by Liz Gavin
Breathtaking.
And so peaceful.
Not at all the way she felt with a storm of conflicting emotions raging inside her head.
Her mission involved so much more than her feelings or Tristan’s.
She could not fail.
She would not fail.
6
Tristan
Tristan waited until the clicking of Izzie’s high heels beating the tiled floor died out before he counted to ten and turned around. The empty room felt like a reflection of his soul.
Barren.
As if on cue, the phone rang, the piercing sound broke the dark spell, and he grabbed it. “Chez Nous Bistro,” he informed the caller without inflection. Recognizing a longtime supplier’s voice, he switched to a chirpy tone to mask his dreary mood. “What can I do for you?”
He kept the devil-may-care act until closing time. All the while, Tristan felt like he was operating in two distinct dimensions, as if his true bleak self was watching his false lively reflection in a mirror.
Eerie.
He waited for the last employee to leave, then closed the restaurant and sank into his office chair. He felt drained and in dire need of an outlet for the negative mojo he accumulated in the last couple of hours. He had never gotten into drugs; the closest thing he had to an addiction was music.
He unlocked his cell to call Noah. Even though they were roommates, it’d be wise to give the guy a heads-up about a midnight jam session, in case Noah went to bed earlier than usual. Or he had female company. His finger hovered over a number, then tapped on it.
“Hey, still up?” Tristan didn’t bother with a proper greeting before demanding, “Be ready to rock-and-roll all night. I’ll be there in twenty.”
The drive back to his apartment building was faster than Tristan anticipated. Still, he pressed the floor number on the electronic panel of the elevator and leaned on the mirrored back wall watching the numbers increase to fifteen. When the doors opened, he strolled out of the elevator, dragged his feet to the apartment, and inhaled deeply before pressing the bell as he exhaled.
He whistled and gave Bruna a once-over when she opened the door wide. “Babe, you know how to greet a man.”
Clad in sheer lacy lingerie, the voluptuous dark-haired beauty was precisely what he needed to erase the day from hell he had had. That’s what Tristan told himself as he crowded her, plastering Bruna against the wall.
He swung the door shut with his foot and pinned her generous curves with his lower body as he descended to claim her purple painted lips. Faint memories of other heart-shaped lips covered in plum color lipstick threatened to sneak up on him, but he shoved them to the back of his mind as he deepened his assault on Bruna’s mouth and wrapped her legs around his waist.
Tristan eased up the pressure on Bruna’s soft lips when her whimpers reached his mind and he realized he was pushing her too hard against the wall as well. To his surprise, she pulled his head down and whispered, “Don’t stop.”
He slanted his mouth as his teeth pulled her full lower lip and he moved the party to the couch. Bruna opened his shirt as she straddled him. She knitted her eyebrows, but before she could say a word, Tristan latched on her nipple, moistening the fabric as he sucked.
He didn’t want to talk.
He wanted to forget.
Bruna’s long fingers traced a path from his chin to the waist of his pants and toyed with the buckle of his belt. He thrust up to give her access and she deftly unzipped him and reached in for his cock. As their lips locked again, she pumped his shaft trying to bring it to life. No such luck.
He fought a bitter taste in his mouth that burned his throat as remorse clawed its way up his throat from the pit of his stomach. He held Bruna’s hand and shook his head when her downcast eyes flew up to stare into his. “Sorry, not going to happen.”
“That’s okay, T. These things happen, particularly in my personal experience. It’s not your fault.”
He gave himself a mental slap on the forehead. “No, this is not on you. Don’t go there. This is all me.”
Climbing off his lap and plopping down on the couch beside him, Bruna closed the burgundy satin kimono and crossed her arms under her breasts. “Yeah, let’s go with that.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Tristan wrestled his inner demons to come up with a truthful enough reply that wouldn’t come across as snarky or needy. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he didn’t want Bruna’s pity. “Believe me, I’ve had the worst day today. My selfish mistake was to think a couple of sweaty rounds with you would make things better.” He raised a hand when her eyes shone with something akin to sympathy and she opened her mouth. “No, don’t feel sorry for me. I’m an ass for coming here in the state I’m in.” He buttoned the rumpled shirt and zipped up the pants, then snapped his head up when he heard Bruna’s chuckle.
