Inescapable

Chapter 22

The air left Iris’s lungs in a shocked gasp as she stared fixedly at the screen, dreading what was to come but unable to look away. Like a terrified doe watching a train hurtling down the tracks straight at her, but too stunned by the noise and light to move out of the way before it mowed her down.

Mike Holmes was standing, arm outstretched as Evan lithely skipped onto the stage, looking ethereally lovely under the lights. Her strawberry blonde hair was up in a top knot, emphasizing the elegant line of her neck and shoulders. She was wearing a form-fitting pastel blue dress with a knee-length skirt and a simple boat neck, giving her an understated, yet classy, appearance. The make-up artist had done a great job of making her too-pale complexion look dewy and fresh.

Holmes air kissed her cheeks, and she turned to wave at the enthusiastically applauding studio audience, looking relaxed and confident. The man led her to the sofa and sat her down, before taking his seat—a massive winged armchair in the same color as the sofa.

“Oh my God,” Evan squealed once the audience had settled down. She made a huge show of stroking the sofa and then resting her cheek on the arm. “It’s just as comfy as it looks! I always wondered about that.”

The audience laughed appreciatively, clearly warming to her.

“Well, we’re happy you like it,” Holmes said with a wink at the camera, as if inviting the viewers in on the joke.

Iris swallowed painfully. Evan was in her element here. She’d have the host, the audience, and the nation eating out of her hand by the end of this interview. It sickened Iris to see Evan reaping even more rewards from her and Trystan’s misery.

“So, Evan, tell us a bit more about yourself. Where did you grow up?” Holmes invited, and Evan started talking about her family life, her adoring parents, her childhood cat—telling an amusing anecdote of the time Miss Pickles the cat had adopted a baby rat. It was all so frikking adorable.

Mike Holmes laughed on cue, listening raptly, prompting her with insightful questions, while expertly steering her toward the reason she was on the show.

“So where did you meet Iris Hughes?”

“At college. She was always a bit of a misfit, you know? Not quite sure where and how she slotted in. She latched onto me almost from the first. But I didn’t mind. She seemed like she needed a friend and she was nice enough, if a bit insecure. As I got to know her, I realized that she was absolutely riddled with anxiety.”

“Oh, my God. That’s not what happened,” Iris muttered, feeling the need to defend herself, even if Colby was the only one there to hear her. “She approached me. She’d heard my father was Stanford Carter and she wanted to know everything about him. She asked if I had any of his notes. Yes, I don’t make friends easily, and maybe I was too… eager to be liked by her. But she was so cool and confident. And?—”

Colby reached over and squeezed Iris’s knotted fists.

“You don’t have to explain, Iris. She’s not coming across as very convincing. Or sincere. Or likable.”

“What?” Iris’s head swung around to stare at Colby in disbelief. “She’s got them hanging onto her every word. You’re biased because you know me.”

“I’ve got really good at reading people since working at Brand EPS. She’s trying too hard to be coy and sweet. Instead, she strikes me as cloying and insincere.”

“You’re just one—albeit very astute—person. And, don’t get me wrong, I’m really grateful that you see through her but everybody else seems to be buying her act.

“I’m not so sure.” Colby shook her head, her expression thoughtful. “I’ve watched Mike Holmes’s show a few times. I’m familiar with his interrogation techniques…”

“Interrogation?” Iris repeated with a startled laugh. “Interview, you mean?”

“I said what I said,” Colby said with a slight grin and a lift of her chin. “Anyway, he’s building up to something.”

“And you and Miss Hughes—Iris—collaborated from the very beginning on this Trystan Abbott interview?” Holmes’s question yanked Iris’s attention back to the disaster unfolding on-screen. She recalled, with an unpleasant jolt, that this wasn’t happening live. That everything she was watching right now, had already happened.

