Rhapsody (The Teplo Trilogy #2) (44 page)

She wasn't a ballerina anymore, but she was still Lillian, and Lillian didn't give up. She went after what she wanted and she danced. No matter what, she danced.

It was beyond time for her to tie up her shoes and start dancing again.

Tristan stared at the phone in his hand, certain his mind played tricks on him. Lillian's name flashed across the screen. So did her picture. But she hadn't called him at all since she'd left. She called Zoë every day. And sometimes she even called Rachel, but she'd never once called him.

It had to be a mistake.

He fumbled the phone to his ear, his heart pounding. "Hello?"

"Tristan?"

Oh God.

"Lillian," he breathed as her sweet, sweet voice sounded in his ear. "Beautiful." He sank down into the chair, his legs shaking too hard to hold him up. She was really there, talking to him. He wasn't dreaming.

Ah, fuck.

Maybe this was a nightmare.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he demanded, his hand clenched around the phone as old, familiar fear coursed through him. Something was wrong, it had to be. Why else would she call him after how monumentally he'd screwed up?

"Nothing's wrong. I just–" She cleared her throat on the other end of the line and went silent.

"Beautiful?" Hs heart was in his throat. He was terrified she'd hung up or was going to hang up or say she shouldn't have called and picking up the phone was one big mistake. And he wasn't ready to hear any of that. God, he
so
did not want to hear any of that. He was a miserable bastard, he knew that. He'd made so many mistakes trying to protect her from his own demons. But he fucking needed her. He, literally, couldn't do this shit without her anymore. She'd changed him, just like he'd known all along that she would. And he loved it. He loved
her
.

"I miss you," she whispered finally. "I miss you so much."

"Oh, baby." His eyes fell closed, that confession reverberating inside of him like a gong, shaking loose things he hadn't felt in weeks. Hope. Relief. Calm. "I miss you too, beautiful."

She took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm so sorry, Tristan. I'm so sorry I didn't stay. I'm so sorry you got hurt. I'm so sorry for all of it." She was crying, sobbing her apologies into the phone in gasping shudders.

"Baby, baby, shh," he soothed, wishing like mad that he could reach out and drag her into his lap and wipe those tears away himself. He'd give
anything
to have her in his arms right now. Anything. "It's not your fault, beautiful. None of it's your fault. Don't cry. Please, don't cry."

"Please tell me you don't hate me," she begged, still sniffling into the phone.

"I could never hate you," he vowed. God, how could she ever think that? "I'm so sorry, beautiful. So fucking sorry." Christ, he wanted to be there with her. He wanted to hold her in his arms and kiss her, not tell her any of this over the phone.

But Elijah…didn't really matter, did he? This did. Lillian did. What she required mattered. Hell, what
he
needed mattered. And right then, what they both needed was to talk. To really fucking talk and put things back in order. That mattered,
they
mattered, a whole hell of a lot more than anything else.

He wanted her here with him, and he was now more certain than ever that she wanted the same thing. She needed
him
. In the grand scheme of things, that really did matter more than his fears. He could deal with the fear. He would deal with it. But he didn't have to deal with hearing her cry for him and being too far away to wipe her tears away.

He could fix that now.

"Where are you, beautiful?" he asked.

"My dad's."

Five hours. He could be with her in five hours. All he had to do was let go. Just, for once in his life, let go of all the heartache and grief and guilt he'd been carrying around. He'd given up enough already. At some point, it had to stop.
He
had to stop. He could punish himself until it killed him, but he couldn't change the past. He couldn't shelter everyone and hold them at arm's length so he never had to get too close. None of that would bring his parents back.

He knew that. He'd known that for a long time.

It was time to let go.

"I'm coming," he whispered into the phone. "I'm coming to get you, beautiful."

Her sob was all he needed to know that he'd made the right decision.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Tristan had never been to Bend, but as he sped toward Lillian, he felt as if he were coming home. Nothing was familiar, and yet everything was. The streets he drove were uncharted territory for him, but the loosening of muscles and the growing sense of anticipation were as familiar as the
kata
he'd tried to lose himself in daily since he'd forced his sorry ass out of that hospital bed.

He felt breathless and as if he could finally breathe all at once. His skin crawled with the desire to be pressed to hers, but still seemed somehow less raw than it had for weeks. The world around him seemed faded and washed out, but bright and new, too. A thousand little dichotic sensations pointed him toward her like a roadmap. It'd been far too long since he'd last held her, and she was finally there, within reach.

