The Truth of Tristan Lyons

by L. B. Dunbar

  He slipped his fingers to that special pressure point, while the rest of him was inside me. Within minutes, I let go around him. He held me down over him as he pumped into me, releasing his own pleasure again. I clenched him harder as I was over him. I squeezed my knees against his hips to hold him inside me a moment longer.

  “Ireland, my Irish beauty,” he sighed, as he pressed his forehead against mine. “What are you doing to me?” Closing his eyes, he groaned, and I kissed his nose.

  We returned to the bed, naked, warm, and dry to sleep for hours before he awoke me with his hardness against my backside. He used his excuse of ‘morning,’ warning me it would hurt to do things again, so soon, so I used my mouth and he used his, as we had done before.

  For two days and three nights we hardly left the bedroom. We rarely wore clothes, other than my dressing in his t-shirt from the floor or him slipping into his shorts without underwear. We had picnics on the bed and made love amongst the scattered snacks. We had dinner on the couch and made love on it afterward. We shared the shower, the tub, and the bathroom counter, all in some form or other, to join us as one. My heart faltered as I realized I’d never be able to let him go.

  But on the start of the third day, as Tristan lay sleepily draped over me, I thought I heard the sound of someone enter the house. I stilled under Tristan who rose up on an elbow.

  “What is it?”

  I looked at him, but didn’t speak. I listened. Footsteps were definitely coming through the house.

  “Someone’s here.”

  His eyes searched my face, for a moment, before he leapt from the bed taking half the sheets with him. He reached for his shorts and pulled them up, as I reached for the sheets to cover myself. As he stood next to the bed, zipping up, the door swung open. Standing before us was one of my greatest fears.

  “Uncle Marshall,” I choked.

  Chapter 21

  [Ireland]

  A familiar dragon came to slay.

  “I knew you were here, you little tease,” Marshall Dragon addressed me.

  I stared at my uncle. Marshall Dragon was a frightening man. He had dark features: dark hair, dark eyes, and dark skin. His brows were large but trimmed. His hands were broad with thick fingers and manicured nails. His body was short but he was solid. Despite Tristan’s taller frame and longer muscles, my uncle could fight. He was a scrapper, as my father called him. He had been in numerous brawls over the years, despite him being in his forties.

  “Hey,” Tristan warned, stepping in front of Marshall, trying to block his deadly glare at me. I pulled the sheets up tighter around my chest, clearly aware that I was completely naked underneath them.

  Marshall’s eyes flicked to Tristan’s face.

  “Tristan Lyons,” he spit, not an ounce of surprise in his voice.

  “Marshall Dragon,” he responded. He glanced over his shoulder at me with concern and puzzlement. “Marshall Dragon is your uncle?”

  “Yes.” That was all I could say. He didn’t seem as surprised as I imagined, but he was suddenly angry.

  “How did you find her?” Tristan inquired before I even thought to ask the question.

  “Actually I found her through you.”

  “What?” Tristan and I both said at the same time.

  Had Tristan betrayed me? I started to shiver with fear that the past days had been a ruse to hold me, until my uncle could come and claim me. The thoughts lasted only a minute. I didn’t want to believe it.

  Marshall had something rolled in his hand. He opened it to hold up in front of Tristan’s face. I couldn’t see the image, but it was a magazine of some type. Tristan ripped it out of Marshall’s hands.

  He scanned the photo, apparently reading the caption.

  “You can’t even tell it’s her,” he growled at Marshall.

  “I’d know that body anywhere,” Marshall said, a sinister hiss in his voice.

  Tristan lunged for Marshall instantly, and the two men tumbled out the bedroom door. I screamed. Using the momentary distraction, I scrambled from the bed, finding Tristan’s t-shirt that I had been covering myself with occasionally over the past two days. I screamed again as I heard the men thud to the floor in the hall.

  “Don’t look at her,” Tristan snarled, as he drew back to hit Marshall in the face.

  “Tristan,” I yelled.

