“You were gone for so long. I didn’t know if we’d ever see you again, but I prayed every day that you were safe and happy. Were you happy, sweetheart?”
“‘The reason people find it so hard to be happy is that they always see the past better than it was and the present worse than it is.’”
“Tell me in your words, Tristan,” Bitsy begged.
“I was happy for a while. Fiona broke my heart, just like you warned she would. I don’t think she ever really cared about me. But now I have Josie.”
“And you’ve found your way home.”
Tristan nodded and threw his inked arm around the back of the seat, resting his hand on her shoulder.
Daniel watched his wife and son’s exchange through the plate-glass window at the back of the house. Even with the rift between them, he could sense that things were healing. The way their bodies leaned toward each other gave him a sense of relief. The warm light cast from the den painted the pair in scattered highlights and soft golden shadows. He smiled, content in the resurrection of that uniting force known as family.
22. Nadir
On a celestial body, the vertical direction below the observer’s feet.
“I want your papers turned in by Friday. Make sure to really delve into the underlying struggle between these two societies and cite your sources, people,” the instructor announced as the students filed out of the classroom.
Alex slid his pen behind his ear and tucked his notebook beneath his arm. Taking a look around the room, he still couldn’t believe that he was here. Surrounded by off-white paint and fluorescent lighting, he found it humorous that he sat among these young, impressionable kids four days a week. He’d once taken a vow to never set foot inside another cinder-block institution. This, however, would be his one exception.
It was the love and encouragement of Erin that had pushed him to do better, to be better. He wanted to be everything she needed and everything she deserved. Not to mention, for the first time in his adult life, he could be a role model. Her son, Parker, watched and mimicked his behavior. The boy looked at Alex like he was a superhero, making him accountable for his actions. Alex loved that Erin didn’t try to change him; she embraced all of his bad and his good. It had been his idea to pursue a bachelor’s degree in business management. Hell, he’d been managing some sort of business his entire life.
When Alex was younger, he had imagined what it would be like living the straight life. Punching in and out somewhere, paying taxes and collecting social security when he grew old. Though social acceptance appealed to most, it had never appealed to him. The thought alone had always felt suffocating. But when you have someone who holds you accountable, someone who isn’t afraid to question you and desire more from you, it’s all too easy to amend your aspirations.
In the past year, his relationship with Erin had been slow moving, but for the first time in his life he was okay with that. He loved her quick temper while she embraced his childlike personality. The sex was amazing, like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Erin had taught him to connect on every level, and as far as Alex was concerned, there was no other way to live. They were equals and opposites all at the same time. It was strange to have such a positive outlook on his future, to be so unsure yet unafraid of what was to come. He was free and he was loved, what more could a hoodlum from Logan Heights ask for?
He thought about Tristan and Josie often, marveling at their ability to survive such tragedy and tricky circumstance. He wondered where they were and what their lives were like, but he never wondered if they were together. That was a given.
* * *
Confined to the shadows of the streets of Prague, Rob Nettles pulled the gun from his waistband. His pulse thundered in his ears, making it nearly impossible to hear anything else. The index finger on his right hand twitched against the trigger, and he cursed his edginess. Bouncing his head off of the brick wall a few times, he fought to maintain control of his senses, focusing on the pain of the rough brick against his scalp. He wanted to remain entirely aware of what was about to go down. This was his destiny, his death.
In the year since he’d lost Monica, Rob had been focused on exterminating this bastard. He stumbled upon this ring of human trading and child enslavement. He’d heard about it through some punk rookie when he’d returned to Manhattan. Before Monica, the idea of this would have displeased him, but he would have sat back and done nothing. Now things were different. The idea of children being bought and sold and mistreated enraged him. He took it as a severe dishonor to everything Monica had ever worked for.
For months, Rob had been climbing his way through the organization, feigning indifference to the suffering of innocents. He endured so many pain-filled nights alone that he could not survive it any longer. If he thought the world was dark before he met Monica, it was downright abysmal now that she was gone.
Rob had been planning this suicide mission for a while, his resolve never faltering. Finally nailing down the leader’s schedule, he waited in the most opportune place for an ambush. The man would be vulnerable for a few seconds, and with Rob’s accuracy, a few seconds was all he needed. The only problem was that the man’s guards would then descend upon him.
Echoing footsteps signaled their approach, and with self-loathing conviction, he stepped from the shadows and nailed his target before being perforated by their retaliation. He smiled at this, exhaling long and slow. He welcomed their punishments, each bullet bringing pain and absolution. He silently begged for forgiveness and pictured his Button’s smiling face. Rob embraced his death and all that it offered him, peace and the end of heartache.
* * *
“What makes them glow?” Josie asked, leaning against the scratchy bark of the old tree and trying to follow the fireflies’ glow.