Evan had force-fed the world these lies already and Iris knew that any attempt she made now to fix it would be futile. She’d had so many opportunities to tell her own story, to possibly temper the catastrophic impact of this interview while mitigating the damage already done with the article and the leaked excerpts from her journal. But Iris had been too proud and too afraid to defend herself. Proud because she believed that those who loved her and knew her would surely not need to be spoon-fed the truth, while the rest did not matter. Meanwhile she’d really been terrified that nobody would believe her if she actually spoke up. Why would they? When Trystan hadn’t.

While Iris had remained imprisoned at home, hiding from the world, the public had gone and made up their minds about the type of person they believed she was.

“Yes,” Evan said in response to the man’s question. “She approached Mr. Quinn, Trystan Abbott’s manager. He agreed to the interview and we decided fairly early on that the article would be published by Looker.”

“Because of your connections at the magazine, of course,” Mike Holmes said with a sage nod and Evan smiled.

“Yes.”

Holmes’s eyes narrowed and he tilted his head, affecting a look of confusion.

“Now hold on. You make Iris sound like a bundle of neuroses and anxiety. Why entrust such an important interview to her? Especially—as you said—she lacked experience. Why didn’t you do it instead?”

“Uh…” Evan’s relaxed smile slipped a notch, before she fixed it firmly in place. “Well, I would’ve loved to, of course. But I had commitments at work. I couldn’t just up and leave. Iris just does some freelance editing. It’s easier for her to swan off to exotic destinations than it is for me.”

”But surely your then-boss at Looker would have granted you some time off to pursue a story like this?”

“Iris and I decided that the fewer people who knew about this the better. I didn’t trust my then-boss not to take the story from me.”

“I understand your boss was fired and you have her job now?” Holmes inserted smoothly, with a warm little smile. Now Iris could see what Colby had meant. There was something watchful—almost predatory—in the host’s dark gray eyes.

“I do. Yes.”

“Congratulations,” Holmes said and Evan smiled.

“Thank you.”

“This story has been good to you. Recognition and respect at work, I assume a substantial pay rise, plus whatever you earned off the article—and you’ve become a recognized name in the entertainment journalism industry. Not bad for one as young as you.”

“I may be young, Mike, but I’ve worked my arse off for every opportunity.”

“I’m sure,” he said amenably. “And Iris? She’s been cagey with the press. Not a single interview. Did Looker offer her a position? I’m sure you must be champing at the bit to have her working with you?”

“Iris isn’t interested in working at Looker,” Evan said, her voice as flat as the line of her mouth.

“Why not?”

“Who knows?” Evan’s response was curt and dismissive. “She’s a strange one.”

“I agree. I do find it odd that someone would land the scoop of the decade, then not bask in the aftermath. She hasn’t been seen in public much. Her family has closed ranks. It’s like she fell off the face of the planet.”

“Maybe she’s embarrassed she slept her way into a story and that the entire world then got to read about it in her journal,” Evan said snidely, then recognized that she’d miscalculated when a low rumble of mutters swept through the audience.

“Speaking of the journal… a lot of the information the excerpts revealed were deeply personal and not always flattering to Iris. I was baffled as to why anyone would want such intimate thoughts exposed to the public.”

“You’re going to have to ask Iris about that. I have no idea what motivates her sometimes.” Evan tried for a wide, friendly smile, but she was starting to look a little frayed around the edges.

“I would ask her, only she’s gone into hiding and, as her best friend, you’re the only one who could possibly give us some insight into her thought process.”

“I’d prefer not to discuss her, to be honest,” Evan said. “I thought we would be chatting about Looker’s upcoming collaborative project with?—”

“In a minute, but for now I’d like to remain focused on Iris, if you don’t mind?” Mike Holmes’s smile had become decidedly sharklike and Iris leaned forward on the sofa in anticipation. “How much of the article did she write?”

“Iris has never been a very good writer. I had to write most of it for her. It was a mess before I got hold of it.”

“I see. Extremely generous of you to share the byline with her.”

“Well, it was her story after all,” Evan said with a modest smile.

“You merely wrote it for her,” Holmes completed for her.

Evan laughed, looking flattered by the non-compliment, and made a zipping motion across her lips.

“It wouldn’t be very sporting of me to say more than that, Mike.”

