Backdraft - The Secret Life of Trystan Scott #2 (6 page)

Trystan held his temper in check. That was
one good thing about having a father like his—he could hide his
feelings so that no one had a clue. Trystan dropped his arm down
onto his date’s shoulders. Grinning at Seth, he said, “Not planning
on it. I’ve got Beth here—”

“Betsy,” the blonde corrected.

Trystan didn’t bother correcting himself.
“—and nothing is distracting me from her beautiful face.”

Seth stared at him from across the table. A
plate of half eaten food sat in front of him. The guy’s arms were
wide, made to hit stuff. Trystan could tell that he pissed Seth off
by looking for Mari, but when he heard her laugh, he had to see
her. Trystan did it without thinking and didn’t plan on giving
Seth, or anyone else, an explanation. Besides, he was gone less
than five minutes. There was nothing to tell.

Seth’s tongue moved over his teeth under his
lips, as his jaw tensed. “I thought you were into this,” he hissed,
pointing at the girl next to Trystan.

“I am,” he insisted even though he wasn’t. He
pulled the girl closer. “You guys go do your thing. We’ll do
ours.”

Seth watched him for a moment. Uncertainty
clouded his eyes. Or maybe that was lust. Either way, Seth was
frozen in place. He wanted to keep Trystan from doing something
stupid, but the girl sitting next to him was a sure thing. “You’re
a pain in the ass, Scott,” he said and scooted out of the booth.
Twin number one—Bess—followed. Bess and Seth threaded their fingers
together. She leaned into him and threw her hip out, annoyed that
Seth stopped again.

“You sure?” Seth asked.

“Leave,” Trystan urged. “We’re fine. Right,
Betsy?” Trystan said, as he gently pushed a strand of golden hair
away from her face. The girl giggled and nodded so furiously that
Trystan thought her head might snap off. Turning back to Seth, he
said, “See, we’re fine. Go.”

Seth didn’t need more encouragement. He took
the check, paid, and left. It was the normal agreement. Trystan was
fine being the wingman, if Seth paid the bill. He stretched and
placed his arm over her shoulders again. This part was going to
suck.

“So, what do you want to do?” she asked
snuggling into his chest. Her fingers played with the collar of his
shirt, slipping between the buttons.

Mari chose that second to appear at the door
and looked over at them. His heart clenched tight, but he didn’t
move. Instead they stared at each other. She was a million miles
away, someone he’d never have. Katie’s warning was clear enough,
even if it did embarrass Mari—keep away.

When his date’s lips landed on his neck, Mari
shot him a disgusted look and walked out. Trystan pulled his date
off his throat, but Mari was already gone. Katie watched her friend
walk out the door and looked back at Trystan. The way Katie looked
at him made his balls jump up into his body. That girl would
castrate him, if she could. He stared her down, refusing to look
away.

Betsy, Beth, or whoever she was seemed
impatient. She pulled on his shirt front and grabbed Trystan’s
face, pulling him to her for a kiss. Before the kiss connected, he
saw Katie walk out. Betsy’s lips pressed into his, but they were
cold and lifeless. There was no passion there. It was a kiss
without feeling. Trystan didn’t want this, but Mari wasn’t his. She
never would be. He peeled Betsy off his mouth and they slipped out
of the booth, walking out the door hand-in-hand.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. After
making out with Betsy, he walked her to her sister’s car in front
of Seth’s house. She tried to talk Trystan into more, but he wasn’t
interested. It was like part of him died. Trystan didn’t think a
single girl could have such control over him, but if he couldn’t
have Mari, he didn’t want anyone. And, to his horror, making-out
with this girl didn’t help him forget. If anything, it made the
realization that he didn’t have Mari more painful. Trystan didn’t
know what to do. Part of him wanted to give up and give in—say yes
to the beautiful woman in front of him—but her kisses left him
hollow and cold. He could only image what sleeping with her would
feel like. He ran his hands through his hair and walked away.

Frustrated, Trystan walked home alone.
Carefully, he cracked open the front door and glanced around for
his dad. The lights were still on, the TV blaring. Trystan slipped
around the door quietly and saw his father passed-out on the
couch.

Relief flooded through him. While he wished
his dad would just snap out it, he knew that wasn’t going to
happen. He wasn’t a little kid anymore. This was his life. This was
all there was. He stripped off his shirt as he walked back to his
room, wishing he had his guitar. The weight on his chest felt like
it was going to crush him.