“A type of chemical reaction called bioluminescence. The enzyme luciferase acts on the luciferin, in the presence of magnesium ions, ATP, and oxygen to produce light,’” Tristan answered, running his hands over her denim-covered thigh.
Josie rolled her eyes and smiled at him, showing that she loved his superior intellect just as much as his handsome face. She watched him watching her and no longer feared judgment or rejection. She loved having his eyes on her, among other things.
“Do you think we’ll ever be too old to climb this tree?” she asked, looking down at the ground.
“Yeah, one day,” he answered. “But then we’ll come and sit beneath it. We’ll enjoy the shade and think about the days we spent up here.”
“Hmm, that sounds promising,” she whispered, leaning forward and capturing his lips.
There was no frenzied groping or sexual expectations, only chaste exchanges of love.
“Do you think I’ll ever get my memory back?” Josie asked.
“Well, we’ve tried the reminder effect of reliving memories through stories, and that didn’t work. In most cases, memories only come back by spontaneous recovery. After this long, the odds are that your memories may never come back.”
Josie sighed and watched the sun set behind the trees. Fiery gold and orange painted the sky.
“Are you okay with that?” Tristan asked, concern lacing his voice.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I accepted that a long time ago. As far as New York goes, I don’t want to know those details. I’ve got you and your family to fill in the good stuff.”
When Josie’s skin chilled from the night air, they climbed down from the comforting branches and headed inside. Dinner was amazing, as always. Bitsy had been taking cooking classes and loved using the two as guinea pigs.
“Where’s Dad?” Tristan asked, shoving another forkful of food into his mouth.
“He’s on call and had to go in for a while. I guess you’ll see him in the morning,” she said, smiling sweetly.
“So, Tristan, how are classes going?”
“Great,” he answered. “I tested out of the lower-level classes, and with my schedule I’ll be graduating by this time next year.”
> Josie smiled at him, radiating so much pride. She didn’t understand how Tristan had been led astray by Moloney, how he’d sacrificed so much. Then she reminded herself that it had been for the love of a girl that he’d done those things and suddenly it was much easier to comprehend.
“That’s great, sweetie. And you, Josie?”
“I’m good. I’m doing a mural for this bank downtown. It’s weird to be doing legit painting in the middle of the day. Art classes are a breeze, but the general ed classes are fucking killing me.”
Josie slapped her hand over her mouth before mumbling an apology to Bitsy.
Bitsy nodded and they all went back to their dinner. When the food was finished and the dishes washed, the three of them sat in the den around the television.
“You two don’t visit enough,” Bitsy announced during a commercial break.
“Ma, not again,” Tristan begged.
Josie giggled as Bitsy hit her son with the glare that only mothers possessed.
“Don’t ‘Ma’ me, Tristan. I know school keeps you busy, but I expect at least one visit every month. You only live across the river. You could call more too.”
“Okay, okay,” he relented. “You heard from Dad?”
“Yes, he won’t be home until around midnight,” she answered.
Bitsy looked around, as if searching for onlookers, before rising from her chair. She sauntered toward the two, a devilish grin on her face.
“Can I tell you two a secret?” she whispered.
The pair looked on in curiosity as Bitsy began to unbutton her jeans.
“Mom! What the hell are you doing?” Tristan exclaimed, mortified by the thought of his mother undressing before him.
“Oh, calm down, Tristan. I just want to show you this.”
Bitsy inched down her jeans to reveal a small red heart tattoo on her left hip. There was a white banner across the heart proudly displaying the name Daniel.
“Holy shit!” Tristan yelled.
“That is awesome!” Josie replied, inching forward to get a better look. “Damn, you’re legit now!”
Bitsy laughed and refastened her jeans before settling back down into her chair, more than satisfied. Tristan sat motionless, just staring wordlessly at the space where his mother had been.
“Tristan? What the hell?” Josie asked, nudging his shoulder.
“Uh, what?” he asked, finally snapping out of his daze.
“Just don’t say anything to your father, he hasn’t seen it yet.”
Tristan nodded, still reeling from seeing ink on his mother’s skin. He wanted to pinch himself to make sure this wasn’t a dream. Bitsy Ducote Fallbrook, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Ducote III, winner of Miss Teen Louisiana and debutante of high-society clubs, had a tattoo.
“It looks like it’s almost healed. How did you keep it from him?” Josie asked.
“Well, I’ve made excuse after excuse why we couldn’t have sex. Usually, we have quite a healthy sexual—”
“Oh my God!” Tristan yelled, covering his ears and running from the room.
The two women burst into a fit of giggles over Tristan’s theatrics. They laughed until sharp pains jabbed at their ribs and then laughed some more.
A few hours later, Tristan tucked himself into bed beside Josie’s small warm body. The room was still unchanged since his high school years, though the scenery had improved greatly. The thin strap of her shirt had fallen down her shoulder and he praised the garment for framing her skin so beautifully.
