Inescapable

Chapter 15

Trystan lay horizontally across the bed, his head resting on Iris’s stomach while he held his e-reader aloft, reading her manuscript.

She was stroking her fingers through his hair, trying not to freak out too much at the thought of him reading her silly story. It was all well and good when she was writing it just for her own amusement, but having someone whose opinion she actually valued read it was a little terrifying.

He made a sound in the back of his throat and her hand paused.

“What?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“You grunted, why?”

“Iris, kindly shut the fuck up, will you? I’m trying to read here.”

She muttered beneath her breath and went back to sifting her fingers through his silky hair, tensing every time he made any kind of sound. He appeared wholly absorbed and soon—despite her tension—Iris got bored, and her mind drifted. Before long, she was fast asleep.

The familiar weight of his body settling over hers, and the soft press of his lips on her cheek woke her.

“Whazzappening?” she mumbled, and Trystan’s mouth moved to her neck to drop another kiss against the sensitive flesh there. He was familiar with all of her erogenous zones by now and knew exactly how to take her from quietly and pleasantly aroused, to wild and screaming in seconds. Fortunately, he appeared focused on soft and tender this time, pressing gentle open-mouthed kisses up her neck toward the spot beneath her ear that always made her moan.

“Finished reading,” he whispered, nipping her earlobe and she snapped out of the sexual haze in an instant, slamming her palms against his chest to push his heavy, uncooperative body away from hers.

“You did?” He groaned when she wriggled her way out from under him, and he rolled onto his back and covered his eyes with one brawny forearm. “Well? What did you think?”

His sensual lips curled up at the corners.

“I think that I’m in love with a genius.” He shifted his arm until it was curled around the top of his head and stared at her in awe and admiration.

“Shut up,” she laughed, shoving at his shoulder playfully. She was becoming more and more comfortable with his freely offered declarations of love and was reacting to the genius part of his statement.

“It’s true, you’re brilliant. And I’m not sure why you’re so goddamned insecure about your talent. You’ve been hiding your light under a bushel, sweetheart. Why are you editing when you should be writing?”

“It’s a big leap, putting my work out there. You’re right, I should have more of an online presence. I should belong to writing groups, and be on forums and just be trying harder, but it’s so much easier to write for my own pleasure. And after so many years of being bullied and ridiculed I worry that I have a thin skin, that I won’t be able to handle the criticism.”

“You’re the most contrary woman I know. You came all the way out here to interview a recluse and tell his sad story. How is telling one of your own any different?”

“Because mine are fiction. Telling someone else’s story, telling the truth… that feels easier. Safer. I wouldn’t be spotlighting myself. I would be directing the attention firmly onto another person. This…” She gestured toward his e-reader on the nightstand. “It’s personal. It comes from me.”

“And like you, it’s amazing.”

“It’s a frivolous, gory tale about a werewolf. It’s nothing serious.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Iris . . . It does need work. It’s rough, a little clunky in places. Your protagonist is mopey as fuck, but God, it’s compelling. And it’s different. Werewolves have been done to death across all genres but this feels fresh. Using her newfound instincts to help with her police work, keeping her secret from her partner and her family. Then there’s her pregnancy and how her lycanthropy could possibly affect her fetus. I want more.”

She smiled shyly and he hooked a hand around her head to drag her down for a hard kiss.

“And there are definitely some familiar aspects to the story. She got lost in a storm, huh? Stalked by a large animal?”

“Nowhere near as sweet as Luna.”

He dragged her onto him and she happily straddled his waist, her hands braced on his chest.

“You should be writing fiction full time, sweet. Not dallying in journalism, not editing, not waiting tables for your parents.”

“I have to pay the bills somehow,” she laughed.

“Hmm.” The hum was noncommittal as he closed his arms around her and tugged her down to lay on his chest. She rested her cheek on a well-defined pec, listening to the comforting, steady beat of his heart. The fingers of one of his hands idly played with her curls, while the other rested on her bum, kneading the flesh there almost absently.

They stayed like that for a while. Neither of them speaking, just enjoying each other’s closeness.

