Page 7 of Black Heart

As he made his way up the front steps, Tristan realized that something about this time was different.

This time, there would be no turning back.

Slowly releasing a shaky breath, he jogged up the stairs, taking them two at a time, but somehow managed to force himself to slow down when he reached his old bedroom and spotted Marty sitting on the small twin bed among a pile of books, focused on the thick textbook on her lap.

Unable to take his eyes off her, Tristan stepped into the room and leaned back against the doorframe, content to watch her for a few minutes until even that wasn’t enough and he realized that he needed more than just to watch her from a distance.

“Hey, Marty,” Tristan murmured softly when he knew that he should have just walked away, startling Marty into releasing an adorable squeal as she jumped back and fell off the bed.

Cursing, Tristan pushed away from the doorframe and moved his ass. His long strides quickly ate up the small distance and was there before Marty managed to hit the floor, using his good arm to pull her against his body. He forced himself to ignore just how fucking good it felt to touch her and quickly placed her back on the bed. Once she was settled in the middle of the small bed, Tristan dropped his hand away from her as though the contact burned him and stepped back.

“Thanks,” Marty mumbled awkwardly as she pushed her long brown hair out of her face.

“No problem,” Tristan said gruffly as he quickly moved away from the bed, needing to put more distance between them. He moved to the other side of the room and dropped his large frame onto the oversized leather chair that his father stuffed in here a few years ago to stop it from ending up in a yard sale, praying that he didn’t regret this later.

* * *

Marty nervously tappedher pen against her notebook as she frantically searched for something to say to the man that used to be her entire world, only to end up blurting out, “I got locked out,” and most likely sounding like an idiot.

“So, I heard,” Tristan murmured, giving her a barely-there smile.

Not knowing what else to say and in absolutely no mood to make an ass out of herself again in front of him, Marty began collecting her books. “I must be in your way. I’ll go downstairs and study at the kitchen table.”

Once upon a time, he used to be her world, but now, she had absolutely no idea how to talk to him anymore. Once he’d graduated high school, they quickly became strangers. The only time that she saw him now was when she stopped by the police station to visit her father at work, when they both visited his parents or when she drove past his house. Even then, it was only polite nods and barely-there greetings.

Well, except for that one time when he pulled her over for speeding. She swore that his lips twitched when he gave her that speeding ticket, but it had been so quick that she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it. Tristan always acted like ice, like nothing could penetrate his cool exterior. Earning a true smile or laugh from him was like winning the lottery.

She inwardly sighed.

God, she really missed his laugh.

She missedhim.

“You’re not in the way,” Tristan said softly.

When Marty hesitated, he continued. “I also wanted to say hello. It’s been a while since we’ve talked,” Tristan explained, absently reaching up and rubbed his shoulder, making her swallow hard as she followed the move.

“I heard about what happened. I’m sorry. That must have been awful,” Marty said, relieved that she’d managed to talk about one of the worst nights of her life without crying.

She knew that he wouldn’t appreciate it, especially since he had no idea that she’d spent the entire night after he had emergency surgery holding his hand in the ICU, crying, and praying that he got another chance. She’d been too afraid to ask for anything more than Tristan pulling through that night, terrified that it would be asking for too much and that she’d lose him, but now…

Now, she wished that she’d asked for more.

From the first moment that she saw him sitting in Tom and Beth’s living room the day they’d picked him up from foster care, she’d felt connected to him. It wasn’t something that she ever admitted to anyone, not even Tristan when they were kids and he was her world. It was so strange, still was, but from the moment that she saw him, she’d felt drawn to him. Still did, even if they hadn’t spoken in years.

She wished that she didn’t feel this way about him. She hated this hold that he had over her, couldn’t explain it, and most days, she struggled to ignore the heartache that being separated from him caused. She’d never hated this strange connection to him more than the day when her father called and told her that Tristan had been shot and might not make it through the night.

She hated it because the impending loss felt powerful, too powerful, and so damn familiar that it nearly dropped her to her knees. It felt like she’d gone through it a hundred times before and one more time would have been more than she could handle.

“It’s over,” Tristan said, shrugging it off when most men that she knew, including her father, would have taken that as his cue to tell her all about the shooting with the typical embellishments added, but not Tristan. Even as a child, he’d hated talking about himself.

“Tell me about school,” he demanded softly, making her lips twitch.

It seemed like nothing had changed. He’d always asked about her day and patiently listened while she rambled on about her favorite crayons, what she had for lunch, or what she planned on asking Santa for Christmas. He’d always been so sweet and patient with her. She never really believed the rumors that he was an asshole since he’d always been kind to her even when she was acting like a brat.

“It’s going well,” Marty said, not really in the mood to talk about school since she was struggling to finish her thesis. Her personal life was out as well since she didn’t really have one, especially since the guy she’d been seeing whenever she wasn’t busy dumped her today through a text.

Could you really dump someone that you hadn’t spoken to in over two months? She didn’t think so. After not seeing or hearing from someone in over, let’s say, a week and a half, a breakup should be a mutual understanding. But if Jonathan needed closure, he had it now.

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