  Tristan pulled Marshall upright to standing by the front of his shirt, but Marshall pushed Tristan off him. I ran around the bed and tried to get between the two men, but Marshall shoved me to the side. I fell back into the bedroom through the open doorway. Tristan lunged for Marshall again, and the two disappeared from my view as they fell into the living room, off the hall. I crawled on hands and knees to the door as my shaky body had trouble standing at first.

  “Marshall,” I screamed, as I saw the men roll. Marshall was on top of Tristan. Tristan moved his head in time for Marshall to miss and slam his hand into the white tile floor. A sickening crack came from the contact. Tristan was able to move Marshall off of him in Marshall’s moment of pain. Tristan stood and leapt over the back of the couch, making it a barrier between the men. I was still screaming both their names, yelling at them to stop.

  “You motherfucker, did you fuck her? Did you ruin her?” Marshall spit blood from his mouth. Tristan crouched, ready to leap back over the couch, when I reached Marshall and grabbed his elbow.

  “Marshall, how dare you?” I screamed. I didn’t even see the hand as it made contact with my face, knocking me into the glass windows behind me, like I was an annoying bug. Tristan growled; a sound I didn’t recognize as human. Marshall lunged over the couch at Tristan before Tristan could get to him.

  I lost sight of the two men for a moment as I slumped against the window base. They were hidden behind the couch. A resounding thump of bone on something hard resonated through the room. With shaky limbs, I used the wall to brace myself, wiggling upward to stand. When I was finally upright, I saw Tristan straddling over Marshall as he laid flat on the floor. Marshall wasn’t moving. Tristan breathed heavily over him.

  “Ireland,” he grumbled, “call 911.”

  I remained frozen, until he growled my name again. My shaky hands eventually reached for the landline and called the local number for emergencies. I gave the operator the address and explained a man was unconscious. I wasn’t certain that that was the correct explanation. I hung up and heard the sirens almost instantly.

  “Is he…is he dead?” my voice broke as I stared down at my uncle.

  “No. He’s breathing,” Tristan whispered, still looking at Marshall. He was kneeling next to him, presently. There was a huge bruise on the side of Tristan’s face and blood smeared across his cheek. His knuckles were busted open and bright red blood coated several of them.

  Marshall had a swollen eye and blood leaked from his nose. Dried blood was on the side of his mouth where he spit and drooled. The hand that hit the floor was swollen and turning a purplish black.

  When the ambulance arrived, the paramedics questioned Tristan and I about my uncle’s condition.

  “We were fighting,” Tristan admitted. “He fell and hit his head on the edge of the fireplace. He passed out.”

  “Was he conscious before it?”

  “Yes. He looked at me, before closing his eyes. He opened them while Ireland was on the phone and closed them again almost immediately.”

  “How long has he been out?”

  “Ten minutes. Maybe less.” Tristan’s voice was growing shaky and I reached for him. My hand touched his elbow and he flinched away. He blinked in my direction without looking at me.

  “Family?”

  “Me,” I answered.

  “Riding in the ambulance?”

  “Yes,” I said, as I ran to my room to throw on underwear and shorts under Tristan’s shirt. I returned in less than a minute with flip-flops and my purse in hand. I followed the paramedics to the ambulance.

  I sensed Tristan behind me, despite his silence.

&
nbsp; “I’ll stay here,” he said, his voice almost disembodied from him. I looked at him, his face slightly swelling.

  “I should stay and clean you up,” I replied, reaching for him, but my loyalty was pulled toward the ambulance. Returning my gaze to Tristan, I hoped to obtain his focus on me. Instead, he was looking over my shoulder into the ambulance as well.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. “Go with Marshall.”

  “Tristan,” I pleaded, placing my hands on his face, forcing him to look at me. He flinched when I touched under his eye that was turning on a dark color. My eyes searched his green ones, which seemed muddy, absent of their sparkle. I stared into them a few seconds, forcing him to return my gaze.

  “This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. But everything’s going to be okay.” I tried to sound hopeful as he stared at me and nodding once, as if he agreed. He didn’t believe me. The paramedic called my name. I had to let go of Tristan, and I climbed into the ambulance. I stared back at him until the driver closed the doors.

