Lovely Trigger (11 page)

It was the principal of the thing that made me answer her at all.
 
“You’re mistaken.
 
Nothing has been rekindled.
 
I don’t know where you’re getting this idea, but there is nothing between Tristan and I but some shared regrets.
 

I’m sure you’ve noticed my limp.
 
Tristan feels that he’s responsible for that.
 
He feels guilty about it.
 
He shouldn’t feel that way, but he does, and if you’ve gotten the impression that what he feels for me is something other than that guilt, you couldn’t be more wrong.
 
Now, was there anything else?”

Her expression schooled itself into one of sincere sympathy.
 
“That’s very sad.
 
I’m so sorry to hear about that.
 
But I still can’t shake the feeling that he is
obsessed
with you.”

I shrugged; my face so stiff that it felt like it would crack.
 
“Obsessed with his guilt perhaps.
 
If that was all, I should be going.”
 

That meeting had been agitating enough, but my day from hell wasn’t done.
 

Not two hours later, Tristan had the sheer gall to come striding into
my
gallery.

We had clearly drawn lines of territory, ones necessary for keeping the peace, and he had a nerve coming into
mine
.
   

I gripped the podium and prayed for strength.
 

He was visibly agitated as he approached me.
 
He wore his usual jeans and poured on T-shirt.
 
He looked good, of course.
 
Amazing, in fact.
 

“We need to talk,” he began without preamble.
 

I looked around, feeling terribly self-conscious.
 
I couldn’t bear the thought that some hint of a rumor could be started about him and me.
 
It was too raw of a wound to have outsiders picking at it.
 

“My office,” I told him tersely.
 
“You have ten minutes.”
 

He followed me there, shutting the door behind him.

I moved to the far side of the room and then around my tall project desk, putting it between us.
 

“I know that Mona came to see you.
 
I want to explain.”
 

I shut my eyes and shook my head.
 
I couldn’t do this.
 
I needed to stop it before it started.
 
“Don’t, please.
 
You having some sort of a tiff with her is not something I’m willing to become involved in.
 
I frankly could not care less what it is about.
 
None of it concerns me.
 
I am with someone.
 
I am
in love
with another man.”
 

Why did those words feel so hollow?
 
Why did they feel like a blatant lie, and why did I feel so dirty saying them?
 

My eyes were still closed, but I’d have sworn, just by the very change in the air, that I could feel him recoil.
 

“You say you want to be friends, to catch up.
 
That’s fine.
 
Are you prepared for me to talk about
him
?
 
It is serious between us.
 
Are you ready to congratulate me when we become engaged?
 
It’s going to happen very soon.
 
Are we
friendly
enough that I can tell you the details?”
 

He was silent for so long that I didn’t think he’d answer.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
 

“Fine.
 
Leave your number.
 
I’ll give you a call sometime.
 
We’ll do coffee.
 
How’s that?”
 
I would have said anything to get him out of there right then.
 

“It’s good, if you mean it.”
 

“Well, you’ll just have to wait and see.
 
Your ten minutes is up.”
 

Finally, I looked at him.
 
He gave me a tiny smile that played havoc on the stupid, traitorous organ in my chest.
 
“You didn’t let me get a word in.
 
I want a do-over.”
 

I shook my head, letting the tiniest hint of a rueful smile play across my mouth.
 
“Not happening.
 
Now make like a magician and disappear.”
 

He laughed, and I tried not to let my heart show in my eyes.
 

I never made a phone call, and I never answered his.
 

TRISTAN

We met for lunch regularly, but it was rare for me to get a summons up to the big office.
 
I knew the reason for it, though, the second I saw James.
 

One look at the pained expression on his face and I knew it.

He looked as though he was braced to step into the middle of a situation that must have put him in a bad spot.

I sat down without a word and waited for the ax to fall.
 

“It’s about Danika,” he told me with a heavy sigh.
 

I just nodded, though inside the turmoil raged on.
 
Whatever he was about to say, I knew I wouldn’t like it.
 

“As you know, she’s recently moved back to town, and she’ll be working on site regularly.”
 

I just nodded.
 
Again.
 
At least this was all coming through James.
 
Somehow, it made it easier.
 
As far as messengers went, close friends were a better case scenario.
 

“She’s, well, she’s asked me to relay a message to you.”

I flinched, but nodded at him to continue, properly braced.
 

“The gallery and everything west of Frankie’s is to be considered her territory, everything east, including your theatre, of course, will be yours.
 
I take it you went to see her at work?”
 

“Yes,” I said, jaw clenched tight.
   

“Christ, man, what happened between you two?
 
I missed all of the pertinent pieces.
 
I only caught hints of the aftermath.
 
You’ve both been so damned close-mouthed about it all.”
   

I looked down at my hands.
 
“She doesn’t like for me to talk about it, but we were together.
 
Not for long enough, but as you see, it was life-changing.”
 
I took a deep breath.
 
“We were
married
.”
 
It felt so good to say that part out aloud, to acknowledge that it had been real.
 