He found no amusement in her expression, though. “Women love when men tell us what we think or feel, you know.”
Second mental slap landed on Tristan’s large head. “See? I shouldn’t have come. I’m just digging myself a bigger hole here.” He held her gaze for a moment before adding. “I am a jerk, but I shouldn’t be a jerk with you. I’m sorry. You don’t deserve me dumping my shit on you.”
Bruna reached out and clasped his wrist when he stood to leave. “Not denying the jerk comment, but you’ve been going through a lot of shit lately with the restaurant and the bad investments and all,” she offered him an out. “However, you’re not you tonight. What’s going on?”
Although tempted to disencumber the load on his chest, Tristan smiled and shook his head. “Not fair. Too much shit, way too damn old. I don’t have the right to drag you down this rabbit hole.”
“I’m here for you, for more than just a quickie, you know.”
That he did. And how.
Bruna had helped him through some serious shit as Lilly’s dialysis got more frequent and her health deteriorated. When he decided to transfer Lilly from the hospital to a top-notch nursing home under the supervision of the best kidney specialist in the country, Dr. Bruna Cordeiro’s fame as a brilliant neurosurgeon opened more doors than Tristan’s bank account.
He owed her so much. “All the more reason not to throw you into this mess.”
“I won’t twist your arm, man. I respect your privacy. It’s just that I figured you don’t have a friend to talk to, so I offered.”
He shrugged. “Noah is a good friend, the best, actually.”
“So why aren’t you in your apartment?”
“I called. He’s got company,” Tristan admitted the truth to himself as much as to Bruna and collapsed on the couch. “It’s just that this is so fucked up, I don’t even know where to start.”
“Beginnings tend to be a safe bet.”
“Well, that would be back when I was a kid. Mom made up for me not having a father around with both love and material things, but I was a difficult kid, always picking fights, except when Izzie was around. She made me want to be a better person.”
“You never mentioned Izzie. Is she your sister?”
Tristan checked Bruna’s expression for signs of jealousy, but found only interest, so he stated, “Izzie Anderson,” and waited for the usual hysterical reaction. It never came.
“She’s a singer.”
He was amazed. “That sounds more like a question.”
“Because I’m not sure, okay?”
He reached out and ran a thumb over the soft skin on her cheek, a reluctant smile touching his lips. “I love the fact you are not.” He smoothed the crease that formed between her eyebrows with his thumb. “Your opinion won’t be biased by what you read in the media.”
“Between going to med school, completing residency and starting my practice, I didn’t have much of a life ten years ago.”
“Long story short, Izzie and I were best friends growing up, she became a worldwide rock star at fifteen, we started dating in Westlake High, I fell head over heels in love with her at ni
neteen and she got pregnant with my friend and mentor’s child at twenty-three when I was about to propose to her. I moved to Brazil and never saw her again.”
“Until today. Did she go to Chez Nous by any chance?”
Tristan wasn’t surprised at Bruna’s insightful conclusion. “Apparently, she came to apologize, fifteen fucking years too late.”
“Why now?”
“That I don’t know, she didn’t say when I asked.”
Bruna seemed to assess the situation as she chewed her lower lip and stared at him. “I’m sure your docked version left out vital pieces of information, so I might not be able to fully understand what’s going on, but I’d say something major happened. I mean, one doesn’t take a twelve-hour flight to another country just to apologize for something that happened over a decade ago.”
Tristan flirted with disclosing the whole story. Maybe Bruna would help him see something he had missed. She was sensitive and smart, but he discarded the concept with a shrug. “Whatever it is, I don’t care. There’s been some speculation going around on the media that she’ll announce her retirement soon.”
