Rock Bottom (Tristan & Danika #2) (35 page)

He didn’t call me again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

DANIKA

It was over a month later when I began to feel a familiar nausea that I associated with only one thing, as I’d only experienced it when I was in a condition I’d only been in one other time.
 

I couldn’t quite believe it when I first had the thought.
 

But why not?
 
That last brutal, heartbreaking, soul-crushing time we’d had together had held such weight, contained such substance, that it should have been no wonder that it’d had such life-changing results.
 

I was pregnant.
 
Again.
 

I was terrified, but excited, no, exalted, and it changed everything between one instant and the next.
 
Having that life growing inside of me made what had seemed so insurmountable before seem like a possibility again.
 
The divorce was suddenly unnecessary, this unbearable, permanent separation from Tristan had an abrupt, merciful end.
 

With one little plus sign, I went from believing that our breakup was the only way for me to survive intact, to realizing, with gasping, desperate relief, that I didn’t have to torture myself anymore.
 

I’d cut off all contact with Tristan with determined resolve, and I had managed to maintain that resolve, thus far.
 
It hadn’t been easy.
 
As though our hearts had been severed from each other, I felt an aching, twitchy pain, and I’d gotten through each day without caving through sheer force of will.
 
But now I didn’t have to suffer anymore.
 

I felt like I’d been let out on parole.
 

My heart felt free again.
 

I’d tell him about the baby, and we’d find a way to work things out.
 

I told myself that the news would help to get him clean.
 
It hadn’t before, but this was different.
 
We had even more to lose this time.
 
There was no more room for mistakes.
 
I had to make him see that.
 

I didn’t call him, but I did call Kenny to find out where he was.
 
I lucked out; Tristan was in town for the weekend.
 

I went through my day, floating on a cloud.
 

Everything would be okay now.
 
I was just sure of it.
 

It was a Friday.
 

I remember everything from that day, down to the weather.
 
It was a beautiful day in early spring, with the sun shining, and the lightest breeze played through my hair as I walked to my classes, an unassailable smile on my face.
 

I got ready with special care that evening.
 
I only realized as I was putting on mascara and crimson lipstick that this was the first time I’d worn makeup in well over a month, the first time I’d even looked directly into a mirror.
 
I’d been a zombie before I’d known about the baby.
 

It felt amazing to suddenly be alive again.
 
Wonderful.

I could recall everything I wore that night, every detail, from my tight little button up black shirt dress that bared a lot of cleavage, since it was one of Tristan’s favorites (he always said it had spectacular access), down to my favorite red heels, that I knew he loved even more than I did.
 

I curled my hair, wearing it loose down my back.
 
I painted my nails candy apple red to match my shoes, and my lipstick.
 
I was going for the wow factor.
 
I knew it couldn’t hurt to knock the breath out of him at first glance.
 
I’d take any little advantage I could get.
 

I put on my wedding band and my engagement ring.
 
He’d refused to take them back, and I’d never gotten rid of them.
 
I never would.
 

As I drove to go see him, my hands trembled on the steering wheel.
 
In excitement, in trepidation.
 
I wasn’t naive enough to think this would be a smooth meeting.
 
Still, I felt confident that somehow, eventually, we could sort this out.
 
We had so much at stake now.
 

I didn’t linger on the morbid, like how happy Leticia would have been, if she had just held on a little longer.
 
I could only focus on this child, and on getting our family back together, to give him or her a good life.
 

I planned to give this baby’s parents a chance at happiness again, to give its mother a chance at a joyful existence.

I knew it wouldn’t be easy.
 
Tristan needed rehab, it was clear.
 
Rehab and grief counseling.
 
He was an addict, and he’d suffered too much loss in too short a time to recover without help.
 
I knew it.
 
If he could have stopped on his own, he wouldn’t have fallen this far.
 

I told myself that the baby would be enough to convince him.
 
He wanted to be a father.
 
A good one.
 
A present one.
 
There was no doubt about that in my mind.
 
This baby was going to change things.
 

With the discovery of my pregnancy, all of the dark, scary corners of my life had been lit up again.
 
Where before there was despair, now there was hope, and this news would give Tristan the hope he needed, too.
 
For the first time in a month, I felt my heart bursting with optimism.
 

Everything was going to be okay now.
 

I approached that apartment with a light heart.

I knocked on the door.
 
I’d given my key back when I’d sent the divorce papers.
 

Dean answered.
 
I wasn’t happy to see him, but he sure seemed happy to see me, which had never been a good thing in my experience.

“Danika!
 
What amazing timing!
 
We were just having a little get together.
 
Please, come in.
 
You can find Tristan in the kitchen.
 
He lost his shirt and his vodka, so he’s very, very grumpy.”

I rolled my eyes.
 
Well, that explained his good mood.
 
He thought I was going to blow up when I saw Tristan, and I was sure that would have made his day.
 

The house was crowded with people, men and women that I’d never seen before.
 
Not one of them.
 
I saw by the things being passed around that anything went in this apartment now.
 
All of the house rules had been thrown out the window.
 
It didn’t matter, I told myself.
 
What mattered was the future and salvaging what we could.
 

