Beautiful Addictions (18 page)

He shook his head and grinned at her. “It’s not quite that bad.”

“Well, thanks for the coffee…” Monica paused waiting for his name.

“Evan.”

“Evan,” she repeated. “I’m Monica. Thanks again, and good luck out there. Try to stay
upright for the rest of the day.”

“You too,” he countered, raising his cup and grinning triumphantly at her retreating
form.

*   *   *

Josie let Tristan’s statement sink in. Her crazed eyes could almost see the words
breeze across the room and enter her head. He’d said them so matter-of-factly, so
interestingly, as if reciting more of his random facts.

“You’re telling me that Dean Moloney, crime lord, wants me dead? Not only that, but
he’s asked you to do it?” Josie screeched.

“Yes,” Tristan answered calmly.

“Why me? Who is this other person looking for me? Do you know him? Does Moloney know
that you know me? He couldn’t possibly.”

“I’m not sure if he’s connected us to each other yet. We were just kids back then.
But I bet this has something to do with your amnesia. We can assume that he may be
responsible for your father’s death and your disappearance. Would you be willing to
try hypnotherapy to recover your memory?”

“Been there, done that. Nothing has worked.” Tristan watched Josie’s grip tighten
on the edge of the kitchen counter. Her elbows were locked, her shoulders high and
tense while her head hung down between them. “What am I going to do?” she whispered.

The words poured from her mouth and circled the drain before slipping away.

“We,” Tristan corrected.

“What?”

“What are
we
going to do? I think I should go back to New Orleans and see what I can find out,
but I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

“Take me with you,” she offered, turning to face him.

“Absolutely not! The chances of anyone recognizing you are low, but if they did, word
would spread fast. Then you’ll be on his turf. You’ve got to stay here. Not to mention
I’m not exactly on his good side. If Moloney finds out I’m there…” He trailed off.

“I want to help. I can’t sit around while you run off risking your life, Tristan!”

“Just don’t leave the four walls of this apartment. I’ll talk to Alex and have him
keep a closer eye on you while I’m gone. Whoever is looking for you hasn’t found you
yet, so it’s best to just stay put. It’s eighteen hundred seventy-two miles from here
to New Orleans. If I leave in the morning, avoid big-city traffic, and maintain the
average highway speed limit, I can make it there by Tuesday evening.”

“Shit,” Josie muttered, slumping down into one of her wobbly kitchen chairs.

Tristan watched as she absorbed the bad news. He knew it would be rough on both of
them, but he was almost relieved not to have to deal with it on his own anymore. Josie
curled into herself, the tips of her fingers rubbing at her temples.

He’d never been around someone who made him feel so whole and inadequate at the same
time. She brought out the best and worst in him. She made him question everything
he’d ever known and still he wanted to crawl at her feet to serve her every need.

When he’d said good-bye to her as a child, he never imagined he’d get a second chance.
Now was the time to make things right, to build her up and tie her to himself. They
would never get back the years they missed, but they could start over if she’d only
surrender.

Pulling her to the sofa, Tristan wrapped his arms around her. She climbed into his
lap and tucked her head beneath his chin. Her fingers dug into his skin relentlessly,
feeling like if she let go, he would vanish.

Tristan’s eyes roamed over the meager apartment and he couldn’t help but cringe at
all the drawings carved into the walls and doorframes, the paint and ink signatures
on every surface.

“The drawings in your bedroom are one thing, Josie. You’ve got to stop marking up
your apartment. You’ll never get your security deposit back.”

“Who says I paid a security deposit? I may have negotiated my way out of that.”

Tristan looked down into her eyes.

“I am very persuasive when I need to be. I have my methods.” He flinched at her implication.
“Besides, I like it. Maybe I’ll never leave. When I die, I’ll be so famous that people
will come to visit this place. It’s like a big memorial.”

“You will not die in this shitty apartment. I promise,” Tristan said.

“You don’t know that, Tristan. You can’t make that promise.”

“Promises are my best intentions.”

“Then promise to say nice things and tell stories when I die,” she said.

