He was in a small house. So small that there was just one bedroom and a kitchen and a couch. The house smelled awful and was so cold. Dark and cold. There was a single light on in the bedroom, but it was so dim that it didn’t reach this far out into the house. Tristan felt small…younger. He could hear the faintest sounds coming from the bedroom…they sounded like a lullaby. Like someone singing. Tristan knew that voice. Knew who it was. He started walking towards it and could feel the dread creeping across his skin. He shouldn’t go in there. He was told not to. Supposed to stay outside.
Tristan snapped himself out of the memory, aware that he was in his own apartment. He’d broken out in a cold sweat and was shivering lying in his bed, all the covers on the floor. He tried to take a deep breath, but his lungs protested and he sputtered a few times and coughed. His eyes hurt, his head started to pound, and the pain was spreading across his body, engulfing every one of his limbs.
Tristan knew this was a panic attack, brought on by a memory trigger, since that was normal for him as of late. But this was a new image, a new waking nightmare for him. One that hadn’t been there when he was in the hospital. Everything focused around the severe manic episode he’d had when Valerie was hurt, and that was it.
He’d spoken with his therapist about his night at Club Red and the nightmares surrounding it; they’d even brought in a specialist that was familiar with BDSM relationships to work out those issues. He was told that someday he would make peace with himself, for he was in a manic state and was operating his body under abnormal circumstances. A God-like complex had taken over him, and he’d become obsessed with wielding power. He didn’t mean to hurt her; it was an accident. Tristan could remember a bit of vengeance seeping through him, too, but it was all so faint, and he didn’t know where it came from, or why it was there.
Tristan again tried to pull a deep breath into his lungs, but his shoulders shook as he tried this time, and he wheezed again. His chest felt like it was on fire, his heart was racing like a freight train. Every part of his body hurt…his head felt like it was being squeezed in a vice, and he pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to make it stop.
When he was in the psychiatric center and he would have a panic attack like this, they would give him a half dose of sedative to calm his nerves. His shrink had told him that was dangerous, because it could trigger a simultaneous manic episode, even when he was in the middle of a depressive episode. It was possible for both of them to happen together in some bi-polar patients. So, Tristan decided that he didn’t want to take that chance and had found different ways to divert his attentions.
One method that he found while at the center was writing music; he’d started writing a song during his stay at the center. When he was alone in his room he had worked on it a lot, humming different melodies with it. Once he was assigned a roommate the last week of his stay, he had stopped working on the song, and had spent time actually talking with Joe about life, hopes, dreams, and everything in between. It was good to have someone to talk with like that, someone that understood what it was like to have a brain that didn’t operate within normal parameters.
But he was alone again, and song writing was his only option right now. There is no reason to drown out this pain, there is no reason to let it slip away…
Peyton came to his mind, and he immediately thought of a new verse. Just give me…a reason to try, Just give me…your own reason why, Just say that you see me, Without all the pain, Just say that you see me, And that it wasn’t in vain…
The creativity flowed out of him, and his new muse created a whole new part to the song. One that wasn’t tortured and hopeless. Peyton had brought a bit of color back into his world, and with it, she brought…hope.
Tristan must have fallen back asleep at some point and woke up to the smell of bacon. It was heavenly and made him groan in pleasure. He was feeling marginally better as he lay flat on his stomach and was clutching his pillow tight. He heard a familiar laugh and then a soft hand brushed his hair out of his eyes.
“Come on sleepyhead, breakfast is ready,” Peyton whispered with a kiss to his temple.
Tristan stretched out and his hand brushed Peyton’s leg as he did so, and without even opening his eyes, he knew that she was sitting next to him on the bed. He quickly wrapped his arms around her waist and held her to him and plopped his head right into her lap. “Sure. Let’s go get some.”
Peyton tried to get up off the bed and assumed that Tristan would let her go. He laughed to himself as he held her firmly to the bed, and she tried several times to get up. Finally she giggled and patted his arm, “You have to let me go at some point. Otherwise, we won’t get anything accomplished today.”
Tristan reluctantly let Peyton loose and then he stretched again, this time popping up to a sitting position in the bed when he was done. It felt good to wake up refreshed after having a panic attack. Usually he woke up nearly paralyzed with emotional and physical pain. This was certainly something new for him.
“I made turkey bacon and egg whites, sweets. You want me to bring yours in here?”
Tristan just shrugged, “Might as well, there isn’t anywhere out there to sit anyway.”
Peyton brought them both breakfast and they ate in silence. She handed him his medication for the morning and he nearly frowned at her. For just a little while, Tristan had believed that Peyton was here as something other than his nurse’s aide. But it seemed like she couldn’t help but constantly fuss over him, and it kind of blew the mood whenever she did it. Not like he had big plans for her this morning or anything, but it was nice to feel comfortable with someone like that again. But, now they were back to business.
“So, you think your stuff is stored somewhere? Where are we going today?”
