Tristan (The Kendall Family #1) (4 page)

Tristan frowned, not wanting to get into the details, but now was a good time to get it over with. He settled into the seat, putting on the seatbelt and noting the truck’s interior was as cluttered as usual. Quinn could run a business but not keep anything clean. Soon they were headed down the road toward home.

“Sort of,” he replied. “I mean, he swung first, so it was self-defense, which is why I wasn’t arrested, but if you fight with another rider, you get suspended. It’s that simple.”

“Yeah, but why the fight? Were you giving him shit or something?”

Tristan bristled. “C’mon, Quinn, you know me better than that.
He
was giving
me
shit, rubbing it in my face that he’d just won the race.”

“Where was this?”

“In the locker room. I’d just wrecked, too. That’s what he was talking about.”

“Yeah, I saw that on TV. Scared the shit out of me.”

Tristan knew Quinn was stopping himself from suggesting he find a safer way to make a living. The “highsider” crash he’d just survived was one of the most dangerous. The back tire loses traction and slides out, then suddenly regains traction, but now the front wheel isn’t turned in the same direction as the rest of the bike. The sudden torque bucks the rider over the handlebars. Worse, the bike somersaults into the air, flying in the same direction as the rider, who’s sliding or rolling along the ground ahead of it. If the bike lands on you, you’re dead.

The accident had taken him out of the race but not to the hospital. After the race, he’d been in the locker room when his arch-rival started in on him with taunting.

“I wasn’t hurt,” Tristan said.

“Yeah, but that was luck as much as anything.”

“I know.”

“If he was giving you shit, why did he swing first instead of you?”

Tristan sighed. “He accused me of losing my nerve because of the training accident I had last month. Did a highsider then, too. I wasn’t riding very well at the race because of it.”

“I noticed. Is it true?”

Tristan grimaced. “Yeah, a little bit. The training accident happened on a curve and ever since, I’ve been hesitant to lean over as far as I need to on the turns. I was falling behind in the race over it. And as it turns out, that’s exactly what I was doing when I wrecked in this race.”

“Almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“I guess.”

“So what did he say about the crash in the race?”

“That I didn’t have the nerve to ride at a pro level anymore. Or take a swing at him. I guess he felt emboldened or something. He could see he was pissing me off. He punched me in the chest. It wasn’t a real punch, almost, but I slugged him anyway.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

Tristan laughed, remembering Quinn’s advice from long ago, that you never swung first, but if someone took a swing at you, you didn’t back down. He didn’t hear reproach in his brother’s voice, and felt relieved.

“Actually, yeah. He had it coming for a long time. Lots of guys were congratulating me. Everybody hates him. I’m something of a hero to them now.”

“Sounds like he’s a real dick.”

“Yeah, no one’s feeling sorry for him. He didn’t deserve his jaw being broken, though.”

Quinn nodded. “That’s what really got you in trouble, isn’t it?”

“Probably. I mean the fight could’ve gone unreported except for that.” They rode in silence for a minute before Tristan remarked, “You don’t seem surprised Victoria can ride a bike.”

“Yeah, I saw her doing it a while back. Everyone was talking about it, too.”

“Did you hear why she started?” Tristan asked, his heart hopeful. The change was huge. It suggested they could be together without him sacrificing his racing career. But he wondered what else had changed.

“Not really. How come you didn’t ask her yourself? Or were you two doing other things with your mouths?”

Tristan laughed. “Yeah, okay, we had sex. Now let up.”

“Knew it! You had the same look on your face when she took your virginity.”

Tristan blushed. He’d never regretted confiding in Quinn in a moment of unrestrained euphoria. Quinn was always supportive and seldom playfully mocked him, unlike Riley and Connor. He’d become the one Tristan always told the truth to, letting down his guard.

“It feels the same, too,” he admitted.

Quinn gave him a knowing look. “Then you’re still in love with her.” It was a statement, not a question.

Tristan looked at him sideways. His brother was too observant for his own good, but after a moment of feeling trapped, Tristan straightened, looked his brother in the eyes, and proudly admitted, “Yes, I’m still in love with her.”