When he saw her as he stopped the car on the curb, his heart hammered and his palms sweated. The first time he'd set eyes on her, he'd thought her beautiful. Now, he found her radiant. Her hair shone like silk in the setting sun, deep reds and lighter browns tumbling freely down her back as she stood on the sidewalk, staring at him. His eyes roved everywhere. Over her face, down her torso, across her scar, and then downward.

He took that same route once, twice, and then a third time.

"Beautiful," he finally said.

She met him halfway, her warm brown eyes watery and peaceful at once.

His arms went around her, and hers around him. Their bodies collided, hard muscle and soft silk molding together. For the first time in weeks, he felt truly alive. Every cell in his body hummed, peace and desire and love coursing through him in soft waves.

"Tristan, oh God, Tristan," she chanted, pulling him closer, clutching him tighter. Her heart raced with his, pounding out a furious rhythm where their chests were pressed so tightly together.

He never wanted to let her go again.

For weeks, he'd imagined this moment a thousand different ways. None came anywhere close to the reality of finally seeing her, of finally touching her. Being near her after going so long without her was exactly like coming home, only better. Home couldn't rain kisses upon his face or wrap itself around him. It couldn't sigh his name and give him peace, or press into him and set him aflame.

Lillian did both.

Peace and fire spread through him in turns, and it was fucking perfect.

Lillian's tears spilled down her cheeks as Tristan's mouth moved over hers. It wasn't a kiss of possession or need, but something so much softer, and so much sweeter. Their kiss was
hello
and
I'm sorry
. It was
I love you
and
I missed you
. It was quiet sighs of completion and homecoming.

It was absolutely everything.

Her mind was quiet, silenced by the overwhelming feeling of happiness coursing through her veins with each beat of her heart. She'd done her thinking. She'd made her decisions. And Tristan hadn't told her to go to hell. Instead, he was here, kissing her as if they had all the time in the world.

"I missed you," she breathed into his mouth.

In response, he tilted her head back and deepened the kiss.

"Tristan," she whispered his name, her fingers running restlessly through his hair. She ached to drag him even closer, but every inch of space between them had already been eliminated. They were chest to chest, and could get no closer without removing the clothing between them.

As if reading her mind, Tristan's hand fisted her shirt before delving beneath.

She jumped as his cool fingers landed on her bare back. Her eyes threatened to roll into the back of her head at that simple touch of skin to skin. It had been far too long, and like the addicts Tristan had spent so long trying to save, she craved it. Every part of her craved his touch.

"I need…."

"Fuck, beautiful."

"Oh, please."

"Dude, if you strip her right here, I'm taking pictures!"

Lillian jerked when Michael's amused taunt rang out, ripping her out of the moment and plunking her bodily back down into reality. Reality where they were standing outside while Tristan's insistent fingers pushed her shirt up and Michael Kincaid watched.

"Shit," Tristan groaned and dropped his forehead to hers. He panted hard, his chest working rhythmically to bring oxygen to starving lungs. His hand made a final pass across her lower back before slipping free of her shirt and coming to rest against her hip. He cracked his eyes open, focused on her. And lord, how she'd missed those bright blue eyes and the heat they sent through her.

"I forgot he was here," he said, squeezing her hip as her stomach dropped and spun.

"Me too."

"Can we get rid of him?"

"Please."

"Thank fuck." He pulled back to look at Michael.

Lillian buried her head in his shoulder, giggling.

"What's up, dick?" Michael asked, choking back a laugh.

"Nothing. You?"

"Just enjoying the view."

"Kincaid?"

"Yeah, Riley?"

"Fuck off."

Michael's loud laughter rang out, bouncing off the trees.

Lillian buried her head a little further into Tristan's shoulder. God, how she'd missed him.

"Yeah, on it," Michael finally managed to say.

Shuffling steps followed that announcement. For a protracted moment, the echoes of his laughter were the only sounds. And then Tristan sighed heavily and nuzzled his face into her hair. "He's gone, beautiful."

"Thank God," she said, grateful for all that Michael had done for her, but needing Tristan more than air itself. She was about to vibrate apart at the seams with the desire to be closer to him.

"I need to be inside you," he said, groaning. He nipped at the shell of her ear. "I know we have a lot to talk about, but right now, I need to be in you, baby."

"Yes," she moaned, wanting the same thing.

"Where's your dad and stepmom?" he asked, his lips and teeth and tongue exploring her throat.

"Work," she gasped. "It's only me, you, and Michael here."