“Is she forty like you? So young.”
“Thirty-eight.”
“You sure that’s why?”
“Not really. It’s not like I follow her career, you know,” he offered, his voice devoted of emotions. “But, people talk, and newspaper headlines get posted everywhere. I didn’t verify the rumors, though.”
“I’ve got it. You don’t have time for showbiz gossip. Fair enough. Now, let’s say she is retiring. Why would she come all the way here to talk to you? I fail to see a connection.”
“Me neither, not a direct one anyway. Maybe she’s planning a farewell album and wants to convince me to contribute to it.”
“I’ve heard you playing with Noah and the guys. You’re good, but I’m pretty sure she can pick another guitar player that she hasn’t screwed over.”
“Good point, but I meant write a song,” he replied. When she raised an eyebrow at the comment, he explained, “I wrote most of the lyrics for Izzie’s songs up until we broke up. She collected hits and awards for those. She’s recorded a couple of number one songs after that, but they were few and far between.”
“And you think she’d be so brazen as to come after you for that?”
“I don’t know what to think,” he admitted, burying his face in his hands after digging his elbows on his knees. “Nothing adds up.”
Bruna’s fingers ran through his hair and twisted his neck to look up at her, still resting his face on his hands. Her smile beamed as she declared, “You still love her.” When he grunted in response, she conceded. “I’ll rephrase it. You still feel something for her. Don’t try to convince me otherwise, the evidence speaks for itself. You’re heartbroken. You still sound hurt talking about her, after all this time. It wouldn’t cut so deep if you didn’t still have feelings.”
He opened his mouth to refute the idea, then shut it.
Bruna was a mystery wrapped in an enigma. A successful neurosurgeon, a woman insecure about her appearance, and an insightful fuck buddy. Her reasoning was sound, except she was wrong.
“You’re right, you don’t fully understand what’s going on because you don’t have the nitty-gritty of the situation. It’s too late and I’m too tired to go there now though.” He grazed her lips as he stood to leave. “Thanks for listening and trying to help. You’re a good friend.”
“No problem.”
Nodding, Tristan walked out the door and closed it behind him, then climbed the stairs to his floor. The apartment was quiet, Noah’s bedroom door was closed, for which Tristan said a silent prayer because his roommate tended to forget to do that even when he had company. Oh, the scenes Tristan had witnessed without intending to. Not pretty.
Even less appealing was the scenario Bruna’s words painted. They swirled in his mind as he mulled them over, throwing his clothes in the hamper.
He took a quick shower to get rid of the day’s bad juju, then went straight to bed. But, when sleep eluded him, Tristan fought the gloomy thoughts that insisted to keep him up.
He lost the battle.
The past rushed back, flooding his head with memories he had spent years repressing. He tossed and turned, checking the alarm clock on the nightstand every five minutes, until he drifted into sleep around five in the morning.
Dreams have a peculiar way of taking people back in time to relive events as they once happened. Tristan’s dreams that night came without surprise. It had taken him a long time, and a lot of heartache, to repress the happy moments he had shared with Izzie. Some of the most cherished ones assaulted him when his mind slipped into slumber.
Different from other friends-to-lovers couples he knew, Tristan had never doubted that Izzie was his one and only. He hadn’t lied to himself, he hadn’t denied his feelings. He had owned them, he had treasured them. He had seized each opportunity that came his way to show Izzie how much he loved her.
But being two years older than Izzie, he didn’t act on his desire. Instead, he waited for her to be ready. That made for an awkward, disappointing first time. Prom night’s expectations, and zero experience on both parts, were to blame. Still, the night tuned out to be memorable.
Weeks before Izzie’s senior prom night, Tristan booked a suite in a romantic bed and breakfast in Santa Barbara, giving the staff precise instructions on how he wanted them to decorate the room. As Tristan and Izzie slow danced to their favorite song on the dance floor, a ballad by her favorite rock band, her softness wrapped around him like a security blanket. Tristan’s heart beat a crazy tattoo against his ribs, when he tipped her chin up, and his stare dove into her green eyes as Bono’s raspy voice sang about that one and only love people share. Her black curls rested on her shoulders, so he wrapped one around his wrist, cradling her delicate nape in his palm.
