Broken Promises (The Secret Life of Trystan Scott #6)

by H. M. Ward

  “Yeah, we get along well.”

  Her face crumples, but she doesn’t look over at me. “That’s good. Sometimes he seems so much like his father.” She says that like it’s a bad thing but doesn’t elaborate.

  The conversation shifts to the wedding and our new plans of having a small gathering with close friends and family only. By the end of the night, I’m exhausted, but I don’t want to stay here. There’s a weird tension in the air.

  Around midnight, I push off of Derrick’s chest. “I think I’m going to head home. Katie should have cooled down by now.”

  “Why don’t you stay?” He kisses my forehead and pushes my hair out of my face.

  Jared groans and covers his face with a pillow. “Don’t make out in front of me. I’ll have to burn my eyes out, and no one wants anything to happen to these beautiful babies.” He drops the pillow and blinks at his brother. Jared is sitting across from us on a beat up chair.

  Derrick puts a hand behind my neck and pulls me in hard, crushing his mouth on mine and leaning me back into the couch. I fight him, because I don’t like kissing in front of other people, and Jared is hard to swallow on a good day. I smack his chest with my hands, pushing him back.

  His lips are locked on mine as he crushes me with his body. I squeal and shove him hard. He doesn’t stop until his mother is in the doorway. Derrick gets a sheepish look on his face, sits up, and grins.

  I shove him. “You can be an asshole sometimes, you know that?” Jared brings out the worst in Derrick. It's as if the two of them are constantly trying to one-up each other on the dick scale.

  Before Derrick can reply, his mom is standing next to me. “It was lovely meeting you.” She leans in and gives me a hug, and whispers in my ear, “He really adores you.” When she pulls away, her hands are on my shoulders, and she walks me to the door with Derrick following.

  He holds the door open and lets me pass through, then walks me to my car. “Sorry, I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “Well, I did.” My arms are folded tight over my chest, and my fists are shoved into the crooks of my elbows.

  “Got it. I won’t try to kiss you again.” He sounds pissed.

  “Derrick, don’t be like that. You know I don’t like having an audience, so don’t make me.”

  He nods. “Right, sorry. I mean it. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.” He’s sincere and charming, but something feels off. It’s nothing huge, just this little sensation in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know why it’s there. Guys can be assholes, and everyone knows when two guys are together, their assyness increases. But they pretty much attacked their mom tonight, and she didn’t fight back. It’s like her spine was sucked from her body. She morphed from one woman into another, and then back again.

  Maybe she’s going through something.

  “Love you, babe. Be careful driving home. Call me when you get there, okay?”

  I agree, and I’m pulling away, thinking about everything and not specifically thinking about anything. I drive past my exit and don’t realize where I’m going until I’m entering the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel. The yellow lights whoosh by as I enter Manhattan around 2 am. I find a place to park at the end of the block and head toward his building. I stop in front of the glass doors and stare. I want to talk to someone. Katie’s mad at me and that leaves Dad or Trystan.

  I shouldn’t be here. He’s a guy. I’m getting married. Shouldn’t I be talking to Derrick about this? I would, but since it’s about him and his mom, I can’t. I’m not going to Dad. Although he’s tried to fix things between us, he’s still a novice on the parental card. I think about it for another second and turn away. I can’t bother him in the middle of the night about another guy. That seems wrong to me.

  It shouldn’t.

  But it does.

  I slam into a hard chest and splay my hands on a worn leather jacket, and pry my body away. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Mari? What’s wrong?” Trystan is standing in front of me with tousled hair and rosy cheeks. His gray shirt is sticking out from under his jacket, and I can see the seams. It’s inside out. He was with someone.

  My bottom lip curls down and my lower eyelids fill with tears. Before I can speak, his arms are around my shoulders, and we’re walking inside. “Mari, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

  I shake my head and silently cry on his shoulder. When we’re in his penthouse, we pass the foyer and head straight to the couch. He sits me down and by the way he’s acting, you’d think there was nothing wrong with him. You’d have no idea his eyes betrayed him just like everything else in his life. Trystan crouches in front of me, his hands on my knees, and he’s looking at me from the side of his eyes.

  “Don’t cry, Mari. Talk to me.”

