Backdraft - The Secret Life of Trystan Scott #2

The Secret Life of Trystan Scott

Vol. 2

www.YAParanormalRomance.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental.

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 by H.M. Ward

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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of this author.

Laree Bailey Press

First Edition: Oct 2012

The Secret Life of Trystan Scott

Vol. 2

H.M. Ward

Laree Bailey Press

back·draft
:
An occurrence in which a fire that has consumed
all available oxygen suddenly explodes.

CHAPTER 1

~TRYSTAN~

There was nothing but sorrow and music
keeping Trystan glued together. Mari was everything to him. He
couldn’t think about the void in his life or how it would be
without her. Trystan’s fingers slid along the neck of the guitar as
he strummed, playing the song that brought him solace. When his
world cracked apart the song always rose to the front of his
mind.

The weight within him felt like it was too
much to bear, crushing his bones while he still breathed. Nothing
changed. Life continued down the same hellish path, beating him in
every way possible. Maybe it’d be different if he gave up, but he
wouldn’t. That was Trystan’s problem—he didn’t stay down. It was
like that with his father. It didn’t matter how many times his
father’s hand flew, he got back up. It was the same with his life.
It didn’t matter how many bad hands he was dealt, he always got
back up.

A numb tingling filled his body again as he
played softly. There was no peace. No refuge. He was alone. There’d
always been an ember of hope burning within him, but when Mari said
she didn’t like him, it felt like someone ripped his lungs out. The
ember died, shriveling within his chest, leaving a dull ache in its
place. Mari’s words left him mute, unable to respond. It was the
one time he didn’t get up again. He couldn’t.

Trystan sat silently on the stool, softly
playing the guitar in his lap, and felt the familiar sense of loss
fill him. When his voice finally came, he sang without realizing
it. Barely whispering, Trystan’s mouth formed the words that
spilled from his heart. The lament, the song—Mari’s song—it helped
purge him. It gave him a false sense of control, which was
something Trystan desperately needed.

In the moments when Trystan was weakest, it
was like there was nothing else—no air touching his skin or filling
his lungs. There was no stool, no music stand. He was just a voice,
a heartbeat, and a breath of song. That was why he failed to hear
the door, failed to hear her footfalls inching closer and
closer.

By the time Mari was standing in front of him
it was too late. She saw him. She heard him. She knew who he was
and what he’d been hiding. Her slender fingers touched her lips as
she said, “You’re Day Jones.”

Trystan’s guitar slipped from his lap and
slid to his side as he stood. Shock and fear twisted his stomach
into a knot. His throat was too tight to speak. Instead of
attempting an explanation, he stared at her with his pulse pounding
in his ears. Mari stood there, looking at him with her jaw dangling
open. She stared into his eyes, unblinking, waiting for him to
speak.

A thousand thoughts flew through Trystan’s
mind, but he asked, “Why’d you come back?”

The shock melted off of Mari’s face. She
stood a few paces away from him. Uncertainty filled her eyes. It
was like she’d never seen him before, like she never noticed the
guy fighting so hard to survive that he’d do anything.

Her pink lips pressed together. The scent of
strawberries filled his head as he remembered kissing those lips
not so long ago. Mari’s eyes darted away from his. She made a few
false starts, before saying, “I was going to tell you something,
but I think you might have something to tell me instead.”

Trystan stared, his body tense. The grip on
the neck of his guitar tightened, but he didn’t put it down. The
faint golden light doused Mari softly, highlighting the gentle
curves of her face. He couldn’t stop looking at her.

Taking a deep breath, he replied, “There’s
nothing to tell.”

Mari stepped forward with an incredulous look
on her face, “Are you seriously going to deny it?”

“No, there’s just nothing to tell.” Trystan’s
heart felt like it was going to explode.

The fame that Day Jones achieved wasn’t
something he wanted. He knew what would happen if he revealed
himself—reporters would start digging into his personal life. It
would expose everything his father had done to him. The thought
made him sick. Trystan saw the offers and the endless requests to
reveal his identity, but he couldn’t. Now, it was everything he
could do to keep it a secret. He considered deleting the page, but
he thought that might give him away. If someone was watching when
he did it, they could track him down. The risk was too great, so he
left it there and watched the comments and likes swiftly grow to
staggering numbers.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked softly.
Mari’s big brown eyes lowered like she was afraid he wouldn’t tell
her.

Trystan sat back down on the stool and pulled
the guitar onto his lap. He looked down at the instrument, his dark
hair falling into his eyes. “There are some things that are too
hard to tell—you know what I mean?” He glanced up at her to see her
nod and step closer. Trystan lowered his gaze to the strings and
slowly began strumming again. He waited a moment before asking, “Is
the door closed?” His voice was so soft he could barely hear
it.

“Yes,” she breathed, watching him
closely.

Trystan nodded and started the song again. He
didn’t plan to sing, but as he played, the words poured through him
and he couldn’t stop. This was what he wanted, he wanted her to
know. He wanted her to believe him. Trystan forced himself to look
her in the eye as he sang and felt the bottom of his stomach lurch
into a free-fall that didn’t seem to end. Mari’s big brown eyes
locked with his as he sang. She breathed slowly, her slender
fingers still pressed to her lips.

