Chapter Five
Chloe
I'm not sure what to expect when I stumble out of bed a little after nine, groggy as hell, with my head pounding. I stall in the shower for as long as possible, trying to buy myself a little time before I have to face Trystan again. But eventually, I run out of hot water. I run out of excuses, too.
I take my sweet time getting dressed—a simple blue sundress and flats. And then, I take even more time twisting my long hair into a French braid. By the time I finally work up the nerve to step out into the hall, I'm anxious as hell.
"Morning, princess," Trystan greets me as soon as I stumble into the kitchen, searching for coffee. He's seated at the table with his laptop in front of him, dressed for the day in sweats and a simple black T-shirt.
Thanos lounges at his side, gnawing on a bone. He glances up at me and huffs as if saying hello. I swear, the dog is more human than most people sometimes.
"Morning," I mutter, heading straight for the coffee pot.
Trystan doesn't mention what happened last night. I don't either. For a long time, neither of us says anything. We just exist in silence as he taps keys on his laptop, his eyes drifting to me again and again.
I'm two seconds from fleeing the room when he stands suddenly, his chair scraping back. His T-shirt rises as he stretches his arms over his head, revealing a strip of golden skin stretched over taut muscle.
My stomach clenches.
"You hungry, baby?" he asks, sauntering across the kitchen toward me.
I blink wide eyes at him. "What?"
His lips curve into a smile. "I asked if you were hungry."
"Oh. Um…" I trail off with a suspicious nod. Why is he being all…smiley and weird?
His hand grazes my side. "Why don't you sit and enjoy your coffee? I'll make you something."
"I can cook."
"It's fine, baby. I want to cook for you."
I take a sip of coffee, staring at him. He's definitely being weird. He's calling me baby. He's still smiling. And he's being less demanding than usual. "Did you have a stroke?"
"What?" He shoots me a look over his shoulder as he pulls open the fridge. "No."
"Did you fall while walking Thanos? Hit your head?" I narrow my eyes on him. "Do you have a fever? Did you find out you have six months to live?"
His chuckle does wicked things to my clit. "No to all of the above, Coco."
Oh, he is definitely being weird.
"You haven't called me that since I was sixteen," I mutter.
"What? Yes, I have." He emerges from the fridge, juggling a carton of eggs, milk, and a pack of bacon.
"No, you haven't." I prop a hip against the counter, staring at him. "The last time you called me Coco was on my sixteenth birthday."
I remember because we had a big argument at my party.
He was being bossy, complaining about my outfit.
I was so mad at him that I didn't even say bye when he left.
But he texted me at nearly midnight to tell me that I looked beautiful and that he should have told me that.
He wished me a happy birthday. You deserve for every single one of your dreams to come true, Coco.
I wasn't done being mad, so I left him on read.
The very next time I saw him, he was standoffish and weird, and everything was worse than ever between us.
I read those late-night birthday texts over and over for months.
And when my phone broke eight months later and I lost them, I cried like a baby.
It felt like losing the last little piece of the sweet, loving boy I once knew.
He deposits everything on the counter silently and then turns to face me. "Maybe I miss how things used to be between us," he says, his eyes locked on my face. "Maybe it's time for a truce."
"Why?" I ask, not because I'm averse to the idea—the exact opposite, actually—but because I need to know why.
Does he actually want to be my friend again, or is this just because of what he heard last night?
Is this some way of getting me to sleep with him?
Not that I'm averse to that, either. But I swear to God, I will smother him with his own pillow if he thinks he can sleep with me and then go back to the way things have been for the last decade.
I don't want little pieces of him in secret. I'll never be content with that. And I'm tired of being mad at him. I'm tired of missing him.
I'm just tired.
"Maybe I miss you," he says, his voice soft and sincere.
"Christ, Clo, you and I were inseparable once upon a time.
I knew every goddamn secret you had, and you knew mine, too.
Now, I have to practically beg you to tell me anything about your life or what's going on with you.
I'm trying to fix it. Please, just…let me. "
One thing Trystan isn't is vulnerable. He doesn't ask for anything. He doesn't beg either. He's secure and confident. But I see the vulnerability in his gaze right now. I hear the plea in his voice. He needs this, perhaps for the same damn reason I do.
"I never hated you," I whisper.