I had to put on a neutral face when I saw him.
 
Things were even worse than I’d imagined, and I’d imagined a lot.
 

He was shirtless and barefoot in the kitchen, jeans slung low on his hips, holding an empty bottle of vodka and bellowing something about finding out who’d drunk it all and not replaced it.
 
He looked like he’d lost thirty pounds since I’d seen him last.
 
The bones in his face had become alarmingly prominent.
 
He’d had the healthy look of someone that bulked up at the gym before, but it was when he was thin like this that you saw that he was a big man, no matter what.
 
It wasn’t just his height, though he was very tall, but his very bones were what made up the large frame that set him apart.
 

His eyes were scary, and they widened as he recognized me.
 
He slammed the empty vodka bottle on the counter, the clanking sound it made loud enough to make me jump.
   

I wanted to cry, he looked so bad.
 
Could he come back from this?
 
Could either of us?
 
I told myself firmly that it wasn’t a question anymore.
 
We had to.
 

He pointed at me, his jaw clenching.
 
His expression only made his ghastly weight loss more starkly apparent.
 
“You,” he mouthed, like he didn’t believe I was really there, as though I was haunting him.

“Me,” I said softly, my heart aching for him.
 

He’d hit rock bottom.

He moved towards me, his fists clenched, his expression thunderous.
 

“I need to talk to you,” I began quietly.
 

He shook his head over and over as he crowded me against the edge of the counter, gripping my shoulders roughly.
 

Whereas before his size had always been fascinating, and a turn-on for me, suddenly he was menacing.
 
I’d never experienced this side of him before.
 

His hands were more brutal than they’d ever been on me, his eyes cold and glazed over.
 
His voice, when he spoke, was mean and rough, “Who are you all dressed up for?
 
You moved on from me already?”
 

His big fingers were wiping at my lips, bruising them as he rubbed hard at my lipstick, wiping it off.
 
“Who was this for, huh?
 
I know it wasn’t for me.
 
Tell me his name, so I can fucking
kill him
.”

“Tristan, stop.
 
What are you doing?
 
We need to talk.”

“Talk?
 
You fucking divorced me, and now you want to talk?”
 
His hands moved up into my hair, gripping hard enough to make my eyes water.
 

“Yes.
 
Please calm down.
 
I have something important to tell you.
 
We need to go somewhere private.
 
I don’t want to do this here.”
 

His hands went to my hips, and he heaved me onto the edge of the counter.
 
I could tell that he was impaired at that moment, but he still showed no actual strain when he handled my weight.
 
It was nothing for him.
 

He pried apart my legs, moving his hips between, his eyes on his hands as he inched my skirt up, pushing it high.
 

I used both hands to try to keep myself as covered as I could, but he just batted them away, exposing my panties to anyone that cared to look.
 
He didn’t seem to realize that we weren’t alone, his apartment full of strangers.
 

“Stop,” I pled softly.
 
“Please, stop.”
 

“What, you’re not ready?”
 
As he spoke, his hands moved to the top button of my dress, situated right at my cleavage.
 
He pulled at it roughly, popping off two buttons with a few swift tugs.
 
“
Who
was all of this for?
 
Tell me
.”

“You’re out of control, and you need to stop.”
 
I tried to make my voice firm, but it came out trembling and scared.
 

Tristan didn’t seem to notice, his eyes heavy-lidded as he gazed down at my body.
 
“It’s been so long, and you come to me like this.
 
Such easy access, so ready to take.
 
You obviously wanted someone tonight.
 
Don’t I do it for you anymore?”
 

He fondled me, grasping hard at my soft flesh.
 
I’d be bruised in the morning, but he wasn’t done.
 

He kissed me savagely, thrusting his tongue down my throat.
 
I nearly gagged, the taste of alcohol was so strong on his breath.
 
He pawed at me and plundered my mouth, none of his normal finesse present.
 
It was as though he’d totally forgotten his own strength.
 

Tristan was gone tonight.
 
Before me was a stranger.

I wasn’t sure what to do, but I knew I couldn’t continue to let him touch me, not like this.
 

He popped another button off my dress, and then another.
 
I’d felt daring when I’d put it on, and hadn’t worn a bra.
 
What a mistake that had been.
 
I’d be topless before long.
 

He bent down, sucking from my neck down to my chest, biting a sensitive nipple hard enough to make me whimper.
 

“Like that, do you?” he mumbled against my skin.
 

I tried to push him off, but of course it was no use.
 
He could handle grown men like rag dolls, and I was certainly no match.
 
I’d taken for granted how much he kept that brutal strength in check for me with every touch, but he wasn’t keeping it in check now.
 
I moaned in pain as he again grabbed me too hard.
 

One of his stranger hands snaked down my body, and I scrabbled to keep it away from his goal, but it was in vain.

He pushed one huge finger inside of me, and I cried out in dismay.
 

I was noticeably dry, and so it hurt, but the dryness had one small saving grace; it seemed to take him out of his strange spell.
 

He reared back, staring at me.
 
“What, you don’t want this?”

I shook my head emphatically.
 
“No, no, no,” I whispered in a chant.