Rhapsody (The Teplo Trilogy #2)

by Ayden K. Morgen

  "And then you lost them," she whispered, pressing her face into his neck.

  "Yeah," he sighed. "And then I lost them."

  And he'd stopped believing he deserved to be happy or to find what his parents had. That broke her heart for him. She couldn't imagine giving up on love or the thought of a future at the age of thirteen. That kind of grief…even after everything she'd experienced, she couldn't imagine losing what he'd lost. His parents, his innocence, joy, and hope. In the blink of an eye and a hail of bullets, all of it had been torn away from him.

  "I think the fact that they were so happy made losing them even harder," he said after a moment. "They were always so fucking happy, and then they were just…gone. It was brutal. Everyone kept telling me that God has a plan for everyone, but I couldn't understand why God punished them for being happy. I was the one who did something wrong, so why did he take them instead?"

  "Oh, Tristan." Her heart clenched in her chest.

  "I know that's not what really happened, but at the time it didn't make any sense to me. They'd driven over to my uncle's house to return some stuff I'd borrowed, and they decided to grab lunch with him. They were half a block from the damn restaurant when they had to turn around to pick me up. I don't know if they even saw the guy pull up beside them, if they saw the gun or knew what was about to happen to them. They didn't–" He cleared his throat sharply. "They didn't even know why. They were shot to death for no fucking reason. Eventually, I decided that taking them instead of me was my punishment, not theirs. I fucked up, so I had to pay for it."

  Lillian placed her hands on either side of his jaw, forcing him to meet her watery gaze. "You told me that what Marc did to me wasn't my fault," she said fiercely, her throat aching at the haunted look in his eyes. "You told me that he bore the blame. That he's the one who put that needle in his vein knowing he was responsible for my safety, and that I didn't deserve what happened to me."

  "You didn't," he answered, those two words full of force.

  "Then how can you think what happened to them was your fault, Tristan? You were a teenager, and you kept a secret you didn't think would hurt anyone. You didn't know your uncle owed someone money. You didn't know he'd be with your parents that day. You didn't know a drug dealer would go after him. You didn't know how bad things were. You were a kid and you made a stupid mistake. That's all. You didn't give the drugs to your uncle or keep giving them to him when he couldn't pay. You didn't pull the trigger. You didn't murder your parents. And you didn't survive so you could be punished over and over and over."

  He stared at her, not speaking.

  She took a deep breath and let it out. "Bad things happen, Tristan. All year, I've wondered why me. What did I ever do to deserve what Marc did to me? And then everyone blamed me, and I thought maybe they were right. Maybe I'd caused the entire thing by not appreciating what I had more. I didn't care about all the stuff that goes along with being a ballerina. I wanted to dance. That's it. So maybe I wasn't grateful enough or deserving enough." She placed her hand over his lips as his eyes narrowed and he started to protest. "I don't believe that now. But I did. I thought that I had to have done something terrible to make so many people hate me, and that's why it happened. I thought Marc was the universe's way of giving me what I deserved. But that's not true, Tristan. Bad things happen. Bad people happen. There is no reason. There is no answer to why it had to be my leg he broke, or why your parents were murdered. We weren't being punished for something we did. It just happened and nothing is going to change that. It sucks and it always will, but blaming yourself doesn't change that, baby. It wasn't your fault."

  He stared at her for a protracted moment before his lips curved against her fingertips. "I love you," he said into her hand.

  "And I love you. But I mean it, Tristan. It. Wasn't. Your. Fault."

  He nodded and took a deep breath, repositioning her in his arms. "I'm trying to believe that, beautiful, I am. Sometimes though, it's so fucking hard to accept it."

  "Yeah, it is." She knew exactly how he felt. Sometimes you wondered. Sometimes, when there wasn't a reason, when there wasn't an answer, you couldn't help but grasp at straws and piece together answers from the tiny pool of unconnected facts you had. For him, that meant blaming himself. For her, it meant wondering if maybe all those taunts she'd endured over the years, all of those whispers behind her back, had been right. In both cases though, they were wrong. What happened wasn't his fault. It wasn't hers. Sometimes life just fucking sucked.