“When I said that I thought maybe it was time for a new line of work I was serious,” Trystan said into the silence. “I don’t think I can do this anymore. I don’t want to do it anymore. Even before Trish’s death I’ve been feeling apathetic about it. I find myself loathing it. Despising everything that goes with it. The lack of privacy, the people constantly vying for my attention, men and women throwing themselves at me. But that’s not the worst of it, Iris. I used to love what I do and now I absolutely despise it. Every role I play is a variation of the same character and I’m bored and just so fucking tired of it. That’s one of the reasons I believe in us, Iris. I could be just a regular guy, and you wouldn’t have to worry about all the other shit that goes along with dating someone like the man I was before. No invasive press, or screaming fans, or long periods apart while I’m on location.”

She propped her chin on the back of her hand to look into his face. He had to know that this was just a lovely dream, that he couldn’t just take a step back and be forgotten. He had one of the most recognizable faces in the world and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. She didn’t point that out to him and instead she watched him thoughtfully.

“What would you do?” she asked.

His shoulders shifted and he shook his head, the gesture almost helpless.

“I mean, I wouldn’t have to do anything, really. I’ve made enough money for several lifetimes and I’ll be earning a fortune off residuals for the rest of my life.”

“You’d be bored out of your mind in no time,” she scoffed.

“I kind of like carpentry, I could make high-end furniture.”

“Like a reverse Harrison Ford,” she mused. “I could see it. These gorgeous hands were practically made for artisanal work—you’d create beautiful furniture. I still don’t think it’s quite you though.”

“What do you think I should do?”

She smiled and kissed his jaw, her mouth landing on his scar. She liked kissing him there—it made her feel like she was healing it a little more with every affectionate peck. It was stupidly whimsical, but she was prone to occasional—okay, more like frequent—flights of fantasy.

“I need to give it a little more consideration, but for now I think you should help me fix dinner after which, we should cuddle up in the cinema room and watch a movie. My choice.”

He laughed and palmed her face to give her a long, sweet kiss before rolling her off him and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“Maybe I should be a chef,” he suggested, smothering a yawn.

“You’re a good cook, but you don’t have enough imagination in the kitchen, I’m afraid,” she told him, her voice filled with feigned regret, and she giggled when he swatted her arse on their way out of the room.

“Christ Almighty,”Trystan groaned when Iris gleefully pushed the start button on her chosen movie. “Where the fuck did you dig this old thing out from?”

“I rented it off one of the streaming services,” she said as she crept under his arm, nestling her head in the crook between his shoulder and armpit, huddling beneath the fleecy blanket as she settled in to watch the movie.

“Fuck, Iris, why would you want to torture me like this?”

“Ssh,” she hissed as the title shimmered onto the screen in a drippy, creepy red font: Night of The Killer Wētās. “It’s starting.” He swore beneath his breath and dug a fistful of popcorn out of their large shared carton.

She squealed in delight when a painfully young Trystan Abbott appeared on the screen in his debut role. He’d been just twenty-one at the time of filming, not yet as big and muscular as he was now. He’d been a tall, skinny, good-looking young man, with striking eyes and moody dark looks. There were hints of the beauty to come, glimpses of his talent in the earnest delivery of every terrible line, and it was clear that he—and every other cast member—were having the time of their lives.

Trystan hooted beside her when Hunter Quinn—the boom operator—appeared in shot, gave the camera a deer-in-the-headlights look and awkwardly edged his way back out of sight. And laughed uproariously when his friend Darryl—who’d cast himself as the hero’s self-sacrificing best friend—died dramatically after having his face gorily chewed off by a gigantic, obviously fake wētā.

The production values were appalling, the special effects horrendous, the acting mostly subpar, but some of the writing was brilliant. Trystan’s talent shone through though, as did Darryl Constanza’s directing skills. There was a reason this train smash of a movie was a cult classic. And it lay in the occasional witty one-liner, the obvious innate acting ability of a future leading man, and the hilarious on-and off-screen gaffes of the inexperienced cast and crew. It was endearing, and it was entertaining from beginning to end.

When the end credits rolled, Trystan remained silent and Iris, who was idly stroking his arm, murmured, “That is what you should be doing, Trystan. What you love. I don’t mean the Cryo Copsand the super-hero big-budget stuff, I mean passion projects alongside people you enjoy working with. As you so smugly boasted earlier, you have enough wealth for several lifetimes. You don’t need the money, so why not work on movies you’d enjoy doing? Quirky, off-the-wall arthouse ventures that showcase your talent more than they do your outstanding body.”

