He smiled at her and couldn’t believe that she thought he’d ever forget it.
“I know things are shit right now. Our whole lives have been crazy, but I need you to know that I’m here to stay.”
Josie wondered how such passionate declarations could be made by a man who had suffered so much heartache. She looked at him, really looked at him, and could see now that he had made himself vulnerable. He was so unlike every other person she’d ever met. He wore his battered heart on his sleeve. Even after all the hurt he’d endured, he still had faith in love, whereas her faith had never existed.
She slid off of his lap and to the other end of the couch now, needing separation. Josie pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms tight around them, a defensive move she’d perfected years ago. A battle raged in her mind, a fight between what she wanted and what she needed.
“Tristan, I’m not that girl you remember. I’m not McKenzi. You’re infatuated with the memory of who I used to be, not who I am. You don’t know me.”
“I want to, Josie. If you’d just let me. I want to know everything,” he pleaded.
She shook her head and balled her hands into fists. He’d never want to know who she was now. She’d never compare to his perfect childhood memories.
“No you don’t, Tristan. No one wants to know those things.”
Tristan stood and began pacing the room, trying to keep his temper under control. He hated that she doubted his word. He hated that she didn’t trust him to keep her safe. But what he hated most was that he honestly didn’t know if he could.
“Yes, I do,” he said looking into her eyes, challenging her. “I need to.”
Josie shot off the couch, losing the last bit of restraint she had.
“Fine, Tristan. You want to know? I’ll fucking tell you. You want to know about when they found me, I was so dehydrated and malnourished I barely survived the night? I spent days in a hospital, and when I finally woke up everyone was a stranger! You want to know how I was shipped across the country to a state home, where I didn’t know anyone? You want to know how, at night, when the adults were asleep, the older girls would force themselves on me, and in me, while the others stood as lookouts? Is that what you want to fucking know?”
Josie yelled at him, she raged at him, she wanted to stop, but she couldn’t. Tristan just shook his head, helpless to soothe the trembling girl before him. Every statement stabbed at him like a serrated knife, destroying his heart.
“How about when I was so lucky to be placed in a foster home? You want to know how for the three years I lived there, I was kept in a nine-square-foot closet, even though there was a perfect little room upstairs staged with boy band posters and frilly pillows? Oh, I bet you want to know how that asshole beat me every time I spoke without permission.”
“No,” he whispered. “I can’t believe…”
“Yes! This isn’t one of your books, Tristan. This is my life. It’s real.”
Tristan wanted to go to her, he wanted to take away all the suffering she’d endured. He took a step toward her, but she held up her hand to stop him. Josie’s chest was heaving now, her breaths shallow and unfulfilling. The room began to spin as her heart crashed against her chest and pulsing blood deafened her ears.
“I slept in the park and stole to survive until Monica found me. Do you want to know that I’ve fucked so many people that I’ve lost count? Men, women, anyone who would give me what I needed. I did it for food, for a soft bed, and for a few pills.”
Tristan shook his head, unable to imagine the things she described, unwilling to accept that she’d endured those horrible atrocities.
“Don’t shake your fucking head, Tristan. You wanted to know, now you do.”
Her voice was only a whisper now, a tortured plea for solitude.
“None of that was your fault, Josie. None of it. You can trust me. I want to help.”
“You can’t help me, Tristan. No one can. This is who I am, now. I’m fucked-up and I can’t be fixed. Not by you or Monica or anyone else. Just go.”
“Josie.”
“Go!” she yelled, pointing at the door.
When he didn’t move, she yelled again, her face stamped with pink splotches and pent-up emotions. Tristan found himself on the edge of a precipice. He wanted to make her happy, but leaving would appease her only for the moment. He knew, more than she did, that she needed him to stay. Tristan squared his shoulders and prepared for battle.
12. Tides
The rising and falling levels of the ocean.
With heavy footsteps and infallible conviction, Tristan charged toward Josie. Her eyes widened in surprise as he approached. She’d told him to leave. She wasn’t prepared for resistance.
“No!” she shouted, pushing at his chest in a futile effort to keep him away. “Get out before I throw you out!”
He remained silent as he fought off her flailing arms and empty threats. Tristan’s large hands enveloped her wrists, stopping her assault midair. He pinned her hands to her sides and wrapped his arms around, trapping her in his viselike grip. She struggled against his hold, her strength fading with every effort.
“Let me go! Leave me alone! Just go! Why won’t you just go?” her weakening voice yelled.
Tristan squeezed her tighter and lowered his lips to her ear.
“Because I love you.”
Josie’s body sagged against his in defeat, and she rested her forehead against his chest.
“You can’t,” she whispered. “You can’t love me.”
“I do,” he insisted.
She blinked a few times, trying to focus her blurry vision, straining to understand his words. They made no sense to her. She’d never heard them directed at her before. It felt terrifying.
“Show me.”
Tristan crushed his lips to Josie’s. He didn’t have to think or plan, he only had to feel. He felt the wetness on her cheeks as his skin moved against hers. He felt the hot, soft flesh of her tongue push and pull against his. Releasing his hold on her, he slid his hands up to her shoulders and brought her flush against his chest. She felt so good, fit so perfectly. Tristan couldn’t imagine a physical pleasure more fulfilling than her touch.
Josie felt crazed and overwhelmed with emotion. She scratched and clawed at his body as if trying to climb inside him. Over the lines of his ink, she raked pink trails with her fingernails. Tristan hummed at the fulfillment of her pain becoming his.
Josie felt his hands trace down the curve of her body. Tristan grabbed the backs of her thighs and she hopped up, wrapping her legs around him. She celebrated the electrifying buzz of every part of her body being touched by every part of his.
A low, satisfied hum vibrated through his chest as he walked them to her never used bedroom. The only light came from the moon filtering in through the dirty window. Tristan dropped to his knees, Josie still clinging to his body. In a tangle of limbs, Josie fought her way out of her shirt and jeans while Tristan helped.
They ventured into unfamiliar territory for Josie. It was strange and intimidating and completely welcomed. Josie usually held all the control in these situations, taking what she wanted and then abandoning her conquest. With Tristan, she was happy to surrender.
Josie lay before Tristan, her skin glowing silvery blue in the moonlight. With her eyes hooded and her chest rising and falling so quickly, she looked like a beautiful waiting sacrifice. She was heavenly and entirely his. Here, in the quiet of this room, beneath the light that shone only for them, she was not damaged, she was faultless and brilliant.
Lowering himself down, he let the weight of his body press her into the mattress. He placed soft kisses on her chest and neck, dragging his tongue across her pulse point. The rapid thumping of her heart kept him grounded, otherwise he felt as though he might float away.