the human psyche.
Tristan took the stairs two at a time and joined her in the bathroom where she was just finishing. She wasn’t dressed, though. Avery cut the power to the blow dryer and set it on the sink. Then she turned to him and opened her robe. His eyes grew huge, and he had to force his jaw not to hit the marble floor.
“You brought me a bodysuit,” she said. “I-I can’t wear that and have you bandage me. It covers my body. Thus, the word bodysuit?”
She was standing in front of him in her panties and bra. Tristan cleared his voice. In a moment, he was going to need to adjust other things on his body or grab a cold shower.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “Yeah, let me just get you fixed right up.” He forced himself not to be a total pervert ogling her. He just had to get through bandaging her. Then he could leave the bathroom and go help the kids. Just get through it, he repeated over and over in his brain.
He lifted her again onto the countertop so he could work. This time was so different from earlier, though. His bare hands were on her bare waist. And sliding down to her soft hips.
“I can do this now, Tristan,” she said, offering a sympathetic look his way as if she thought she was a burden.
He shook his head. “I don’t mind. I’ve got time. Getting you better and all healed up is my number one priority right now.”
“’Kay,” she said softly as his thumb hooked itself under the edge of her panties on her hip. His fingers were doing things he couldn’t control. ‘Just get through it’ was becoming ‘touch her skin’ in his addled brain.
Tristan could smell her minty breath. She must’ve brushed her teeth, too. Her fingers found their way to his forearms, and he fully anticipated her pushing his hands away from her because she seemed disgusted by him and his tattoos, which he should’ve covered with a long sleeve tee. She didn’t. She stroked her fingertips over his arms in a way that was almost tickling. He didn’t think she was actually trying to tickle him. It was just her light, uncertain touch. From her, it was enough to send a jolt of lust straight through him. This woman had been repulsed by him mere weeks ago when they’d first met in that lame country music bar. His tattoos had disgusted her, his brawn, probably everything about him. Hell, she’d thought he might’ve date-rape drugged her friend’s drink. Now she was touching him. Intimately.
