Broken Promises (15 page)

He shrugs. “Some cakes are created for eating. Other cakes are created for fun.”

I glance at Derrick from the corner of my eye and then at Trystan. He’s nodding and holding up his cup of milk as well. Katie dumped all the liquor down the drain before Trystan came back, unwilling to aid in his self-destruction. No one seems to notice its absence—not out loud at least—and the cake tastes better with milk than alcohol, anyway.

“Well said,” Trystan agrees with a nod. I should be happy, but I’m not.

I glance at Katie, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Something isn’t right, but I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe I’m mental? Today has been insanely long. I brush aside my apprehension and help clean up the kitchen. After every last bit of cake is cleaned up, I follow Derrick to the door while Katie and Trystan finish loading the dishes.

Derrick pulls me to him and slides his hands down my back to rest just below my waist. His voice is soft and deep. “I had a good time tonight. I love you.” He lowers his lips to mine and kisses me slowly. His hands press on my back until one lifts to my bra and presses harder, forcing my breasts into his chest. It’s a passionate kiss for him, and for a second I wonder why, but then I feel it—Trystan is there, and he’s watching us.

Shyness floods me, and I pull away. My face flames red, and I look at the carpet, trying to hide it. Trystan doesn’t say anything. He just flops down on the couch and turns on the TV.

Derrick gives me a look and then his gaze cuts to Trystan before returning to me. He leans in and kisses my cheek, seeming to understand that I don’t want to make out with him in front of people. Before he pulls back, he whispers, “You never pulled away in front of Katie, but I understand if you want to give him some time. I can respect that, as long as it’s not forever.”

“It won’t be.” My hands splay across his chest, and I look up to see uncertainty in his icy blue eyes. I wish I knew what he was thinking, but I don’t.

He smiles. “Good.” Derrick kisses me on the cheek again and heads out.

By the time he’s gone, Katie has snuggled into the chair, and the only spot left to sit is next to Trystan. Stop acting like a child. Adults can be friends with their exes. Get over it already and stop being stupid. I plop down on the cushion next to him, careful not to touch him, and feel the letter stab me. I’m about to pull it out when I look up at the TV. “What the hell is that?”

Trystan is grinning and staring. Katie’s mouth forms an O and is hanging open.

Trystan laughs. “It’s Jon Ferro. In Times Square.”

“I see that. What the hell is he doing?” He’s standing next to two women covered in body paint. It looks like they’re wearing leopard leotards, but they're not. It’s an intricately painted design. I wouldn't have realized they were naked had the station not blurred their girlie parts—which was silly because you can’t see them under the paint.

Jon appears dressed for a safari, wearing light-colored clothes, a fedora, sunglasses, and he's holding what appears to be a rifle. With a grin on his face, he proudly tells the reporter he's going on an expedition.

“Yes, Tina, I’ll be hunting on the African Savanna next month, and I plan to shoot as many exotic animals as possible. The mansion needs new décor, so it’s not entirely for sport.” He laughs and smiles as if he hadn't said the most politically incorrect thing imaginable.

I blink at the screen. “Did he just say he’s going to shoot endangered animals and hang them on his walls?”

Trystan nods and sits forward. “Yeah, he did.”

Katie finally mutters, “Holy fuck. He’s insane. Every reporter within a hundred miles is going to blast him for that.”

Trystan glances over at me and then back at the TV. It makes me think that he knew about this. I frown, watching Jon say more insane things before lifting the rifle and aiming it at one of the naked women. Without hesitation, he shoots her, and the camera pans to show her side covered in dark red paint.

“Holy shit.” Katie stares, shocked.

Trystan is trying not to laugh. I slap him, playfully, with the back of my hand. “Okay, spill. Why is your BFF making an ass out of himself in Times Square? He’s pissing people off on purpose.” The crowd is getting rowdy, and that’s before a big man in a black suit hands Jon another paint gun. I blink at the screen in disbelief. “Is that Bob?”

Katie glances over at us. “What’d you do?”

“I didn’t do anything," I say sharply, "this is all him.”