Mike Holmes stared at her for a few beats, during which Evan actually squirmed a bit, before he dialed up his perfect smile again. “Well, Evan, as much as I’ve loved having you all to myself, the time has come to take a quick break and then welcome my next guest to the sitting room.”

The screen went black for a few moments, which had obviously been a commercial break during the live show, and when the picture came back on Mike Holmes was staring directly into the camera.

“The team and I have been very sneaky about my next guest,” he said, leaning forward in a confiding manner. “We’ve kept him off tonight’s roster because we wanted to surprise you. After his last stormy visit, I must confess, I feared we’d never see him back on the couch. Which would have been a tragedy, since it’s always such a pleasure having him here. But he very generously agreed to come back onto the show tonight. Ladies and gentleman, please welcome… The one! The only! The SUBLIMELY talented Mr. Trystan Abbott!”

The audience went wild as the live studio band struck up the show’s theme once again, and Trystan strode confidently onto the set.

Iris’s hands were up over her mouth as she gawked at the screen, not sure what to expect next. Trystan exchanged a warm handshake with the man he’d comprehensively shunned just ten days ago, and after a cool nod at a starstruck-looking Evan, who was now sitting on the other end of the couch, took his seat closest to Mike.

Trystan had lost weight since his previous interview and Iris wondered if he was preparing for a role or something. His cheeks had hollowed and the bones looked sharper beneath his taut skin. There were angles and shadows that had not been present the last time she’d run her fingers over his face. He was thinner, yes, but still devastatingly attractive. Iris sucked her quivering lower lip between her teeth to prevent the sob lurking in her throat from escaping.

“You okay?” Colby asked and Iris nodded, unable to speak. They heard the front door open and a few moments later Chance was in the living room, but Iris couldn’t drag her attention away from the screen long enough to acknowledge him.

She heard him exchange a quiet greeting with Colby and was peripherally aware of him sitting down in the easy chair on her left.

“Trystan,” Mike Holmes gushed. “Welcome back.”

“Happy to be back, Mike,” Trystan said, clearly comfortable as he sat with his thighs spread and one arm draped over the back of the sofa. As always, he took up more than his fair share of space, but the couch was so large he didn’t infringe on any part of Evan’s space.

“Have you met Evan Brooks?” Holmes asked, gesturing toward Evan, whose eyes were sparkling with excitement. She had a winning smile on her face, and she’d angled her upper body toward his and was leaning toward him eagerly.

“I haven’t yet had the pleasure,” Trystan said with a cool smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He turned that lukewarm smile on Evan. “Miss Brooks? Charmed, I’m sure.”

“Oh, please call me Evan,” the woman gushed and he nodded, but all that legendary charm was conspicuously absent.

Evan finally seemed to notice that he wasn’t quite as receptive to her charms and she dialed down the enthusiasm a notch, before saying, face somber, voice throbbing with—what Iris knew had to be—feigned sincerity, “I’ve been meaning to reach out and apologize for any trouble my little article may have caused you.”

“I doubt you would’ve managed to reach me. My team filters out all unsolicited attempts at contact.” There was a smattering of laughter at the unequivocal put-down, but Trystan continued in that same devastating monotone. “But that’s beside the point. You and I came out of this debacle none the worse for wear, didn’t we? The public has been very supportive of me after the truth about Trish surfaced. Her family have suffered unnecessarily and I’d hoped to spare them that, so perhaps I’m not the one to whom you should be apologizing?”

“Of course,” Evan backtracked hastily. “I did express similar doubts to Iris when I understood how troubled Trish Nesbitt had been, but she was adamant about leaving it in.”

Iris made a choked sound of protest and Trystan’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Evan in that assessing way of his. Evan visibly squirmed beneath that penetrative stare.

But Trystan merely said, “Was she?”

“It was quite impossible to dissuade her.”

“The thing about Iris, Ms. Brooks?—”

“Evan, please,” she invited warmly.

“No.” His icy, unequivocal response prompted nervous titters from the audience and Evan blinked in confusion.

