5. Chapter Five
5
CHAPTER FIVE
December
Eight Months Earlier
Los Angeles
Tristan took a long breath as he pulled his truck along the tree-lined street in front of his client’s home. Leaves had littered the road with the change of the season, crunching beneath his oversized tires as he came to a full stop at the curb. His chest was tight as he glanced down at his phone for what felt like the hundredth time.
Mona- Good night you sexy beast. I love you more than you will ever know.
He’d read that text at least a hundred times that morning, and he’d probably read it a hundred more before he was finally home. What on earth had she been doing up so early? The time stamp read 2 am in L.A., but she was telling him goodnight. That meant it had been five in the morning in New York. He’d known Samantha a long time, and mornings were not something she took part in willingly. He imagined she was sleeping now, which is the reason he hadn’t texted back just yet.
Damn he missed her. He missed everything about her. Even finding all the drawers and cabinets in the entire house open because she had a million things on her mind and would forget to close them.
Picking up the phone, he traced his thumb over the message. “Fuck it,” he muttered under his breath, then typed out a message and pressed send.
Wild Stallion - I love you more.
He grabbed the door handle, but a notification came almost instantly.
Dad : Can we talk?
He nearly dropped the phone.
He read the message for a second time, and bile burned up his esophagus. His phone pinged again.
Dad: Tristan, please.
It had been over two years since he’d heard from his father, two fucking years. What could he possibly want now?
His thumb hovered over the keyboard as a million responses formed in his mind. Seconds passed into minutes. Shock, sadness, and confusion whirled around his head making it ache.
What happened?
The question lingered on his tongue as though he were a child.
A vision of his sister Renee in her wedding dress came to his mind. She was standing at the end of the altar, looking more beautiful than he’d ever seen her in his life. Yet there was sadness in her eyes that still haunted him to this day. Their dad had left her broken and there was nothing he could do to fix it.
Delete.
Tristan stuffed his phone back into his pocket and forced himself out of the truck. He slammed the door behind him, realizing his emotions were out of control as a sudden wave of exhaustion rolled over him. He braced one forearm against the cab and looked down to the ground, focusing on the cracks of the asphalt as he took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. After a moment, he reached toward his equipment, grabbed hold of the handle, and hauled it forward. He pulled the large cart from the back of the truck and set it on the ground. He had work to do. Wouldn’t give his father the time of day. Wouldn’t even give him the satisfaction of his piqued curiosity.
Another ping interrupted his thoughts. “Damn it!” he yelled, slamming the truck bed closed.
He stared at the middle of the street, resting his mind on nothingness, as his fingers inched toward the holster which housed his cellphone. His mind told him to stop, that whatever his dad wanted didn’t matter. Whatever he said would be meaningless, but it was almost impossible for his mind not to wonder.
Of all the days for his father to reach out, why did it have to be when Tristan was at his lowest—when his business was hanging by a thread and Samantha was halfway across the country?
Tristan tore his clipboard from the cab and carried his equipment to the driveway, but the image of Renee on her wedding day wouldn’t leave his mind.
What kind of idiot missed his own daughter’s wedding? What on earth could have happened that could have been more important?
A thousand scenarios ran through his thoughts, but no reason had ever been good enough. Nothing could excuse the fact that he wasn’t there. That Tristan filled his father’s shoes that day. That Tristan had to be the one to break his sister’s heart by telling her the man she’d looked up to her whole life wasn’t coming to her happiest moment. He remembered holding her as she cried, then watching her head lift with determination. His sister had always been stubborn, and most of the time, he admired her for that. She didn’t give up. She fought to death for things she believed in, but that day broke his heart. That day, she lifted her chin to keep from crying. To say she didn’t care. To say it didn’t matter. But it did.
It fucking mattered to all of them.
He’d never forgive his father.
For the briefest second, he thought about pulling out his phone and asking one question. “Why?”
Why hadn’t he been there?
Why would he do that to Renee?
Why was he such an asshole?
But it didn’t matter. The facts were simple. His father didn’t show up. His father’s mistress had been more important. That’s all Tristan needed to know.
“I can’t leave her,” his father had said on the phone.
“Dad, I’m just asking for a few hours of your time.”
“You don’t understand,” his father yelled.
“Then explain it to me?”
His father was quiet for a long time, so long that Tristan thought he’d finally come to his senses, but then his voice broke through the receiver. “I can’t.”
Tristan had disconnected the call, his heart already breaking with what he knew came next. He would have to tell Renee.
Tristan paused at the entrance of his client’s backyard, his fingers working at the latch on autopilot. Leaves littered the large pool inside, but he barely noticed them.
“I can’t.”
He replayed the last words his father had ever said to him. “I can’t.”
Or he wouldn’t?
Dropping to a squat by the side of the pool, Tristan exhaled and began unloading his equipment. For the last eight weeks, a heaviness unlike anything he’d ever known had fallen on his shoulders, and he knew he was close to his tipping point. He felt it in the air. The moment he woke up and saw Samantha’s text, everything had felt different.
Eight weeks ago, Douglas had come into his office and said he was leaving Montgomery Pool Service. Twelve hours later, the cancellation notices began pouring in by the dozens. It didn’t take long for Tristan to find the reason.
Douglas had been Tristan’s friend, his protégé, a young kid who was misunderstood by his father and Tristan had wanted to help. He'd taken him under his wing, taught him everything he knew, then Douglas turned it against him. He’d taken Tristan’s contacts, his suppliers, something Tristan used his own sweat and tears to build, then started his own company. He didn’t even blame his clients for making the switch. Douglas had offered impossible rates. A luxury offered because he used his rich parents' money to fund it.
At times, Tristan was glad Samantha wasn’t here to witness this. To see his entire world unravel.
In others, he wished she were close … to help him hold onto the pieces that never seemed to stop spinning.
Eight months. He had eight months to fix things. Eight months until he could either pretend like nothing had happened while she was gone, or reimagine the life he’d always planned for himself …
For the second time.
When he got injured playing football, he’d had to start over, to re-envision the dream he’d had since boyhood. One moment, one second was all it took. He didn’t even remember what happened, yet his football career ended. His body had failed him, and when he woke up from surgery hours later, he realized life as he knew it was over. He’d lost his scholarship, his livelihood, and his identity—and had fallen into a depression he never thought he’d climb out of. But somehow, he did. Somehow this business fell into his lap and gave him purpose.
Tristan, the pool boy. To some of his friends it was a joke, and he fit the role perfectly. Young, fit, good-looking. He laughed right along with them because he'd never really taken himself seriously. He was the jock, the fuck boy, the player…but for some reason that changed when he reconnected with Samantha. She took this seriously, allowing him to see for the first time in four years all that he’d accomplished. He’d built the business from a meager one-truck pool route to a full-blown five-truck operation. Something he should be proud of, and he was. His only mistake had been trusting the wrong person. The fatal flaw which seemed to have plagued him his whole damned life.
Trust was what brought him here. Trust was what had him back to cleaning pools for the first time in two years. Trust was what allowed him to be hurt so much by his father.
“It’s a bad idea, son,” he’d said when Tristan approached him with his plan. “How will you ever support a family cleaning pools?”
Until two months ago, Tristan would have laughed in his father’s face. “I told you, Dad. I told you I’d make it work.” But now, overlooking the pool littered by at least a thousand leaves, defeat weighted down his body like algae.
His cell phone pinged again, yet this time he couldn’t resist reaching into his holster.
Dad: Please call me.