“I should have seen it sooner. Your smile is just the same,” she whispered.
Tristan kissed the side of her neck and she hummed in satisfaction. Josie spun in his arms and kissed his lips. She lacked the verbal ability to thank him otherwise, so she stuck to what she was good at, pouring all of herself into that kiss.
It had never felt like this for either of them, and somehow they knew that it never would again. When the intensity became overwhelming, they pulled away.
“Tell me about the rest of them,” she said.
He nodded and pointed her back toward the wall.
An hour later, after each drawing had been identified, they emerged. Josie felt lighter, like her shoulders could stand a little taller now. These faces had haunted her for so long she’d begun to resent them. But not anymore. Now she knew these were the people who had been most important to her. These had been the ones to love her, to mold her and, in Tristan’s case, eventually to mourn her. It had always felt like Josie versus the world, but in reality she’d never been alone.
They huddled around the room-temperature pizza and ate until they were satisfied. Josie led Tristan back to the couch, where she curled her knees up to her chest and tucked her toes beneath his thigh.
“This is a first, you know,” Josie said.
“What?”
“Having someone sleep at my place, and,” she paused, feeling a bit embarrassed by her lifestyle for the first time, “waking up with someone I didn’t have sex with.”
“Well, I’ve read that cuddling is more important than the act of sex. It’s more intimate and relaxing, opening people up for more honest bonding.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah, I don’t buy it either,” Tristan said, smiling at her.
“We could change that, you know,” she suggested.
She ran her hand up his thigh with a feather-light touch. Scratching her nails up the seam of his zipper, Josie was pleased with the deep moan Tristan let out.
“Josie.”
“I want you, Tristan,” she purred.
His hand clamped over hers when she reached for his belt buckle. Tristan surprised himself with the amount of restraint he possessed.
“I want you too. I do. But not until you’re ready.”
Josie frowned at him.
“Oh, I’m ready. I’m always ready.”
“That’s the problem,” he said. “I’m not going to let you use sex to distract from what is really happening here.”
“What exactly is happening here?”
Tristan didn’t answer her with words. He simply smiled and laced his fingers through hers. He knew she couldn’t handle any big declarations or stark truths.
Josie released his hand and scraped around her cuticles, trying to remove the charcoal dust. She ignored the paint flecks dotting her nails.
“Tell me something that only I would know,” she demanded.
Tristan knew exactly what she meant. He looked into her shining eyes and thought it over. Memories flooded his mind and he scrolled through them quickly, finding the perfect one to share.
“I saved you from drowning once.”
“What?” Her eyes grew large and she gestured wildly for him to continue.
“We were at the lake behind my house, walking on the pier, when you tripped and fell in. You must have hit your head or something, because you didn’t come up. I panicked and jumped in, somehow finding your arm beneath the water. It was freezing and I struggled for a few minutes to drag you out. You weren’t breathing. So I started CPR. After a few forced breaths, you started choking and sputtering water. I carried you back to my house and gave you some of my clothes while I threw yours in the dryer. We never told anyone.”
Josie wiggled her toes beneath the weight of his leg and smiled.
“How did you know CPR?” she asked.
“My father’s a doctor. Dr. Daniel Fallbrook always liked to make me a shining example of his abilities.”
“Lucky me,” she said.
“Lucky me,” he repeated.
Silence enveloped them as they sat in the afterglow of bygone days. Tristan loved how it was so quiet here, nothing to distract them from each other. Josie sighed and looked at the clock on her wall, wondering how much longer she could have him.
“We got into a fight the next day because you considered the CPR your first kiss and I argued that it was only a medical procedure,” Tristan continued, laughing at the memory. “You were so stubborn. I shut you up.”
“How?”
“I kissed you and told you that was your real first kiss. You didn’t argue.”
Josie ducked her head, blushing at his devilish smirk. Tristan had a way of dissolving her tough exterior, revealing glimpses of the adolescent girl inside.
She started at his wrist and traced a line up his arm until the art disappeared beneath his sleeve. She loved following the paths across his skin, wondering where she’d end up. Her fingers ghosted over traditional tattoo flash such as spider webs and harsh red flames before tracing the gray bark of a large oak tree.
“What is this one for?” she asked, pointing to the image on the inside of his forearm.
“It’s a tree in my yard back home that you and I practically lived in. It was always where we’d go to play and hang out. Later, we would climb up there to spy on my neighbors or make out.”
Josie’s fingertip moved over the twisting limbs as though she could feel the scratchy bark beneath her touch.
“This was for us,” Josie stated, gesturing toward the art.
“For you,” Tristan corrected, picturing her laughing face covered with dots of light and shadows beneath the branches of their tree.
She lay her head down on her knees. Josie knew that she was venturing into unknown territory with Tristan. She felt the kindness in his eyes. The way he offered himself up made her want to fall apart with unworthiness. Wrapped in the cocoon of her apartment, it would be easy to get lost in his memories
7. Eclipse
A partial or total obscuring of one celestial body by another.
Rob pulled into a parking space and killed the engine. It was rare to find a spot so close to home. He grabbed the four bags of groceries and walked the half block to his door. The sun was shining and the air was cool and salty. When all was quiet, he could even hear the waves against the shore. Beach life was good.