Suddenly, the song didn’t seem melancholy
anymore. It was Mari’s song and Mari was here. The corners of
Trystan’s mouth pulled up slightly, giving him a ghost of smile.
His voice and the music flowed together, mingling and conveying the
things locked inside of his heart.

Mari watched him. She didn’t move. Her
beautiful body remained still, standing in front of him, her lips
slightly parted. He took in every inch of her, every soft curve,
and every twisting brown curl as she watched him sing. When Trystan
played the last note he looked down at his hands. The music faded
until the only sound he could hear was his breath.

Mari’s body was tense, her slender arms rigid
as her hands fell to her sides. She flexed her fingers one by one
like she was nervous. Her voice was soft, curious, “Who is
she?”

Trystan glanced up at her. He pressed his
lips together and closed his eyes. He shook his head, indicating
that he couldn’t answer. The pit of his stomach lifted as his
throat tightened. Trystan could feel the words in his mouth, the
confession his lips that he wanted to bare, but he couldn’t force
it out. She had to see it for herself.

When Trystan looked up, Mari smiled down at
him sadly. She sucked in a quick breath and it was like flipping a
switch. Something changed, but he didn’t know what.

“I won’t tell, you know.” Mari said. “I
didn’t mean to walk in on you.” She stepped toward him, closing the
gap between them and rested her hand on his shoulder. Even though
it was only a moment, only a small touch, Trystan nearly jumped out
of his seat. Her touch set his skin on fire. It made him want to
touch her in return, but he couldn’t. She didn’t want him. She
didn’t like him that way.

Heart pounding in his chest, he tried to
sound like his old self, but his voice was still too timid.
Nodding, Trystan said, “Thank you. I don’t want anyone to know. I
thought I was alone...” His voice trailed off. Mari released his
shoulder and moved to the couch. Sitting across from him, she
remained on the edge of her cushion like she might jump up at any
moment. Her hands were clutched in her lap, gripping her pointer
finger like she was wringing it out.

“You were alone. I didn’t hear anything until
I stood by the door.” She forced that smile again, the one that
said her insides were being ripped apart, but he didn’t understand
why.

Glancing at her, Trystan stood and walked the
guitar back to its place in the corner. He wished she would talk to
him. He’d do anything to get that look off her face and make her
laugh. Instead, he asked, “What’d you want to tell me?”

Mari stiffened, “What?” She startled, like
there was a loud crack next to her ear.

Trystan watched her for a moment. Something
wasn’t right, but he didn’t know what. His emotions were so out of
whack. Maybe he was reading her wrong? Brow pinched, he said, “You
said you were looking for me, to tell me something.”

Trystan put the music stand away and stuffed
the sheet music he was working on back into his pocket. When he was
finished he walked to the couch and looked down at her. God, she
was beautiful. Her skin was pale and perfect. The way her mouth
curved made him want to kiss her. Trystan scolded himself. He had
to stop acting like this around her. For whatever reason, she came
back. He wouldn’t chase her off again. Having her as a friend was
better than not having her at all. That thought made his gut twist.
There was no way he could deal with losing Mari.

“I was.” She blinked up at him a few times
like she’d forgotten something important. “I decided to take
Tucker’s pass. It wasn’t upstairs and neither were you. I assumed
you took it.”

Trystan reached into his pocket and pulled
out the pink paper. His eyes never left Mari’s as he reached out
and handed it to her. When her fingers brushed his hand, he wished
he could pull her into his arms. Instead, he tried to capture some
of his old swagger and hide just how much she affected him.

Trystan’s lips pulled into a soft smile as
she reached out, but Trystan didn’t release the paper. She glanced
up at him. “I thought you didn’t want it,” he breathed, stepping
closer to her.

“I changed my mind,” she whispered, tugging
the pass, but he didn’t let go.

“Your mind is usually a difficult thing to
change.” He grinned, looking down at her perfect face.

She smiled, “Not when there’s a good reason
for it.”

“And what reason is that?”

Her brown gaze drifted over his face before
returning to his eyes. She tilted her head to the side and her dark
hair fell over her shoulder. “A sad song, being sung alone in the
basement.”

The way she said it gave him hope. Something
inside of him came to life and told him to hold on tight. The way
her lips wrapped around the words, the way she said them softly,
glancing away for a moment like it was something she shouldn’t
admit, made it difficult to breathe and wiped the smug expression
off his lips.

Trystan tilted his chin up, still watching
Mari. Carefully, he asked, “You think you’ll figure out who the
girl in the song is, if you hang around me long enough?”

“I know I will,” she said with a soft voice
that was exceedingly confident. It made the corners of his lips
curve up. “You wear your heart on your sleeve when no one is
looking, but I’m always looking. I’ll see it, even if no one else
does. I’ll figure it out.” Her words sounded like,
I want to
figure it out. I want to know who brought you to your
knees.

Her fingers were still touching his, each of
them clutching the pass. As they spoke, their faces became closer
and closer. Trystan could feel her breath on his lips. Every inch
of his body was tingling. He wanted to say something great, reach
out and take her face between his hands, and press his lips to
hers. The way she was looking at him, the way her mouth was so
close to his, made him think that she might be thinking the same
thing, but he couldn’t believe that any more. Before she stormed
off, he would have thought she liked his attention, but now—he
didn’t know anymore.