Monica fell asleep to the feel of his strong arms and the sound of his loving whispers around her.
Back at Josie’s apartment, Tristan undressed for bed while Josie washed her face. Tristan had insisted on bringing some things from his place back to hers. So he wrapped her mattress in new clean sheets and stacked pillows at the head. He settled in and started on his book while he waited for her.
“So, you’re leaving in the morning?” Josie asked from the bathroom.
Tristan looked up from his book and eyed her reflection in the mirror. She looked nervous. He wanted to smooth the lines in her forehead and tell her that everything would be okay, but he hated to make unrealistic promises. The last three days had been heavenly. They had existed in their little domestic bubble, behaving as if there weren’t evil plots and assassins out to get them.
“Yeah, I plan on driving eight to ten hours a day, so I should get there by Saturday night.”
Josie stood in the doorway to her bedroom, watching him watch her. She smiled at the sight of Tristan on her mattress with his paperback book and his glasses firmly in place. He fit here with her; she couldn’t imagine anyone else ever doing so.
“Just let me finish this chapter and I’ll get the light,” he mumbled, not looking up from his page.
She crawled in next to him and lay back against the borrowed pillow. Josie loved the new sheets and fluffy pillows. It was a luxury she didn’t even know she missed.
Tristan closed his book and folded his glasses, placing them both on the floor. He turned to Josie and pulled her closer, wanting nothing more than to memorize the feel of her arms wrapped around him. They’d spent so much time together lately, he wasn’t sure how he’d survive time apart.
“I’m going to miss you,” he said into the quiet room, squeezing her tighter. “It’s going to be a long, lonely drive back to Louisiana.”
Josie avoided eye contact and any real emotional declarations.
“Do you think you’ll be able to find out anything? It could be dangerous. I don’t think you should go.”
“I’ll be fine. I have connections there, people who can help.”
Josie nodded, knowing he felt like he had to do this. She wanted to scream and cry and beg him to stay, but she knew her effort would be futile. So instead she sat up and placed kisses on his chest. She brought his forearm across his body and traced the lines of their tree on his skin.
“Is that my old hoodie?” Tristan asked, spying the black article tucked into the corner of the room.
“Yeah. I used to sleep in it, but it doesn’t smell like you anymore.” Josie took a deep breath, exhaling slowly to kill her building panic. “Please come back to me,” she whispered.
“I promise,” he answered, lifting her chin so that she was forced to meet his eyes.
“Promises are only your best intentions,” she reminded him.
For the rest of the night, they alternated between making love and sleeping. Each time he touched her, they would ravage and cling to each other, whispering words of devotion. In the early hours of morning, just before sunrise, Josie woke him one last time. This time, with tears of desperation, she begged him. She didn’t want soft and sweet, she wanted hard, possessive fucking. She longed for her body to remind her of this night with bouts of soreness and aching thighs.
Tristan gave her what she wanted. When she was passed out, he wrapped her in the cool sheets and placed a kiss on her temple. He was exhausted but forced himself to shower.
As the early light tried to push its way through the thick curtain, Tristan stood at the foot of the mattress, watching Josie sleep. Even in her slumber, she called to him. He eyed his packed bag waiting by the door. Tristan summoned his strength and whispered his good-bye. Remembering his old hoodie, he grabbed it and threw it on, knowing that it would be as close as he could get to being wrapped up in Josie.
15. Occultation
The act of one celestial body obscuring another.
Tristan had done some hard things in his life. He’d faced his own demons and those of others. He’d been shot at, threatened, and survived heartbreak, but nothing had been harder than leaving the girl he loved.
In her slumber, her face was no longer stamped with the hardness and doubt like when she was awake. Her lashes cast tiny shadows on her freckled cheeks. Despite the way they turned down into a natural frown, her pouty lips had begged to be kissed. Like some kind of foreshadowed tragedy, Tristan had got this feeling in his gut that he’d never see her again. It’s what made it so hard to leave.
In the dark and dingy hall of her building, he’d pounded on Alex’s door until rousing the man from his sleep. The door swung open and a Glock was pointed directly at his head. Tristan didn’t even flinch as he waited for Alex to recognize him. He knew what being on the business end of a piece of steel felt like, and through the years he’d grown indifferent to it. Alex smiled and dropped the gun to his side.
“Damn, man. What the hell couldn’t wait until the sun comes up?” Alex asked, gesturing for Tristan to come in.
Tristan declined.
“I need you to keep an eye on her, more than usual. There’s a hit out on her. A professional. I’m heading back home to see what I can find out.”
“I’ll kill anyone who comes near her,” Alex growled. “Why not bring her?”
“I can’t take her with me. It’s too dangerous. I thought about taking her to my place, but they know where I live. She’ll be safer here.”
Alex leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms, exhaling loudly.
“You know I got her. You fuck with me, you fuckin’ with the best!”
“Nice, Tony Montana.”
The two bumped fists in solidarity, a silent vow between them to trust each other unreservedly.
As Tristan traveled east on the I-10, he found himself frustrated with the amount of time he had to spend alone. He wasn’t sure how closely he was being watched by Moloney’s men, so he stuck with driving back to Louisiana instead of flying. It was easier to stay off their radar this way.
For the past thirty-eight hours, every waking thought had been of Josie. Trapped with no one to converse with but the open road, he became a prisoner of his memories. There were no distractions here, just the rhythmic passing of mile marker signs and his fellow travelers tucked away in their vehicles. He wondered where they were headed and what they expected to find when they got there. He wondered the same for himself. Sometimes he’d drive for hours without even recognizing where he was or where he’d been.
As he navigated away from the West Coast, he felt the shift in the air as it became warmer and denser. The South presented the familiar scene of more trees than buildings. Pine and oak and cypress flew by in a streaked green blur past his window. It felt like home.
Home was where his parents lived, in their ostentatious Victorian-style house on the West Bank. It was where he lived his entire childhood, surrounded by the same common faces and same group of peers. Home was where all the memories of McKenzi began and ended. It was where Fiona entered his life, where he made hasty decisions and had thrown away his future. It was where he sat on the leather couch in their living room and broke his parents’ hearts.
Tristan had debated whether to call his mother and father to let them know he was coming. Eventually, his cowardice won out and he decided to just surprise them. A sly grin crept across his lips as he thought of the heart attack his father would have at the sight of him. The prestigious Dr. Daniel Fallbrook would surely not embrace his only child looking like a common criminal. Tristan knew, though, that his mother wouldn’t care one bit. She would cling to him and bathe him with her tears, just happy to have him back. Suddenly, he didn’t dread heading back home and he pushed the accelerator down.