  I silently sat as the paramedics worked on my uncle. They assured me he was breathing, but his pulse was low. The concern was that he passed out, twice. An IV was provided and his vitals were being taken as we rode the short distance to a hospital. He was taken for an X-ray, which showed a small fracture at the base of his skull, but a CAT scan showed nothing deeper than the potential concussion. He slept until the nurse arrived to wake him and double check for his alertness, as is standard for concussion patients. He was ready to fight the second he woke. The nurse told him if he didn’t lie still, she would sedate him. She also warned him that he would have a headache for a few days and needed to remain calm to prevent further injury. He was required to stay in the hospital overnight for observation. I asked to stay with him, but the nurse assured me that my uncle would be fine under their care. I was only allowed to linger until visiting hours ended.

  Guilt filled me. If I hadn’t run away. If I hadn’t come to the house in the Caymans. If I hadn’t been with Tristan. If, if, if. If I wasn’t being forced to marry someone I didn’t love. If I was allowed to live my life for me. If, if, if.

  When my uncle awoke, he berated my behavior immediately. He started by accusing me of upsetting Isa, whom I promised to contact, as soon as possible.

  “You’ve worried your mother into old age with this stunt, Ireland. When she finds out the golden pussy isn’t golden anymore, she’ll kill him, if I don’t kill him first.” Marshall hit the mattress for emphasis.

  As I reached for my phone to contact my mother, Marshall began a second reprimand on my behavior toward my intended, one of his oldest and best friends.

  “I owe that man a lot, and you’re promised to him, slut that you’ve turned out to be. He’ll probably still take you because he’s good like that. He won’t worry that you’re tarnished. Actually a little experience might make you more appealing,” he scoffed.

  I assured Marshall that he would be my second call. Finally, he eviscerated me for acting improperly with Tristan.

  “Do you know who Tristan Lyons is?” his voice rose.

  “Yes,” I said softly.

  “His nickname is The Heartbreaker. He’s a member of a band, The Nights. He sleeps with every girl he can.”

  I didn’t respond as he told me things I already knew.

  “Did he fuck you like one of his flavors? Did he taste you? I’ll kill him.” His face turned red as he choked on his words. “If he took what I wanted and my friend is waiting for, I’ll fucking kill him.”

  I instantly needed a scalding shower just by being in my uncle’s presence. He had no filter for his emotions. I was disgusted that he openly admitted that he wanted to be with me. I didn’t dare admit that I had slept with Tristan. Did he fuck you like his flavors? I refused to make what we had done something vulgar, which is what Marshall wanted me to admit. Actually, he didn’t want me to admit the truth. I had slept with Tristan and I refused to call it anything worse.

  A large-busted nurse entered at the raised voice coming from Marshall. She warned him, as the first nurse had, that she would sedate him if he didn’t calm down. She asked me to leave if I was upsetting him.

  “No,” he growled, sitting up to reach for me. “She can’t leave. I need to keep my eyes on her.” He glared at me and I felt the need to scrub my skin again.

  “I promise I’m going back to the house. I’ll come back first thing in the morning.”

  “You can’t be trusted. Get your mother on the phone,” he snapped. “I need to get you back to New York.”

  “You aren’t flying anywhere for days, mister,” the nurse scolded. “And you,” she pointed at me, “need to leave. Have a good night.”

  I gladly let the nurse’s reprimand be my exit. I left the hospital and relished the silence of the cab ride through the late night darkness. I reflected on my uncle’s comments. Tristan was nicknamed The Heartbreaker, but he had been with me, exclusively, these past few weeks. He did sleep with a lot of women, and I would be added to his list of his many, but no one had to know that. I would admit nothing to Marshall, Mark, or Isa.

  My affair with Tristan would be my reprieve: a secret place to visit in my mind and heart, in order to make it through my days ahead. I knew what I had to do. There was no choice. I could not remain in the Caymans with my uncle in the house. I would never be alone with him again. I could not leave Tristan with my uncle, either. We had to leave, together.

