Page 32 of I Could Be Yours

Tristan nods. “I left her a message a week ago. It wasn’t particularly kind or friendly, so I’m hopeful she got the messageto fuck off. I just want to keep her away from Brody.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t want her to fuck with his head the way she keeps trying to fuck with ours.”

“It was easier when she just stayed gone,” I agree. Easier to bury the memories, easier to pretend she wasn’t still out there, that she hadn’t left us.

Tristan leans back in his chair. “You know, if you want to talk to someone about it, I can hook you up with my therapist.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” I take another big bite, but it tastes like cardboard now.

Tristan sighs and laces his hands behind his head. “I felt the same way for a long time. But I know I’m fucked up because of the way Mom left. We all are. Talking about it sucks. It hurts.”

“So why do it then?” I can’t think about it without having feelings, and hashing those out with some stranger is a hard nope.

“Because I was hurting Bea, and I hated myself for it,” he says somberly.

My head snaps in his direction.

He raises a hand, reading the shock on my face. “Not physically.”

Relief dissolves the weight in my stomach. “Then how?”

“Emotionally, which is just as bad, if not worse in a lot of ways.” He swallows and fidgets with his napkin.

It’s clear this makes him feel…something. Sadness? Guilt? Discomfort? I get the last two. I feel those every time I think about Essie. Along with lust.

Tristan and Rix didn’t have the easiest start, but they’re here, trying to make it work. Even after all the shit we’ve been through, Tristan managed to find love and keep it. For now. “Worse how?”

“I didn’t know how to deal with my feelings, and I have a lot of them when it comes to Bea. In the beginning, sometimes they came out in unhealthy ways, and I couldn’t give her the parts ofme she deserved because I was too fucking afraid. But therapy has helped. It’s not easy, and some days I feel like a giant bag of shit.”

“But why do it if it makes you feel like trash?” Every call I avoided from our mother put me in a mood for days. I can’t even fathom what talking about it would do.

“Because Bea doesn’t deserve to feel bad because I can’t handle my feelings. I used to shut down when things got hard, but that’s not fair to her. I can’t walk away from the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. I love her so fucking much. I want to deserve her, deserve the love she gives, deserve her patience and kindness and goodness, but that won’t happen if I don’t deal with the shit that made me so closed off and angry. So I talk to someone every other week, and Bea and I go together once a month. We talk it through now, and she calls me on my shit when I’m being a dick. It’s a leap of faith, and she’s worth it.”

“I thought Lisa was worth it.” For a year and a half I thought I had stability, someone to lean on, someone to love. And then she found someone else, someone better, took it all away, and left me with more holes in my stupid heart.

“I know. I’m sorry that didn’t work out.”

“It was for the best.” She’s still dating the guy she cheated on me with, so they’re obviously better suited for each other.

His phone buzzes with a message. “Looks like that package was supposed to go to Essie’s.”

“I’ll drop it off.” I finish the rest of my second muffin.

“You want to go through the guys’ weekend stuff first?”

“Nah. I can stop by tomorrow.” I stand and round the counter, putting my plate in the dishwasher and washing my hands.

His brow furrows. “You sure you don’t mind?”

“It’s really no problem.” I don’t know why I’m in such a hurry to leave, other than this conversation makes meuncomfortable and for whatever reason, I want to see Essie. Maybe so I can get the details on their girls’ weekend.

That’s probably it. I’m competitive. I need the guys’ weekend to rock. What other reason would there be?

CHAPTER 11

ESSIE

Iam not dressed for a visit from Nate, and yet he’s here. I check my reflection in the hall mirror on the way to the door and wish I was still wearing my cute jean shorts and top and not my ratty jogger shorts and an oversized, baggy crop top. The latter is totally bestie-appropriate wear. The former is better for greeting the hot, smart guy I made out with on a lawn tractor, who posed as my boyfriend for no reason I can understand, and who danced like it was his job to show up my ex.

Most of the time he’s an insufferable jerk, but recently he’s done some things to balance it out. And I can’t stop thinking about that kiss. Or how good his arms feel around me. It’s such a problem.

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