He had rehearsed the words so many times, but the expectation in her eyes undid his confidence. Those moments looked so much easier on a movie screen or TV set. His heart beat so fast he swallowed hard to keep it from flying off his mouth. Still, the words deserted him.
What the hell kind of lyricist am I? I can’t tell the woman I love how I feel.
Defeated, he rested his forehead against Izzie’s, now cupping her face with both hands.
The vixen brushed her lips against his, a smile softening the curve of her mouth, then nudged his cheek with her turned-up nose. Tip-toeing to reach his ear, she whispered, “Yes.”
Relief washed the tension away, closely chased by arousal. Izzie’s smile broadened when his hard-on poked her belly.
“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered back, lacing their fingers, and parting the swaying couples as he made a beeline for the nearest exit.
Finding the driver of the limo he had rented took forever. At least, the blood racing down to his crotch made it feel that way. Once inside the car, he didn’t give directions to the Santa Barbara B&B he had booked, the driver knew where they were heading. Tristan had instructed him earlier because he wanted to surprise Izzie.
He sat as far from Izzie as physically possible.
She scooted closer and leaned on him.
He sat still, focusing his stare on the houses outside as if he planned to memorize their architecture.
Izzie wasn’t famous for her patience.
“What’s wrong with you?” she demanded, when she tried to sit on his lap and Tristan splayed his hand on her midriff, keeping her by his side. “It’s not like we’ve never fooled around in a car before.”
Her frustration matched his, but he wouldn’t budge.
“This is different. I want to do this right, Izzie. You deserve the best. I want your first time to be special.”
“Silly. It’s your first too. Besides, all I want is you. It doesn’t matter where we are.”
He welcomed her hungry lips on his, letting his eyelids drop to hide his own hunger. But, he didn’t kiss her back.
“It matters to m
e,” he whispered inside her mouth, when she came up for air. Covering the hand Izzie had placed on his hard cock, he pulled it up to rest on his chest over his heart. “Feel this? That’s what you do to me. I don’t want it to be over before it begins. I promise, I won’t last until Santa Barbara if you keep going at it.”
Izzie sobered up, pulled away, and peered into his face. A twinkle in her green eyes betrayed her excitement. “Santa Barbara? You’re serious about this crap.”
Grinning like the fool in love he was, Tristan draped one arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. He rested his chin on the top of her head, inhaling the floral scent of her perfume as he kissed her hair. She snuggled under his arm, resting her face on his chest.
With his free hand, he fished a small leather box from his pocket and placed it on the back of her hand. The one she had kept over his heart. “I’ve got something for you.”
Izzie bolted upright at the same time she opened the three-part dark blue box. Nestled in its plushy interior, a delicate Claddagh ring reflected the dim overhead light. Tiny golden hands held a ruby heart crowned by three tear-drop diamonds.
Her gasp spoke volumes and Tristan thought the world stopped spinning when her soft stare locked with his. He wished time would stop, so he could savor that moment forever. Since the hands of the clock didn’t slow down for them, he leaned down to brush his lips over hers. He got the ring to place it on her finger.
“Just so we’re clear, this isn’t a proposal. We’re too young for that. You’ve got your career to focus on now. I want you to become this huge household name in music. You’ve got an amazing voice, I’m so proud of you,” he whispered as he slid the exquisite piece of jewelry on her right ring finger, the heart pointed inward. “If you wear it like this, people will know you’re single, but in a relationship.”
Izzie silenced him with a kiss. Not passionate, not long. A feathery, sweet touch that went straight to his soul.
He cupped her face, rubbing his thumbs over her cheeks, basking in the emotions she laid bare in her eyes.