  She couldn't help but giggle at the thought. It was so Tristan.

  "What's so funny?" he asked.

  "Sometimes life just fucking sucks," she said, still giggling. "I think your mouth is rubbing off on me."

  "Mm," he growled playfully and flipped her over until she was lying beneath him. He grinned down at her, the shadows that'd crept into his eyes during their conversation gone, replaced with happiness, softness. "I noticed that. You called me baby."

  "I did," she said, staring up at him.

  His grin widened. "You called me baby once before, you know."

  "Did I?"

  "Mmhmm." He nuzzled his face into her throat. "When I fucked you up against the front door. I think I like hearing you call me baby almost as much as I like hearing you scream my name, beautiful. You sound so good screaming my name." He nipped her throat.

  "Tristan." She writhed beneath him as his wicked words sent heat twisting through her.

  "You sound good whimpering it, too," he murmured. "Fuck, Lillian, everything you do drives me crazy." He pressed a soft kiss to her temple before dropping back down beside her and dragging her into his arms once more. "Every time I'm near you, I'm turned on."

  "It's the same for me," she whispered.

  "Is it?"

  "Yes, all the time. When you look at me or touch me…I don't know, it's like an addiction, I think. I crave more and more of you every time." Her brow furrowed as she traced the line of his abs with one finger. "Is it really like that for you, too?"

  "All the time, sweetheart," he said, kissing the top of her head. "I can't get enough of you." He reached out and grabbed her hand, dragging it down his body and placing it over his crotch. He was hard, his cock like steel in her palm. "You keep me like this, Lillian. So hard it hurts not to be in you."

  She smiled and curled her hand around his length, stroking him. "I like knowing that."

  "Shit." He arched his hips into her touch before wrapping his hand around hers and gliding it up and down his erection. Far too soon, he stilled her hand and pulled away, causing her to groan in protest. He chuckled and twined their fingers together, placing them on his chest, over his heart. "Rest, beautiful. I've been all over you the past few hours."

  "I like having you all over me," she grumbled. She loved having him all over her.

  "I like being all over you," he answered with another soft chuckle at her petulant tone. "But if I don't give you a break, you'll be too sore to move, and there's no way I'm going to be able to keep from sinking myself into you at least once today."

  Well, she couldn't very well argue with that, now could she?

  "Fine, but only for the rest of the morning," she warned him, not willing to go any longer than that before feeling him again. The things he did to her…he could do them every day of forever and she'd die happy. She wanted him to do them to her every day of forever.

  God. Forever. Was it too soon to want that?

  She wasn't sure, but she did want it. She wanted to get through tomorrow, get through this case, and then spend the rest of her life wrapped up in him.

  "Can I ask you something?"

  "Anything."

  "Will you go with me tomorrow night?" she asked.

  "What?"

  "I know you can't go inside with me, but can you go to my house instead of staying here like you planned?" Or like Jason planned. He wanted Tristan to stay at the penthouse to ensure no one from Teplo saw them together if they were watching her house, though Lilli
an suspected that he really just wanted to make sure Tristan wasn't there if something went wrong. But she wanted him there. Approaching the blond by herself was one thing. Doing it with Tristan miles away was something else altogether. She wasn't sure she could do it without him. Even if he had to stay across the street, she wanted him there. He made her feel safe.

  "I don't want to do it alone," she confessed when he didn't answer right away.

  "You're scared." It wasn't a question.

  "Yeah," she answered anyway, not willing to lie to him, not when he'd been so open and honest with her tonight. She didn't want to ruin this newfound honesty before it even had time to take root.

  He sighed softly and hugged her hard. She expected him to tell her she didn't have to go at all, but he didn't. He simply said, "Yeah, I'll go with you, beautiful."

  "Thank you."

  "I talked to Zoë tonight, you know," he said a minute later. "She told me that what I felt when Jason agreed that we needed you to do this for us is exactly what you feel knowing I'm going after the lab on Sunday."

