Chapter 21
twenty-one
P ound. Pound. Pound.
The noise sounded again. Louder. With more force, determination, and impatience.
This time, Tristan heard it, his body tensing against mine. His breath like mine slowly returned to normal, but as his eyes swung to me, a shade of suspicion clouded in them. “Did you tell anyone we were here?” he asked roughly.
I shook my head. “No. I mean, I texted Sam to let her know I wouldn’t be home tonight, but I didn’t tell her where I was, just that we were together. I think.”
Dark brows shot up as he disengaged our bodies. “You think?”
The pang of anguish rooted deeper in my stomach at the loss of his closeness. “I can check my phone if you want.” I glanced around the room, trying to remember where the fuck I’d put my phone.
Pound. Pound. Pound.
This time, I swore I heard a voice accompanying the persistent thumping at the front door. Someone here. At this hour…it couldn’t be anything good. The high from being with Tristan wore off quickly at the prospect of bad news waiting outside the condo.
The glower forming on Tristan’s lips signaled his thoughts had taken a similar path as mine. He sat up, legs swinging over the side of the bed, as he reached for his discarded sweatpants. “Stay here,” he ordered.
I frowned at his retreating form, but for once, I didn’t have an impulse to disobey. Tugging the sheet over my body, I sat up in the middle of the bed, eyes glued to the open door, listening for what came next.
Never in a million years did I expect to hear Preston’s voice.
“Is she here? She is, isn’t she? Of course, she would run straight to you. Where is she?” he demanded, his words sounding off.
My heart lurched in my chest.
Holy. Shit.
I needed to run. I needed to hide. I couldn’t let Preston find me. Not naked in a crumpled bed smelling of sex.
Why hiding was the first thing that popped into my head I wasn’t certain. I’d done nothing wrong. Nothing Preston hadn’t done to me, and I had no reason to be ashamed or feel guilty for it, scratching out the part where it was his brother I’d slept with.
That was low.
I stayed in bed. Waiting.
I didn’t have to wait long.
His voice carried down the hallway, clearer now, and I knew it was undoubtedly the youngest Malone. “Get the hell out of my way,” he gritted out, obviously in a mood and drunk, which didn’t bode well for either Tristan or me.
Why the fuck is he here? And why would he think to come to his parents’ condo to look for me?
“Preston,” Tristan said, his tone low and annoyed. “You’re drunk. Go home before you make another mistake.”
Preston snorted. “You’d love that. Just another thing for you to hold over me and rub into my face.”
I heard a thumping noise like a body bumping into the wall. My eyes narrowed, and I chewed on my lower lip, pondering whether I should go out there or stay here. I hadn’t meant to put Tristan in the middle.
“There’s an easy solution for that. Stop coming to me for help when you’re in trouble,” Tristan snapped back.
“I’m not leaving until I see her. I won’t let her throw away what we’ve built for years.” I could picture Preston pouting, arms crossing like the spoiled brat he often portrayed when he didn’t get his way.
“Did you do that on your own?” The beginnings of anger licked in Tristan’s words.
“Ev!” Preston called out.
The urge to crawl under the bed built in me, but I stayed frozen. Horrible call. I should have scrambled into the closet, anywhere but looking like a guilty murderer caught in the act.
“I know you’re here. I just want to talk.” His voice drew closer, and I shrank deeper into the bed.
My heart lurched into my chest as his clumsy steps grew nearer.
“If you give me the chance to explain, I?—”
Preston stumbled into the doorway, his hands bracing against the frame for stability as his eyes scanned the dark room and his voice cut off. I was grateful for the coverage, but it wasn’t so thick that he couldn’t find me easily enough. The light spilling from the hallway didn’t help matters.
I glanced at Preston.
Shit.
My sanctuary shattered, and with it, all those emotions I didn’t want to feel rushed to the surface. It only took one glimpse of Preston to unravel me.
“Ev?” His gaze narrowed, taking in the rumpled sheets, my evident nakedness, and Tristan’s disheveled appearance. To anyone walking in, it would be clear what Tristan and I had been up to.
I swallowed the numerous lies springing to my lips.
What was the point?
I had no reason to spew excuses or justify my being here.
Tristan came up behind Preston, and my gaze flicked to him briefly.
I lifted my chin, schooling my tone and keeping it level with a disapproving chill. “What are you doing here?” I said to Preston.