Tristan pushed that thought from his mind. It would be a cruel and terrible punishment
to lose her after just finding her again.

“I remember the day of your memorial at school. It was so humid that it felt hard
to breathe. It was the second week of school and everyone had already fallen right
back into their cliques.”

Tristan took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let that day play out against his
eyelids. So clearly he could envision the sympathetic teachers, the looks from his
peers.

“They asked me to say a few words and, at first, I refused. I was angry and knew that
these people didn’t know you like I did. Then I figured I wanted them to know you
better, so that I wasn’t so alone. I stood in front of the assembly and told them
who you were and what you meant to me.”

Josie reached for his hand and laced her fingers through his. The vibrant ink that
ended and wrapped around his wrist was such a stark contrast to her pale, clean canvas
skin. They were contradictory and stunning together.

“‘McKenzi Delaune was my best friend. We met when we were seven years old. She was
smart and witty and the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. You all knew her as the shy
girl who studied during lunch and never joined clubs, but she was so much more than
that.

“‘McKenzi climbed trees. She wrote secrets in a purple diary kept between her mattresses.
She loved old black-and-white movies. She always danced around her living room with
her mom, blasting music so loud that it shook the windows. Most of all, McKenzi loved
to draw. Sketches of family and celebrities covered her walls. Sometimes she made
up entire stories to go with her pictures, stories about dragons and aliens and superheroes.
Every story had a common theme, happy endings. McKenzi believed in fairies and heaven
and love. I hope that wherever she is now, she’s been reunited with her family and
has found her own happy ending.’”

Tristan’s throat became tight and restricted with the words that he’d spoken as a
teenager. Josie remained still on his chest, her breathing slow and steady. For a
moment, he wondered if she’d fallen asleep.

“I can’t believe you remember that speech,” she said softly, sitting up so that she
could see his face.

He smiled at her and couldn’t believe that she thought he’d ever forget it.

“I know things are shit right now. Our whole lives have been crazy, but I need you
to know that I’m here to stay.”

Josie wondered how such passionate declarations could be made by a man who had suffered
so much heartache. She looked at him, really looked at him, and could see now that
he had made himself vulnerable. He was so unlike every other person she’d ever met.
He wore his battered heart on his sleeve. Even after all the hurt he’d endured, he
still had faith in love, whereas her faith had never existed.

She slid off of his lap and to the other end of the couch now, needing separation.
Josie pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms tight around them, a defensive move
she’d perfected years ago. A battle raged in her mind, a fight between what she wanted
and what she needed.

“Tristan, I’m not that girl you remember. I’m not McKenzi. You’re infatuated with
the memory of who I used to be, not who I am. You don’t know me.”

“I want to, Josie. If you’d just let me. I want to know everything,” he pleaded.

She shook her head and balled her hands into fists. He’d never want to know who she
was now. She’d never compare to his perfect childhood memories.

“No you don’t, Tristan. No one wants to know those things.”

Tristan stood and began pacing the room, trying to keep his temper under control.
He hated that she doubted his word. He hated that she didn’t trust him to keep her
safe. But what he hated most was that he honestly didn’t know if he could.

“Yes, I do,” he said looking into her eyes, challenging her. “I need to.”

Josie shot off the couch, losing the last bit of restraint she had.

“Fine, Tristan. You want to know? I’ll fucking tell you. You want to know about when
they found me, I was so dehydrated and malnourished I barely survived the night? I
spent days in a hospital, and when I finally woke up everyone was a stranger! You
want to know how I was shipped across the country to a state home, where I didn’t
know anyone? You want to know how, at night, when the adults were asleep, the older
girls would force themselves on me, and in me, while the others stood as lookouts?
Is that what you want to fucking know?”

Josie yelled at him, she raged at him, she wanted to stop, but she couldn’t. Tristan
just shook his head, helpless to soothe the trembling girl before him. Every statement
stabbed at him like a serrated knife, destroying his heart.

“How about when I was so lucky to be placed in a foster home? You want to know how
for the three years I lived there, I was kept in a nine-square-foot closet, even though
there was a perfect little room upstairs staged with boy band posters and frilly pillows?
Oh, I bet you want to know how that asshole beat me every time I spoke without permission.”

