by Lane, Arie
I don’t give him an explanation, I just tell him I won’t be there. It’s better this way, if Bentley knew…fuck! Bentley will know as I left her gift by her side. She will know I was there.
It’s another four hours before I pull into the hospital parking lot. I already have her room number so don’t stop for directions. This isn’t my first time here. Walking into the tiny room, I’m instantly overwhelmed by all of the machines beeping and humming, and of the tubes connected to her. Watching her lying in that bed reminds me of Bentley’s attack last year. It also pushes Bentley back to the front of my mind…remembering that she came upon Marco in this very same position.
I sit there for what seems like hours holding her hand. A nurse comes in a few times to check on her. Apparently she woke up sometime during my flight and is now just resting. I speak briefly with the doctor, who informs me that they reached her very quickly and there are no signs of permanent nerve damage. Even knowing she’s okay doesn’t stop the gut wrenching pain I feel. I want so badly to fix this, to take her home. I should have been here with her. I hadn’t missed a holiday with Aggie in I can’t even fucking remember how long, other than when I was overseas. She’s my fucking rock and when she needed me most, I wasn’t there.
I refuse to leave the room even after visiting hours. The doctors didn’t bother fighting me on it; otherwise I’d be locked the fuck up because I’m not going anywhere. Though at some point in the night I must have dozed off and am jolted away by her stirring.
“Tristan? What are you doing here, sweet cakes?”
I hated that nickname as a kid. She called me it one day after catching me sneaking one of her sticky buns, and it stuck. Now though, I know it’s just another way of her letting me know she loves me.
“Where else would I be, Aggie? I’m so sorry. I should have been here with you. I should have been at your side. It should have been me taking care of you,” I say, hoping she will forgive me.
“You were exactly where you were supposed to be. I may be older now Tristan, but I can still take care of myself. That girl of yours, that’s where you need to be. She needs you more than I do.”
I shake my head, my guilt consuming me and eating me fucking alive. “No Aggie, she doesn’t. She’s doing just fine. She’s started a whole new life, and she finally found the family she so desperately needs. She doesn’t need me; you need me.”
Except that isn’t true and my heart refuses to accept that lie. I don’t know how happy Bentley is in her new life or how well she’s doing without me. But I know for a fact that Aggie doesn’t really need me. She’s never needed anyone. But I need her. I don’t know what the fuck I would do without her. She is my rock, the one person that keeps me sane, and the only person for whom I would walk away from Bentley.
Aggie has a way of seeing right through me. She never fails to know whenever I’m lying. “You don’t mean that. I know damn well you didn’t spend all of these months searching for her, doing what you thought was necessary to protect her, just to walk away, Tristan. You may be able to fool yourself into believing that, but don’t try pulling that shit with me. I’m not blind. You forget I know you better than you know yourself,” she chastises.
“I’m not leaving you, Aggie, and Bentley would understand that. Maybe it’s just fate. Maybe she and I are only ever meant to have moments. I can’t imagine any two people meant to be together, having to jump through this many fucking hoops, so maybe this is how it’s meant to be.”
“Don’t you dare go sappy and sentimental on me, young man. You know that’s complete bullshit. Get your head out of your ass, and go get your girl. I’m not going anywhere. Haven’t you learned that by now? It will take more than a hiccup to knock this old lady out. Now get your ass up, and get out of here.”
I laugh as she scolds me while trying to hold onto her pride. The simple truth is not being here for her, leaving her in this hospital bed alone, is something I would never do. I’d never leave her side knowing she isn’t one hundred percent. Even if the doctors clear her, there’s no way of knowing if she’s going to have after effects, and if the stroke caused damage they might have missed. So as much as I love her stubbornness, I’d never walk away from her in such a state.
Bentley
Christmas came and went and I never heard from Tristan again. I guess maybe it was his way of saying good-bye. I finally wore Marco down and he confirmed my suspicions that it was Tristan that night. I thought that would leave me with a sense of contentment, but instead I find myself more confused.
I checked in with Dante. I thought maybe he returned to Florida, but he hasn’t. In fact, it doesn’t look like he would be returning at all. From what Dante said, he moved his stuff out of the house he rents and left no forwarding address with Dante, though he retains his partnership in the gym.
It’s like suddenly everything is upside down. I try reaching out to Jacob but I never receive a response and Cage no longer uses the number I had for him. So that is it...he’s gone. Now I know how it must have felt for him when I left. New Year’s Eve is tomorrow and I’m meeting with Sarah to go over the photos she took for my cover. I’m not in the mood to do anything with the book, but it is now or never.
The next morning I step into the coffee shop where Sarah and I are meeting and take a seat. She’s running late so I decide to check my networking on my tablet. My heart damn near skips a beat when I see a post from Tristan wishing me a Happy New Year. After two weeks of radio silence, I’m not sure what to make of his message. I spent these past two weeks convincing myself that Christmas was just a fluke, a way for him to say good-bye. If that’s the case though, why bother leaving me this message? Damn him! Three measly words and he has my heart doing somersaults. I click his name and wish him well before checking for any clue as to his whereabouts. There's nothing except the one message for me.