* * *

Victoria was surprised to find herself crying once she was out of Tristan’s sight. She’d had to pull over for a few minutes to regain her composure long enough to make it home. Blowing him off like that had been hard but something she had to do. There was no way she was letting him back into her heart. He was just going to leave again. He probably wasn’t even staying in town anyway, and if he was, then she wasn’t. She regretted having sex with him. It stirred up old feelings, wonderful feelings, which was the problem. She could never just do it with him. She’d always want more of the man who took her virginity, who taught her what love was, and who took her heart.

And then broke it.

He’d taught her heartbreak, too. And it was a lesson she’d learned well, having never let anyone truly in since. None of the few men she’d dated since had measured up, though she hadn’t meant to make comparisons. A friend once told her that if she dated enough guys, they’d all start to melt into one in her memory, but she doubted that friend had ever been with a man like Tristan.

Victoria might’ve gotten over her old fears about people she loved getting hurt in motorcycle accidents, but that was in no small part because she no longer loved anyone who rode one. Or so she thought until this afternoon. She still wouldn’t be able to watch Tristan race. The thought made her sick even now. Meaning he’d have to choose between her and racing just like before.

The last she’d heard, he’d been off gallivanting around the United States, if not the globe, racking up win after win in sport bike racing. She hadn’t really followed it closely, afraid she’d hear about a fatal wreck involving him. Besides, you can’t get over the man who broke your heart if you’re following his exploits, even if it’s from a thousand miles away. She’d told herself she was over Tristan. She’d believed it, too. Out of sight, out of mind.

When she’d moved back here months ago, she discovered how much she missed the area. The memories of Tristan were here, of course, but so were many others, and time had made those of him fade. Until now.

She parked Tristan’s sport bike behind her house, then entered the single-story yellow home that had belonged to her mother. The house was where she’d had grown up without a father around. There’d been almost no sign of him after his death a decade earlier, like he’d never existed at all, her mother so heartbroken that she’d taken to removing photos of him even as Victoria clung to the very same photos and memories. That had caused a few arguments, as Victoria felt like her mother was erasing her father, but it wasn’t true. Her mother never dated again or even showed interest in other men. Only after hearing her mother weeping at night through the thin walls had Victoria realized her mother grieved differently than she did. She’d let it go, filling her own room with pictures of him.

Victoria seldom went in her own room now, keeping the door closed. It wasn’t the only part of the house she’d avoided after something bad had happened there. Tristan had broken up with her on the front porch. For a while, she’d refused to set foot there as well, always coming in the back, as if to step there on the front porch would somehow trigger a fresh burst of pain.

She went into the master bedroom, which she’d moved into after coming back to Comas to settle her mother’s affairs. Death had come swiftly from a heart attack eight months ago. Victoria was alone now, and something about the sudden, intense connection with Tristan had made that solitude now so pronounced that she couldn’t stand her loneliness anymore. On the spur of the moment, she grabbed a suitcase from the closet, and started throwing clothes into it.

Chapter 4 – A Surprise

By the time Quinn and Tristan pulled up at the big house, Chloe and Connor had arrived to welcome their baby brother home. Tristan forgot his worries at the sight of Chloe running toward him, looking lovelier than ever with her straight, shoulder-length blonde hair swaying with each step. She jumped into his arms as he twirled her around, both of them laughing. He started to get misty with emotion and put her down only to find Connor giving him a hug from behind.

“Little brother!” Connor said, squeezing hard. “Welcome home!”

Tristan turned around and returned the hug. “Oh, my God. I’ve missed you guys! Where’s Kris?”

“Coming later,” answered Chloe, her green eyes bright. She wore tight jeans and a tighter, white sweater that accentuated her voluptuous curves. Men had a strong urge to protect her on sight, for she exuded a sweet innocence that robbed them of their senses. Nothing captures a man faster than a lovely woman who seems completely unaffected by her own beauty.