  When I arrived at the house, I was surprised to find Tristan sitting in the dark living room. No television. No guitar. No music. Just darkness. I was afraid to sit next to him. He rejected me earlier. I wasn’t sure I could approach him. I stood by the fireplace waiting to hear who would speak first.

  “I need to call my mother and let her know what happened.” I finally gave in. Tristan looked up at me, as if he wasn’t aware I was in the room. I moved to turn on a table light.

  “I don’t plan to tell her anything about us. I’ll not lie. She’ll know I’m in the Caymans, and she’ll put two and two together that so are you. I’ll just have to say we were both here, and I begged you not to tell. It’s my fault. I’ll have to explain that you and Marshall fought, though. It was his fault and we both know that.”

  Tristan’s blank eyes stared at me.

  “I need to go home and so do you. I can’t stay here with him, and I can’t leave you here with him, either. He’s going to be released tomorrow and required to remain here for recovery. He can’t fly home yet. It buys me time, if I leave tomorrow afternoon.”

  Tristan leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and his hands in his hair. He faced the ground and let out a loud breath.

  “Thank God,” he rasped quietly.

  He was happy I was leaving?

  I rambled on in my upset.

  “I need to call the airlines for a plane ticket. And I need to pack and order Estella to come be a nursemaid for Marshall. And I need to call...” I stopped my words as I paced, knowing Tristan wasn’t going to speak to me. I wasn’t ready to say my intended fiancé’s name out loud. I briskly rounded the couch as Tristan continued to ignore me. He leaned over it, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. He spoke into my back.

  “I’ll take you,” he blurted, his own voice sounding surprised at his offer. “I’ll take you to New York. Let me call Kaye and order the plane. We can leave tomorrow afternoon.”

  I didn’t respond to Tristan but nodded to agree.

  He didn’t release me. Instead, he twisted me, turning my body so I faced his which knelt on the couch. His hands gripped my waist as he leaned over the back of the cushions. He placed his forehead against my chest.

  “I could have killed him. I thought I did,” he spoke softly to my breasts.

  “What?”

  “I saw his eyes roll back. He passed out. When he didn’t wake, at first, I thought I might have killed him.”

  “What happened?”

  “When he lunged over the couch at me, he got me, but
I twisted before we fell and his head hit the hearth. I tugged him off the base as his eyes rolled back. And he just laid there.”

  “You didn’t kill him, though,” I said softly, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. He still wasn’t looking up at me.

  “I could have killed him, though.”

  “No,” I said adamantly. “You couldn’t have killed him.” My voice was soft as he asked a question that should have been a statement.

  “Didn’t you hear what he said about you?”

  I stared down at Tristan’s head and shrugged my shoulders as if he could see me.

  “Don’t shrug your shoulders at me,” he snarled, lifting his face to look at mine. “He called you names that are absolutely not true. I won’t have him or anyone else say things like that. You did nothing wrong.”

  “I did everything wrong, Tristan.” I smiled weakly at his sweet defense. “I have plans that aren’t my own, and in my effort to find some peace before those plans take over my life, I’ve started a battle with my uncle.”

  “I know your uncle.”

  “How?” I placed my hands on his cheeks, looking into his cloudy green eyes.

  “He’s an asshole.”

  “Huh,” I snorted on a puff of air.

  “I had my suspicions when you said Marshall and illegal substances, but what are the chances there are two such people? Probably zero. He’s Marshall Dragon, the famous drug dealer to the stars, world-class pusher to elite parties. He has connections with people I don’t even want to know and he’s overlord to the street gang, the Dragons.”

  Tristan leaned back and tugged off his shirt.

  “He’s this,” Tristan said smacking his chest over his heart, his dragon tattoo.

  I eyed Tristan for a moment. The bump on his cheek had swollen slightly and was turning purplish-black under his eye. His hand had been cleaned and scabs covered his knuckles as he banged on his chest.

  “What are you saying, exactly?”

  “He killed my parents.”

  “What? That’s crazy. He would have been too young to order the hit on your parents, Tristan,” I claimed, unaware why I was trying to defend Marshall.