by H. M. Ward
“You ended up at his place, right?” I nod, not seeing where this is going. “How’d that happen?”
“I don’t know," I say, thinking about the lack of parking, followed by the rule-following cop, and finally Trystan pulling out of the parking lot at just the right time. "It was weird, like fate made it impossible to walk away.”
Katie lifts a brow and tips her head to the side. “You don’t believe in fate.”
“No, but last night was different. It was like a series of events lined up to prevent any other outcome.” I’m squirming inside. She hasn’t asked, and I haven't mentioned feeling that same strange connection with Trystan even stronger than before.
“What about your Trystan clone? Derrick?”
“Stop calling him that. He’s not like Trystan at all.”
“Of course he’s not—they just look like brothers. You don’t have issues.” Katie turns around and places her cup in the sink. She’s a little more direct than usual, probably because she’s emotionally raw.
“I'm ready to tell Derrick about Trystan, though. It’s time he knew.”
Katie leans against the counter and folds her arms over her chest. “Oh, he knows already.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mari, I knew you spent the night at Trystan's penthouse before you got here. Look.” She turns up the volume on the TV that’s been silently glowing in the corner of the kitchen.
They’re showing pictures of me with the caption: TRYSTAN SCOTT’S LATEST CONQUEST.
Chapter 18
Mari
I blink at the screen, ready to totally flip out. Katie points the remote at the screen and changes the channel. “Don’t freak out, yet. That one runs on smut titles. Most of them are inferring you’re an item. See?” She stops at another station. The host is a young twenty-year-old blonde with a high-pitched voice better suited for a pre-K classroom than the news.
“And it appears rock legend Trystan Scott has become seriously involved with this young woman seen leaving his New York City penthouse early this morning. Scott’s chauffeur helped her navigate the press without speaking, leaving us all wondering,” the woman looks directly at the camera, “Was this public display intentional? It’s rare to see a woman leaving Trystan Scott's Manhattan penthouse.”
The other co-host bursts in, “Rare? It’s like seeing Santa Claus having brunch with the Easter Bunny. We’re in new territory, Lisa. Is it possible this bad boy is finally serious about someone?”
“It appears so, Todd—” her voice vanishes as Katie hits the power button, plunging the room into silence.
“So, what are the odds that Derrick watches the morning news?”
“I didn’t have sex with him! I didn’t cheat on Derrick! And I didn’t—awh, crap!” I can’t even make words anymore. Garbled noises flow freely from my mouth.
Katie walks over to me and puts a hand on my back. “You’re losing it, Mari. Use your words, honey. Come on.”
I’m pacing, circling, pulling at my hair and sputtering half thoughts. “He’ll see it!”
“Yeah, he will. The question is what are you going to do about it? Mari, this isn’t horrible. You’re not an asshole. Trystan lost his best friend. You’re his only friend left that goes back that far, possibly his only friend at all. What were you supposed to do? Leave him alone to jump off his terrace? Everyone knows Trystan’s been acting out. You were a friend last night.”
“But the press! H--”
“The press doesn’t know what the fuck they saw. If Derrick loves you—and I hate to admit this, but I think he does—he’ll believe you. And if he doesn't, then he’s the asswipe I've always claimed he is.” She smiles at me like Mr. Potato Head. “See? No problem.”
I manage to pull it together and wonder how she’s so strong. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be dumping this on you now.”
She swats a hand at me. “Please, dump. It gives me something to think about.” Katie presses her lips together, and her voice drops. She picks at her nails and swallows hard. “That’s why I want you to stay here tonight. When it gets quiet, my mind wanders to his last minutes, and I can’t stand to think about him dying like that—that he knew.” Her eyes are glassy, and she forces a smile. “If we talk about things I can take longer to let it sink in, you know? It doesn’t change anything, but it’ll give me more time and make it a little less painful.”
The lump in my throat is the size of a melon. I can’t fathom what she’s going through. Losing my mom was hard, but this has to be so much worse. Katie thought she'd share a life with Seth, babies and lots of years together. Instead, it was all ripped away.