Josie sighed contentedly and buried her face into his chest. She inhaled him as her fingers slid around his waist and up his arm. She lingered on the small scar on his biceps, pressing down on it before moving on. The feel of his bare skin beneath her hands made her hum in appreciation. Josie couldn’t imagine existing in any place other than his arms.
“It’s so bizarre to have you here in this bed,” he said softly against her hair.
“You say that every time.”
“I mean it every time.”
Josie traced the curve of his forearm with her fingernail, before turning her face up to kiss his chin. She slid her leg up and over his hip.
“Have you ever had sex in this bed?”
Tristan laughed. “No.”
A scheming smirk graced her pink lips as her hand continued its southward journey. She placed a kiss below his ear, her hot breath fanning over his skin.
“Do you want to?” she purred. “It could be a first we could share. One that I would remember.”
Every reason that Tristan had concocted as to why this was a bad idea evaded him, and before either of them had a grasp on the situation, he had Josie’s body pinned beneath him.
“Oh, you’ll definitely remember it,” he responded, smirking crookedly at her. Tristan ducked his head and ravished her mouth with kisses. The tiny moaning sounds coming from her throat drove him to devour her even more affectionately.
“I love you,” she whimpered. “To the moon and back.”
“Only 477,800 miles worth of love? I love you that much times a googolplexian.”
“That’s not even real,” she said, giggling.
“It is too. It’s the largest number with a name.”
Tristan placed kisses along her neck and collarbone before kissing her lips again.
Josie’s hands flew to his grown-out hair, pulling and tugging at the coal-black mess. He hummed in approval and rocked his hips. Starting at her feet, Tristan bathed her entire body in kisses and tasteful benediction. He let his teeth scrape over her skin, trailed by his tongue, which refused to be left out. There wasn’t one part of his anatomy that did not hunger for Josie.
“Stop teasing,” she pleaded.
This was a new first, something they would share and equally recall. He wanted every detail of it to remain clear and unhurried. He wanted Josie to treasure it always.
After they’d exhausted every pleasure to be had, they settled beneath the cool sheets, curled together like woven ribbons. Tristan let his fingers roam Josie’s satiated body. Just as his hand trailed from her knee up to her thigh, the clouds parted and the most beautiful moonlight bathed their bodies through the open window.
He was reminded of the lunar beams that had revealed Josie hiding among the iron railings of her fire escape not so long ago. Just as it did then, the light seemed to reveal and bind them to each other.
Josie sighed and pulled herself closer to Tristan. She ran her hand up over his hip, past his fingers, and around his biceps. She watched as his breaths became slow and steady as he drifted off to sleep. His face was perfection as far as she was concerned—hair that she loved to run her fingers through, eyes that always saw through her bullshit, and lips that spoke words of adoration. The feel of his body wrapped around hers was intoxicating and she couldn’t remember ever wanting anything or anyone more than she wanted him. But what was most intriguing was what lay inside this amazing, complicated man. All of his memories, his intellect, his unwavering love and devotion for a girl like her is what made Tristan her perfect and beautiful addiction.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Danielle and Chap, who endured many evenings listening to the click-clack melody of a MacBook keyboard. Thanks to Becca, who, through three different colored fonts in a shared Google document, helped with the mapping of this wild ride. To the readers, especially Bridget and Ricky, who endured the first, second, and third drafts of this manuscript, I apologize and thank you. From coast to coast, much love to my Fuckery Book Club girls–defenders, motivators, and pimps extraordinaire. Gracias to Jerry, my official Spanish Mexican Slang Consultant. To the watchers of the internet, thanks for not putting me on a high profile list somewhere for the things I research.
A special thank-you to the two ladies that I met in the swamp, where we toasted a beautiful sunset and drank wine off the library’s reference cart. Rose, who fell in love with this story from the very first page, and whose enthusiasm and editing eye made it better with each
pencil mark. And Rachel, my cape-wearing, fine-print-reading, top-notch-negotiating, corgi-loving, voice of reason and pusher of all things me.
Lastly, I’d like to recognize all artists, whether they express themselves through written word, enamel paints, or inked skin; anyone fighting the demons of addiction, who have the strength and will to overcome; and those who were once victims, but who refuse to wear that label, you are all an inspiration.
About the Author
SEASON VINING is a writer, a bookworm, a cook, a night owl, and always a student. Beautiful Addictions is her first novel. She lives in Louisiana, where she works as a graphic designer. To learn more, visit her on the Web at www.seasonvining.com.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
BEAUTIFUL ADDICTIONS. Copyright © 2014 by Season Vining. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Lisa Marie Pompilio
Cover art by Trisha Picky
e-ISBN 9781466849853
First Edition: January 2014
Beautiful Addictions Page 24