Tristan’s ex-landlord wasn’t a bad guy, but honestly didn’t have a single ounce of smarts in his entire body. Born to a wealthy family that owned a huge collection of rental properties, he was blessed with the financial backing to run a business, but not any of the actual organizational skills that it required. He also lack the determination, drive, finesse, any of it. He let Tristan move in without a lease and was even lenient with him when he didn’t pay his rent exactly the day it was due. At first, Tristan thought it was because he was a member of the J-View Plastics internal organization, but then he realized that the man was just utterly disorganized and didn’t keep track of when anyone paid him.
“Not sure what else the guy would have done with it. I mean, honestly, I’ve only been gone for two months and some change now. I don’t know that he could have unloaded it all that fast.”
After he had slipped on some jeans over his boxer briefs and pulled on a thermal shirt, Tristan called his ex-landlord. The old guy answered on the first ring and pretended like he couldn’t remember who Tristan was. After the mention that he was Morgan’s nephew, he miraculously remembered. Tristan asked what happened to all of his stuff, and the man stuttered, “I sold it all off to make up for what you owed me. I still haven’t rented the place out yet, and I think that some of your personal belongings might still be in there. If you come clean the rest of your shit up so I can re-rent the place then we’ll call it square.”
Tristan just laughed his answer, knowing full well that he could just go in and take what he wanted and never pick up a fucking piece of trash inside, and the guy still wouldn’t have the guts to come after him for any back rent, even if there was any. Most of the things in his old apartment came from high-end stores, and his big screen television was worth a couple grand alone.
Having to use Morgan’s name to get what he needed left a bad taste in Tristan’s mouth. He needed to do things on his own now; get away from the bad karma that came from working for his uncle. If there was one thing that Tristan knew for sure right now, it was that what goes around, comes around. For every action in life, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
“Well, Peyton, I think I’ve located my missing things. Don’t know how much of it is l
eft, or what is left, but I think that we’ll have a fun filled day sorting through the old Tristan’s shit.” He laughed. “Romantic date, huh?”
Peyton rolled her eyes and then kissed him lightly on the lips, startling him. “Hey, I told you. I’m a simple girl. I don’t need dinners, movies, and all that jazz. As long as we are in the same room and work on getting to know each other a little bit better, I think it’s perfect.”
Tristan was a little shocked that Peyton wasn’t putting up more of a fuss about him saying it was a date, and he called her on it. “You’re cool with this, then? I mean, it doesn’t matter one way or the other to me. I just don’t want to assume and then get kicked in the balls if I try to do more than kiss you some day.”
“Sure, sweets. I mean, it was a strange way for us to meet, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t like you as a person at all. We can work on having a very solid friendship first and then go from there.”
“I don’t know if you know this, but you’re kind of hot,” she teased him as she stood in place and swiveled her upper half from side to side, batting her eyelashes at him.
Tristan couldn’t help but reach out and tap Peyton on the ass, and she just laughed at him as he held the front door open for her. “You’re going to be trouble, I can tell, baby.”
“You must’ve done something really good in a previous life to deserve a shot with a sexpot like me,” she answered as she went bounding down the stairs in front of him, giggling the entire way.
Tristan laughed too, but he had no idea what she meant. But she was right about one thing and that was something that he had already learned in the last week. Karma was an evil mistress; until you are ready to treat her with respect, she will only give you what you deserve. When you decide to treat her right, her bounty you will receive.
Chapter Eleven
“Oh my God, what a frickin’ mess!” Peyton exclaimed as they entered his old apartment. Tristan was right; not all of his belongings were sold off, just the high-end things. The couch, table and chairs, and a few things were left behind. Plus, most all of his clothes were still there.
“Did you want to just take everything back to your apartment? Or are we sorting through it while we pack it up?”
“Honestly, I was a clothes’ whore. I have a shitload of stuff that I hardly ever wore. I think we should do like a keep, throw, and donate pile.”
“That works.” Peyton grabbed the box of garbage bags they brought along, and started throwing away the obvious junk. She was making a clearing in the middle of the living room for them to work in. As Tristan headed into the bedroom to work, he heard the clang of dishes banging together in the kitchen.
“Hey, Pey? Why don’t you help me in here,” Tristan yelled down the hall.
Peyton came into the bedroom, “You bellowed?”
Tristan rolled his eyes and smiled at her, but didn’t miss a beat, “All the stuff that’s in this closet can be donated for sure.”
The entire thing was full of name brand clothes, including a collection of Ralph Lauren polos that still had the tags on them. There was even a collection of brand new suits that he’d never worn, but Morgan had dictated that he needed to have them for special assignments. Tristan was lucky that he never had to find out what the special assignments were.
Peyton just started packing the things he’d asked, never even batting an eyelash. It almost seemed to Tristan that she was more comfortable when she was serving others and didn’t have to take the lead. But he still didn’t want her to feel like he was ordering her around, so he clarified, “That was really shitty of me to boss you around like that. I’m sorry, baby.”
She didn’t stop working, and shrugged, but didn’t verbally answer him either, which was odd. He dropped the stuff that he was sorting through and walked to her. When he turned her around, she was smiling a sad smile, and he knew that he was the cause of it. She was staring at his chest, and her eyes were glassy. Tristan held her chin in his hand and made her lift her eyes to him. “I really am sorry I did that, Peyton.”