“Well,” I walk over to her and bump my shoulder into hers, “it’s a good thing my life is so screwed up. I can keep you talking about other things for as long as you want.”
She nods a few times and looks over at me with tears in her eyes. “I thought we’d have a fat baby Seth or Katie. We'd even picked out names, you know? How can I let that go?” Katie’s bottom lip quivers as tears stream down her cheeks. “I didn't just lose Seth last night, I lost all our dreams, too. What am I going to do?”
I don’t know what to say, so I wrap my arms around her and hold on tight. Katie sobs against me and I feel the tears rolling down my cheeks. I wish I could take her pain away. I wish I could fast-forward to a year from now, so she doesn’t have to endure this, but I can’t. “We’ll figure it out.”
Chapter 19
Mari
My heart feels full of lead. The weight of Seth’s death, Katie’s pain, and Trystan’s whatever that was all pull at my heartstrings so violently I think my chest may rupture. I know I carry things too close to my heart. I take on other people’s pain as if it were my own. Coupled with my personal grief and suffering, it becomes too much. I know I’m headed to a dark place, so I need to batten down the hatches and hold on tight. I have to be there for Katie. Not only was she there for me when Mom died, but she was there for me when Trystan left me heartbroken, and when I threw myself into medical school, and during my residency from hell. She encouraged me when I decided to change back to pre-med in college, and didn’t judge me for ditching my new art path. She didn’t tease me the way Dad did, either. Katie’s always been there to put a smile on my face, and I am going to be there for her.
It took a lot of arguing with Dad to get the rest of the week off, but he finally caved when I started shouting. Family drama in the middle of the ER is his idea of a nightmare. Chaos and public spectacles overload his senses. I understand that I torched any favors he owed me by calling in all my chips now. With all the crap in the press about me being with Trystan, he wants to disown me, but he won’t. Part of his pride dwells in me being a kickass doctor. Pride is a double-edged sword, and I’ve learned to swing it both ways to get what I need.
When our conversation flips to Trystan, I cut him off at the knees. “You set that ball in motion when you called me to work at your whim, and if you don’t want your name in the press, then drop it. Nothing happened. Nothing will happen. I’m not seeing him. I’m dating Derrick. End of story.” I think I growled the last few sentences. It worked, though, because he did drop it.
The next person to handle is Derrick—and the "my ex-boyfriend is a mega rock star" conversation never goes well. It has to be in person, so I head over to our favorite spot to have lunch at Villagio. The little Italian restaurant is quiet—so he can’t throw a fit—and it overlooks Central Park. I love the Park and the trees. I’m not a hippie, but there’s something about trees that makes me feel steady. They’ve been here longer than me and will be here long after. They’ve endured seasons of change, wild weather, and they’re still standing strong. I want to be a tree.
Wow, random thought. Okay, I’m too tired to do this. I’d postpone it, except for the fact that I think the press will figure out who I am, where I live, and make my life hell. They may piece together that I’m the girl from his high school by the end of the week, and then there will be no more secret
s to keep. No, I need to tell him now.
Derrick walks in as if on cue and glances to the corner where we usually sit. “Hey, babe.” He waves at the maître d' as he strides toward me, kissing me on the cheek before sitting down at our little table.
“Hi.” My voice doesn’t come out right.
Derrick sits across from me and his dark bushy eyebrows meet. “What’s the matter? Are you okay?”
Before I can reply, the waiter comes over. “The usual?” We eat here at least twice a week. I’m in love with their ravioli and manicotti.
I nod and Derrick answers for us. “Yes, that’d be great.”
The waiter takes the menus and disappears into the back. The restaurant has a few people here, but it’s not bursting at the seams. My gaze wanders to the park and into the trees. The wind ruffles the canopy of leaves and a few drift to the ground.
“Mari, what’s going on? You look beat.” Derrick picks up the glass of wine I ordered before he arrived and takes a swig. He’s not a sipper.
