Chapter 15
fifteen
I shook my head at Tristan. “It’s easy for you to say. You have nothing to lose. I can’t afford to lose anyone else.”
Emotion flashed over his features. Regret? I couldn’t be sure. Tristan’s genetic makeup didn’t allow for him to show such vulnerability. “The people who matter won’t abandon you.”
My heart squeezed, but it didn’t pacify the anger. “Why are you trying to destroy my life?”
He tilted his head as he stared at me for several moments. “Believe it or not, I’m protecting you .”
“How?” I fired back.
Shadows shone under his eyes, and the lines on his face were taut. “The how isn’t important. Don’t you trust me?”
I scoffed. “I used to, but I’m not so sure anymore. You’re not the same guy I grew up with. You’ve changed.”
“So have you.” His eyes raked over my body.
“I’m not talking about physical appearances, Tristan. I’m not that shallow.”
He flinched. “But you think I am?”
My shoulders went lax as I exhaled, pulling out the tie in my hair and shaking my hair free. “It doesn’t matter. I’m so done. I don’t have the time or energy for either of you. I need to keep my focus on school.”
Something in his gaze softened. “That’s what I want for you too. For once, we agree on something.”
“Whatever makes you feel better.” I was over this conversation. Over Tristan’s shenanigans. Trying to keep up with or play his games wasn’t working.
I turned and left. I was thankful Tristan didn’t walk me back to the house. He let me be.
I went to Sam’s room and found her painting her nails at her desk. She took a single glance at me, her concentration breaking. “What happened?” she asked.
“Where do I start?” I huffed, dropping onto the bed, forgetting how sweaty I’d been. My body had cooled off, but my blood still boiled.
“Preston or Tristan?” she prompted because my problems always stemmed from one of them.
I stared at the chipped ceiling paint. It could use a fresh coat; the color was no longer a calming white but hued slightly yellow with age. “Both.” I sighed, resting my hands on my chest.
Sam spun her chair toward me, blowing on her nails. “Interesting. Tell me more.”
Dragging my gaze from the ceiling, I looked at Sam. “Preston showed up on campus today, and Tristan practically ran him off.”
Only a splinter of surprise passed through her features, gone as quickly as it arrived as if she’d expected something like this to happen. “What is up with the two of them? They’ve always hovered around you, but not like this. Not so territorial.”
Her words struck home. “I don’t know, but I mean to find out. If only Tristan didn’t have those damn photos to hold over my head.” Even as the words left my mouth, I wondered if it would change anything. Going to separate schools would have forced distance between Preston and me, space I realized how much I needed.
It was conflicting.
On one hand, Tristan in a shitty way did me a favor. He twisted me into the unpleasant task I’d been too scared to do on my own…break things off with Preston. But on the flip side, he’d more or less bullied me into compliance.
I rolled onto my side, propping my head onto my hand as I stared at Sam, watching her features grow thoughtful.
“Well, what if he didn’t have them?” she proposed with a scary, mischievous glint in her eyes that usually didn’t just get her in trouble but me too.
My gaze narrowed. “What are you concocting in that brain of yours?”
“Hear me out.” Nothing good started when someone began with those words. “Tristan can’t blackmail you if he doesn’t have any ammunition. So, we take it from him. Destroy the bullets before he can load the gun.”
“Why are we talking about guns?”
She rolled her eyes. “We destroy the evidence. Get rid of the photos he has on you.”
“You might be onto something…but how?” I couldn’t believe I was entertaining another one of Sam’s schemes. The last one had nearly gotten us both a suspension in high school. I wasn’t looking to get kicked out of college before the first semester ended.
Sam chewed on her bottom lip, tapping her newly painted black nails on the chair’s wooden arm. “We’d need access to his phone and computer. You don’t think he printed them, do you?”
I rolled up to a seated position on the bed, weaving my legs into a pretzel. “God, I fucking hope not. How are we going to get access to either?”
“I’m working on it.” Her fingers continued to rap on the wood, the only sound other than our breathing. “We could sneak into his room when he’s sleeping.”
“And if he wakes up?” I surmised, poking holes in her suggestion.
“One of us could distract him while the other grabs the goods.”
“And in this scenario, you want me to be the distraction?” I asked to clarify which role I would be assigned.
She leaned back in the chair, a frown forming on her mouth. “It would make more sense seeing Tristan and I can’t stand each other.”
“We need a better plan. I’m not throwing myself at Tristan,” I replied.
She lifted a brow. “Don’t pretend like being in his bed would be a hardship. It’s been your fucking fantasy for years. We can kill two birds with one stone,” Sam reasoned, pushing her idea.
“I hate that analogy.”
Her arms folded over her chest. “Do you have a better idea? It’s not like the man leaves his phone hanging around. He probably brings it with him when he showers.”
My eyes brightened, my lips curving out of the frown. “Sam. You’re a genius.”
“Well, yeah,” she said so obviously.
I shook my head. “No, I mean when he showers is the perfect time to sneak in and grab his phone and laptop.”
Confusion clouded her eyes. “You want to sneak into the bathroom?”