“Hey, man. How’s it going?” his neighbor asked.
The man stood in the shade of a palm tree waving at him. He wore board shorts and no shirt, standard dress code for these parts. Rob’s neighbors were pleasant enough, old hippies who made a living painting murals and teaching tourists how to surf.
“Good, thanks,” he answered.
He put the bags down on his front porch while fumbling with his keys. He could feel his neighbor’s eyes on him.
“Groceries?” the guy asked. “Man, I’m starving.”
Rob nodded and slid his key into the lock. Was he supposed to offer him some groceries or invite him over for dinner? He didn’t know protocol for curing the munchies of your stoner neighbor. Once inside, he found comfort in the distance between them, no longer responsible for his side of their awkward conversation.
New to the city, and the West Coast, Rob Nettles found himself out of sorts. He had moved for work, transferred for a more advantageous position. He hadn’t thought twice about leaving his former home behind.
He’d settled himself into a small beach neighborhood within the city, trying to mingle among the locals. The community was home to free spirits who supported only local businesses and were sympathetic to its large vagrant population. In the four weeks he’d been there, he’d become addicted to authentic Mexican food and learned to identify the best places for imported beer. That was the extent of his adaptation.
At sunset, he walked the short block to the beach. Content to just sit in the sand and watch the sun drop into the water, Rob knew he had it good. He wondered if the people who had been here for ye
ars still felt the appreciation he did. He couldn’t imagine ever taking this for granted. This city felt alive, like the thriving metropolis knew him and welcomed him.
He’d called some of the biggest cities in the country home, but this place was different. The Pacific Ocean calmed him, and the energy of the city fed him. He knew it wouldn’t be long until he assumed the way of life here. With its laissez-faire attitude and persuasive charm, he’d be a fool not to.
Mississippi, the place of Rob’s childhood, was an alternate universe compared to the white sand beaches of California. Back home, the oppressive summer’s heat and humidity could melt you to the sidewalk. Meanwhile, San Diego always offered a cool breeze and moderate temperatures. Rob had traded his boots for flip-flops, his hat for a messy haircut, and his bluegrass for reggae. Still, each day he returned home to the empty apartment, he felt like he hadn’t exactly found where he fit in.
That was, until he’d found a woman by the name of Monica Templeton. Within a matter of minutes, she’d turned his world upside down, making him abandon all reason. He let down his guard and pulled her inside. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This doesn’t happen in real life, not this fast.
Twenty-four hours after their first encounter, he knew he’d never been more wrong. It happens. And it had happened to him.
* * *
After spending that first night on the couch with Josie, Tristan hadn’t stepped foot outside her apartment. He’d called work, citing a family emergency, and stayed for two more days. They did nothing more than talk and sleep, and sometimes he’d watch her sketch things in her notebook while he read. Most of their time together had been spent telling stories of their past. For so long those memories had been pushed into the background of his mind. It invigorated him to relive those happy scenes, playing them out for Josie to hear.
Tristan slid his tray onto the lunchroom table and took a seat. He poked at the brown glob of chili with his spoon.
“Where’s Mac?” he asked.
“She checked out in second hour,” Kohen answered.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. April told Ryan who told me. April’s in that class with her.”
Tristan abandoned his food and searched the rows of tables for April Landry. This girl was the mouth of the South, and if anyone knew details, she surely would. Spotting her three tables over, he approached the group.
“Why did Mac leave?” he blurted out, interrupting a conversation already in progress.
“Who?” she said.
“McKenzi!”
“Oh, her,” April said, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know. One minute she was there, the next she was gone.”
The afternoon was torture. Tristan’s mind went over every possible scenario, each one more terrible than the one before. By the time the last bell rang, he’d convinced himself that McKenzi had suffered some sort of life-threatening injury and was lying helpless in Charity Hospital.
When the last bell rang, he ran the entire way to her house, tripping up the steps and collapsing onto the front porch. He beat on the front door, yelling for Earl to answer it and tell him that Mac was okay.
Finally, the door was thrown open and McKenzi stood staring at her exhausted boyfriend.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Are you okay? Let me look at you,” he almost shouted. Tristan entered her house, his hands checking the functionality of each limb, his eyes searching for signs of injury. He spun her in place, completing his thorough examination. “How’s your pulse? Are you feeling faint? Seeing spots? How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Are you done?” McKenzi asked, one eyebrow quirked at his crazed behavior.
“Why did you leave school?” Tristan asked, his voice accusatory.
“None of your business.”
“Tell me, Mac!”
“I don’t want to.”
“Fine! Just have your little secret,” he yelled.
“I can’t, Tristan.”
“You sure the hell can. I’ll go up there and rip every *NSYNC poster from your wall!”
“Fine, you hardheaded pig! I got my period, okay? I bled all over my favorite blue jean skirt and had to come home! Are you satisfied, you nosy ass?”
Tristan scrambled backward off her porch and, without another word, took off toward his house. When he finally made it home, he begged his mother to help him make it right. He couldn’t stand the idea of Mac being angry with him.
