by H. M. Ward
“Awesome, man. I’ll check on it and tell him to find Tucker.”
“Great,” Trystan says. “I’m on lunch break. See you this afternoon.”
“Later!”
Tucker switches the speaker off. “He’s something—a very talented young man.”
“He is.”
“He’s also incredibly vulnerable.” Tucker shifts his weight in the seat and leans forward, clasping one large hand in the other. “Maybe now isn’t the best time to tell you, but I’ve hardly seen you over the past few weeks. Mari, I wanted to tell you I’ve been getting calls.”
The look on Tuckers face worries me. “From who?”
He opens his mouth, ready to tell me when Trystan walks in. Tucker leans back and throws out his arms, beaming at his former student. “Here he is, the sexiest man alive!”
Trystan’s cheeks redden as he stops in his tracks. His lips part and his eyes hit the floor. His dark hair falls forward, obscuring those gorgeous blue eyes. They’re like sapphires today, radiant and bright. His mouth pulls to the side, and he looks up, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “This again? All right, but you can’t keep asking, Tucker. Go ahead, bask in my presence.”
Tucker chortles with that deep voice of his and pushes out of his chair. He grabs a stack of papers off the counter and steps toward the door. As he passes Trystan, he swats the rock star in the head. “Be back by two o'clock, smartass.”
The corner of Trystan’s lips pulls up into a lopsided grin. “Keys?”
“On the desk. Don’t get a scratch on my baby, you hear me?”
I look at Tucker, not understanding. “Did you get a new car?”
“Nope, it’s the same old Honda with the vintage rust and original peeling paint!”
“Now who’s the wiseass?” Tucker laughs in response and heads out the door.
Trystan looks over at me and holds out his hand. I take it, and he pulls me into his arms and kisses my cheek. “Come on.”
Chapter 9
Mari
We’re sitting on the beach at Robert Moses State Park. The wind whips my hair and chills my skin. It’s as if my senses are heightened and lessened at the same time. I feel everything and nothing at all. My mind doesn’t know how to process all the conflicting sensations, or the anguish that continues to beat at me.
Trystan sits next to me on the sand, his arm wrapped around my shoulders. We stare at the leaves together and sit in silence. Trystan understands pain in a way most people don't. His childhood was short, and his father's anguish became his own. I rest my head against his shoulder. Trystan squeezes his fingers against my arm and holds me tight. He breathes deeply then releases it slowly before he speaks.
"I wish we'd known." It's as if he wants to say more, but doesn't know how—doesn't know what words to say.
"So do I." I managed to choke the words out even though they want to remain stuck in my throat. There's no way to undo the past, we both know that.
I watch as the waves crash into the sand, each crest appearing white and frothy before being obliterated. Each wave transforms from a complete high to nothing in a matter of seconds. My life feels like that right now. Last night was the best night of my life, and this morning was the worst morning of my life. It feels like I'm between two bookends and I don't know which way things are going to go for me. I thought I had more time to mend things with my mother. She was trying, and so was I, but now she's gone and it's too late.
Trystan takes his free hand and pushes his hair out of his face. The wind immediately blows it back, making it look messier than usual. His body has this lean, lazy way about it, but I know he's tense right now. I can feel it in his wrists, the way they feel tight, and the pressure of each finger on my arm feels as if he's trying to steady me, but also as if he's working to ensure I don't vanish.
"Are you going to the wake tonight?"
I stare at the sand and press my toes beneath the tiny grains. My gaze stays fixed on a point beyond my foot. "I don't know. I can't stand the thought of seeing my father. I don't want to talk to him. But at the same time I need to say goodbye to my mother. I don't know what to do."