“How do you see me so clearly?” he asked, his voice wobbling. “It’s bothered me. So much. Being typecast, always playing the action hero, flexing abs and arse, spouting catchy one-liners. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had fun… but the last few. I’ve been so bored. I’ve hated it. And I forgot how rewarding I once found this work. But the roles I truly enjoyed, the dramatic roles, with meat to them have all been box office failures, with critics mocking my efforts and urging me to stay in my wheelhouse. It made me doubt myself. I felt ridiculous, starting thinking that all I was capable of doing were movies like Cryo Cop and Max Velocity. I’ve always wanted to test my acting chops, try comedy, do more drama. But I’ve been shoved into this box and I feel trapped.”

“You need to rediscover the love you once had for your craft. Maybe re-hire your idiot manager so that he can help you find these roles you love. He knows you better than most people. He’d know what to look for.”

Trystan was staring at her with something like reverence in his eyes. He blinked rapidly for a few moments before speaking, his voice hoarse with emotion, “I’m beginning to think my manager’s not quite an idiot. Because he certainly knew what the fuck he was doing when he sent you to me, Iris.”

“Do not remind me of what that duplicitous bastard did, Trystan, or I’ll want to punch his pretty face all over again.”

“You think he’s pretty?” Trystan asked with a glower, looking seriously aggravated at the notion that she might find one of his best friends attractive.

“Don’t worry, darling, he’s not as cute as you.”

He looked momentarily appeased before his brow lowered again. “What about Dazza?”

“He’s too surfer boy-ish for me,” she placated. “I like my men dark and glowery, and moody as fuck.”

“And don’t you forget it,” he warned in a dark, moody voice and she laughed happily.

“So are you still going to throw in the towel on your acting?” she asked, the laughter fading from her eyes, hoping he would consider her words.

“I’ve been unhappy for so long,” he admitted, lifting her hand to toy with her fingers, avoiding her eyes as he focused on his task. “It’s been hard to remember what I loved about my work. Tonight has helped. It’ll be a long road, and I’ll need to speak with Quinny and my PR manager, Bee, to see how feasible restructuring my career will be. I’m committed to four more projects—two sequels, a super hero thing and heist flick—I can’t get out of those. But you’re right, I need a change. A palate cleanser. I’ll take on fewer projects and only ones that I truly love. I’ve always wanted to try my hand at directing as well, but I had that dream tucked so far out of sight I’d almost forgotten it existed. It’s something to consider.” She could hear the rising excitement brewing beneath the even—almost distant and disinterested—tone of his voice. He was desperately trying to keep his cool, but she could tell, he wanted this, he was enthused about it and couldn’t wait to mull it over with Hunter Quinn.

He lifted the hand he’d been stroking to his lips and planted a soft kiss on her palm, finally meeting her eyes and revealing the boyish enthusiasm in his gleaming gray gaze.

“Thank you… it’s not always easy to see the simplest of solutions right in front of your nose. I needed this. I’m so fucking excited to try it, to do only what I want to and to hell with what the public and the critics think.”

“I’m very happy to have helped. And I can’t even begin to tell you how hot I’m finding this steely resolve of yours,” she teased, fanning herself. “Now are you going to take me to bed, mister? Or am I going to have to seduce you on this uncomfortable love seat?”

He growled and picked her up caveman style. She squealed, laughing uncontrollably all the way back to the bedroom.

“Can I borrow your phone?”Iris asked Trystan two days later after they’d returned from their post-breakfast walk. It was a glorious day, with blue skies and moderate temperatures ranging in the mid-teens. They were back in the kitchen now, facing each other across the island. “I want to call my parents. I haven’t spoken to them in a week and I think they need to hear my voice. They like to pretend they’re cool, but I know they’ve been concerned about me. More so since I lost my phone. They probably think I’ve been kidnapped or something, despite my constant messages and emails. I think it would be good for them to see that I’m okay.”

“You don’t have to explain, Iris,” he said with a chuckle, handing his device over. “Of course you can call them. I’m sorry; I should have offered sooner. If you want to catch up with your friend, Evan, afterward, you can call her too.”