“I need to tell you something possibly unpleasant.”
His lips curl up, and he laughs. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
I hate it when he does that. “It’s not nothing.”
“Unless you had a random hookup last night, I’m sure it’s nothing. You always think every little thing is going to break us up, Mari. Have some faith in me. Now, come on and tell Derrick what’s wrong.” As he speaks, he picks up a piece of bread, dipping it in the oil and spices on the white plate between us.
Band-aid. Rip this sucker off in one yank. I don’t like that Derrick thinks it's nothing, that he’s not braced for it, but his ego is too big to accept that some things may faze him.
I clear my throat and glance out the window. “A long time ago, I dated someone. Last night he was in a car wreck and visited the emergency room.”
“Was the asshole drinking? I know how much you hate that.” He smirks, as if this is funny, dips the rest of his bread and shoves it in his mouth.
“Derrick, please let me finish.” He holds up his hand and leans back into his chair. I glance around at the other couples enjoying their lunches. I’ve done this before and with some guys it doesn’t matter that we are in a public place—they still flip out. No one wants to be compared to Trystan Scott. It creates an ego issue the size of the Titanic.
“Tell me, babe.” He prods when I’ve been quiet for too long.
I take a deep breath and dive in. “You know I’ve known Katie and Seth since high school, right? Well, I’ve known this guy that long, too. We were all friends a long time ago. Anyway, when I left the ER I discovered my car had been towed, so this guy gave me a ride. I was going to go home, but it became obvious he didn’t know about Seth, so I decided to wait for the confirmation with him.”
Derrick's smile slowly falls off his face as I list the events of the night. His arms fold across his chest, becoming tighter and tighter. It’s obvious by now I’m intentionally not saying this guy’s name. Derrick isn’t a total ass, so he asks about Katie and Seth. “Is he all right? Seth, I mean? I know Katie will be devastated if something happens to him.”
I glance away blinking rapidly and feeling tears spring into my eyes. “He didn’t make it.”
“Oh, God. Babe, I’m so sorry.”
I nod and keep going. “Thanks, but that’s not the end of the story. I stayed with the guy until we heard from Katie. I left early this morning and ran into some cameras. They took my picture, and it’s only a matter of time until they figure out my identity. I wanted to tell you before now, but from experience, guys act weird when they realize my ex is famous.”
His arms drop and he leans forward as he says, “Famous? You dated a celebrity?” He scoots closer, laughing, not taking this seriously. I’m sure he thinks that the guy is a micro star, someone he can ridicule and tease me about later. This reaction always leads to a yelling mess I can’t fix.
“It was a long a time ago before he was famous. We were kids.” I shrug and glance to the side when I see the waiter coming with our food.
He serves me first and then Derrick. Each plate is beautifully pristine and smells wonderful, but I’m suddenly not hungry. Derrick makes small talk, complimenting the dishes, and when our waiter leaves, he leans in and teases, “Well, spit it out. Tell me the name of this long lost lover I should be so worried about.” Derrick cuts his steak and shoves a piece in his mouth.
“No, you’re right,” I’m taking this in a different direction. I refuse to let this blow out of proportion and at the rate I’m going, we aren’t going to be able to come back here. “He’s not important.” Or he wasn’t important to me until last night. Or maybe before that. I have no idea. I stare at the ravioli thinking they look like little pillows and wish I could put my head down on the table.
“Then spill, Mari. If the guy doesn’t matter, tell me. Unless you’re ashamed you did one of those Hollywood pussies. If that’s the case, it’s okay. We all did stupid things when we were younger.” He winks at me and bites off another piece of steak.
The belittling comments piss me off, but I knew he’d be like this, so I tread carefully. “How’s your steak?”
“Excellent, as always. Come on, tell me his name. That’s why you wanted to come here, right? You thought I’d go batshit crazy when I heard you had some Hollywood asshole as a boyfriend five years ago?”
“It’s more like ten years ago. Almost.”
