Lovely Trigger (39 page)

My arms had gone limp at my sides but I raised them now, wrapping them around his neck.
 

“It’s not only about breaking
me
.”
 
I took a very deep breath.
 
“I saw it with my own eyes, Tristan,” I told him quietly, wretchedly.
 
“That day at the café, that last time we met up, after the accident.
 
After you’d moved on from me, and you were happy, laughing, healthy.
 
That was when
I
moved on.”
 

“Oh, Danika,” he breathed.

“I saw how you were without me, how you’d gotten so much
better
with me out of your life, and that was when I really let you go.”
 

“Oh, Danika,” he said emotionally.
 

“How can we be so good for each other in so many ways, and so bad in just as many others?”
 

“We were never bad for each other.
 
Never
.
 
That’s not what happened with us.”

“What did then? Explain your reasoning to me here.”
 

“
I
was bad for us.
 
I was bleeding out.
 
I’m sure you caught on, but I was fucking wrecked by what happened to Jared and everything after, well, I went into free fall, but don’t put that on us.
 
That was on
me
.
 
All of it.
 
Every fucking ounce of it.”
 

“Oh Tristan.
 
That’s just not true.
 
I changed too, with you.
 
I enabled you.
 
I made you worse, not better.”
 

“Oh, Danika.”
 
His voice was still gentle but chiding.

“Don’t ‘Oh, Danika’ me.
 
I obviously couldn’t help you.
 
I tried and tried—“

“And you thought this was your job?
 
To
help
me?
 
You thought this was
your
responsibility?”

“Well, yes.
 
But everything I tried only seemed to make you worse.”
 

“Oh, sweetheart—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sweetheart,” he emphasized.
 
“No one can help a person in that condition.
 
Sometimes, if we’re really lucky, we come out of it, and we help ourselves, and we do this
because
of the people we love.
 
You were not responsible for making me
worse
.
 
But I’ll tell you one thing, it’s a fact that you were responsible for making me better.
 
I’d resigned myself to dying.
 
That I could have handled.
 
But when I saw what I’d done to you—”
 

“That wasn’t on you.”

“That may be your reality.
 
You’re entitled to see it how you need to, but I can only see it one way.
 
What happened to you was on me,
is
on me, and when I realized that I wasn’t only hurting myself, was in fact hurting you even more than I was my own numb mind, I found the motivation I needed to stop using, to stop trying to check out of my life.
 
That’s
on you.”
 

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

I was just finishing up at work the next day when he called.

“Let’s go out tonight.
 
I want to take you someplace special,” Tristan’s deep voice started purring into my ear before I’d even managed to get a ‘hello’ out.
 

I took a deep breath.
 
“I can’t tonight.”
 
After the fit he’d thrown about a lunch with Andrew, I knew to brace myself for the worst.
 

There was a long pause on the other end.
 
“Why not?”
 

He’d never been a shy one.
 

“I’m going out to dinner with a friend of mine.”
 

“Is this a private dinner, or can I come along?”
 

I thought about that dynamic.
 
I didn’t think Dermot would like him.
 
I couldn’t see the two men getting along well enough for a quiet meal.
 
They were both too overprotective of me in completely different ways.
 
“It’s just kind of a monthly thing.
 
It’s complicated, but I don’t think you’d get along with my friend.
 
I’ll tell him about you.
 
Maybe next time, after I’ve given him fair warning.”

Of course, he only heard one part of my statement.
 

“
Him
?”

“Yes.
 
We’ve been over this.
 
I have male friends.”

“Are you going on
a date
tonight?”
 

I sighed.
 
Caveman post therapy was still caveman.
 
“No.
 
I am going out to dinner with a friend.”
 
I debated telling him that Dermot was my brother, but decided to ask Dermot about that.
 
His father was still married to his poor mother, and I didn’t want to cause any problems in his family, so I kept it under wraps.
 
Tristan could keep a secret, so I knew I’d be telling him about it, but I wanted Dermot’s go ahead first.
 
It didn’t feel like my secret to tell.
 

“A
male
friend.
 
That’s a date.
 
What’s his name?
 
Where does he live?
 
I bet I can take him.”
 

I giggled, though he was only half joking.
 
“It would only be a date if we were romantically involved, which we’re not.
 
Listen, it’s complicated, but I promise to explain it to you, after I talk to my friend about it.”

He was so distraught after that I almost canceled.
 

He wasn’t yelling, or screaming, or even trying to talk me out of it.
 

He just became so quiet and withdrawn on the other end that I could barely stand it.
     

“Okay, you know what?
 
You need to knock it the hell off.
 
Do you see me telling you that you can’t be friends with Mona anymore?
 
No.
 
And you’ve slept with her.
 
I have never slept with Dermot.”

“His name is Dermot,” he interrupted dully.
 

 
“Yes, Dermot, who I would never sleep with, not in a
million
years.
 
Not even if we were characters in
Game of Thrones.
”

That drew him out of it, or confused him out of it.
 
“What the hell does that damn show have to do with anything?”
   

I’d recently started making him watch it, and he went from grudgingly liking it to hating it from one episode to the next.
 
He was only on the first season though.
 