Trystan is slow to reply, thinking over his words carefully. "There are times in life where we're forced to make decisions that affect everything. Now is one of those times, Mari. I know how hard you and your mother were working to fix your relationship. I wish I had a mom around to care so much about me." His voice catches in his throat as he says those words. "No matter what happens, no matter what your dad does, you know your mom loved you. Nothing on Earth can take that away from you. This is your chance to say goodbye, your chance to say the things you either weren't able to or always planned to say. Mari, I'm not you, but I'm not sure I could pass that up."
I realize my face is wet, that tears have been streaking my cheeks throughout this entire conversation. I'm not breathless or sobbing, but I am crying. My soul is weeping, and there's no way to hide that. As much as I wish I didn't wear my heart on my sleeve, I do. I don't brush the tears away. I don't mind that Trystan sees them. I don't mind that he knows my heart is breaking. If there's anyone who can help me get through this, it's him. His childhood was an agonizing mess lacking things most people take for granted: a bed, warm meals, and a family that loves him. As a result, Trystan is incredibly sensitive to the things that make life worth living. It's not about having the most or the best, it's about the people in your life and the relationships you make. A big part of my trying to mend things with my mother is because of Trystan. I know I'm lucky to have him.
"Maybe I'll go in late after most people leave. I don't want to see all the people from dad's work using my mother's funeral to suck up to the boss. There may be a few people who cared about my mom there, though. I'm not sure who her real friends were. She was always with my dad, and he was always with her. They were so in love with each other they didn't see anyone else—me included. Nothing else mattered to them."
"You mattered to her. You can't convince me you didn't. I saw her face when she saw you perform on stage the night people found out my true identity." His hand drops from around my shoulders to find my hand and lace his fingers through it, squeezing hard. I feel his gaze on the side of my face. "That night people found out your true identity, too. They saw Mari Jennings, not the future Dr. Jennings, and your mother was there to support you."
I never thought of that night as a turning point for me, but it was. The night Trystan revealed he was Day Jones changed everything. I was there with him, standing on stage doing something I never thought I'd do, standing next to someone I was completely enamored with, but never dreamed I'd be in a relationship with.
Everything changed in the blink of an eye that night. The world discovered the true identity of the secretive Day Jones, and I found out I am so much stronger than I ever thought I was. He's right.
Trystan moves his long legs and pushes them out in front of him, as he threads his arm around my back and pulls me onto his lap. He holds me like that letting me be still, letting the peace of the moment transcend all my pain. I used to be afraid of how well he knew me, of how well Trystan could look at me and see what I was thinking. It's like he knew what I felt before I even said it. I was afraid of those things—I was afraid of him. In moments like this one, though, where I'm aching so badly I don't even know what I need, it's wonderful. His connection to me is a blessing. I used to fear he would sense my weaknesses and use them against me, but that was back before I knew who he really is.
I'm holding Trystan's hands, pressing the pad of my finger across his short nails. His calluses feel rough beneath my touch. My heart is swimming in my stomach. I open my mouth, still searching for the right words. "I never imagined I'd have to do this so soon. Trystan? Will you come to the funeral with me? I know it'll be a tight timeline for you, and I promised I'd be at your first concert, but I think it's best for me to say goodbye during the funeral and burial. I feel pulled in two directions at the same time. One is incredible, and the ot
her is the most painful thing I've ever had to endure. It makes me feel totally crazy, but if you're there with me, I can do it. I feel like I can handle whatever is thrown at me with you by my side."
Trystan gathers me up in his arms and holds me tightly. His face is next to my ear, and he breathes words I need to hear so badly. "I will always be there for you. Through the good and the bad, all of it. I can promise you that."
* * *
THE PRESENT
The memory of that day flashes behind my eyes, replaying like an old movie again and again.
I needed that. I needed to hear that promise. It's what gave me strength when weakness was consuming me. I put every hope on it, and ultimately that's what destroyed me—broken promises.
For years, I was angry and confused. I don't know what happened to us, why Trystan suddenly changed or why he never showed up. The funeral came and went with no sign of Trystan Scott. I faced the worst day of my life alone. He never gave an explanation for why he betrayed me. A few days later a picture appeared in Newsday that broke my heart. Taken the night of his first concert, it showed him in the arms of a stunning woman. The article said the two of them were a couple. There was even a quote from Trystan, claiming their new relationship held promise.