  “Why are you so great? Compared to you, my problems seem like nothing, and yet you drop all your worries to help me. I didn’t even have to ask.” My voice is soft and scratchy. I blink rapidly, trying to hold back tears.

  He’s looking at me, and that gaze bores into me. For once, I’m not afraid. I let it. His hands find mine, and he rubs his thumb along the back of my hand, looking into my eyes like he can see my soul. The corner of his lips pulls up. “You never have to ask.”

  “Why? Why do you know what to do and what to say to me? You always know, and he doesn’t. Katie doesn’t. No one understands me the way you do, and being here makes me feel guilty.” All the thoughts merge and come out as one sentence with a single rush of air. I try to lower my head, but Trystan leans in closer, and I end up pressing my forehead to his.

  “I think you know why and I’m just glad it’s there. I can still see the shape of your face, but I can’t read your eyes anymore. If I touch you, I can feel your thoughts. I know what you’re feeling. I don’t know why I have that with you, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. You shouldn’t feel guilty for having a friend.” He squeezes my hand and pulls away, moving to sit on the couch next to me.

  “That’s not what I mean. I can’t be here and dump this on you. I don’t even know what we are…” the question hangs in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled. I shouldn’t have said that. My jaw twitches and before I can bite it back, the question is out of my mouth. “Do you still care about me?”

  Trystan is still, barely breathing. We’re not touching, not invading each other's thoughts. I’ll only know the answer to this if he chooses to tell me. The silence stretches on until all the hairs on my body are standing on end.

  I stand, ready to run out, but Trystan is up and grabs my wrist. He pulls me back to him roughly and puts his other hand on my face and threads his fingers through my hair. “Why are you asking this now? What happened?”

  “Nothing. I don’t know.” Tears slip out of my eyes without my consent and roll down my cheeks. “I shouldn’t be here.”

  “You keep saying that like something bad is going to happen if you stay. Are you afraid of me?” His voice trails up as he asks as if he’s surprised. My lips part but I can’t answer him. My heart pounds like I’m going to die and I’m trembling. Fear is racing through my veins and making me act like someone else. He drops his hands and steps away with a hurt look on his face. “I see.”

  “Don’t do this to me, not now.” My neck is so tight I can’t swallow, and I feel close to having a full-blown panic attack.

  “I’m not the one doing it, you are.” He steps away, and walks to the kitchen. He grabs a glass from the cabinet and a bottle of water from the fridge. He fills it and walks back to me. “Here, calm down. Try to trust me. I won’t hurt you, Mari. You’re safe. I promise.”

  I take the water, chug it, and then hold it between us, like it can prevent me from feeling any of this. Trystan keeps his distance but doesn’t sit. We’re both standing a few feet from each other, neither of us speaking. I wish he’d step closer. I wish he’d wrap his arms around me and let me cry until I fall asleep.

  “Thank you.” My voice is weak, nervous.

  Trystan is watching m
e, and it doesn’t matter that he can no longer see me because it feels like he can see through me. He takes a few steps, closes the distance, and takes the glass from my hand. He sets it down on the coffee table and swallows hard. He opens his arms wide and stands there, waiting for me. “Of course. Come here. Cry, get it out of your system, and we can talk tomorrow.”

  I’m frozen in place. I should be able to go to him. I want to, but my feet won’t move. The longer Trystan stands there, the lower his arms move. They inch down little by little until it’s clear I’m not taking his comfort. My skin feels like ice, and I want his hands on my arms to thaw me. I want to drop my defenses and see what’s left of the girl I was, because I felt like she died with my mother, but when I’m around Trystan I’m not so certain.

  When I fail to move, Trystan turns around abruptly. He sits, pulls off his boots, and shucks his leather jacket, leaving it on the couch. “I’ll show you the guest bedroom. You can sleep there and take a shower. You’ll feel better in the morning. I promise.” He pads down the hallway and opens a closet, grabbing an extra pillow and blanket, before opening a door that leads to a room with a queen bed at the center and dark wood furniture all around. The floor is hand-scraped hardwood in wide, dark planks, and next to the bed is a white shaggy rug. The room looks new, untouched. Trystan puts the things on the bed. “The shower is through there. Oh, hold on.” He disappears for a moment, and when he returns, he has a pair of flannel pajamas.