Connor was the thoughtful romantic Kendall, and had taken after their mother in looks and disposition. He had her kind, brown eyes, deeper than even the richest mocha coffee. Though he and Tristan hadn’t been together much in recent years, he still kept his blonde hair shorter and parted in the middle, unlike Tristan’s long bangs, because people had so often mistaken them for twins. He wasn’t much for change and lived at the family bed-and-breakfast, a home steeped in tradition.

“Are you gonna tell us about this fight you had?” Connor asked.

Tristan shook his head. “No. Already told Quinn. He can fill you in.”

“I’m more interested in that crash you had,” remarked Chloe, touching his arm. “Are you sure you’re not ready to give up this sport? I don’t mean to sound unsupportive, but...”

“I know. But you know I could have an accident like that anywhere, not just racing.”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t be going so fast.”

“Don’t be so sure, sis,” Connor said. “How fast were you going up 270?” he asked his brother. Tristan shot him a knowing look and Connor laughed. “Maybe we can have Riley knock some sense into you.”

“Where is he?”

Quinn answered. “He didn’t pick up the phone so he might be hiking up the mountain.”

Tristan nodded and turned to look at Sugarloaf Mountain. The sun was setting behind it so that its huge shadow fell over them and the colonial style house. At only 1200 feet, it was hardly majestic, but it still dominated the otherwise flat landscape. Tristan had seen bigger foothills while touring California or the Alps for road races, but this was
his
mountain. Like all of the Kendalls, he knew every inch of it.

His eyes darted to an old tree they used to climb beside the house, seeing that only a stump remained. Someone—probably Chloe—had planted a vegetable garden nearby, and the fence around the property had been freshly painted. For a moment, he worried what else might’ve changed, but the two-story house looked the same. A shingled ultramarine roof with dormer windows matched the painted shutters on an otherwise white exterior. A long porch wrapped around from front to back, pillars and a balustrade of white adding elegance. Two porch swings and several rocking chairs swayed gently in the spring breeze.

A detached three-car garage wasn’t enough to hold all the vehicles Quinn and the family owned, so Chloe’s red Infiniti G37 and Connor’s blue BMW 3 series coupe convertible sat on the paved driveway, which ran beyond the house and along a line of trees. Past them, the roof of Sugarloaf Stables peeked out. Farther back from there was the guest house where Riley was currently living.

The siblings went inside, and forty minutes later, they sat at the old-fashioned dining room table, which was covered with nicks, and worn smooth by Kendall hands. Connor had called his bed-and-breakfast to have an employee bring over a meal intended for guests who’d ordered a week ahead and then cancelled at the last minute, after all the food had been prepared. Sweet potatoes, steamed veggies, several racks of ribs, and a bottle of Kendall Riesling sat on the table, along with an apple pie.

“The pie doesn’t say
welcome back
on it,” began Chloe, poking Tristan’s ribs, “but maybe if you call ahead next time, it will.”

“My mistake,” he said. Then he added, “I seem to have made a lot of those by leaving.”

“Was Victoria one of them?” she asked, wearing a knowing smirk. “I heard you two ran into each other.”

“You have a big mouth,” Tristan said to Quinn, who shrugged in amusement.

Connor rescued him by poking fun and asking, “So what’s kept you so busy with racing that you have no time for your family?”

“A lot of events, like sponsor stuff or charity work.”

Chloe’s eyebrows rose. “You do charity work?”

“Yeah. Why do you sound so surprised?”

She shrugged. “Well,
I
know you’re just a big softy under all that bravado, but that’s just the thing. You always kept that part of yourself well hidden from all but us. You’re ‘out’ now.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Connor asked, “What changed?”

Tristan thought for a moment. “The kids looking up to me, I guess. I never had that before. They’re easily impressed, probably, but that’s not the point.”

“What
is
the point?” Connor asked.

He shrugged, licking BBQ sauce from his fingers. “When I’d be around them, they’d say stuff like they wanted to be like me one day, which sort of embarrassed me the first few times. I didn’t see myself as a role model, but they did. It made me want to be better than I am, not just as a rider, but as a man, to be worthy of that. I don’t know if you guys would understand. You always had someone younger than you looking up to you, namely me. I didn’t.” He frowned at the rib in his hands. “No one wanted anything from me before.”