“No,” he whispered. “I can’t believe…”

“Yes! This isn’t one of your books, Tristan. This is my life. It’s real.”

Tristan wanted to go to her, he wanted to take away all the suffering she’d endured.
He took a step toward her, but she held up her hand to stop him. Josie’s chest was
heaving now, her breaths shallow and unfulfilling. The room began to spin as her heart
crashed against her chest and pulsing blood deafened her ears.

“I slept in the park and stole to survive until Monica found me. Do you want to know
that I’ve fucked so many people that I’ve lost count? Men, women, anyone who would
give me what I needed. I did it for food, for a soft bed, and for a few pills.”

Tristan shook his head, unable to imagine the things she described, unwilling to accept
that she’d endured those horrible atrocities.

“Don’t shake your fucking head, Tristan. You wanted to know, now you do.”

Her voice was only a whisper now, a tortured plea for solitude.

“None of that was your fault, Josie. None of it. You can trust me. I want to help.”

“You can’t help me, Tristan. No one can. This is who I am, now. I’m fucked-up and
I can’t be fixed. Not by you or Monica or anyone else. Just go.”

“Josie.”

“Go!” she yelled, pointing at the door.

When he didn’t move, she yelled again, her face stamped with pink splotches and pent-up
emotions. Tristan found himself on the edge of a precipice. He wanted to make her
happy, but leaving would appease her only for the moment. He knew, more than she did,
that she needed him to stay. Tristan squared his shoulders and prepared for battle.

12. Tides

The rising and falling levels of the ocean.

With heavy footsteps and infallible conviction, Tristan charged toward Josie. Her
eyes widened in surprise as he approached. She’d told him to leave. She wasn’t prepared
for resistance.

“No!” she shouted, pushing at his chest in a futile effort to keep him away. “Get
out before I throw you out!”

He remained silent as he fought off her flailing arms and empty threats. Tristan’s
large hands enveloped her wrists, stopping her assault midair. He pinned her hands
to her sides and wrapped his arms around, trapping her in his viselike grip. She struggled
against his hold, her strength fading with every effort.

“Let me go! Leave me alone! Just go! Why won’t you just go?” her weakening voice yelled.

Tristan squeezed her tighter and lowered his lips to her ear.

“Because I love you.”

Josie’s body sagged against his in defeat, and she rested her forehead against his
chest.

“You can’t,” she whispered. “You can’t love me.”

“I do,” he insisted.

She blinked a few times, trying to focus her blurry vision, straining to understand
his words. They made no sense to her. She’d never heard them directed at her before.
It felt terrifying.

“Show me.”

Tristan crushed his lips to Josie’s. He didn’t have to think or plan, he only had
to feel. He felt the wetness on her cheeks as his skin moved against hers. He felt
the hot, soft flesh of her tongue push and pull against his. Releasing his hold on
her, he slid his hands up to her shoulders and brought her flush against his chest.
She felt so good, fit so perfectly. Tristan couldn’t imagine a physical pleasure more
fulfilling than her touch.

Josie felt crazed and overwhelmed with emotion. She scratched and clawed at his body
as if trying to climb inside him. Over the lines of his ink, she raked pink trails
with her fingernails. Tristan hummed at the fulfillment of her pain becoming his.

Josie felt his hands trace down the curve of her body. Tristan grabbed the backs of
her thighs and she hopped up, wrapping her legs around him. She celebrated the electrifying
buzz of every part of her body being touched by every part of his.

A low, satisfied hum vibrated through his chest as he walked them to her never used
bedroom. The only light came from the moon filtering in through the dirty window.
Tristan dropped to his knees, Josie still clinging to his body. In a tangle of limbs,
Josie fought her way out of her shirt and jeans while Tristan helped.

They ventured into unfamiliar territory for Josie. It was strange and intimidating
and completely welcomed. Josie usually held all the control in these situations, taking
what she wanted and then abandoning her conquest. With Tristan, she was happy to surrender.