She nodded and then sniffled, and it damn near broke his heart. She said in a very quiet voice, “I know. Bad memories is all.”
Tristan frowned and narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”
Peyton swallowed stiffly, her throat muscles working against her skin as she obviously tried to stifle her tears. “Pey isn’t exactly a nickname that makes me feel good, Tristan. But you didn’t know.”
Tristan wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his embrace. “Oh, baby. I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”
He wasn’t sure that he would be able to handle hearing her talk about someone hurting her, whether it was emotionally or physically. Either way, he would handle it. There was very little he knew about her past, and if it was difficult, then at least they would have something else in common.
Tristan was hoping that she would open up to him and talk to him, but she didn’t answer. She just moved her face from side to side against his chest, shaking her head no.
“Okay,” he kissed her hair and let go of her. “Let me try this again. Peyton, could you please help me in here? I don’t cook, so the stuff you were sorting in the kitchen is just mismatched crap and doesn’t even work. I would say that most of it can be thrown. Maybe there are a few things that we can donate to a woman’s shelter or something.”
Peyton smiled and wiped at her eyes. “Sure thing, sweets. Sorry about that.”
“Don’t apologize for being who you are, Peyton Bauer. I think you’re damn near perfect this way.” Tristan gave her a chaste kiss and could taste the lingering saltiness from the tears on her lips.
“Thanks, Tristan. I needed that,” she said with a smile.
The pair worked in harmony for most of the day, sorting, cleaning, and packing. It was well after lunchtime when they finally stopped. They stood in the kitchen, sharing a grilled chicken sandwich from the deli up the road, admiring their hard work. The entire place had been packed up and all that was left behind were mountains and mountains of garbage bags in various areas. Now they just had to figure out how to get everything out of here.
Peyton sighed and curled up against Tristan’s side, nestling her head against his shoulder. Not used to being touched all the time, he awkwardly responded by lifting his arm up, and bumped her chin as he did so. She giggled, but still nestled into his side and wrapped her arms around his waist. Pulling her into him tightly, Tristan mimicked her sigh as he turned to kiss her hair.
“Well, sweets, how are we going to move all this crap? I just have my car, and I don’t know anyone that owns a pick-up. It will take us a lot of trips to get this stuff hauled away.”
Tristan had been thinking the same thing, but he was working on one thing at a time. “My so-called friends from my pre-manic explosion have all disappeared, so I really don’t have any buddies to call. I bet I could get a truck from Morgan, but it would come at a really fucking high price, I’m sure.”
Peyton snapped her fingers together and said, “Got it! Chris and Sara have an SUV. We could ask if we could borrow it. Plus, it would do you some good to sit down and get to know him a bit better.”
Tristan gave her a quick squeeze, “You’re kind of pushy, you know that?
Peyton just laughed, but her infectious smile continued as she said, “Sara is a good person and I would love to spend more time with her. Oooh! I could make dinner at my place! Or we could have a picnic somewhere!” She had pulled out of Tristan’s arms and was bouncing up and down on the heels of her feet.
“Whoa, whoa, baby,” Tristan laughed. “That’s too much work. How about we take a case of Corona over there one night? We don’t have to have a meal with them.”
Peyton looked absolutely adorable when she pouted and lowered her head. Tristan huffed, but used his fingers to tip her face up so he could see it. “It was a sweet gesture, but really, it isn’t necessary.”
She casually shrugged, “I know, but I don’t get to cook very
often. Growing up, my mother was always sick, and I had to take care of my brothers. So, I had to know how to cook big meals.”
“Where is your family now?” Tristan asked quickly.
“My mom passed away a few years ago, and my brothers are both in the service. I really never get to see either one of them very often. They don’t even come home on leave anymore.”
“Oh God, I’m sorry, baby. That was insensitive of me.” Tristan reached for her, but she stepped back with a sorrowful smile on her face. Tristan frowned at her, but she told him, “Oh, don’t be sorry. I’ve come to terms with her passing. She was very sick with brain cancer and is in a better place now.”
“Good attitude, baby. But I wasn’t frowning because of your mom. Well, I mean, I was and I wasn’t. I was more frowning because you backed away from me when I tried to comfort you.”
“Oh, well, I have a feeling that if I go back into your arms, I won’t want to leave them again.”
Tristan raised one eyebrow and laughed at her. “I’m that potent, huh?”
“I wouldn’t have used the word potent, but yeahhh,” she drawled. “I told myself after I left yesterday that I would try to keep some personal space between us, but once we’re in the same room, it doesn’t work. I feel like I just HAVE to touch you.”
Tristan was frustrated and confused by her words. “So, is that a good thing, or a bad thing?”
“If I had just met you on the street, I would be doing everything in my power to paw your clothes off by now, my own rules be damned. But the way it is, I was hired to help you, and if I give in to my desire for you, I’m gonna end up feeling like a paid whore.”
Hazel St. James - Fighting For You (Redemption#1)[ Page 7