Two hours later, McKenzi answered the door to find a blue gift bag topped with a yellow bow. She looked around but found no sign of its owner. Tristan smiled from his hiding place, watching her carry the package inside. Having a doctor for a father, Tristan’s thorough sex talk had involved all aspects of reproduction and the female cycle. McKenzi sat at her kitchen table and unpacked her gift, item by item, unaware of being observed through the large bay window. There was a bottle of ibuprofen, a package of chocolates, a brand-new blue jean skirt with a tiny note written in Tristan’s obsessively neat cursive. McKenzi smiled, barely stifling her laughter as she read it: “I’m sorry. You’ll feel better in five to seven days. Tristan.”
Josie was so tickled by the story she smothered his face with kisses and insisted that he had to be the sweetest twelve-year-old in the history of the world. Tristan returned her kisses and whispered how he wished she could remember that day to tell him her own version of it.
Their relationship was a curious one—giving and taking in small doses. Josie still seemed shielded, as if she were awaiting rejection. Tristan knew no matter what he verbally promised, she’d never believe that he was here to stay. So he vowed to show her, to prove to her that he wasn’t just a fleeting reminder of her past. He felt as if his roots had taken hold and wrapped themselves around Josie. He was immovable and he’d remain that way for as long as she’d allow it.
The woman who sat before him was molded from years of acts so damaging Tristan couldn’t bring himself to imagine them. The fact that the people who were entrusted with her well-being had brought harm to her made him boil with anger. He didn’t understand how anyone could look into those eyes and bring hurt to this girl.
Tristan had always been protective. His father taught him to love and cherish women and to keep them safe at any cost. Dr. Daniel Fallbrook was just that kind of man. He still believed in chivalry and courtship and reverence for your elders. Tristan learned early on in life that his father’s word was final, his mother was never to be disrespected, and he was to put forth his very best effort on all tasks.
When Tristan lost McKenzi, he’d been devastated. He’d felt abandoned and completely cheated by her death. Everyone looked at him with sympathetic but dismissive eyes. They thought he would soon get over it. He was just a child. No one understood what Mac meant to him; they never would. Tristan had mourned her with every piece of his mind, body, and soul.
It had been one thing when she’d moved across the country. Both of them had been heartbroken. But they’d made promises to find each other again. There was solace in the fact that McKenzi still existed, however unreachable she may have been. When news of her death surfaced, Tristan hadn’t believed it. He’d thought that it had been a joke of the cruelest nature and raged out at anyone who would listen.
Looking back, he recognized now that he had gone through every Kübler-Ross stage of grief. After denial, Tristan’s anger had tried to purge McKenzi from his system, and when she wouldn’t go, he had begun to bargain. He’d begged and pleaded for just one more chance to see her, for just one more moment to tell her how much he needed her.
To a fourteen-year-old-boy, depression was not a familiar state. Though he knew the definition of the word and all its symptoms, Tristan was not able to recognize it in himself. Even though his grades suffered and he didn’t have the will to eat, Tristan thought he had finally accepted the loss of his best friend. His mother had watched him with a worried eye and his father had grown tired of the moping.
/> The summer after his sixteenth birthday marked two years since McKenzi had been gone. He’d finally become social again, hanging out with friends and spending more time outside his bedroom than in it.
This particular day, a group of boys had gone down to the lake for a party. There had been loud music and kids dancing around an overgrown bonfire. Couples huddled in dark shadows, kissing and pawing at each other. Girls, wearing next to nothing in the heat, danced together, taunting the boys. Tristan was immune to all of it. The waves lapped at the shore as he sat motionless, eyeing the beer growing warm in his hand.
She’d first appeared as part of a group, though Tristan would say that Fiona stood out like a goddess among mortals. Her cheerless blue eyes had reflected his own feelings and he’d felt drawn to her sadness. That was the instant that his life shifted, the circumstance that set into motion the destruction of every dream he had ever built.
Fiona, the bottle blond with an acidic smile, had changed who he was destined to be. The girl had redirected his life, and he’d been all too willing to let her. Tristan had left behind his family and embraced her as the only thing tethering him to happiness.
“Where were you?” Josie’s voice startled Tristan, and he looked down to see her eyes fixed upon his. “Up here,” she clarified, tapping at his temple. “Where were you?”
“In Wonderland,” he answered absently.
“How’s the Queen?”
“Which one?”
“Huh?” Josie asked. “The mean one.”
“Well, there’s the Queen of Hearts in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and then there’s the Red Queen in the sequel, Through the Looking Glass,” Tristan answered.
“Whichever one said ‘Off with their heads!’ I liked her.”
Tristan smiled.
“That’s Disney’s version. She’s more of a combination of the Queen of Hearts, the Duchess, and the Red Queen. Pretty much a sadist who is easily annoyed.”
“So she just goes around beheading anyone who irks her. I can get behind that,” Josie said.
“If we lived in a world like that, we’d have a much smaller population. Get cut off in traffic? Bang. Cashier doesn’t take your coupon? Bang. Chaos and no laws to hold people accountable for their actions.”
Beautiful Addictions Page 8