  She turned in his arms to face him. "I'm terrified, Tristan. I'm so scared I can't breathe when I think about something happening to you." Tears burned in her eyes at the thought of losing him now. "I just found you," she choked out past the lump of emotion swelling in her throat.

  Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he tucked her head into his chest. "Shh, beautiful, nothing is going to happen to me."

  She nodded, wanting to believe that, but too scared to hope.

  "I've done this for a long time, sweetheart, and I've always made it out, even when I didn't care if I survived or not. Now I have a future with you waiting for me. I will be coming home to you when this is all over." He tilted her chin up until her eyes met his.

  "I want that," she said, sniffling. "God, Tristan, I want it so much."

  He smiled at her. "Then we just have to get through this."

  "Promise me you won't quit unless you're sure," she demanded, remembering that he never had made that promise. He'd distracted her, thoroughly as a matter of fact.

  "You're really hung up on this, aren't you?" he asked, his smile slipping.

  "I am." She cleared her throat of the tears still threatening. "It's important to me. I won't let you give up anything to be with me, Tristan. It's not fair."

  "That's not your choice to make."

  "Maybe not, but if it were me, would you want me to make the decision to give up my career? If I still danced, would you want me to give it up because I thought it would be better for you if I did?"

  He scowled at her. "That's not the same thing."

  "Isn't it?"

  He stared at her for a minute before flinging his arm up over his eyes. "Motherfucker."

  She waited patiently for him to finish cursing, knowing that he couldn't deny the truth this time. It was exactly the same thing. The only difference was that she'd already been forced to give up her career because of someone else. There was no way in hell she would let him give his up because of her.

  "I won't make any decisions yet," he finally agreed. "But I swear to God, baby, you're the most frustrating woman I've ever–"

  "Loved?"

  His lips quirked up into a smile, and he laughed. "Yeah. The most frustrating woman I've ever loved. The only woman I've ever loved." He shook his head ruefully and uncovered his eyes to shoot her a half-frustrated, half-amused look. "You really are a pain in the ass, you know."

  "I know," she said, smiling.

  Chapter Ten

  Butterflies fluttered in Lillian's stomach as Tristan led her into Jason's office a little after three to introduce her to the group assembled to watch her back in few short hours. Kieran Garrison, Liam McGregor, Rico Alvarez, and Tori Dodd were all professional and polite as they said hello and shook her hand. A few curious gazes lingered on her hand in Tristan's, but no one pried for information or commented on their relationship.

  Intelligence gleamed in their eyes, and so did a little of that familiar weariness, as if they'd seen more than their fair share of crap and still trudged along anyway. In street clothes with guns and badges clipped to their hips, they all appeared cool and confident, as if they'd done this a thousand times before.

  She certainly hoped they had because she didn't feel cool or confident about anything. Her stomach churned. Her heart raced. The only thing preventing her hand from shaking was how tightly Tristan held it in his. Had it not been for him, she wasn't sure she would have been able to gather the nerve to get out of the Rover in the parking garage. Or leave the penthouse.

  They had spent most of the day in bed, talking and making love. She felt closer to him than ever, and more in love with every question he answered and every little piece of himself he revealed to her. His walls had well and truly toppled to the ground somewhere in the last couple of days, and he didn't seem to regret it at all.

  Neither of them wanted to think about what she would do tonight, so they hadn't. Instead, he'd told her about his parents and why he'd decided to change his last name (he hadn't felt like he deserved to keep the Riley name after what happened to his parents). He'd even told her why he'd reclaimed the name when he became an agent. And when he couldn't talk anymore, he had pulled the covers up over them and kissed her until she pleaded with him to make love to her. Donning clothes to face reality when Jason called to tell them what time to be at his office had been so hard.

  "Hey, Little Mama," Michael Kincaid said from where he stood by the large window in Jason's office, winking at her when Tristan turned to talk with Liam McGregor and Rico Alvarez about something unrelated to the case. "You're looking good today."

  "Um, thanks."

  He glanced down at her hand clasped in Tristan's and grinned mischievously. "So…you wanna run away with me?" he leaned in to mock whisper, his smirk making it clear he teased, probably to rile Tristan up.