Trystan closed his door and slid the new bolt
shut before lying on his bed. He finally had time to think, time to
rest.

CHAPTER 8

~MARI~

I slumped against my bedroom door, tossing my
book bag on the floor. Thoughts of Trystan filled my mind in an
endless wave. It wasn’t fair. Why’d he have to show up with a girl
on his arm? He didn’t seem like he was that into her, but when
Katie and I left, the girl was going all vampy on his neck and he
didn’t seem to mind. Actually, he seemed comfortable with it. If I
ever did anything like that in a diner, I’d die of embarrassment.
The concept of a public-display-of-affection was foreign to me. I
wanted my private life private, so what Trystan was doing with that
girl, in front of everyone, made me feel sick.

That would never be me.

Before I had time to think another thought,
someone pounded on my door. Pressing my eyes closed, I peeled my
back off the door and opened it. Dad was home. That was his knock.
I braced for whatever scolding I was about to receive. Pulling the
door open, I said, “Hey, Dad. Home from work?”

“Yes,” he said in a clipped tone, pushing
past me into my room. He had that look on his face, the one that
said I didn’t measure-up, the one that made me feel like a failure.
“You’re progress report showed up today. Would you like to tell me
anything before we discuss it?” Dad had the piece of paper in his
hand. The school sent weekly progress reports via email to
psycho-parents, like mine, who demanded them. That was one of the
changes my Mom made while she sat on the school board. Dad thought
it was a great idea, while I found it to be less than stellar.

Dad’s dark hair was silvering at the temples.
Wrinkles sprouted from the corners of his eyes making him appear
older than he was. Dad had seen too much, first in the military,
and then in the hospital. To him, getting good grades was a life or
death thing.

I pressed my shoe to the floor, staring at
the black toe. I’d loved these shoes when I’d gotten them. They
were so cute, but now they seemed frivolous. Dad probably thought
so, too. I shook my head, “No, sir. There’s nothing to tell.”

“It says here that you received detention
this week? Mari, we’ve talked about this. You cannot have such
childish things on your permanent record. College is next year.
It’s not three years away. It’s only one year away, and you can bet
they’ll look at this year and see this blemish.” He became more
stressed as he spoke, slapping the paper into his fist. When I
didn’t look up at him, he snapped, “You’re destroying your future,
Mari. It’s not something that can be undone.”

My mind broke. Maybe it was Trystan, I don’t
know, but I couldn’t take the emotional berating he was giving me.
The guilt he dumped on me sank into my stomach and sat like soured
milk. It curdled and I spewed verbal vomit at him, ranting like a
lunatic, “It’s one detention, Dad! Out of how many days of school?
Like seven hundred and twenty! One day doesn’t matter! They won’t
even look at it.”

Dad laughed, but the sound was angry, “Young
lady, so help me, I’m going to get through to you.” He leaned close
to my face, speaking deliberately slow, like I was too stupid to
fathom what he was saying, “Everything you do, from now until
graduation, matters—every grade, every test, every day—all of it.
It’s recorded and they’ll see it. If you just blew your shot at
Yale, so help me God, I will—”

“What? What will you do?” Tears streamed from
my eyes. I couldn’t hold them back anymore. “I made a mistake. It
wasn’t even something I did. Mom knew about it and she didn’t do
this to me.”

“Because your mother doesn’t know! Did she go
to Yale? Did she attend an Ivy League school and have her parent’s
pay for medical school?”

“No,” I said softly.

He was still up in my face. “That’s right. I
did. I know what they expect and this little stunt might have just
cost you everything.” He sighed and shook his head, like he knew
everything and I knew nothing. Closing his eyes he inhaled hard and
let it rush back out. “I only want what’s best for you, Mari.”

I stared at him. I wanted to believe him, but
I didn’t. I felt like a trophy child, someone he had around to show
off. It felt like it was more important that his daughter was
smart, that his daughter was perfect—but, I was his daughter and I
was neither of those things. I worked hard to get my grades, and I
tried so hard to meet his expectations, but I failed. Over and over
again, I fell short. I didn’t measure up. That feeling never faded.
It’s there every day when I got a test back.

