Page 68 of Something like Love

Curious, I pick up a silver frame and see the faces of a juvenile Polly, a happy Cynthia, and a handsome man, who I presume is Chandler. Standing in front of the cabin, they smile broadly while holding a fish and looking proud of their catch.

They look so normal, but I can’t help but wonder if there lies an unhappy, broken soul behind Cynthia’s smile with a shitload of baggage, just like me?

After the events of last night, I decide to go easy on her since she’s the only family I have. She and Polly came through for me, and if it weren’t for Cynthia looking for me and Polly waking up Quinn, I hate to think where Tristan and I would be.

Every time I envision Tristan beaten, bruised, and begging for my life, a fierce anger overtakes my senses, and I need a moment to calm down. But I’m not here to dwell on the past. I’m here to focus on the future and be pleased about showing Thomas and Phil that I’m a different girl than the one they once knew.

The smell of coffee reaches my nostrils, which is exactly what I need.

I gently replace the frame on the mantel and hum in delight when I enter the kitchen and see a coffeepot brewing. I have no idea where anything is and feel incredibly nosy going through the cupboards, but I strike it lucky when I find the mugs above the stove.

I fill the mug to the brim with much-needed coffee, and my body instantly unwinds the moment I take a small sip.

Cradling my mug, I look outside the window above the sink.

The rain clouds imply it will be another wet day, but as I look through the lace curtains, I see a beautiful lake in the backyard, and the gloomy weather complements the murky waters. The stunning landscape extends farther than my eye can see.

A dense green forest complements the lake, and suddenly, a bare-chested Tristan emerges from the woodlands, casually jogging.

I quickly avert my eyes as his track pants sit quite low on his narrow waist, revealing an impressive body. I feel wrong looking at him because he’s barely clothed. But I find my gaze straying back.

I watch him cool down by doing overhead stretches, highlighting the length of his muscled body and ripped abs.

He’s far enough away that he can’t see me, but I still feel like I’m doing something wrong.

Just as I’m about to look away, a voice causes me to yelp and spill my coffee all over Quinn’s sweater.

“Who are you spying on?” Polly asks on a yawn.

“Spying? I’m not spying.” I quickly scoff, wiping the hot coffee from my top.

“Sure.” She peers over my shoulder and playfully moans. “No wonder you were spying. He’s gorgeous. Black eye and all.”

“Coffee?” I ask, needing to change the subject.

“Sure,” Polly replies, taking one last look at Tristan before giving me a small smile.

I pour her a cup, and we stand silently staring out the window.

Every so often, my eyes drift to Tristan, who has thankfully thrown on his T-shirt, and as he sits, wincing when stretching out his hamstrings, I know that last night impacted us all.

“I’m sorry about last night.”

Polly sighs before slowly turning toward me, and it’s the first time I’ve really paid any attention to her appearance.

The bags under her eyes rival mine, and her hair is the same as last night, just a little messier as wisps have come undone and fall across her face. She’s in ripped sweats and an oversized black sweatshirt and I almost don’t recognize her as the girl in red from last night.

That reality makes me unbelievably miserable, and again, I feel the need to apologize.

“Polly, what you saw last night…I really am sorry you had to witness that. If I could take it back, I would. But I can’t, so all I can offer you is a shoulder to cry on or something,” I awkwardly say, clearing my throat as I’m not good with this whole consoling crap.

Polly gives me a stiff smile as she brushes her hair off her face. “It’s fine. I’m not going to cry. I know it wasn’t your fault.”

“No, it’s not fine. That bullshit you saw? That’s my reality, not yours. I would never wish that upon anyone. I wish you were never exposed to such violence because that shit—it changes a person. I mean, look at me.”

I hate the truth behind my words.

“I am looking at you, Mia, and all I see is a strong, powerful woman. You didn’t waver once, and you weren’t at all scared. You were like a fucking superhero,” she says in admiration. “I can only dream of standing up to someone the way you did.”

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