His smile drops. “Almost?”
“Yeah, it was nine years ago, ten in the summer.”
“You keep track?”
“Not really. It’s just bookmarked in my brain because I changed my major to pre-med after we broke up.”
He puts his fork and knife down, and then reaches for my hand. “This is obviously important to you. I’m all ears.”
“I don’t want you to be mad. I didn’t tell you in the beginning because I didn’t know how this would turn out, and—”
“Mari, you don’t have to sugarcoat it for me. Just tell me.” He sounds so open, so sincere that I let the name slip off my tongue.
“Trystan. Trystan Scott.”
His fingers slip from mine, and he gets that look in his eyes. His head tips to the side as his jaw drops the tiniest bit. That’s the look—the verbal ball-kick. Shit. He’s going to come out swinging.
Derrick picks up his glass of wine, swallows the rest of it, and places it back on the table. He licks his lips, and one eye goes squinty as he tries to fathom this. “You dated Trystan Scott, the musician? As in the guy Forbes claimed earned 600 million dollars this year? That guy? That’s your ex?”
Crap, crap, crap. “Derrick, he wasn't making big money while we dated.”
“You dated him when he had nothing, so you’re like thick as thieves, right?” he shakes his head like I betrayed him. “And Katie knew? She never said anything, and she knew. Unbelievable.”
“Katie dropped hints the size of the Hindenburg on a daily basis, and even if she should have said something to you, now isn't the time to remind her.” I’m suddenly playing defense for Katie.
Anger ignites across Derrick's face. “So, what then? Should I have guessed you dated the biggest pussy-hunter around? That asshole is a player and always has been. How the hell did you fall into his bed?”
His words feel like a slap in my face. “What, because Trystan Scott couldn’t possibly want someone like me? What the fuck, Derrick? Is that really what you’re leading with?”
“Yeah, Mari, that’s what the guy who’s been with you for months says when you drop a shit-bomb the size of a nuke on him. I thought we were serious. I thought we weren’t keeping secrets like this, and you know what? The worst part is this.” He pulls something out of his pocket and slams it on the table so hard that it bounces. I hear a clink as it falls to the floor and skids under a table. “I never saw it coming.”
He shakes his head, muttering to himself, drops a hundred dollar bill on the table and walks out.
The waiters watch in horror, as do the other customers. I’ve sat through this enough times that I no longer hide under the table afterward. I just gather my things and get ready to go. That’s when the manager comes over and picks up whatever Derrick threw at me. He walks over, looking like he wishes he were anywhere else.
“Signorina, I believe this was meant for you.” He places a ring on the white tablecloth and backs away.
It feels like someone is stepping on my throat when I lift the ring. It’s a platinum band with a satin finish. There’s a single stone—a princess-cut diamond—in the center.
Derrick was going to ask me to marry him.
Chapter 20
Trystan
“Your story is fucked up,” Jonathan Ferro says from the end of my couch. He's slouched against the pillows with his hands tucked behind his head. Jon’s been my best friend for years and stayed that way. As a Ferro family member, Jon understands what it’s like to be in the limelight, to have the world constantly judging you. It's been an easy friendship, especially before Bryan Ferro died. The three of us would tear up the town clubbing or hop on a jet and hit Vegas—you name it, the three of us were together. It's been harder to enjoy life since Bryan died, but his death has only solidified my friendship with Jon.
I’m at the bar grabbing a drink, but now that the scotch is in my hand I don’t want it anymore. I stare at the glass, swirling the amber liquid around for a moment, then abandon it. Sitting down across from Jon on a wood and leather chair, I nod and slouch back into the cushion. "Tell me something I don't know.”
“Do you know that you're completely and totally—beyond a shadow of a doubt—utterly pussy-whipped? Because I don’t think you took that into consideration at all.”
“Fuck off, Jon. Now's not the time.”
“When will be the right time? Five years ago, you did this thing for days where you stared at that shitty old phone wondering if you should call her.”