“You were saying,” Mike Holmes prompted. The focus had been on Evan and Trystan for so long that the host’s interruption was almost jarring. Iris had nearly forgotten he was there. “About Iris? I know you were reluctant to discuss her last time, but I gather you’re a little more open to speaking about her this evening?”

Trystan didn’t reply, his focus still trained on Evan. Iris knew how it felt to be pinned beneath that relentless hawklike stare and she almost felt sorry for Evan.

“I was saying,” Trystan continued. “The thing about Iris is that she never seemed particularly interested in journalism. The opportunity to interview me fell into her lap and she would have been foolish not to pursue it. She was filled with enthusiasm and can-do-it-ness when she showed up on my doorstep, and everybody knows by now what followed. I treated her poorly and kept her locked in a room for days.”

“She was intruding,” Mike Holmes was quick to point out.

“No, she wasn’t. My manager had okayed the interview and Iris had every right to be there. Funny how none of those leaked excerpts from her journal—which would have entirely vindicated her of any whiff of wrongdoing—never revealed that snipped of information, isn’t it? I was being the arsehole and people have been much too quick to dismiss my behavior, and divert blame onto her. She was properly terrified to be locked in that room and had I known—” He shook his head. “I would have behaved differently. I don’t make a habit of terrorizing women and keeping them locked up in rooms. She caught me at a particularly vulnerable time, but that’s still no excuse for my treatment of her.”

“In the end you were correct to be wary of her though,” Holmes said. “Considering everything that happened afterwards. She betrayed your trust.”

“You have that backwards, Mike,” Trystan said, his voice quiet, the studio audience—likely the entire nation, Iris included—so riveted by what he would say next you could hear a pin drop into the expectant silence. “I betrayed her trust.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Holmes said and Trystan shifted his focus back to Evan who was staring at him with huge eyes.

“Thing is, Mike, I’m very familiar with Iris’s writing. Familiar enough with her voice to know that there’s no way in hell Iris wrote any part of that poorly constructed article.”

The audience gasped, but Iris barely heard them over her own rough intake of breath. She hadn’t been sure of his purpose in coming on the show this time, and certainly hadn’t expected such a blunt denunciation of Evan’s statements. It was unexpected but so welcome. Her sense of vindication and relief was overwhelming.

“I should have noticed it immediately,” Trystan continued. “But I’ll freely admit that I was too butt hurt at the notion that I’d been deceived and taken for a fool to think clearly. Too ready to accuse Iris and believe the worst of her when she’d never given me any reason to do so.”

“Well, hold on a second now, Trystan. Evan did admit to writing a lot of the article, right Evan?”

“I did, because Iris…”

“I heard what you said earlier,” Trystan interrupted. “About Iris not being a good writer. And I’ve never heard a bigger load of bollocks in my life. I’ve read her work and Iris is phenomenally talented. Decidedly more so than you are, Miss Brooks. And anybody who has read any part of those leaked excerpts from her journal could tell you that.”

There was a quiet murmur of what sounded like assent from the audience.

“I wrote the article, I admit that, but everything from the journal came from her,” Evan pointed out heatedly, her cheeks flushed an unbecoming shade of puce.

“Iris trusts the people she loves. Without doubt or hesitation. God, I wish she didn’t, because it makes her completely vulnerable when some of those people turn on her. People like you. And me.

“When your story first broke, before she knew about it, I asked her for her laptop. It was password protected. When I pointed that out to her, instead of taking it from me and typing in the password herself, she told me what it was. Blind, unequivocal trust. And at some point, during your years-long friendship, she must have done the same with you, right? If not, you know her well enough to have gleaned her password. Easy enough to get into her cloud with that information.”

Evan’s jaw worked as she considered what to say next, but in the end she shrugged and sat back, folding her arms over her chest defiantly.

“Iris lacks ambition. She was sitting on a goldmine of information after the opportunity of a lifetime fell into her lap, and she refused to do anything with it.”

Trystan’s face contorted as her response confirmed what—up until that point—had been mere speculation on his part.