It was a knife in my heart when I was most vulnerable.
We never spoke again. All the things I never said suddenly bubble up inside me. I've kept those words tightly controlled within me for so long. Now I'll never get the chance to say any of it. I'll never know why he abandoned me. I'll never know for sure if he loved me.
My greatest fear with Trystan was that I was another conquest like every other girl before me. He seemed sincere. I thought so highly of him, and I was certain he'd never treat me like that—until he did.
The noise around me, the bustle of nurses rushing back and forth, attempting to avoid my father's fury, is muffled by the emotional tornado swirling within me. Part of me wants to scream at his dead body. I imagine myself standing over him, pounding my hands against his chest, and yelling at him for betraying me when I needed him most. The worst part was the “I told you so” from my father. He said over and over and over again that Trystan was a player, and I was the game. I never saw it coming.
My dad is still ranting next to me. He must've asked me a question because he's staring at the side of my face, waiting for an answer. "Are you listening to me? Do you think this is a joke? Do you think I get off on berating these people?"
"No, of course not." I make sure my face shows no emotion. I've learned that much over the years. The only way to handle Dad is to give him exactly what he wants, and for some reason he wants me for something now. "Where do you need me?"
The condemning look slips off Dad's face as he realizes he's in control once again. After Mom died, Dad's already cool nature turned colder. He seems only to find pleasure in controlling everything and everyone around him. Even his appearance is ruthlessly managed—his shoulders perfectly square, his spine perfectly straight, each hair falls perfectly into place on his head. My father would be an attractive man if he weren't so mean. People can't get past the condemnation in his gaze to see any good qualities he might possess.
That's what worries me. Right after I ask where he wants me, Dad looks at my face as if he's seeing me for the first time in forever. He's evaluating whether or not I'm up to this task. Part of me is annoyed, and part of me is surprised. Empathy is foreign to him, and sympathy is something he rarely exhibits. "Mari, I want you to handle the rest. Mr. Scott is in room four." He takes the clipboard he's holding and pushes it against my chest. Instinctively my arms come up and hold it.
My jaw drops open ever so slightly. I try to hide my shock, but this is cruel—even for him. How can he ask me to go in and do the postmortem paperwork on someone I loved? It'd be like asking him to do this when mom died. Something cold comes up from within my stomach and freezes my ribs. I don't know if it's fear or loss, but it renders me silent. Dad can tell I'm searching for words, but before I can say anything, he points with one hand while pressing his other hand firmly on the back of my shoulder. He shoves me away, pushing me toward a reality I don't want to see.
I can't speak, but I managed to look over my shoulder at my father. He looks at me for a brief moment not filtering his disgust. I watch it appear and slip away like a thief in the night. That look straightens my spine and steels my nerves. I can't stand it when he thinks I'm weak.
I force one foot in front of the other and don't look back. A guard stands in front of the room, but he doesn't say anything. He saw my father shove me in this direction as did everyone else. It's obvious amongst the staff that I am the emergency room director's least favorite employee. Nepotism has no place here, and not a single person on this floor envies me. If anything, it's the opposite—they pity me for having such an asshole for a father.
I tell them it's not that bad. I tell them his apathy toward me is only here at work. I make them think he's a nice man at home, and his demeanor here is necessary for keeping the ER calm and running smoothly. I don't think they believe me. A few coworkers stop what they're doing and watch as I disappear behind the door. If they knew everything Trystan and I had been through they'd revolt. They'd attack my father with everything they could to prevent this. Rose senses something as she watches me. She knows my anxiety is higher than usual, but she doesn't know why. Her gaze meets mine briefly. I can't stand the look she gives me, so I push the door shut, creating a barrier between the rest of the world and myself.