If I just got him through the one, I knew he’d be as hooked as I was.

I smirked.
 
“You’ll figure it out, eventually.”

I tried to tell him goodbye.
 

“I want to come with you,” he growled into my ear.

I took a deep breath.
 
Why on earth did I still have such a hard time telling him no?
 

“Boundaries, Tristan.”

He let me off the line, but I knew he wasn’t happy.
     

Dermot and I never told anyone that we were related.
 
We never had to.
 
Neither of us were answerable to anyone, so the world just thought we were close friends, or so I’d assumed.

It hadn’t occurred to me that my meet-ups with Dermot looked like dates.
 
I’d never had to worry about it before.
 

Andrew had been the kind of boyfriend that was understanding to a fault.
 
He’d never even questioned that I often liked to go out to dinner with another man.
 

“I’m seeing someone,” I told Dermot, after we’d ordered our food.
 

He looked surprised but not displeased.
 
“Well, that’s great.
 
Is it serious?”
 

My mouth twisted.
 
“Like a heart attack.
 
Whether we have a shot at anything lasting is another matter entirely.
 
I’ll keep you posted.”
 

“Have you known him long?”

It was the strangest thing.
 
I’d been raised with Dahlia, but Dermot was so much easier for me to open up to.
 
It’d been like that with us from the start.
   

And somehow, I found myself telling him our story, the long version—The Saga of Tristan and Danika.
 

The battles and the victories.
 

The defeats and the triumphs.
 

The tragedies and the trials.
   

Somewhere in the middle, I had him tearing up, which I’d never seen him do, and I tried to tell it all with less dramatic flair, but it was what it was.
 

“Wait, so you haven’t told him that you can’t…?” he asked, somewhere near the end.
 

I looked down at my lap.
 
“I don’t know how.”

“I’m so sorry, Danika.”
 

I shrugged it off.
 
“Anyway, do you mind if I tell him that you’re my half-brother?
 
I thought I should ask first, because of, well, you know.
 
And as I’m sure you’ve gathered, he’s the insanely jealous type.
 
He was none too pleased when he heard I was going to dinner with a man.”
 

“I don’t mind at all.
 
I don’t keep our relationship under wraps, Danika.
 
I’m sorry you thought that I did.”

“Well, I just thought, because of your mother, you’d want to keep it secret.”

“You’re not a secret, you’re a person.
 
My parents’ mess of a marriage is their business, and it will never affect the fact that you are my sister.”
 

That warmed my heart.
 
He was a good brother.
 

I went straight to Tristan’s after dinner.
 

He was still tense and upset, but nothing like he’d been when I’d gone to lunch with Andrew.
 

“Okay, let me have it,” he started in on me right away.
 
“What’s the big mystery about this buddy of yours?”

“He’s my brother.”
 

That deflated all the sass right out of him.
 
It was kind of nice.
 
I had a brief moment of wishing I could bottle that ability up.
 
It would make a good superpower.
   

I found myself storytelling for the second time that night, giving Tristan the full rundown on my deadbeat dad.
 

“Your dad
hit
on you?” he asked, shocked.

“You saw my mother.
 
I look just like her.
 
I guess he has a type.”
 

“Don’t try to pretend that is even remotely normal!
 
I ever see that guy, I’m kicking his ass.
 
Period.
 
That is happening.
 
Fuck, I think I’ve met that dude.
 
Un-fucking-believable.”
 

I thought that about summed it up.
   

He started tugging me through his house, up the stairs, straight to his bedroom.
 
He cornered me against his unorthodox bed and started stripping me.
 
“You just tortured me for hours,” he said, voice low and gravelly.
 
“Now it’s my turn.”
 

TRISTAN

She loved to make cracks about what she called my ‘kinky’ bed.
 
I thought it was time I showed her what it could do.
   

I stripped her down to her little tiny thong and blindfolded her.
 
I looked my fill of that intoxicating sight before I took her into the bed and made her stand.
   

I fastened her arms above her with padded leather cuffs that attached to the ceiling of the sturdy bed.
 

And then I went to work on her with my mouth, starting at her jaw, working my slow way down her neck, her collarbone, spending extra time sucking at her puckered nipples.
 
Gripping her breasts into two perfect handfuls, I rolled them against my tongue, kneading.
 

I loved her body.
 
In fact, it was a little alarming how obsessed I was with it, the vast amount of hours I’d spent fantasizing about this right
here
.
 

I fisted my cock as I nuzzled into her navel.
 
I was loud with it, and when she heard me working at my own fist, she moaned and squirmed.
 

I knelt in front of her and buried my face between her thighs, throwing her legs over my shoulders.
 
I shoved her panties to the side and went to town, using every tongue trick I had to bring her, again and again.
 

And then I went to work on her with my hands.
 

When I finally stood up and started fucking her vigorously, she was pliant under my hands.

After I came, I just kept pumping into her, letting her milk at me for a long time.
 

This right here.
 
Heaven.
 

“I love you,” I told her, not in the throes of passion, but in the clear moment after.
 
I would keep telling her, conditioning her to it.
 
I’d keep trying forever, if I had to, to make her trust me again.