Iris had told Trystan she was concerned about Evan’s silence. Her friend had only responded to one of her emails, and it had been a curt two-line message.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” he said, turning to go and Iris hesitated. She’d spoken to both of his best friends, and had self-consciously participated in a group call with his parents and older brother, Dan, the night before. While her parents and best friend still had no clue why she was here and who she was with.

“No, stay. I think it’s time I tell my parents why I’m here, but be warned, they won’t be cool about it.”

“I don’t blame them. Their daughter has been trapped and alone with a strange man. It would make any parent uncomfortable.”

She stared at him for a beat and then burst into laughter.

“Oh my God, it’s so cute that you’re actually serious right now,” she said, clutching her sides after nearly busting a gut laughing. He looked confused and that set her off again.

“Trystan, sweetheart.” God, he really was adorable at times. His eyes sparked in pleasure at the endearment, and she vowed to call him that more often. “When I say my parents aren’t going to be cool about it, I mean they’re going to lose their collective shit when they realize that I’m with you. Dad’s a massive fan, he’s watched every one of your movies. And mum—” she grimaced. “I think she has a wee crush on you, actually. Which could get awkward.”

“Is she as hot as you?” Trystan asked with a wicked grin and Iris gasped in horror.

“Don’t you even dare… Just shut up about my mum’spotential hotness! Ew!”

He laughed. “I’ll be on my best behavior, I swear. I’m fucking great with parents.”

“Fine, but stay out of sight until I’ve explained the situation to them.” She sat down at the banquette and he squeezed in next to her. He unlocked his phone and she quickly dialed her mother’s number before she could change her mind.

“How do you know the number? I haven’t got a single number memorized.”

“Mum made me recite it over and over again when I was a kid. It hasn’t changed since. She was paranoid about—” The phone was answered abruptly and her mother’s ear and graying brown hair appeared on-screen.

“Hello? Hello? Who’s this?”

“Mum? Mum,it’s me! Move the phone away from your ear, for God’s sake, Mum. It’s a video call.”

“Hello? Iris? Is that you? Jason, it’s Iris! Whose number is this? Are you okay?”

Iris cast her eyes heavenward and prayed for strength before trying again.

“Mum, it’s a video call, move the phone away from your ear.”

She heard Trystan smother a chuckle and glared at him.

Her mother finally moved the phone but the image was a bit blurry thanks to her having rubbed her ear against the camera lens.

“Oh, there you are. You look warm and healthy. We’ve been so worried about you… Jason, Iris is on the phone.”

“Is that Iris?” her father called, before he appeared on screen beside her mother. Iris smiled at the sight of their endearing faces. Her mother so pretty, with her graying brunette hair and pale brown skin, her father so dapper in his bow tie, his blond head balding, his eyes a faded gray. She’d missed them so much.

“Hello, my darling,” her father said, his voice warm with love and affection. “We’ve missed you. When will you finish up this top-secret job and come home?”

“About that… I need to explain about the job,” Iris said, happy he’d given her the opening. “I came here to interview Trystan Abbott.”

“What?” Her father looked blank and her mother’s jaw literally dropped.

“Who?” her mother asked in a faint voice.

“Uhm, Trystan Abbott, but the interview was cancelled. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. It just didn’t feel right to divulge the information when I knew the interview wasn’t happening any longer and the situation was a little volatile.”

“Volatile? What does that mean?” Her father sounded concerned. “Are you in danger?”

“God, no, Dad, of course not. I just meant that?—”

“If I may,” Trystan murmured, and she cast a helpless look his way and sighed before nodding. He scooched over into view and her mother actually yelped.

“Oh, sweet Jesus, he’s sitting right there,” she muttered, then actually crossed herself as if he were Satan himself. Trystan’s lips twitched.

“Hello Mr. and Mrs. Hughes. I’m afraid when Iris says the situation was volatile, she means that I was behaving like a—and please do excuse my language—a total dick toward her. I didn’t want to be interviewed and wasn’t very pleasant about it, I’m afraid.”

Her parents still looked a little shell-shocked to see him, but her father rallied faster than her mother.

“Have you been treating my daughter poorly, Mr. Abbott?” His voice was thick with displeasure, and it was a little disconcerting to see her usually mild-mannered father narrow his eyes intimidatingly at a man she knew he admired.