I could see by his expression that he hadn’t had a clue.
 

I smiled bitterly.
 
“No one knows.
 
We didn’t even tell Frankie.
 
And Danika doesn’t acknowledge that it ever happened.
 
But we were
married
.
 
It was just months after I lost Jared.
 
I thought I was doing okay, but I did not deal with his death well.
 

James nodded, looking sympathetic.
 
He’d sent his condolences at the time, but had steered clear of the funeral.
 
He hadn’t wanted to turn the whole thing into a media circus, as everything in his life tended to be.
 

“Obviously you know about all of the drugs and the drinking while we recorded that album with Dean.
 
You did pay for the rehab.”
 

“Worth every penny, to say the least.”
 

My mouth kicked up in a grin.
 
“We were trying to get pregnant.
 
She was insanely young for it at the time, but there was nothing sane about us.
 
We were crazy about each other.
 
She miscarried our baby, and I was a complete flake about it.
 
After that, well, the losses started piling up until I’m sure she’ll say we lost more than we ever had together.
 
That’s not true.
 
We had more than we ever lost, but either way, I screwed it up.
 
I could blame the drinking and the drugs, but however you cut it, I’m the one that let her slip through my fingers.”
 

He looked thoughtfully concerned, his fingers steepled in front of him.
 
“I always got the impression that you held yourself responsible for her leg?”
 

I winced.
 
“I am responsible.
 
She came to see me after the divorce.
 
I can’t remember why she came to my apartment, I was high as a kite and wrecked over the divorce.
 
I have huge chunks of that night missing from my brain, but I do remember yelling at her to get a ride from Dean, who I later found out had drugged her.
 
You know what happened after that.”
 

“My God,” he uttered softly.

“I’m glad you found Bianca, James.
 
It’s not something you can describe until it hits you, but I see that you’ve found the one, and I’m happy for you.”
 

He studied me, his eyes pensive, but also pitying.
 
“I’m sorry, Tristan.
 
I didn’t realize this was what you were dealing with.
 
I thought it was some scenario where she was wanted too much from you, and you went on your way.
 
I knew that you loved her, but I thought that you’d let her go by choice.”
 

“By choice?
 
No, my friend.
 
This was not my choice.
 
I screwed up plenty, but if it were up to me, it would never have turned out like this.”
 

“I don’t know how you’ve done it.
 
With Bianca…she turned me away for a month and I thought I was losing my mind.
 
I can’t imagine going through what you have, all the years, all the distance.
 
I don’t know where you find the strength.”
 

I shut my eyes, the words pouring over me like some soothing torture.
 
“I don’t know either.
 
I don’t have a clue.”
 

CHAPTER EIGHT

SIX YEARS AFTER THE ACCIDENT

DANIKA

I was beyond flattered to be asked by Bianca to be a bridesmaid.
 
I agreed instantly.
 
I hugged her when she told me, and embarrassingly, even teared up.
 

Her friendship had been very good for me.
 
We’d particularly bonded after the shooting.
 
I’d visited her whenever I could as she was healing.
 

She managed in that quiet way of hers to talk me into posing for a series of paintings for her while she recovered.
 

I was terribly flattered, and excited, because she’d promised me a painting for my time.
 

She was extremely generous with her art, offering several times to give me pieces I was taken with in the past, but I’d always put her off, insisting on paying for the two small paintings that I did end up buying from her collection.
 
This though, the exchange of inspiration for art, didn’t feel like taking advantage, and so I accepted her offer of taking my pick from her next collection after we’d finished with the sessions.
 

One painting turned into another, until I became her favorite subject, second only to James.
 

The hours turned to days, hell, to weeks, and her next show, which premiered a mere of eight months after her first, had so many paintings of me in it that I couldn’t keep track.
 
I became a bonafide part of the show.
 
It was a strange experience, to say the least, but a good one.

 
We’d opened up to each other as I’d sat and she’d painted, even talking to some extent about our rough childhoods.
 
As far as nightmares went, I thought hers took the cake, but it was good to have a friend that could relate to having and surviving a troubled past.
 
To climbing out of a pile of rubble and leaving it behind.
     

It was hard, but I made a promise to myself, for the sake of two people I adored who were getting the dream wedding they deserved, to just be nice to Tristan for the whole affair.
 

Not just civil.
 
Not just less hostile.
 
But nice.
 

I could do this, I told myself, many times.
 

And when push came to shove, it was frightening just how easy it was to fall back into the old rapport.
 

Not just easy.
 
Natural
.
 

I had this moment every time I went to visit Bev and Jerry at their house.
 
I’d walk in the door, and everyone in the place would just stop what they were doing and rush at me.
 
The kids, no matter how big they got, would wrap themselves around me.
 
The dogs, sans Mango now, but with an extra puppy in the mix, would come and crowd me until I sat down somewhere and let them all converge on me.
 
Bev would come and kiss me on the forehead, even while Jerry did a drive by all the chaos to pat me on the head affectionately.