My eyes scan the small room, studying the evidence of the fury of effort made to save his life. There are plastic wrappers, tape, and gauze scattered on the floor. On a rolling cart, in front of a pale, green curtain, I see a silver suture tray covered with the bloodied tools. I press my back to the door and breathe deeply. I never wanted this experience, but it provides the chance to say goodbye to my first and only love in private.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the glint of metal amongst the discarded supplies on the floor. I lean over to pick it up and feel like I took a sucker-punch in the gut—it's the silver ring I gave Trystan back in high school. I run my finger across the bloodied Greek inscription, η ψυχή μου είναι η ψυχή σου, my soul is your soul. I blink back tears, and a sob escapes my lips.
I wrap my arms around my middle and take a deep breath. I'm suddenly very aware of my mouth and try to swallow, but the lump in my throat won't move. I slip the ring into the pocket of my scrubs and take a trembling step forward. My eyes stay fixed on that green curtain as I pull it open, pass through, and slide it closed again behind me. I want a moment with the rest of the world shut out to remember how it was once upon a time when we were a fairytale. Trystan saved me. I found myself when I was with him. He gave me a strength I didn't know I had, and he showed me what my life could be if I were brave enough to try. I hold the fabric curtain with my hand, clinging to it as if it were life itself, too afraid to turn around. I thought if given the chance I'd be angry. I thought I'd yell at him. That's not how I feel now.
My heart is racing in my chest, and I can't manage to get enough air in my lungs. My head droops, my eyes stare at my rainbow-colored Crocs, my lips part, and my heart pours out. "There are so many things I wish I could say to you, things about us, things about life. I didn't think it would be like this. I never thought..." Tears are stinging my eyes, threatening to fall down my cheeks, and my throat tightens, cutting off my speech. I can't find the right words to say, anyway. I hear ringing over and over in my head.
I never thought things would end like this.
I never thought I would lose you.
I never thought I would still love you.
I inhale and exhale slowly, feeling my body shake. I stand like that for a moment before I hear his voice, weak and soft, "You never thought what?"
Chapter 10
Mari
Startled, I swallow a scream and whirl around. I know that voice. I’d know it anywhere. I don't underst
and why I hear it. Part of me thinks I must be crazy, but my eyes tell me my ears are correct. I'm staring at a shirtless Trystan lying on a gurney with a towel draped across his hips. There's a gash on his forehead that still needs stitches. He's holding gauze to the wound to prevent the blood from dripping down his face. His pants and shirt, cut off him earlier by ER staff, lay discarded in a heap on the floor. One of his legs is in an Aircast walking boot, and the other one has a gash from his ankle up to his knee. His beautiful body is black and blue with bruises. In another lifetime, he was abused and battered. Those memories collide with this moment, and I want to scream, but can't force out sound around my shock.
Finally, I ask the obvious question because I don't know what else to say, "You're alive?"
Trystan blinks sleepily at me. "I didn't think you'd come."
I stare at him as if he’d said something absurd. "I thought you were dead!"
Trystan smiles but seems to regret it immediately. His face contorts with pain and his eyes close tight. "I'm afraid the rumors of my demise were greatly exaggerated."
My jaw hangs open and scrapes against the floor. I can barely blink, breathe, or think. Suddenly I'm speaking, no, yelling, and my arms flail wildly as my emotions get the better of me. "Don't you dare start bullshitting me! How could you do this? How could you do this to yourself and me? What other promises have you broken, Trystan? How far are you willing to fall?"
He winces before he opens his eyes. His gaze is intense, consuming, and I'm ensnared, unable to move. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
"I think I do. I was there, remember? I saw your father beat the shit out of you. I saw what he did with your stuff. I saw that you had no home, no food, no bed, no clothes—all because that crazy bastard drowned himself in alcohol every night. You said that wouldn't be you. You promised you would never drink anything, that you wouldn't turn into him, yet here you are."