"What?"
I lick my lips to work moisture back into my mouth. "I heard you when you came into my room last night. I never hated you, Trystan. Never."
Surprise flares in his eyes, followed by the kind of relief that has tears stinging the backs of my eyes.
"Jesus," he rasps, closing the distance between us to drag me up against his chest. He wraps his arms around me in a tight hug, his face buried in my hair. His breath shudders from his body in a soft groan that's part salvation, part healing.
I cling to him, just letting him hold me.
For long moments, neither of us moves. We just stand there, wrapped up in each other in a way we haven't been since we were kids.
God, I don't even remember the last time we hugged.
But this one is beautiful, like coming home and building something new all at once.
I don't want to let him go. The way he holds me, his breath rasping in my ear, I don't think he wants to let go either. So we just…don't. We cling silently right in the middle of the kitchen, recovering the pieces of ourselves we buried under unkind words and long stretches of icy silence.
We only break apart when Thanos tries to shove his way between us.
I glance down at him with a laugh to see him looking up at us like he's trying to figure out what we're doing and why he wasn't invited.
"Sure," Trystan grumbles. "Now, you want attention."
"He's just a big baby," I coo, sinking my hand into his thick, rough coat.
Thanos chuffs in response, his tail smacking Trystan's leg with enthusiasm.
Trystan just shakes his head, unable to hide the affection in his gaze. He loves the dog as much as I do. Honestly, it's hard not to love Thanos. He's a big ball of anxiety, easily overwhelmed and stressed, especially by loud noises and small animals, but he's so gentle and loving.
"Has he been on a walk this morning?" I ask.
"Fuck no," Trystan says. "Tom was standing guard in the window, just waiting to fuck with us when I let him out at seven. I was not risking a repeat of yesterday."
"It couldn't have been that bad. Tom doesn't even weigh five pounds."
"Tom is a demon forged in the pits of hell, Coco. And that shady ass cat at the park sits on a throne beside him."
"Coward," I say, laughing. "I'll take him since you're too chicken."
"There's a difference between cowardice and caution, baby. I'm a wise motherfucker for knowing which is which."
"Right," I say, drawing the word out as I reach for the leash. "I bet that's what you say every time you get bullied by a Chihuahua and run from a little ole cat."
"You're still pronouncing demon wrong," he says, moving to the cabinet to grab pans. "But think what you will. Just don't say I didn't warn you when you come home demoralized and defeated. I'll have breakfast and an 'I told you so' waiting."
"My hero," I mutter, deadpan.
He shoots me a smirk over his shoulder as I clip the leash onto Thanos and then lead him out the kitchen door. The sun is out in full force, blinding me. I place my hand over my eyes, shielding them as I glance toward Ms. Lena's house.
Tom is sunbathing in the window, not paying us any attention.
"Trystan is so overdramatic," I mumble to Thanos, jogging down the steps.
Tom barks once as we pass by, but that's the only reaction we get from him. And Thanos is on his best behavior, like usual, trotting along at my side with his tail wagging.
Halfway to the park at the end of the block, my phone dings with an incoming text.
I pull it from my pocket, my mood immediately taking a swan dive when I read it.
Unknown: We need to talk.
I don't even have to ask to know who it is. Donny. I blocked his number right after I sent his texts to his wife, Madeline. Why I thought he'd leave me alone, I don't know. Clearly, I was mistaken.
I wait until we make it to the park to respond. While Thanos sniffs around a tree, looking for the perfect spot to do his business, I type out a message, my fingers flying across the screen.
Me: No, we don't. I blocked your number for a reason, you creep.
Unknown: Tell my wife that you made it all up, and I'll give you back your job. No hard feelings.
Oh, he is delusional!
I wouldn't go back to work for him if my life literally depended on it. I'd rather die than work for someone who spends his days looking at me like I was put on earth solely to fulfill his disgusting fantasies, thank you very much.
Me: Hell no. Shove the job up your ass.
Once upon a time, I was nice and polite to him. That ship sailed as soon as he told me what he wanted to do to me. While I was making his company millions, he was looking at me like an object. There is no coming back from that.
Unknown: You owe me, Chloe. I did you a favor by hiring you in the first place.
I growl wordlessly, my hands shaking. Is he kidding me right now?