Page 8 of Black Heart

Then, there was her professional life. The bar she’d been working at for the past year and a half decided to fire her this morning after she’d refused to embrace the new managerial style like the rest of his “good” employees. At least, that’s how her termination had been worded when she’d refused to wear a skimpy halter top with “Joe’s Bar” written across her chest and “Come get some” stamped across her ass.

Thankfully, nepotism was still alive and well. Her father, the chief of the state police in their area, decided to give her part of the job that she was supposed to start when she graduated early. She was a few months shy of having her master’s degree in forensic criminology, so her father was creating a position for her in the meantime. She was going to act as a personal assistant to one of the detectives.

Then, there was her drive home…

The drive home, which normally took twenty minutes, took two hours today, mostly because her car kept seizing up, dying, and refusing to start without a prayer. Someone up there must love her because she finally managed to make it to her driveway before her car finally had enough. That, of course, was followed by locking herself out of the house when she went to get the mail. Now, she wasn’t sure if seeinghimafter all these years was actually a good thing or a bad thing.

When she didn’t say anything else, Tristan raised a brow expectantly. Apparently, he desired more details. Things really hadn’t changed that much, after all. He always wanted her to talk, more like demanded it. She could still remember when she was four years old and followed him everywhere he went, talking about anything and everything while he’d simply nodded.

She knew that he hadn’t been nodding out of politeness or trying to placate a young child. Any time she’d stopped talking, Tristan would stop whatever he was doing and look at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. She’d learned very early on that he hated silence. If she wasn’t speaking, he covered the silence with music or television.

God, she missed him.

Not once had he told her to go away or lost his patience with her. Even when his friends were around, she’d always been welcomed. He’d always been her hero. He’d been the one she went to when she skinned her knees and the one she’d yelled for whenever she got stuck in a tree.

He always came for her.

When it was time for Tristan to go to high school, her father took her aside and explained that he probably wouldn’t have time to spend with her. If anything, they actually became even closer. By then, the connection that she’d felt with him had developed into a crush. He was handsome, quiet, and easygoing.

Well, as long you didn’t get on his bad side.

Everything changed when Tristan started college. They began drifting apart until, eventually, they became strangers. It was weird sitting on his bed in his childhood bedroom, once again being asked to fill the silence as though nothing had changed.

“I heard you’re working on your thesis this semester,” Tristan said, the soft baritones of his voice managed to pull her out of her daze and back into a situation that would only end with her crying into her pillow later tonight.

* * *

He wanted her to talk,needed it badly. He was surprised by how much it pained him to see her in his childhood bedroom, sitting on his bed like this again. After all these years, Tristan thought he’d grown immune to her and this goddamn connection that he felt to her. Distancing himself from her was the hardest thing he’d ever done and not a day went by that he didn’t think about her, but it was because he cared about her that he did it. He couldn’t drag her into this hell.

Nobody deserved that, least of all her.

Over the years, he’d told himself that as long as Marty was happy, safe, and living the life that she deserved, nothing else mattered. She deserved more than a freak, and he would make sure that she got it, but for now, he just wanted to sit here and listen to her talk one more time. Then, he would walk away for the last time.

* * *

The problem wasthat Marty didn’t want to talk about herself. She wanted to talk about him. She was sick of finding out everything about him from her father or his family. It was never enough to tell her the one thing that would make this okay.

She wanted to know if he was happy.

She glanced around the room, hoping to stumble upon something that would get him to talk. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth as she looked out the window towards her house, quickly coming up with something that she hoped would have him talking for a little while.

“How do you like your new house?”

Tristan leaned against the side of the large chair as he eyed her pile of books. He propped his elbow on the arm of the chair and pressed two fingers to the side of his temple, making his bicep bulge in a way that made it really difficult to focus. Swallowing hard, Marty forced herself to ignore the unbelievably sexy pose.

“It’s too big,” he said, sounding annoyed.

She nodded in agreement even as she bit back a smile. Truth was, the old Thompson place was the biggest house in Stanton. Over the past few years, only large families and a few residential programs showed any interest in the old house.

“Why did you buy it?” Marty asked, curious why a confirmed bachelor would need a house that big.

“I couldn’t beat the price,” Tristan drawled.

“Oh,” Marty said, biting back a disappointed sigh.

They hadn’t spoken in years and here she was harboring fantasies that he’d missed her. She was pathetic, Marty thought only to frown as she watched his jaw suddenly clench tightly and his gaze shift to the left while every muscle in his body suddenly went rigid and the backs of his knuckles turned white.

“Are you okay?” Marty asked, wondering if his shoulder was bothering him.

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