I click the tablet off as Sarah plops into the seat across from me. She always looks so damn cheery. Normally its contagious, but today I just want to sink into an abyss. As much as I would love to get lost in my own head, I can’t since my brain is trying to keep up with her talking a mile a minute. She’s going on about the photos and how hot the models are as she hands me the folder with the pictures.
There, lying on the top of the pile is the perfect picture. As usual, she knew exactly what I wanted. It’s the who though that leaves me flabbergasted…how the hell could she have known? I listen as she talks about how sexy he is as I stare at the glossy paper. She’s right; Tristan is fucking gorgeous. In the photo, he’s sitting up on an unmade bed. His hair is a mess and looks like he’s just been thoroughly fucked. The dress shirt he is wearing is unbuttoned and hanging at the sides, his tie is still around his neck but loosened. His pants are unbuttoned and unzipped, with one hand cupped beneath the fabric. His legs are spread and bent so his toes curl into the sheets. It looks like a still from a porno, and damn if it doesn’t make me hot.
I buy the rights to every shot she took of him. I don’t want to share him, and have no intentions of it, especially if this is the last piece of him I ever have. Before leaving, I question how he ended up on the other end of her camera. Much to my surprise she tells me how she contacted him after getting his info at a signing, and how he convinced her that he had to be on this cover. I couldn’t understand why he would want this cover so badly though, until she told me she slipped and mentioned the cover was for me. There is a little part of me that burst for joy hearing that, though now it seems of little consequence.
I send the image I want off to my graphic designer who informs me I’ll have a draft a couple days after the New Year. I suppose that is a good thing since it’s the only thing holding me back from hitting publish and putting myself back out there.
I’m not sure I’m ready to rejoin the book world, yet, somehow I allow Marco to convince me into attending a signing a few towns away next month. Some bullshit kink-fest revolving around romantic reads and ravishing rendezvous. I signed up to get him off of
my ass, but the truth is I don’t feel like throwing myself back into all of that shit again. Don’t get me wrong, I love my fans and I love to meet them, but I’m just not ready to plaster on another façade and pretend like I’m not miserable as shit. But hell, I’ve come to live by the motto: Suck it up, buttercup! So sucking it up is exactly what I will be doing.
While trying to get more details on the event, I reach out to a few people who I’ve grown close to who will also be attending the event. Obviously it will have a Valentine’s Day theme, but it won’t a typical signing. It is a first of its kind…sidekick soiree’ that will be used to highlight the assets of some of the hottest cover models. The intention is to show them a little love, and hopefully help them land a few covers. There has been a huge hullabaloo over women going to the signings just for cover models, so I don’t figure this event is going go over all that well. Nor does it help that several of the attending models will be dressing up to play the part of cupid.
I do get a sadistic kind of glee at the idea of some hot muscled up guy walking around in essentially an adult diaper, waving around a fake bow and arrow, while sporting large feathery wings. If nothing else, it’s worth attending just to get pictures. The models attending are being kept a secret so no one will know just who or how many will be prancing around shooting women with their love sticks. Regardless, it should definitely be entertaining.
As promised, I receive my cover on the fifth, and it’s sexier than I could’ve possibly imagined. My designer is a fucking genius. After working her magic, I’m left with a cover that is not only worthy of him, but worthy of the sextastic story it portrays. He is downright lickable, and fuck if I won’t be fantasizing about him just like that. I send her my approval as well as my praises. It is going to be revealed at the event next month so I’m having it made into a full size banner.
Chapter 14
Tristan
Aggie has been verbally kicking my ass for the past five weeks. She’s pissed I haven’t left her and gone back to Bentley. The thing is if Bentley really is mine for keeps, then she’ll be waiting. We’ve been apart this fucking long, and I know she’d understand my need to be with Aggie. At least she would’ve had I told her. Unfortunately, I was too fucked up in the head, blaming myself for every fucking thing, to stop and let her know what was going on. So I guess, in actuality, I don’t know if Bentley would understand at all. What’s worse is all of the time I’ve been with Aggie, not once have I been able to come up with the words to explain why I left. I know it should be simple…Aggie had a stroke. Four words...easy peasy...yet I can’t bring myself to pick the fucking phone up to tell her that. What if I’m wrong? What if she took my gesture as a good-bye? I don’t know if I’m ready to face that possibility, not after all of this time.
That is the exact reason I let Aggie talk me into this ridiculous bullshit of an event. After spying on Bentley behind my back, Aggie found out she’s attending some asinine event for romance authors. I laughed at that shit, because anyone who has read one of her books knows it’s more kinky fuckery meets sadistic psychopath than sweep me off my feet damsel in distress shit. Still, I won’t lie and say I don’t want to see her but the idea of parading around in a tiny white loin cloth with big fucking feathered wings doesn’t exactly make me want to jump for joy.
Aggie asks if I’ll model the costume for her to see what it looks like. I about fucking lost my shit. I think I turned the color of a pomegranate. No way in God’s glory am I going to parade around her in something that is suitable for a porn set. Not in this fucking lifetime. She just had a stroke, and I’m not looking to give her a heart attack. We agreed to disagree on that, even after she threatens to fly out and attend the event herself. I just can’t do it. I’m sure Aggie’s seen me naked plenty of times as a kid, but the idea of her seeing me as some hyped up sex symbol that women will be ogling and pawing at doesn’t exactly sit well with me. I know it’s all just another part of the package, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy it.