“Definitely not, but Tristan always leaves his phone charging in his bedroom. At least, he did at home. And the shower would provide the perfect noise cover for us to get in and out.”
“I like my idea better,” she grumbled.
My lips firmed. “Sam, I’m not climbing into Tristan’s bed.”
“You will,” she muttered. “It’s only a matter of time.”
Our plan wasn’t particularly detailed or well thought out. It consisted of a rough outline. Ridiculously rough. We’d wait for the opportunity when Tristan came home from the gym. The man ritually showered after working out.
There were too many loose ends—too many unaccounted factors—but they were worth the risk at least to me.
What was the worst that could happen if he caught us?
Yell at me?
Days went by, and it was easy to get frustrated. Our timing never aligned, and I started to think Tristan deliberately avoided me. The one time he actually listened to something I said. Why did he have to start now?
Short of stalking his apartment, I had to be patient for our schedules to coordinate. I couldn’t let him think something was up with me or anything suspicious was happening. Easy since we never saw each other.
After the first week, discouragement set in. Halloween lingered around the corner, and with it, the campus buzzed with spooky energy, generating an increase in parties. Was there anything better than dressing up, eating a shit ton of candy, and watching scary movies the entire night? Not to me. I loved this time of year, and the impending holiday distracted me from my plan, but getting those photos never strayed far from my thoughts.
I hated to admit that neither did the person responsible for taking them.
The week hadn’t been completely wasteful.
Sam’s sleuthing through the halls uncovered which apartment the eldest Malone dwelled in. It was no surprise Tristan slept in the bedroom at the end of the hall on our floor. Or at least he did on the nights he actually came home.
I had a two-hour break before my next class, and instead of working on my paper in my room or the library, I hauled my laptop downstairs to the communal sitting room. If Tristan left or came in, I would notice.
This had become a newly adopted ritual the last few days without any success, and it had me curious if Tristan ever went to class. Hell, if he ever stayed in his room. Or left his room.
I couldn’t figure him out.
Twenty minutes into my paper, I’d written a solid but measly paragraph. My brain couldn’t focus on getting the words onto my laptop, not when it continued to wander somewhere else. I was about to give up early and call it a day when my phone buzzed.
It was a text from my dad doing his obligatory check-in with a quick note asking how school was. I hadn’t seen the man in weeks and couldn’t help but feel he would like to forget he had a daughter. He got the obligatory daughter response. Fine . And I left it at that.
He texted me back, and as I read through his message, I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. I glanced up, catching a glimpse of someone who looked eerily like Tristan, but he sped past so fast, I couldn’t be sure.
I scrambled off the couch and darted to the sitting room entrance, peeking around the corner. I might have eyes on his back, but I would recognize Tristan’s form in a sea of a million people. It was the tattoos that gave him away, especially since he strutted shirtless through the lobby.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
My eyes tracked him as he headed for the stairwell. Basketball shorts. Sneakers. A white tee slung over his sweaty shoulder. This was not an appropriate time to drool or get hung up on the ripple of muscles lining his back. But damn. I’d have to be dead not to take a second of appreciation.
The door clicked closed behind him, and I was finally able to stop gawking. I bolted back to the couch, grabbing my stuff before rushing to the elevator. I spammed the call button.
Come on. Come on. Come on.
Only Tristan would climb three flights of stairs instead of using an elevator after sweating in the gym. He was a rare breed, or I was just that lazy.
I fumbled one-handed with my phone, using this small window to text Sam as I waited.
Me:
It’s go time.
Sam:
Seriously?
Me:
Yes, move your ass. I’m on my way up.
The elevator dinged, announcing it had arrived on the ground floor. About damn time.
Sam:
This man has the worst timing. I’m not home.
Me:
Are you kidding?
My fingers flew over the keys as the metal door glided open, and I rushed inside, hitting my floor.
Sam:
I’ll be there in twenty.
Me:
That’s too long. It’s fine. I can handle this.
Sam:
Don’t do anything stupid. Wait for me. Or we can try another day.
I was done waiting.
The elevator opened, and I stepped out in time to see Tristan’s bedroom door close. I dashed to my room and dropped my stuff on the bed before hurrying back to the door. Just barely cracking it, I pressed my ear against the wood, listening for Tristan to come out again. The shared bathroom was between his room and Sam’s, leaving me the farthest away from him.
My phone buzzed on the counter, and I jumped, but I ignored it, a focused scowl on my lips. I didn’t have to look at my phone to know who texted me...Sam checking on me. My silence would tell her what she wanted to know.
I hadn’t listened.
Squeak.
The sound was followed by the door clicking closed, and my heart rate sped up, adrenaline kicking in my blood.
Here we go.
I just had to wait for him to enter the bathroom, and then I could?—
A second door clicked closed.
And that was my green light to move my ass.
Creeping into the hall, I tiptoed toward the bathroom. I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to tiptoe, but what I was about to do seemed to call for some detective skills, which I didn’t have. A girl could pretend for the aesthetic.
I should have thrown on my spy gear. Again, something I didn’t possess but felt like I should.