  He puts them on the bed and tells me, “These should fit and they’re really comfortable. I’m going to head out—”

  I don’t let him finish. I walk up behind him and act on the impulse floating through my mind. I hold onto that toned arm and press my body against his, wrapping my arms around his back. I hold on tight like the world is floating away, and he’s my rock.

  Trystan hesitates, but his arms finally wrap around me. He tucks his chin, so I’m nestled under it and against his chest. His heart pounds faster and faster, as his arms cover with goose bumps. He holds me like that for the longest time. I don’t move, and we don’t speak. I breathe in deeply and try to calm down. His scent fills my head as I stare at the seam at his neckline. He’s living his life, loving as he wants, yet I still feel paralyzed by fear. He holds me until the world seems calm once again and I think I can manage to let go. My arms slip from his body, and I step back, ashamed to look at him.

  He catches my chin and lifts my gaze to his face. “You never need to feel like that with me.”

  I know he can’t see me, so I don’t hide my thoughts. I let the bipolar emotions I’m feeling bubble up within me and overflow. The tragedy he’s lived through, the unfairness of it all can send me into a blind rage if I fixate on it. His father hated him, his mother abandoned him, and everyone close to him has died—save Jon Ferro and me. How is he still standing, smiling, and going on? How did I become so weak in comparison? Why can’t I live as bravely, as independently? When did I get so weak that I need to cry with people and ask for help?

  The pit of my stomach is in a free-fall and I’m barely breathing. My heart beats too loud, and I’m hyperaware of my body, of my breathing. My skin tingles as if covered with ice, and I know his touch will thaw me. I know his lips are soft, and his arms are strong. I feel caught in the undertow, drowning, but a pair of blue eyes and strong hands pulls me to shore. I’ve lost myself, and I didn’t even know until Trystan came around again.

  I’m not the woman I want to be, and I don’t know how to backtrack to find her.

  The pressure in my chest builds as I stare at the smoothness of his lips, and the dark stubble around his mouth. He was with someone. His lips are still swollen and so very pink. His cheeks flush and his breathing is shallow and quick. Does he feel this? Does he know what this is? Because I don’t.

  Without warning, Trystan steps away, once then twice. The distance between us puts so much tension on my heart it feels like it’ll break. His lips part and he releases a rush of air before dropping his head. Trystan stares at the floor and runs his hands along the side of his head and then down his neck. He stays like that, for a moment, and when he looks up, I get that fake smile. “I need to get some sleep. So do you. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Without another word, he’s gone.

  Chapter 35

  Trystan

  I’d rather rip my heart out my chest and feed it to a dog than live like this. Mari walks up to me thinking I can’t see jack shit, but I can. I can make out the curve of her mouth and the slope of her cheek. Even if I couldn’t, I can still feel her thoughts barraging me in an endless stream.

  Something set her off tonight, first with Katie and then again with Derrick. No one is good enough for Mari, so I didn’t say anything, but maybe I should. No, I can’t do that to her. She’s finally happy. She found someone. I can’t say that I haven’t been trying to move on, I am.

  I was with this woman who had it all, amazing voice, great curves, gorgeous breasts, and a brain—and when we were half naked, I felt so guilty I blew her off and walked away. I made my decision, so what the hell is wrong with me?

  Fuck it. I need a cold shower and to raid the fridge. I peel off my shirt, toss it aside, and pad into the bathroom in my jeans. I turn on the shower with the remote, thankful the crazy designer insisted on this particular unit. It has eight jets, all with custom controls that can adjust anything from the temperature to the flow of water. It’s amazing. And I can talk to it if I want to change a setting, which is a lifesaver.

  “Eighty degrees, steam on.” The control panel on the shower beeps after accepting the command and the water comes on.

  After tossing my jeans and boxers, I step into the steam and put myself directly beneath the stream. I shiver as it bounces off my body, chilling me. I put my arm on the wall and lean forward, placing my head on my wrist, letting the water roll off my body. The warm air and the cold water is a combo that is refreshing and puts my nerves at ease.

  The shower turns off, and I grab my towel. I wrap it around my waist, enjoying the heated warmth around my hips. I should probably grab a robe, but Mari should have passed out already. I chance it and hurry to the kitchen, grab a bottle of Coke and handful of Blow Pops. When I turn around, I see her standing in the doorway, blocking my exit. Damn.