  She felt Tristan tense, but he didn't turn around and tell Kincaid to knock it off.

  "Ah, I'm good where I'm at, thanks," she said with a shake of her head.

  Michael gave her a puppy dog look. "You're such a heartbreaker, Little Mama. Getting my hopes up and then dashing them like that." His bottom lip poked out as he placed one hand over his heart. "I'm devastated."

  "Sorry," she said, biting back a smile. She'd met a lot of guys like him before—incurable flirts who left a trail of broken hearts along the way. As much as she appreciated all of his help, she had no interest in anyone but Tristan. Besides, guys like Michael weren't her type. He looked like he'd be a handful, always into some sort of mischief or trouble. The thought of keeping track of someone like him exhausted her. And truthfully, he intimidated her a little bit.

  She wasn’t sure if the feeling stemmed from all the gang tattoos or the hardness in his eyes, but she got the distinct impression that maybe he'd experienced more than his share of the violence and brutality some of those tattoos hinted at. He was gorgeous, true enough, but she had a feeling he had more issues than Tristan. She honestly felt a little bad for him, though she wasn’t quite sure why. He seemed like so much went on beneath all that ink and colorful vocabulary, more than anyone would ever know. If Tristan was Fort Knox, Michael was Area 51.

  "Fine," he grumbled good-naturedly. "I guess I won't steal you away from Riley yet. But if you get tired of his surly ass, come find me." He waggled his brows suggestively.

  "Fuck off, Kincaid," Tristan muttered, turning from his conversation to glower at his friend. He wrapped his arm around Lillian, tucking her into his side to make it clear she belonged with him. "She's off limits."

  "Et tu, Bruté?"

  Tristan simply stared at him, his expression implacable.

  "You can't blame a guy for trying," Michael laughed, sending Lillian another exaggerated wink. "I mean, look at her! She's sexy as hell. How's a man supposed to resist?"

  "Find a way," Tristan growled when Lillian tugged at the hem of her skirt, trying to make it longer to hide her scars as Michael
's eyes swept down her body. He didn't leer and she knew he wasn't serious, but the attention still unnerved her.

  "Cool it, Michael," Jason advised, turning to place a hand on her upper back as if to offer his protection, too. He didn't quite glower at Michael as he stepped up on her other side, towering over her like Tristan did, but he had that hard-ass cop look on his face. The one that said he wasn't in the mood for bullshit. "I will help him hide your body."

  "So it's like that, huh?"

  "Yeah," Tristan said so softly his voice barely carried, "it's exactly like that."

  "Good for you, man," Michael said and then laughed loudly before reaching out to give Tristan one of those half-hug, half-chest-bumps things men were so good at. Tristan returned the gesture and then Michael plopped down beside Tori Dodd—who looked like she could kick his ass with the no bullshit vibe she gave off—and asked her if she wanted to have his babies.

  "Ignore him," Jason advised as Tori gave Michael the finger. "He spends all of his time with gangbangers and drug dealers. He doesn't know the definition of propriety."

  "I heard that!" Michael hollered across the room and then grimaced, holding his shirt away from his body. "You might be right about spending too much time with gangbangers and drug dealers though. Everything I own smells like fucking pot."

  "You know you wouldn't have that problem if you'd stop smoking the shit, right?" Kieran Garrison asked, laughing when Michael shot him a dirty look.

  "Whatever," he grumbled, though a smile played at the corners of his lips. "You know I don't play like that. The munchies are no joke, and my sexy ass is too fine for all of that." Laughter erupted around the room as he struck a pose and then swept his hand up and down to indicate his body.

  "As amusing as Kincaid is, can we get on with it already?" Rico Alvarez asked, turning to Tristan when Michael reclaimed his seat. "Why are we here, man?"

  The room grew quiet, not even the shuffle of papers or the shifting of bodies sounded in the cramped space as everyone turned to Tristan. Even Michael settled down, the playful expression on his face vanishing. The butterflies in Lillian's stomach redoubled their efforts, causing her stomach to knot.