Ignoring me as he was so fond of doing, his head whipped to his brother. “You didn’t. Tristan, for fuck’s sake, tell me you didn’t. Not her.” Something broke in his pitch, which wasn’t fair…not after he broke me.
Silence followed, thickening the air like a dense fog.
“You fucking promised,” Preston hurled like he was throwing a sharpened dagger at his brother.
My attention snapped up. “What promise?” I interrupted before either of them had a chance to say anything else.
The fools just stared at me, both with thin, closed lips.
That wasn’t going to fly.
“What fucking promise?” I said again more forcefully, my temper hiking as I clutched the sheet to my chest and climbed out of bed.
The Malone brothers had a way of always making me feel like I was left in the dark. They had secrets. I suspected most siblings did, but I couldn’t shake the feeling their secrets somehow involved me.
“It was nothing,” Preston said, clipped and short.
“If it was nothing, then there’s no reason why you can’t tell me. Is there?” I pushed, standing a few feet away, pinning them with an expectant glare. “Haven’t you kept enough from me?”
The disgust in his features shifted a fraction into something of sadness. “Ev, how could you do this to me?”
My spine stiffened, and I stood taller in front of him, my throat burning. “You!” I shrieked. “How about what you did to me ?”
“So, you slept with my brother for revenge?” Preston accused.
This night was turning out to be one nightmare after another. A slick, icky feeling crawled over my skin. “Believe it or not, you had no part in my decision. And I never said we slept together.”
With his fingers clenched at his sides, Preston’s jaw tightened. “I’m not an idiot.”
This might not have been the right moment to butt in, but Tristan never cared about timing. “She’s had a rough night. Let her be. If you want someone to beat up on, I’m standing right here.”
“So, it’s my fault you broke your promise?” Preston poked his brother in the chest.
Tristan leaned on the wall just outside the bedroom appearing unbothered. “You’re words, not mine. I’m not the one dangling a pregnant girlfriend under her nose.”
Preston’s cheeks reddened. “You’ve got a lot of nerve judging me. You fucked my girlfriend after we made a pact never to sleep with the same girl.”
Tristan blinked, his lashes the only thing that moved on his body. “She isn’t yours. Not anymore. And you never slept with her. I didn’t break shit.”
“You couldn’t wait to take my place.” Preston threw his hands ungracefully into the air. “Hell, it didn’t even take you a day, did it?”
Tristan dragged a hand down his face. “Go home, Preston, before you say more shit you’ll regret.”
“Did you know she wouldn’t sleep with me?” A manic laugh bubbled out of him. “Dumb question, considering you just fucked her. Was she a virgin as she claimed?”
Tristan moved, slamming his brother into the wall. “Enough,” he gritted between his teeth, dark smoldering shadows chilling his eyes. “If you want to feel sorry for yourself, go right ahead, but do it in your dorm. Go cry to the girl you knocked up. I’m sure she’ll be all too eager to comfort you. Better yet, call one of the dozen other girls you have saved in your phone for a good time.”
“It wasn’t like I was being satisfied at home,” he sneered, his gaze moving past Tristan’s shoulder to me.
Tristan leaned forward, lowering his voice, and I strained to hear him as he said, “You think I give a damn about your penis and whether or not you got sucked off on the weekends?”
Violence swarmed in Preston’s eyes. “Why would you? You always have a new girl hanging all over you every night.”
“The difference between us is I don’t have to cheat or lie to get a girl,” Tristan said.
“No, you just steal them,” Preston replied with malice.
Whack.
I blinked, unable to believe what just happened. If it wasn’t for the trickle of blood dripping from the corner of Preston’s mouth, I wouldn’t have believed Tristan had hit his brother.
“Bastard,” Preston hissed, smearing the back of his hand over his mouth, a line of crimson staining the skin. A second later, he rammed into Tristan like a linebacker tackling the quarterback to the ground. They hit the floor with a thud hard enough to make me squeak.
I scrambled backward toward the bed or risked getting tangled up in the fight. Seeing them scuffle wasn’t something new. They’d fought before but never like this. Never over me. And that’s what made it serious.
“Stop it!” I cried, but I might as well have been screaming at a brick wall. The brothers continued to go at it, rolling and punching each other. I couldn’t tell who was hitting who, but it looked like Tristan was doing his best to pin Preston to the ground. Preston, on the other hand, sloppily threw hits, some of them landing but most sailing through the air.