  My hair is dripping water into my eyes, and she just stands there, silent. I can see the baggy shape of the pajama shirt on her curvy bottom, and it's really clear that she skipped the pants. Those legs. Dear God. The curve of her calf all the way up to the top of her thighs is outlined in light. I remember holding her there, pulling her to me, and pushing inside of her. Shit, stop it. You’re wearing a towel, and she’s not blind.

  I turn toward the counter and think of something that’ll make it less obvious that I’m thinking about her in a non-friendly way. “Mari, what do you need?” My voice is too high. Jesus, she’s going to notice.

  Her voice comes from over my shoulder. She’s stepped into the kitchen. Dear God, don’t come closer. I don’t know how many times I can avoid kissing her in one night. I’m not going to be that guy—the one who ruins a relationship and turns a great girl into a cheater. I have to hold it together and keep her away.

  “I wanted some milk. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Her voice is so soft, so warm. It’s like a caress, and I miss it so much. I’m like a junkie with her—there’s never enough.

  “Yeah, there are a few bottles in the fridge—in the drink drawer.”

  She pads past me. “Thanks. I’ll grab this and get out of your way. Nice dinner, by the way. Blow Pops and soda. Are you five or something?” She has a smile in her voice.

  I turn toward her and smirk. “Dinner of champions. Besides, I’m feeling a little nostalgic tonight.”

  “Me too.”

  No. Say no. Be an asshole and push her away. I’m not doing this to her. She has to go back to Derrick. I change the subject abruptly. “I need to get to bed. I’m supposed to meet someone in the morning. The
woman that claims to be my mother is coming to brunch. I need to look halfway decent.”

  “Wow, you called her?” She sounds surprised.

  “Yeah, last week. We set up a time to meet, no expectations, just a meeting. I’m going to see what she’s like. I’ve always wondered about her.” I hide the hopeful look on my face and bury my chin in my chest before I remember I’m wearing a towel. Right, I need to get past her and back to my room. “Stick around as long as you want tomorrow. I’ve got to be up pretty early.”

  “Right. Good luck, Trystan. I wish I could say something that would make it go amazingly. I hope she’s everything you hoped for.”

  As I pass by, I’m pulled to her. I have to rip my guts out to keep walking. My pulse is hammering in my head as I pad back down the hallway to my room. I need to be more careful. Something has made her think she’s fragile, but I know her—she’s not. It feels like we’re skirting a bomb, waiting for it to explode.

  I need to talk to Mari and make sure she’s okay, but now isn’t the time to do it. She’s too emotional, and I’m too smitten. A hug will turn into more and I can’t do that to her. She’d never forgive herself if she cheated.

  First, I have to meet my mother. Then help Mari. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.

  Chapter 36

  Trystan

  It takes a long time to master the nondescript hobo look, but after nearly a decade, I’ve got it down. No logos, nothing with distinguishing characteristics, sunglasses, ball cap, and clothes so faded they no longer belong to a specific color spectrum. For example, I beat the shit out of this ball cap after ripping the Yankees emblem off. I washed it in bleach, transforming the once navy blue cap to a slate blue that’s easily confused with gray.

  I tuck my hair under the hat and slide a pair of mirrored sunglasses on my face. I forgo my leather jacket and instead grab a beige hoodie from Goodwill with bleach splatters at the cuffs. Coupled with a plain pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, I look like any other guy walking the city streets this afternoon. Scratch that. I look like any other man walking the city streets working for the sanitation department or perfecting his aptitude for becoming homeless. The only people who don’t work in this city are socialites. Although I never had to beg, I consider it work. Being reduced to a shadow of a human being, someone who can’t even afford to eat, humbling himself enough to ask a stranger for spare change—I’d rather starve, but at some point I would have done it. If Sam, the guy who owned the deli, hadn't given me a job while I was in high school, I would have been screwed. There were times I came close to asking for a handout, but I never hit that point. For that, I’m glad, but at the same time I've experienced what it feels like to have nothing, to go to bed hungry and to wake up starving. I remember being cold because we had no blankets and no heat. I’ve spent nights in the dark because the electricity was shut off, and there were nights I spent outside because I couldn’t risk being around Dad. When times got tough, he had a tendency to blame me, and his fists quickly reminded me of the burden I was.