Trystan sighs and looks up at the ceiling, stretching his neck. I catch a glimpse of a silver chain before it dips below his shirt again. Does he know he's lost the ring yet? Has he looked for it? The movement forces out Trystan's Adam’s apple and I see him swallow hard. When he looks at us, he presses his lips together and parts his hands. “The press followed me here earlier. I asked Jon to draw them away, but I didn’t know this was his plan.”

I fish the note out of my pocket, realizing we’re on borrowed time. “Did he owe you a favor? The press is going to slaughter him for this.”

“They’ll report it was a prank in the morning when he donates a million bucks to an animal shelter and adopts a panther. Jon is sly that way." We sit, silently staring at Jon's antics for another minute, before Katie spies the letter in my hand.

She grabs the remote and shuts off the TV. “Don't waste the distraction. Rip open that letter, Mari.” Katie sits down in her chair again and tucks her feet under her butt. She’s nervous. I can tell because she only sits like that when she thinks bad news is coming. It’s her go-to position for bracing against something bad.

I keep my voice calm and gentle. "So what's in this letter that has you so spooked?"

Trystan looks down at the carpet. "Bob gave it to me earlier when I asked him to help Jon. He said I couldn't open it alone. That I had to be with friends, and that it 'checked out.' I think it's about my dad."

A heavy silence settles on the room. I’m still holding the envelope. Trystan hasn’t tried to take it away. He still doesn’t look at me, before finally saying, “Open it. Read it, and give me the highlights.”

“You don’t want to read it first?” I ask, holding the paper out to him.

He shakes his head. “No, if Dad wrote it, he’ll rip into me, and I don’t want to know the specifics. If it’s someone writing to tell me he’s dead, again, I don’t want to know the specifics.” Trystan pushes his fingers into the sides of his hair and holds his head in his hands. He doesn’t look up again.

I tear open the paper with a sense of dread. Two deaths so close together would suck. Even though with everything that happened between Trystan and his shitty father, I know his death will still be hard. Trystan’s father blamed him, neglected him, and abused him. If I hadn’t accidentally interrupted a beating one night back in high school, Trystan might not be here now.

I pull out the paper and scan the handwriting. At first glance, I know from the penmanship a woman wrote the letter. Each letter is a fluid curving swirl flowing into the next. As I read the note, I grow increasingly upset. If it's true, this is going to kill him.

When I’m finished reading, my eyes shoot to Trystan. He hasn't moved. Katie watches me, biting her thumb nervously. “Well? What is it?”

I’m shaking, still holding the note. My lips part, but I can’t find the right words. When Trystan turns to face me, I want to cry. This story can’t be true.

“Is it Dad?” Worry pinches his brow as he threads his fingers together. He’s waiting, looking at me. His eyes lock with mine, and I know he feels the dread bubbling up inside of me. My stomach is in a free-fall. I don’t want to deliver this news, but I have to—he asked me to do it.

I shake my head. “No, it’s your mother.”

CHAPTER 25

MARI

T
rystan drops his hands and sits up straight. “What? How can it be from my mother? MY mother?” He reaches for the note and hesitates. His hand is in the air just above the paper, shaking. He pulls away as if burned, and jumps up quickly.

He paces the floor, and I watch a million emotions collide on his face. “That can’t be. She doesn't want anything to do with me. She left us because of me. Dad said she couldn’t handle a screaming baby every day. She picked up and left. She left me, Mari!” He screams the words at me and I feel the knife being shoved deeper and deeper into his stomach as he realizes the ramifications of her coming to him now.

Katie’s voice is soft. “What does she want?”

I’m still holding the paper and sitting on the edge of the couch. “She says she wants to talk to you, but this could be from anyone, Trystan. There’s no way to know if this woman is your mother.”

He shakes his head and stops abruptly, gasping as if he'd been sucker punched, before explaining. “Bob checked it already. When he handed it to me, he said it was legit.” Trystan turns suddenly, his eyes locking on mine. His lips press lightly together, and his eyes are glassy. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this? Do you know how many ways I've imagined this day? But she shows up now, right after the Times printed how many millions I earn in a year. You’ve got to love my fucking family!” He smiles, but there’s only pain in his eyes. Trystan sits down hard next to me, slamming his head into the back of the couch. He stares at the ceiling and closes his eyes.

Katie slips from her chair. “I’m going to make some coffee.” She glances at Trystan, opens her mouth to say something, and then doesn’t. She looks at me and leaves the room.

