I was squeezed so tight that the air left my lungs, licked on every part of skin that wasn’t covered, and it usually lasted for several minutes.
That many kids, and people, and dogs should not have existed comfortably into one space, but it didn’t just feel comfortable, it felt right.
Like I was coming home.
Every single time.
That’s how this felt.
Tristan and I were entering a new and unfamiliar chapter, only it didn’t feel that way.
It felt like no time had passed at all.
It was terrifying.
And comforting, because it hadn’t all just been some dream, there’d been a reason I’d gone through hell with this man,
for
this man, some true good to precede the bad.
Over the years, I’d half-convinced myself that I’d imagined most of the good.
It was just easier that way.
We were partnered up in the wedding party, which meant that we walked together, and at all of the parties, we sat together.
I usually took care with my appearance, but I went to great lengths that weekend, spending extra time on my hair and makeup and shopping for days to put my best foot forward.
I don’t care how things stand, every girl wants to feel beautiful when they see ‘that ex’ again.
You know the one I’m talking about.
The one you never quite got over.
The one that had claimed enough of you that some of it had been lost in the parting.
I wore a gold lace sleeveless mod sheath to the rehearsal dinner, going heavy with gold shadow and big hoop earrings.
I wore my hair straight and parted down the middle.
I kept it down, since I’d have a complicated up-do the next day.
I was in
dress to impress
mode.
I’d already seen Tristan several times since the festivities began, and each time I’d decked myself out with special care.
Vanity at its most perverse.
On the up side, we’d been getting along well, both of us cautious enough to go out of our way to give no offense.
“By the way, where’s that guy?” Tristan asked, sometime during the third course at dinner, his mouth making a mockery out of the words with just a hint of an unhappy smile.
His hair was longer.
It looked good on him.
Grippable.
I gave myself a mental slap for even thinking it.
“Andrew,” I clarified, something in his voice troubling me, and unwillingly, intriguing me.
We’d kept things light thus far, and it had seemed to be working.
This was a new turn, or the potential for one.
“You think I don’t remember his name?
How likely do you think that is?”
“Where’s that girl?” I asked, immediately wanting to take it back.
We did not need to do this to each other.
I looked down, up, shifted uncomfortably, but his eyes stayed glued to my face, his intense regard strong enough that it felt like a physical touch.
“What girl?” he finally asked.
I made a dismissive motion with my hand.
I knew her name, but I already regretted even asking.
“No one.
It was a very silly question.”
“No, tell me.
What girl?”
“That blonde one you’re always with.
Your girlfriend.”
“That’s not my girlfriend.
It’s weird to bring a girl that’s not your girlfriend to a wedding.
Your turn.
Where’s that guy?”
He had this perfectly even scruff on his jaw.
It was distracting.
“Andrew couldn’t make it.”
That was a lie.
He’d wanted to come, but we were on a break, a very long break, due to the fact that he’d proposed several months ago, and I’d put him off again, and to say he’d been unhappy about it was a gross understatement.
These days we were strictly friends, but Tristan did not need an update on my love life, or lack thereof.
“Oh, well that’s too bad.”
His statement was so unconvincing that I had to make an effort not to laugh.
“Not an Andrew fan?”
He gave me a rueful smile, his brown eyes so endearing.
I could tell he was about to say something funny.
I just knew him that well.
“That’s like asking if I’m a fan of cancer.
I fucking hate it, but do I know how to get rid of it?
Not fucking likely.”
That surprised one small giggle out of me.
“Oh my God.
Stop it.
You’re impossible.”
His focus shifted to something behind me, and I turned to look.
In an almost comical manner, everyone seemed to be staring in our direction, all gone quiet.
No one was used to seeing us interact with each other like normal human beings.
“We should really blow their minds and start making out,” he whispered.
I laughed again and had to check the urge to give his arm a playful punch.
“You’re an ass.
Shut up,” I told him.
His smile grew and his eyes shone in pleasure, like I’d just given him a gift.
CHAPTER NINE
THE WEDDING RECEPTION OF JAMES AND BIANCA CAVENDISH
“That motherfucker is even bigger than you,” shot out of my mouth as Tristan took his seat beside me.
He gave me one quick look and then looked at Akira, but that look told me plenty of things that I’d rather not have known.
For starters, my statement came out sassier than I’d intended, and Tristan still loved my sassy.
In fact, he ate it up.
His gaze had been hot and…something else that I didn’t want to name.
“Don’t get any ideas,” he said idly, taking a sip of water.
“That giant bastard is taken.”
My eyes narrowed on him.
“I know that.
He’s married to a supermodel.
I was just saying…it must be weird for you, usually the biggest guy in the room, having to look up at somebody.