"Good," he said before pulling back.

She whimpered aloud when he eased himself from her embrace. Her eyes opened and focused on him in the dying light. Reality slapped her in the face. "Oh. Tristan." Tears sprang instantly to her eyes as she took in the scrapes and bruises still coloring his body. They'd faded she'd last saw him, but green blotches and healing scrapes scattered like blood splatters across his face. And his arm…. She took a deep breath and then another. "You're still hurt," she finally managed to whisper.

"I'm fine, beautiful," he promised, reaching out with his good hand to cup her cheek. His expression was so somber, so serious. "You're here and that's the only thing that matters to me." His eyes closed a little as he shook his head back and forth. "Not having you was worse than any of this, beautiful. My heart fucking hurt."

His earnest confession was like a knife twisting, sending guilt creeping through her. She'd messed up so monumentally with him. "How can you forgive me?" she asked, awed that he could and humbled that he would all at once.

"We both made mistakes, sweetheart," he said, stepping a little closer to stroke her cheek. "We both messed up. Christ, beautiful, we've done things backwards and sideways and every which way but right."

"I don't want to mess up anymore."

"I don't either." He smiled at her. "But I'm going to, and so are you. We're going to fight and argue. You're going to want to strangle me and I'm going to want to turn you over my knee. You're going to want to do it your way, and I'm going to be an overprotective bastard and want it mine. That's who we are. We aren't perfect. But I've had a lot of time to think since you left." He took a deep breath. "I think not having you in my life is going to fucking kill me. The rest I can handle—
we
can handle—but you not being there just doesn't work for me. At all."

"Me either." She kissed his palm, trying to soothe the heartache that rippled and wavered through his expression. "God, Tristan, I don't even know why I left. I was so sure that you were going to get yourself killed if I stayed. I can't…I don't…." She shook her head and tried again. "I couldn't sit there and watch it happen. I couldn't be the reason you died, and I was so scared I would be."

He rested his forehead against hers. "I know, beautiful. And I'm sorry I ever made you feel that way. I told you before I didn't know how to do this. I don't know how to let people in or let go. I've seen a lot of bad shit. I've
done
a lot of bad shit. The thought of you getting caught up in any of it undid me. I couldn't deal with you getting hurt because of me."

"But you can't protect me from everything," she said gently. "You're a DEA agent. You can't do what you do every day and expect it to only exist outside of our relationship. You can't compartmentalize life that way, and be a Special Agent by day and someone else by night. They're both parts of who you are. You can't sit around and hope the different sides of your life never overlap because they will. And you can't fly off the handle when they do."

"I know that now, beautiful." He smiled wryly. "I don't want to shut you out, and I don't want to keep trying to do it all alone. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of missing my family and pretending to be someone I'm not every single day. I'm just so fucking tired. Before you, I didn't give a shit if I died, because at least then I wouldn't have to feel that shit anymore."

"And now?"

"And now? Now the thought of that is fucking hard to handle. I want–" He blew out a breath, his frustration obvious as he searched for words. She pressed another kiss into his palm, trying to ease him. "I don't know how to explain it, beautiful, but I want
more
. I'm tired of doing this shit. I'm tired of holding on to it. It's someone else's turn to try."

"You quit," she gasped. "Tristan, no."

"I didn't quit." He leaned back to look at her. "Not yet. But I did take the blame for what happened, so they might fire me. I'm not sure, but I didn't do it for you. It's not about that. I did it because I'm not the right guy for this job anymore. I don't know where I'll end up, but my head isn't in it anymore, and neither is my heart." He took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm ready to let it go."

"You really mean that," she said after a moment, scrutinizing his expression.

He smiled. "I do. I know what I want now."

"It doesn't have to be one or the other, Tristan," she said. "I'd never ask you to give up what you've worked so hard for. You know that, right?"

"I know that, beautiful. I can't promise that I won't consider you in my final decision, but I can promise that I'll make it for me. I don't want to do undercover anymore. I haven't really wanted it in a long time; I just couldn't let it go."

Lillian breathed a little easier at the conviction in his eyes and his words. He honestly believed that he deserved more. He honestly didn't want that life anymore. And he was honestly happy with that decision.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he murmured as her tears spilled over. He reached for her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she tried to find words. She couldn't find them though. There was no way to put into words how grateful she was that he wanted more or how hopeful she was for him.

"I love you," she whispered through her tears, smiling up at him.

"I love you too." He brushed his lips across hers. "More than I ever thought possible."