Trystan is quiet for a few moments, but I know what’s racing through his head—he thinks she wants his money. “When I was a kid, I’d lie in bed at night and wonder what she looked like. I wanted to hear her voice, and I’d imagine her singing to me. The nights my dad locked me in the closet, I’d picture her face opening the door and scooping me up in her arms, taking me away from my father. I waited and waited for her to show up, but she never came. Why the fuck should I let her in now?” He opens his eyes and looks over at me.

My chest feels so heavy, like it's being crushed. He has to feel so much worse. I lick my lips and sit back next to him, staring straight ahead as I talk. I feel his eyes on the side of my face. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t know what to do if I were you, or how to decide something like this. I mean, we both had shitty parents—yours more so—“

“Your dad was an asshole, Mari. He completely ignored you until your mom died. Just because he didn’t hit you doesn’t mean he didn’t hurt you.”

I swallow hard and nod slowly. “Maybe, but before my mom died, she started making an effort to know me, to know what I liked and what I thought. It was weird at first because I didn’t believe her. She'd always been so enamored with my father she didn’t even see me, so when she suddenly took an interest in what I was doing, it was hard to swallow.” I’m wringing my hands as I speak, recalling memories I regret—things I can’t fix because she’s gone.

“I remember that. She came to the play.”

“She did, and I didn’t know how to accept that she wanted to know me. I regret that, Trystan. I held her at arm’s length because I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what, exactly?”

I shrug, trying to keep the pain out of my voice and failing. “I don’t know. That she wasn’t sincere, that she wouldn’t like me once she figured out who I was? Maybe I was just afraid I’d screw it up. After I had spent so much time alone, longing for something I couldn't have, I didn’t know how to react when she tried to fix it. I left it a mess for a while. We had lunch, and she came to see my dorm room and helped me set it up. Some of my chances were stolen, but I was the one who wasted the rest.” I can barely breathe. I haven’t admitted this to anyone, but he knew me then and knew how hard it was. I feel his hand on top of mine. He squeezes, and I don’t care that he can read me, that he can feel the regret coursing through my veins.

“Mari, there’s no way you could have known what would happen.”

I force a smile. “I know, which is why I feel so horrible about it. Trystan, I can’t speak for you, but if I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t hold back.” I’m afraid to look over at him. We’re poking around an old wound that never healed, a scab that never came off.

I usually protect these thoughts, shoving them down inside me as far as they’ll go. These things are never said, and they aren’t supposed to see the light of day. I have no idea how I admitted it, except that I know he needs to hear it.

“You think I'm afraid? You think that’s the reason I wouldn’t want to see her?”

I’m already as raw as I can be. I don’t hold back, I don’t filter my thoughts—he can see through me, anyway, so what's the point? I turn to face him and take his hand. Now he has one of mine, and I have one of his. I bite my lower lip and jump in. “I think it’s easier to believe your dad than face your mother. If you meet her and she confirms what your dad told you—that she didn't want you and it's your fault she left—that would hurt worse than him just claiming that was the truth. I'd be afraid to hear that, too. But what if that's not why she left? Maybe your dad lied, or maybe he just didn't understand. Trystan, the truth is that you won’t know why she really left unless you talk to her. If you don’t, you’ll regret it. You’ll look back and wonder what you lost. I know I do.”

“What if she just wants to use me? Mari, I can’t handle that, not right now.” The insecure way his brow wrinkles makes me want to throw my arms around him. His defenses are completely and totally down. Trystan trusts me with this, and it's big enough to destroy him.

“Trystan, you’re the strongest person I know. You’ve lived through hell and smile telling the tale.” I laugh and touch his cheek as I say it, before dropping my hand to my side. “You came to school every day and acted like you were happy. That’s strength like I’ve never seen, not before or since. Trystan, you can do this.”

He presses his lips together into a thin line and blinks rapidly. His dark lashes clump together with unshed tears. He releases my hand and stands. Trystan turns his back to me, putting his hands behind his neck and stretching. When his shirt lifts I can see a few words tattooed on the small of his back. They’re small, written in script and resemble a poem. It disappears beneath his jeans. That wasn’t there the last time we were together. I wonder what it says, which song it is. Knowing Trystan, it has to be a song.