I tried again. “Stop! Tristan!” I called out, imploring him to end this before someone got hurt.
Hearing his name distracted Tristan, and as his gaze flicked up, he took a shot to the left cheek.
I winced hearing bone connecting with flesh—Tristan’s flesh. My hand flew to my mouth, muffling a squeal.
Tristan shot me a short scowl clearly portraying a message. Not helping.
“Sorry,” I mumbled as he flexed his jaw.
“Shortcake, stay out of the way,” he growled, focus returning to his brother, and he finally gained the upper hand.
“Shortcake!” Preston spat. “What is she, a fucking dessert you eat?”
Tristan cocked a brow, a twitch tugging at the corner of his lip, and I suddenly had the urge to hit him. “Do you want to know how she tastes?” Tristan goaded.
“You bastard,” Preston seethed. “Of all the girls in the world, why did you have to sleep with mine?”
Shoving off his brother, Tristan sat on the floor and shook his head. “You have too many for me to keep track of. Besides, she deserves better.”
A sarcastic snort breezed through Preston’s nose as he pushed up. “What a joke. You’re so much worse.”
Tristan’s breathing leveled. “That’s what I’ve been telling her.”
A knot burned at the back of my throat. “Will the two of you stop already? I’ve had enough. I’m not a damn trophy to be won. Grow the fuck up. And get off the floor.”
They stood, eyeing each other warily. Tristan forked a hand through his messy mop of dark hair. Preston dusted off his clothes, wavering slightly on his feet. He ended up leaning against the wall, exertion expelling from his chest.
An awkward silence followed, the three of us staring at each other.
I couldn’t handle it.
“One of you better clean the blood off the floors unless you want to tell your mom what happened here.” Only a few splatters stained the wood but not the point. I wanted them to see how ridiculous they behaved.
Preston’s gaze moved to me as he stepped toward me. “Ev?—”
I whirled, holding up a finger. “Don’t. Don’t you dare say another word to me. If I wanted to talk, you’d know. Right now, I can’t even stand to see your face. Just leave, Preston. Go back to your baby mama.”
“So you can continue shagging my brother?” His bitter harshness prickled along my arms.
“If I choose. Or maybe it will be another guy tomorrow night. And someone else the next. The point is, what I do is none of your business. Not anymore. Go deal with your shit, Preston.” Turning my back on him, I searched the floor for my clothes. If he wouldn’t leave, I would.
“You stay here with him, and that’s it.”
I didn’t look at him. I didn’t move. Not an inch.
Preston scoffed, a sound made of disbelief and venom. “I never want to see you again. Either of you.”
I listened to Preston storm out of my life for the last time. We’d hurt each other too deeply. Some wounds, no matter how many times you stitched them up, would never heal completely.
My mom’s death was one of those wounds.
And now Preston.
Alone, I tugged on my borrowed pajamas and sank into the middle of the bed, the sheets rumpled and wrinkly. It was hard to believe less than an hour ago I’d been twisted up in this bed with Tristan.
Guilt seeded into my gut. Not wholly due to Preston finding out, but mostly because the sex had been fucking amazing. It was my first time, and I wanted to do it again. Not with anyone. With fucking Tristan.
And that complicated matters.
For one, Tristan had drawn clear lines of expectation. Did that mean what happened was only a singular experience? Could I crawl into his bed again when I needed him? Even the thought of using Tristan for sex and treating it so casually left a sour taste in my mouth. It might be easy for him to go through girls, but despite threatening I’d find someone else to sleep with, it had been as empty of a threat as I’d felt inside. I only wanted, only trusted, Tristan. I doubted anyone else could match the pleasure I had with him.
And then there was Preston.
I sighed, my shoulders slumping as I stared at a loose thread unraveling on the duvet. Regardless of how much Preston hurt and betrayed me, he was still Tristan’s little brother. The last thing I wanted was to cause a rift in their relationship. They’d always been close. Or it seemed that way as I recalled the hurtful things they’d thrown at each other in the heat of their fight. Something was going on between them, and I couldn’t say for sure whether it had anything to do with me, but the grain of doubt in my gut thought I might be part of the problem.
But how?
Tristan appeared in the doorway, and my heart skipped. However small of a reaction, it expanded my guilt, plunging the knife deeper into my chest with a little twist at the end. His eyes found mine, but he said nothing, just looked at me.
