Broken Promises (22 page)

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

I
t 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.

I’m not a preacher or a welfare advocate—I just know how hard it can be and some days, trying isn’t enough. I continue my life knowing I’m lucky, and I never forget where I came from, either.

Bob drives me within a block of the café, and I feel like I’m going to puke. It’s a blessing and a curse that I won’t be physically able to see her. My vision is getting worse, and if she looks anything like me, I’m not sure if I could do this.

Bob’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “I’ll be here. Call if you need me.”

“You mean if I need you to save me from an elderly con-woman?”

“I think she’s the real thing, or you wouldn’t be here. I checked her out and—”

Shaking my head, I put up a hand stopping him. “I don’t want to know. I don’t care where she’s been or what she’s done. She left me and didn’t look back. I'm here to put this to bed and never see her again, Bob.”

“Of course. If you need me, you know where I am.” The man’s voice drops and I know he wants to tell me more, but I don’t want to hear it. This woman blew any chance she had of claiming me as her son. She’s too late.

I kick open the door, and duck into the swiftly moving crowd on the sidewalk. No one pays attention to the car or me. I keep my head down watching for changes in the color of the ground. That’s been the easiest way to spot broken pavement.

I stuff my hands into my pockets and cut right, shouldering my way past people. I grab the silver door handle and yank it open before walking inside. This part is going to be tricky. If I talk to the hostess she might recognize me, so I decided to get here first and have Mom come and find me. God knows I won’t be able to see her.

The café is busy, and there’s a dull murmur of people talking, glasses clinking, and the smell of fried food filling the air. Something with a sweet strawberry scent hits me hard, and I smile because it reminds me of Mari. I resist the urge to pull off my cap and run my hands through my hair.

When I get to the podium, I don’t have to say much. A woman with big brown hair and a thick Jersey accent asks me, “One?”

“Two.”

“Ah,” she smacks her gum and doesn’t look at me twice. “Alrighty, hun. I’ll put you over here, so you’re a little easier to spot.” She drops the menus on a table close to the door and turns away to get the next person in line.

I slide into the booth and try to calm down. My palms are wet, and I feel like I’m about to hyperventilate. Part of me wants to bolt, but there’s this nagging feeling I should be here—like my life will go to hell if I don’t talk to her. It’s weird, like an omen.

A waitress comes by, and I don’t look up from the menu. She has that rough sound to her voice and an insanely thick Long Island accent. “Cauwfee, hun?”

“Yeah.” One-word answers tend to work well, although I usually avoid public places. All it takes is one fan to recognize my profile and I’m fucked.

She pours the hot liquid into a white mug. “I’ll come back in a few.” She disappears, taking care of other tables while I wait.

I have one question that I want an answer to before I leave. I don’t want to hear her life story or know what her hobbies are—I don’t want to know her at all.

I swallow the lump in my throat and down some of the scalding black coffee. I stopped putting sugar and cream in it to hide my vision problem a little bit longer. I can find my face to take a drink, but I can’t always pour without spilling. The whole thing got awkward, so I switched to black coffee, surprising the hell out of everyone. Previously, I enjoyed the beverage with more cream and sugar than coffee.

I’m holding the cup in my hands, focusing on the warmth radiating from its sides when I hear her voice for the first time. “Trystan? I’m Lynn. I’m the one who sent the letter.” She stands there at the edge of the booth. Her voice quivers when she speaks.