I can already picture the look on Bentley’s face when she sees me in this shit. I know most girls will think this shit is hot, but I know her better than that. She won’t be able to look at any of us with a straight face. It’s going to kill her to try and remain professional and not let her tongue get the best of her. That will make wearing this shit worth it because watching her try to hold her shit together is always entertaining. Bentley has a gift for being quick witted and sarcastic, but she’s never been good at keeping it to herself. The only bad thing about that is payback's a bitch, and Bentley always travels with a camera.
I laugh as I pack my bag, knowing this weekend is going to be one for the history books. I called Marco a couple weeks ago. He wasn’t too happy to hear from me. I guess Bentley didn’t take my disappearing act too well, and he’s been in papa bear mode. I explained to him about Aggie—what happened and what she means to me. He was understanding enough, but still pissed that I left Bentley in the dark. I can’t exactly blame him, but I want to make it up to her.
Everything was finally feeling normal again, aside from the suffocating emptiness that has been building in me since I walked away. I want to create a new memory for her...something fresh...a new start. Valentine’s Day is the day after the book signing and Marco, the grand schemer, thinks a romantic gesture would be the best way to dig my ass out of this hole.
We have it all planned out, and I can’t help but compare those plans to the ones I had last year when I planned to propose. Though this time it will just be dinner, but we are going down to the beach behind the house where Marco will be littering it with rose petals and candles. He enlisted Maddie to cook up something special for the occasion. My only worry is that this time she shows up.
Before leaving for the airport, Aggie hands me an ornate wooden box. When I open it, I find a string of pearls with twin diamond hearts suspending from it.
“Aggie, what is this? I can’t take these.”
“Yes, you most certainly can and you will!” she demands. “These pearls belonged to your mother. I held onto them for safe keeping. Everything else you father destroyed or gave back to your mother’s family. She would have wanted you to have them, and to give them to the one you love.”
I smile, overcome by how much love I have for this woman, and how she still manages to take me by surprise. If there was ever a girl worthy of wearing my mother’s pearls, it's Bentley. I give Aggie a kiss on the cheek before heading through security. I keep the pearls close to me during the flight, opening the box and examining them several times. They are a perfect imperfection with the natural shape and size. They are a beautiful complement for a girl exactly the same. Bentley is imperfectly perfect, and I wouldn’t want her any other way.
Bentley
It’s a week before Valentine’s Day, and I get a call from one of my most favorite people. Of course I’m hoping for good news, so when I hear Dante all choked up because his romance is headed south, I feel like shit. I’m already confirmed for my event and I can’t cancel, not that there is any way I could stomach another plane. I do, however, have the perfect solution. I send Dante a ticket to come to me. My event already has a space for a plus one and since my father bailed on me the last minute, I’m without one.
I can’t think of a better way to celebrate a shitty holiday than snickering at scantily clad men walking around looking like demented babies and eating enough chocolate to put us both into a diabetic coma. Luckily Dante thinks my idea has some promise, especially the nearly naked men, and agrees to the painstaking task of being my assistant for the day. It sounds like a dream come true. The only thing missing are the shitty chick flicks where the girl always gets the guy.
Dante is flying in tomorrow, which gives us six days to catch up and shoot the breeze. We talked for a while about his love life and how out of nowhere his beau just ended it and took off, and apparently dog-napped the puppy they adopted together. In an effort to make him forget his heartbreak, I promise a week of frivolity and drun
kenness to help him forget the douche bag. I‘ve never been much of a drinker but my father has a fabulously stocked wine cellar in this house and I’m about to put that shit to good use.
I’m really pissed at Marco for talking me into this event, then bailing on me. I mean what the hell could be so important that he can’t attend? How dare he skip out on the impending fiasco of horny sex deprived women and the men of their dirtiest fantasies? We had a damn deal. If I have to suffer through the lovechild of a B rated porno and a romance convention, he has to too. So I call bullshit on him having some last minute meeting for the film production company that he still owns and runs. Either way, he’s on my shit list. If it wasn’t for Dante coming to his rescue, I might have had to kick the old man’s ass.
I drag Maddie to the store with me to stock up on any and every comfort food we can find. There will be no denying the depressed bitch living inside of me her need for fatty foods and gooey goodness. I’ve never been one to let this holiday bug me but something about it this year just has me bumming, and it’s really starting to rub me the wrong way. I figure if anyone will be able to help me kick this slump I’m in, it’s my bestie. If nothing else, we can always go shopping for slutty lingerie and clothes that bare both our ass and breasts, well my breasts anyway. Not that I’d ever actually wear them, but sitting around watching some dumb bitch get shanked in my favorite horror movie while dressing like a hooker has proven to be fun on more than one occasion. Although I’ve never succumbed to the skank couture myself, that’s Dante’s thing. He always makes me feel better, especially when he answers the door to the pizza guy dressed in that attire.