School was not for learning, not to Dad.
School was to demonstrate how smart I already was, but I wasn’t.
And I wasn’t him—he just didn’t see it.

I nodded, “I know, Dad.” There was nothing
else to say. He couldn’t see me. It’s like I was nothing more than
that paper he held in his hands. That one blemish blinded him to
all the A’s. I knew it was coming. I knew he’d react this way. He
always did, but today I couldn’t just nod and take it. Tears
streaked my face, and I knew he saw that as a sign of weakness.

He lifted my chin in his hand, and looked me
in the eye, “Only the cream rises to the top, Mari. You’re mother
and I know you’re cream. Don’t disappoint us again.” His grip felt
cold and distant, his gaze was even more so. I swallowed hard and
nodded. He released me and said, “Get in a little studying before
bed.” With that, he turned on his heel and left.

Every inch of me wanted to scream, but I
couldn’t. They couldn’t know how trapped they made me feel, how
smothered I was. I pushed the door shut and went to the computer
not thinking about what I was doing. Before I knew it, I was on the
Day Jones page and clicking play on his song, letting Trystan’s
voice fill my head. I laid down on my bed, clutching the pillow,
crying into it, as the song played softly and drowned out my
sobs.

There were so many things that I wanted to
say to my parents, but I couldn’t. They both worked non-stop trying
to give me everything they never had. They acted like I was an
adult with some things and a child with other things. I just wished
they’d see Mari, their daughter. I wished they saw how much I liked
art and how much I didn’t want to dedicate my life to something I
wasn’t passionate about. It left me, their only child, alone. From
the time I turned twelve, I’d spent more days alone than with them.
Last year, their work schedules lined up and they were pleased. It
meant they’d get more time together, but it also meant I saw them
less. They worked four days on, three days off. For the days they
were gone, I was on my own, and they were proud they had such a
self-sufficient child.

Tears chilled my face, as they sank into my
pillow. I couldn’t stand it anymore. For once, I wished I wasn’t
me, that I didn’t feel the way I felt about everything. I wished I
could just hook up with a random guy and not hand over a piece of
my heart. It would help me forget the things that I tried so hard
not to remember. No matter what happened, in a year, I knew if I
didn’t fight for my life, I’d be stuck on this path forever, living
the life my father wanted—not the one I wanted.

Pushing off the bed, I looked at the screen.
More comments, more pleas for Day to play another song, reveal his
name, post a pic, anything—and they all went unanswered.

Emotional insanity compelled me to do it.
Staring at the screen, I typed in one word at a time. I watched as
my fingers wrote something I would never say, something I never
tried before. I wanted to know if it helped take away the sting, if
that was why he did it.

WHAT DOES IT FEEL LIKE TO SLEEP WITH SOMEONE
YOU DON’T LOVE?

My hands hovered over the keyboard. I
hesitated to post it. Trystan would know it was me. There was no
way he wouldn’t, and since he didn’t answer anyone, what was the
point? But I wanted to know. Maybe his way of dealing with life was
better. Maybe a random hookup didn’t leave everyone feeling hollow
inside. Maybe that was just me and I could get over it.

My pointer finger smacked the enter button
hard. The key clicked and the message posted.

CHAPTER 9

~TRYSTAN~

By the time Trystan was safe in his room, it
was late. Out of habit, he grabbed the old laptop and turned it on.
The machine made a hissing noise, followed by something that
sounded like Cookie Monster munching gravel. It came from inside
his hard drive, and Trystan knew the laptop wouldn’t last much
longer, but the machine finally turned on. The screen flared to
life and he checked his Facebook page, stopping by Mari’s page to
look at her picture for a second, and then moving onto the Day
Jones’ YouTube page. Although he vowed to stay away from it, he
couldn’t. It was too insane how quickly it’d grown, how many people
liked the song.

He didn’t read every post. Instead he read a
handful of new comments. One post that was in bold type caught his
eye. The rest of the comments were of the same vein, but this one
was different. His heart clenched when he read it. It had to be
Mari. It had to be. There was no way to know for certain, but he
could feel it tugging on his gut like a guitar string. The girl who
wanted every kiss to have profound meaning was asking for pointers
on sleeping around? That didn’t make sense. It pained him, cutting
through his core, like he’d been cleaved in half. Trystan’s breath
was ragged, as he stared at the screen.