He had a cut above his eyebrow but no other noticeable injuries. I suspected the bruises went deeper than surface level. He might not let it show, but I knew him and knew that, like me, he suffered remorse.
Sleep was out of the question. My fingers fumbled together in my lap. “The rain stopped. Can you drive me to Sam’s car?” I asked, seeing no reason to stay, and truthfully, I needed space from him. Everything about Tristan, his scent, his eyes, his scowl, his body, his damn tattoos, his shitty attitude, his arrogance, his darkness, drew me in.
I got the appeal. I understood why girls flocked to him. Why they made absolute fools of themselves for his attention. Why they fought over him. Why they threw themselves at him. Why their hearts broke at his rejection. Why they were willing to settle for one night.
Tristan was a damn drug I’d willingly take every day. Just one dose and I was hooked. He was like my personal brand of heroin, and I couldn’t wait for my next fix.
Except he wasn’t mine.
He didn’t do relationships.
He didn’t commit.
I’d only been thinking about myself, of what I needed. And boy, had Tristan delivered. Perhaps too damn well. Now that I’d been with him, I didn’t want to let go.
He inclined his head over his shoulder to beyond the door. “Your clothes are in the dryer.” He disappeared down the hall.
It took me only a few minutes to find the laundry machines stacked in a closet and change into my clothes. Tristan waited for me by the front door, fully dressed and shoes on. He seemed as eager to get rid of me as I was to leave. Without saying a word, he opened the door, waiting for me to walk through.
Why did it feel like the world had shifted under my feet?
My actions had consequences. Was this one of them?
I walked over the threshold, Tristan right behind me. Neither of us spoke as we stonily went through the building to his car, and the silence stretched like a vast ocean, the turbulent waves separating us further and further away until it felt like I would drown.
Shifting in my seat, I readjusted the belt strapped across my chest and stared at Tristan. “Are you going say nothing to me? Just give me the silent treatment?”
His fingers flexed on the wheel, and his eyes were on the road ahead. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry? Well, I’m not.”
A deep exhale left me. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear him say that because, despite everything, I didn’t regret what happened either. “Which part? That we slept together? That your brother found out? That I’m glad it was you?” I needed clarification, or my mind would go squirrely wondering.
The first streaks of sunlight peaked on the horizon, casting the view before us in an autumnal glow of oranges and yellows. Tristan’s blue eyes landed on me. His lips pulled into a serious straight line where his silver hoop glinted. “None of it.”
“Then what is it?”
“I might not feel those things, but you do.”
Surprise rippled over me. “And that’s what’s twisting you up? My feelings?”
Flipping down the visor, Tristan took the next turn one-handed. “I warned you sleeping with me would be a bad idea. It complicates our friendship despite what you tell yourself.”
“Are we? Still friends?” I inquired, wisps of uncertainty in my features.
The car rolled to a stop as the traffic light turned red. His gaze collided with mine. Energy charged in the air between us. “Were we ever friends, Shortcake?”
I’d thought so. I really had, but looking at him now, I couldn’t say. Compared to my friendship with Sam, Tristan’s and my friendship couldn’t be different. I’d been closer with Preston growing up even before we started dating. Tristan had always been in the background, a broody, serious presence who fascinated me—who called to me.
That hadn’t changed.
My fingers curled into my palms. “So, what am I supposed to do now?”
“Live your life, Ever.”
Internally, I winced at hearing him call me by my name. Over the last few weeks, I’d grown to expect, hell, even like, the nickname Shortcake. It was a level of closeness shared by just us.
His car came to a stop in front of Preston’s dorm.
What else was there to say? “Thanks for the lay, Tristan,” I snapped, reaching for the door.
My fingers hovered over the handle. I hesitated. Once I got out of this car, nothing would be the same. It had already changed exponentially, and somehow opening this door was harder than any other one, including last night when I stepped into Preston’s room.
If I didn’t cut this off now, my fragile heart would never heal. The damage would break me to the point of being unmendable.
It took every ounce of my willpower to keep from looking back. I walked to Sam’s car, my legs mindlessly carrying me, but I never felt my feet touch the ground.
After I hit the unlock button on her key fob, a series of beeps followed, and still, I refused to glance over my shoulder. I sat in Sam’s car, my gaze forward as I listened to Tristan’s engine rev before he gunned it out of the parking lot.