“Call me Trystan, please, and in answer to your question, I wasn’t very kind to her at first. But you know Iris, it’s impossible to continue being an asshole around her. And let me tell you, I tried my damnedest. I wanted to meet you both so that I could inform you that your daughter has changed my life. And to thank you in person for raising such an amazing woman.”

Iris found it hard to swallow past the lump in her throat as she stared at this man who had undoubtedly changed her life as well. She would never be the same after this. And she damned sure knew that she didn’t want to face the rest of her life without him.

Her parents looked confused, even alarmed, and Iris leaped in to do some damage control.

“Long story short, my reason for being here no longer exists, but until they fix the roads I can’t leave. Trystan has been kind enough to host me, despite my showing up pretty much unannounced on his doorstep.”

“Best thing that ever happened to me,” Trystan inserted happily and Iris facepalmed before facing her parents again with a determined smile.

“So, as you can see, I’m fine. Nothing at all for you to worry about and hopefully I’ll be home soon. Now what’s been happening with Robbie? And how’s business? Any interesting events coming up?”

“You want us to talk about that with Trystan Abbott sitting there?” her mother asked in horror.

“Just pretend he’s not here,” Iris waved her concern off with a breezy hand gesture.

“But he’s right there,” her mother pointed out unnecessarily.

Trystan snorted again, and when Iris slanted him a glance he was suspiciously straight-faced.

Her parents somewhat hesitantly began to tell her about Robbie’s crush, about a few new interesting upcoming events. The geyser at home had burst. Mrs. Desmond next door had fallen and broken her hip.

They soon grew comfortable with Trystan’s quiet presence, and conversation flowed freely between Iris and her parents.

Until…

“So, Mr. Abbott, why won’t you let my daughter interview you?” Rosa Hughes abruptly shifted topic, and both Trystan and Iris froze. “She’s ever so good at what she does. She once interviewed Mrs. O’Malley down the road for her primary school newspaper. And everybody said she was the cutest little reporter, with her earnest questions about Mrs. O’Malley’s missing rabbit. The rabbit was found not two days after the story ran.”

“Mum, please …” Iris groaned, writhing in embarrassment. Her mother always whipped out the rabbit story when she spoke about Iris’s journalism career. That, to the older woman, was the pinnacle of Iris’s achievements. Then again, Iris hadn’t given them much else to brag about after that when it came to her chosen career.

“It’s not about Iris, Mrs. Hughes. I agree that your daughter is extremely talented. It’s about me. I’m not in the best place right now. I have a lot of decisions to make about my future and I’d rather not talk to any reporters until after I’ve made them.”

Her mother’s face contorted in sympathy, and she nodded. Iris tensed, knowing what would come next.

“Is it because of that accident? I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

To his credit, Trystan merely nodded curtly in response to her words.

“Thank you, and yes, it’s partly about that and partly because I have to make changes. I have to create a safe space in my life for someone vitally important to me,” Iris’s head swung sharply toward him, but he kept his gaze fixed on the screen.

“I wish you luck with that. It was ever so nice meeting you. Jason would agree, but I think he’s a little starstruck right now. He’s never this quiet.”

“I’m quiet because I can’t get a word in edgewise, woman,” her father grumbled, and Trystan chuckled. “Now if you’re done embarrassing our daughter, I have something to say to Mr. Abbott.”

“Of course,” Trystan nodded with a smile, which her father didn’t return.

“If you break my little girl’s heart, young man, I’ll break your legs. And don’t think I can’t, I know three different types of martial arts.”

“Dad…”

“Jason, what?—”

Trystan ignored the shocked exclamations from both women and nodded solemnly at the thin, balding fifty-something-year-old man glaring daggers at him through the screen.

“If she’d give me her heart, sir, it would be my greatest treasure and I would keep it safe for the rest of my life. But until the day she entrusts it to me, it’s not mine to break.”

Her father seemed satisfied with that answer, and once again Iris felt herself on the verge of tears at Trystan’s words.

Her parents rang off shortly after that. Her mother—who appeared deep in thought—said goodbye with an absent I love you.

After the called ended, Iris and Trystan sat side by side in silence. She fidgeted with his phone, turning it over and over again in her hands. She wasn’t sure what to say to him and, to his credit, he allowed her the space to process.

“I’ll leave you to speak to your friend in privacy,” he said after a long while and she nodded in gratitude, not sure she could go through the same thing with Evan.