The way he shook his head showed me he didn’t believe me. In that moment, he thought I was as insane as the rest of the world did. I felt offended all over again, but I didn’t say anything. I deserved this.
I always did.
“Have you told Harriet yet?” he asked.
“No.”
“Hopefully Silas doesn’t tell her before you do.”
“Silas doesn’t tell Harriet anything. He may be her brother, but they have about as much in common as a swan and a boar.”
He smirked at that. “I’m not sure Silas would like the analogy.”
I smirked back, even through my hangover. “He can be a boar.”
“In actions, not in visuals.”
“Still, he can be a boar. An attractive boar, but a boar all the same.”
“True enough.”
He sat down alongside me and took hold of my hand. His fingers were strong. It was the kind of strength I’d enjoyed for years, him sitting next to me as we whispered through our fears and struggles.
I knew what suggestion was coming before he spoke.
“Can you go back to Dr. Karlin again? I think you need it.”
“Therapy makes no difference. It’s never made any difference.”
He squeezed my fingers. “You don’t let it make any difference.” He gestured to the glass in my other hand. “It stands a shit ton more chance of working than gin, or champagne, or coke.”
My defences came up. “I’m not doing as much of any of them as I did.”
I felt his eyes on me. Again, I could feel the disapproval. “That’s not what Harriet said. I saw her at the Aegean last week, and she said Jonesy was telling her just how much you’ve been buying.”
My cheeks burned. “Jonesy shouldn’t be telling Harriet anything. It’s not her business.”
“Even he is worried.”
“He shouldn’t be.”
“I’m worried, Lainey. Really fucking worried.”
He took the drink from my hand.
I groaned. “Quit it, will you? I’m fine.”
I’d always been a liar – I’d needed to be – but even I was pushing it. I was less fine than I’d ever been in my life, and again, that was a high mountain to climb. Or more like a deep swamp to sink to the bottom of.
Sometimes I wished I could find the voice to say what I truly needed to say. I wished I could summon up the words to confess just how broken I was inside and why. Secrets, secrets, shhh, little girl. I wished I could spit it out and live with the consequences rather than reaching the end with the secrets still stabbing me in silence. So, so many secrets . . .
I couldn’t.
I could never tell my secrets.
With that thought, I grabbed the gin back from Tristan and took another swig.
He sighed. “Please go back to Dr. Karlin.”
“Please stop bleating on about it.”
We sat in silence until I tried to change the subject.
“How did it go with the rock superstar? What was his name? Indigo Peacock or something?”
“Blue Hawk.”
I laughed. “Is he one of those indie peace man types?”
He laughed along. “No. He’s one of those not-sure-if-he-really-wants-dick-or-not types.”
“Sounds like you just a few years ago.”
Tristan had taken a whole lot of time to finally accept that he was bisexual. I’d been there through the journey, knowing way earlier than he did that he had a fixation for hot guys as well as women. His parents had been . . . tough. Especially tough on a son who lived his life outside of their trailer park status quo. I still remembered his scars. Scars had been the very first thing we’d had in common.
I loved his smile as he looked at me. “I don’t have years to wait until he works out if he wants to take dick. There are plenty of dicks out there ready and willing.”
“And pussies.”
He leaned his head against my shoulder. “And pussies.”
Once upon a time I’d wished that Tristan could be my one and only. That maybe he’d fall in love with me and I’d fall in love with him, and we could keep it secret. Secret enough that he wouldn’t be destroyed for enjoying my body.
I’d always loved the way he looked. Hair rich and mahogany, cheekbones sculpted just right, even when they were swollen with bruises. When I was a teenager, I really did think he could be the one. My Tristan Fields, forever.
Those days were gone. My imagination had shrivelled to nothing, and any illusions of a happy ever after for me were dead and buried.
“You’re lucky. You can have all the dick and pussy you want,” I said and felt that horrible flare of hurt inside. Just like I always did.
Tristan’s smile disappeared. “They can’t hold you back forever, Lainey. If you meet someone fitting, and you talk to your mom about it . . .”
I pulled my hand from his and held it up. “Stop. You know that’s bullshit as much as I do. Mom will never let anyone lay a hand on me. Not unless it suits her that I marry them.”
He wrenched my hand back down and squeezed it all over again. “She’ll never let anyone you think’s good enough lay a hand on you. Your taste is bad.”
“My taste doesn’t fit their criteria of acceptable.”
“Just as well, or their criteria of acceptable would be acceptably fucked up.”
I let out a sigh and leaned against him, loving the way his arms wrapped me up, even though he thought I was an idiot today. He was the only one who would do it, give me his genuine warmth and not the fake kisses and smiles people all around me gave.
I tried to indulge him in talk of him and not me.
“Are you seeing this Hawk guy again, then?”
“Next Saturday. He’s playing a gig at Cyrus Bar, an intimate little show. Looks great.” He paused. “You could come if you wanted.”
“Where the hell is Cyrus Bar?”
“Downtown. About as far as you could get from the world of Bishop’s Landing.”
It sure sounded a world away from Bishop’s Landing. Bishop’s Landing looked down its nose at anyone without a billion dollars in their back pocket.
Yeah. I liked the damn sound of Cyrus Bar, downtown.
I called up my diary on my cell. I had some crappy charity affair on Saturday night, but I could ditch it. Fuck it, I would ditch it. I wanted to check out this Blue Hawk guy for myself.
“You coming?” Tristan pushed. “I’ll need to get you on the guest list. It’s a sell-out.”
“Yeah, I’m coming. Who knows, maybe I’ll meet a hot rocker guy for myself.”
“You’d be signing their death sentence if you did, and you know it.”
Yeah. I knew it. Even a sniff of my involvement with a rock god would put a bullet in the poor guy’s head.
Tristan’s next words were a whisper. A whisper with a chill.
“Promise me one thing. Swear on your heart you won’t ever fall for Lucian Morelli.”
“I won’t,” I told him.
“So promise me.”
I looked into his eyes and summoned up the fire inside. Because I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t ever fall for Lucian Morelli.
“Swear on my heart and hope to die,” I told him, and hooked my finger in his.