And his biceps are even a bit wider than yours…”
His breath whooshed out in a surprised laugh.
“You and your big arm fetish.
Mine are still bigger than your waist.
They haven’t gotten any smaller.”
I didn’t let myself look at them, but it was a struggle.
And I’d looked enough already to know that he was right.
Absently, I rubbed at my bad knee under the table.
I felt him staring at me.
“Does it still hurt?” he asked softly, as though he couldn’t help himself.
I made my face into a very careful mask.
“It’s fine, just a bit stiff.
Nothing to concern yourself with.”
Nothing on earth could have shocked me more than when his hand touched my leg, sliding under my hand to rub at my knee, somehow knowing just where to touch to ease the ache.
He’d always had a special talent for that.
“What are you doing?” I asked through my teeth.
We’d been getting along for days, but this was too much, too far.
He didn’t even flinch away from the look of murder I sent him, the bold bastard.
“I’m just trying to help,” he said, deadly earnest.
“I don’t need your help.”
My tone was venomous.
He didn’t stop rubbing, still didn’t flinch away.
Over the last six years, it had been way too easy to get him to back off, and I found that I had no clue what to do when my venom didn’t push him away.
“I know that.
Believe me, I know it.
But what if I need to give it?”
“We’re at the wedding of two people I adore, so I will be civil for about ten more seconds, but you had better believe that—”
“What about friendship?
Can we just try that?
No funny business, I swear.”
I felt so stiff, and I knew hostility was radiating off me in waves.
Frankie caught my eye, her arm around her girl.
This was a wedding, a joyous occasion, and her concerned look swayed me.
She was worried I’d cause a scene, and it hurt me that she was right to be worried.
I’m more mature than this, I told myself.
And hell, why couldn’t we be friends?
I didn’t think he was attracted to me anymore.
I knew that what he wanted really was just friendship and forgiveness, so why couldn’t I just give that to him?
Why did I feel the need to shut him out completely?
I knew the answer.
I was like a wounded animal, lashing out at his indifference, which had become the cause of my pain.
“No funny business?” I asked, then spoke again before he could answer.
“I actually believe that now.
I didn’t figure you were into cripples.”
His hand dropped limply from my knee.
I got a look at his face, right before his gaze dropped down to the table, and instantly regretted saying something so ugly.
Whatever his feelings for me had turned into, I still had the power to wound him deeply.
“I’m sorry,” I told him quickly.
I opened my mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by a furious looking Frankie.
She sat on Tristan’s other side, giving me a hostile look that I’d never have figured she’d direct at me.
“You okay?” she asked Tristan, her hand going to his arm.
He nodded shortly, stood up, and strode away.
“When are you going to stop hurting him?
When is it going to be enough for you?
You wanted him punished; he’s been through hell.
What more do you want?”
Part of me was livid about every word that came out of her mouth, but another part, the part that wouldn’t shut up today, knew she had a point.
I had been punishing him; for six years I’d been punishing him, and it had gotten out of hand.
She stood, and I knew that it was to go after him, to make sure he was okay.
I stopped her with a grip on her hand.
“I’ve got this,” I told her, standing.
“You’ve got some best man duties to attend to.”
“Please, Danika.
You don’t have to take him back, but please, just be kind to him.
He’s been through enough.
You both have.
You’re hurting yourself with this bullshit, too, you know?”
I knew it.
I let my eyes show her that as I nodded.
I found him walking aimlessly through the woods, somewhere between the wedding tents and the fortress of a building that James called a ‘house.’
“Tristan,” I called out loudly.
He froze.
He didn’t turn around, just stopped.
I caught up to him quickly, grabbing his arm.
“I’m sorry I said that.
It was an ugly thing to say, and I didn’t even mean it.
You know how I am.
I can never seem to keep things to myself, and sometimes they come out worse than I mean them.”
“You’ve been pretty good at keeping things to yourself for a very long time.”
My eyebrows shot straight up.
He had a point.
I had gotten better at holding my tongue, but I couldn’t quite decipher what his tone meant.
“That’s true.
I’ve grown up.
But what I said back there wasn’t grown up, and I’m sorry for that.
I don’t have a grudge against you.
I really have gotten over our…history together, and I think you’re right.
There’s no reason that we can’t be friends again.”
“Thank you.”
His voice was low and hoarse, his head tilted forward.
Even in the semi-darkness, I could see that his eyes stayed on the ground.
There was something so defeated in his stance, something so hopeless in his voice that I couldn’t seem to help myself,
I hugged him.
For comfort, for support.
Whether it was for him or me or both of us, I didn’t dare contemplate.