Stopping near the bathroom, I listened for running water and the shower to turn on. I wanted to ensure I had a block of time to find the pictures and delete them. The old pipes started to groan, followed by the muffled sound of water hissing seconds later. I didn’t walk to Tristan’s room. I ran.
Up until this point, I hadn’t thought about the possibility he locked his bedroom, not until my hand reached for the knob. I held my breath as I turned it, expecting the damn thing to remain unmovable. As the handle twisted under my fingers, a whoosh of air left me. It was like he was asking me to break in.
I let myself inside, quickly shutting the door. The woodsy sage scent hit me first. Tristan’s cologne. The entire space smelled like him, and my senses decided they liked it a little too much, my heart tumbling.
Stay on task, I scolded as I took a deep breath.
My eyes swept the room from wall to wall. It reminded me so much of his room at home. Not the décor but the scattered mess that was Tristan. If I’d gone through every room in Thorn Hall, I would have easily been able to pick this one out as his.
Preston was the neat freak of the family.
Tristan hadn’t inherited that particular trait.
Somehow, I preferred Tristan’s mess to Preston’s order.
Shaking my head, I headed for the nightstand, spotting his phone charging on a wireless port. I plucked up the device and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at it. Obviously, I couldn’t use the face ID to unlock the phone, but I didn’t need his face. Not when I knew his passcode.
Too many times I’d seen him punch in the four-digit passcode. At the dinner table over his shoulder. By the pool when a string of girls messaged him all summer. Lounging in the movie room at their house, his phone lighting up the dark room. And unless he’d recently changed it, this shouldn’t be an obstacle. Yet as I hit the digits 6-9-6-9, I held my breath.
Creative. Just like a guy to use a stupid, sexist code.
A ribbon of nerves and excitement twirled within me as the home screen popped up.
Sucker.
I went straight for his photos app.
Skimming through the images, I searched for the ones of me. It didn’t long. Tristan wasn’t someone who took a lot of pictures. I clicked on one, full screening a very sensual pose. Tristan might not like being in photos, but he knew how to capture a side of me I hadn’t thought I possessed.
I didn’t have time to waste admiring them despite how good we looked together. They were so damn different than any of the photos I’d taken with Preston.
Why did I look more relaxed around Tristan? Happier?
It didn’t matter.
They had to go.
I began the tedious task of erasing each picture. It was tempting to select all and delete considering I was working under a deadline, but there could be irreplaceable memories stored on his phone. If someone erased the photos I stored on my phone, I’d be devastated. It held some of my most precious moments, including many with my mom. I never wanted to forget what she was like, and I feared, as time stretched, those memories would fade. The pictures helped keep her alive.
No shortcuts. Not even to save my hide.
I had to then get rid of the deleted files and pray he didn’t back up his phone to the cloud, something I planned to check when I snagged his laptop. He’d be pissed to notice it gone, but I’d give it back…eventually.
It was his fault.
He never should have blackmailed me or underestimated me.
I kept swiping and removing files until I stared at a picture of Preston. And another. And another. Nearly as many as he had taken of me. Which shouldn’t be a big deal except the more I swiped, the less likely I thought Tristan took these photos. They looked like shots a private investigator would take, flipping like a movie, one frame to the next.
My finger halted.
What the actual fuck?
This couldn’t be right.
I stared at a still of Preston with his hands on another girl. His damn lips were on hers as he pressed her against a building with his body. Either Preston moved the hell on quickly, or this had been taken when we were together.
Neither thought filled me with much relief.
I scrolled to the next picture and the next, unable to believe what I saw. I might not want to believe it was Preston in the image, but there was no mistaking it was him.
“Bastard,” I hissed between my clenched teeth.
Each photo had an upload date, and I hit the tiny I icon, checking to see when they’d been saved to Preston’s phone. June of this year. The beginning of summer. When Preston and I had very much been a couple.
The prick cheated on me.
I’d love to admit I was surprised, but the lack of response inside me should be concerning. My lungs should be squeezing. My anger should be spitting. My heart should be splintering. The shortfall of emotions told me something about my feelings for Preston. Yes, I was mad, but where was the gut-wrenching hurt? The fury?
They weren’t there.
And to think, last week he’d been here on campus expecting us to get back together. Why would he do that if he was sleeping with other girls? It didn’t make sense.
Preston wanted to talk. Fucking boy, were we going to talk.
If there weren’t so many pictures, I might have thought they could be photoshopped, but seeing Tristan snap images of me, I knew what he was capable of.
I quickly selected a few of the cheating photos on Tristan’s phone and sent them to the messaging app, picking my number when it came up. He had an old image of me as my profile from when I was probably fifteen. It was like Tristan wanted to constantly remind himself I was like a little sister to him.
The petty side of me hit send and then immediately went in to change my profile picture, choosing one of the sexier photos he’d taken. I’d completely derailed from my mission, and time was ticking.
My fingers tapped on each item to highlight for deletion. Just another minute and I’d have every image of me wiped?—
The door to Tristan’s room opened, and my head jerked up, and I stared at a very menacing scowl.
“What are you doing, Shortcake?”