Page 3 of Shadows of Recovery

Then she read the final message:

Jenna: Shit, I forgot to tell you, Tristan’s a good guy, he won't hurt you.

Sophie’s breath caught in her throat. The fog in her mind slowly started to clear as she pieced together the fragments of the night. The man Jenna was talking about... it had to be the one who intervened at the bar. Now she remembered him asking Jenna for her purse, telling her she’d been drugged.

The sound of footsteps approaching made her muscles stiffen. She further tensed when a ruggedly handsome man in his forties appeared in the doorway. He stood around six-foot-two with a well-built, athletic frame. Naked from the waist up, he held a towel, dabbing at blobs of shaving cream.

He had a few distinctive tattoos, including a detailed compass on his forearm, and a quote in elegant script on his ribs that read, "Not all those who wander are lost." His hair was dark brown, almost black, and had waves. Sophie wanted to run her fingers through it, but it was his piercing blue eyes that made her tingle.

"Good morning. I’m Tristan. How are you feeling?" he asked.

Sophie blinked at him, confusion mingling with gratitude. "I’m not sure. What happened? Where am I?" She gripped the sheets tightly.

He pointed to the water and offered two acetaminophen tablets from a clearly marked bottle. "You were with friends at the Blue Cottage last night. I saw the guy you were dancing with put something in your drink and intervened before he could take you away. I spoke to your friend Jenna and told her I was going to make sure you were okay. It was here or the ER. I figured you’d prefer here.”

Sophie took the familiar pills from his hand, reached for the glass and sipped the water, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and relief. "Thank you. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.” She sipped more water. “Where is here?”

“It’s my home in Spring Hill.” He sat down beside her, his expression serious yet kind. "You don't have to thank me. I’m just glad I was there. I think you’re through the worst of it. You’re safe now."

Sophie’s mind raced as she tried to piece together the events of the previous night, but Tristan’s calm demeanor helped steady her. He walked over to the bed and sat down beside her, his gaze steady and full of concern.

The reality of the situation was sinking in. She was in Tristan’s home, and he had taken care of her when she was at her most vulnerable. Gratitude welled up inside her, but before she could find the words to express it, he spoke again.

“I’m sorry about your dress,” he said, a hint of regret in his tone. “It might be a casualty of the night. You woke up around two a.m. and, well, you were pretty sick. I washed it after you...uh, violently threw up.”

Sophie felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment, but Tristan’s matter-of-fact tone made it easier to bear. He wasn’t judging her, just letting her know what happened. The thought of him taking care of her, even in such an unglamorous situation, made her feel a strange mix of mortification and gratitude.

“Thank you,” she finally managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

He gave her a small, reassuring smile. “You don’t have to worry about anything. Just rest and take your time. If you need anything, I’m here.”

Sophie nodded, the tension in her shoulders easing as she realized she was truly safe. His kindness and the way he had handled everything left her feeling both humbled and cared for. Settling back into the pillows, she knew she was in good hands. As she looked into his eyes, she felt a connection that went beyond thanks—a glimmer of arousal.

* * *

As soon asTristan left the room, Sophie swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, still feeling slightly disoriented. She picked up her dress from the top of the chest. With some effort, she tried to slip it on, but it was immediately clear that the dress had indeed become a casualty of the night. It was now too small, likely from shrinking in the wash.

Frustration welled up, but she knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was just another thing to deal with.

With a resigned sigh, she slipped out of the dress and put the oversized shirt back on. It was soft and comfortable, smelling faintly of laundry detergent. Sophie made her way to the bathroom, hoping to freshen up and gather her thoughts.

As she stepped inside, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and winced. Her hair was a tangled mess, her face pale and blotchy. The dark circles under her eyes and smudged makeup made her look like she was auditioning for the role of Ursula fromThe Little Mermaid. She shook her head, trying to push the thought aside as she used the facilities.

When she finished, she noticed a small note propped up on the sink:

Towels are clean, new toothbrush in top sink drawer, and clean tee shirt with tie shorts are in the top dresser drawer. If you need me, I’m in the downstairs office.

Tristan had thought of everything, making sure she had what she needed to feel comfortable. She opened the drawer and found a toothbrush, still in its packaging, and brushed away the cotton mouth. Then she stepped into the shower. The smell of the musk-scented soap wrapped around her. The masculine shampoo and conditioner worked out the knots in her hair. Clean, wrapped in a towel, she found the tee shirt and shorts neatly folded in the dresser as promised.

Dressed, Sophie felt a little more human, though still a long way from normal. She knew she needed to talk to Tristan to figure out what happened and how she would move forward. But first, she needed to speak with Jenna. Picking up her phone, she realized it was dead.

Steeling herself, she quietly opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway. The house was quiet, the only sounds coming from the faint ticking of a clock somewhere and the soft hum of distant activity. As she walked, she took in her surroundings—a warm, inviting space with well-worn furniture and soft lighting. It was clear this was a home, not just a place to live.

Her bare feet made no noise as she padded down the stairs, following the subtle sounds she assumed were coming from Tristan’s office. The hallway at the bottom was lined with bookshelves, the walls adorned with framed photos and art that gave her small glimpses into the life of the man who had taken her in.

As she reached the door to the office, she paused, gathering her thoughts. She wasn’t sure what to say or how to begin the conversation, but she knew she couldn’t avoid it. Tristan had gone out of his way to make her feel safe and comfortable, and she owed it to him to at least try to understand what happened.

With a deep breath, she knocked lightly on the door, pushing it open when she heard his voice inviting her in. Tristan looked up from his desk, his expression softening when he saw her.

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