“You were jealous of her, weren’t you?” Mike Holmes asked astutely, his voice low, non-threatening, as if he was afraid that any hint of condemnation would send her into retreat.

“Do you know who her father was?” Evan countered. “She owed it to him to do—be—better. But she looked down on his work, was ashamed of him. Thought she was so much better than him. And me. When she’s the one who’s an embarrassment?—”

“The real embarrassment is the person who would publicize their friend’s struggles with mental health and anxiety without their explicit consent,” Trystan interrupted her on a low growl. “Iris has been persecuted, mocked, insulted, relentlessly attacked, and bullied online and in person. Her family has lost business and she has received dozens of death threats and has been kicked out of her home. Didn’t you care how that would affect her emotional and mental health? She’d been trapped in her own home for weeks on end. She suffers from cleithrophobia.” His voice broke on the word and he cleared his throat before continuing. “It must have been intolerable for her.”

Iris was silently crying now, dimly aware of Colby’s arm around her shoulder. Chance must have left the room at some point because he pressed a mug of hot tea into her cold hands.

“Iris is the real victim here. A victim of your ambition and greed,” Trystan said. “And my weakness and distrust. And I wish with everything in me that I’d stood by her. That I’d believed in our love enough to overcome my doubt and fear.”

“Look, it wasn’t like that,” Evan screeched in a panic, obviously only now understanding how badly this was going to rebound back on her. “I did it for Iris. That’s why I added her name to…”

“Miss Brooks,” Mike Holmes interrupted her firmly. “I thank you for joining us today, but I’m afraid that’s the end of this segment.”

“No, you must allow me to defend myself. This is slander. A vicious ambush. I demand?—”

The screen went black and when the image reappeared a few seconds later, Evan was gone and only Trystan remained on the couch. Usually, Holmes hosted up to three guests and it was unusual to have only one person on the couch this far into the show.

“Trystan,” Mike Holmes began, his voice almost tentative. “I understand that this is a difficult subject, but would you like to tell us more about your relationship with Iris Hughes?”

“Not particularly,” Trystan said, his voice rough with emotion. “It’s—” He paused, then laughed, the sound devoid of humor. “I was going to say private but I realize how ridiculous that would sound in light of how much of it has already been revealed to the world.

“That horrible Brooks woman took something singular and beautiful and weaponized it. She then aimed that weapon at both Iris and me. I failed Iris. I can’t forgive myself for that. She trusted me when I promised that I would protect her from the public eye and never hurt her.” He stared down at the hands clasped between his spread knees and shook his head, the gesture slow and defeated. “The promise had barely left my mouth before I turned on her and left her vulnerable to the vultures. Who does that?”

“What would you say to her,” Holmes said, his voice almost a whisper. “If she was watching right now?”

Trystan looked directly into the camera, his face so ravaged by grief and despair that the audience actually reacted in what sounded like a collective moan.

“Nothing I say can fix this, Mike. But if you are watching, Iris… I hope—I wish—” he shook his head, looking helpless and vulnerable. “I’m sorry. You deserved better. I know you can’t forgive me. I don’t blame you. I do—and always will—love you, Iris. So so much. And I hope in some way, this helps you claim back the life I stole from you.”

“You want her back, don’t you?” Mike Holmes murmured.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Mike,” Trystan stated, his voice and face like granite. “What I want is unimportant. I fu—messed—up. I no longer have a say in what happens next. I hope Iris is able to forgive me someday, but if she doesn’t… I’ll understand. I don’t deserve her. I never did. But—” He looked straight at the camera again, his heart in his eyes, his expression both vulnerable and hopeful. “Iris, if you did find it in your heart to give me another chance… I’d work my arse off every damned day of my life to deserve your love.”

“Wow,” Mike Holmes said, his voice shaky with restrained excitement and disbelief. “Thank you for returning to my sitting room this evening, Trystan, and laying your soul bare for the world to see. I do hope your Iris sees this and gives you another chance. That’s all we have time for this evening, folks. I’m sure you’ll agree with me that this has been one hell of a show. Thank you?—”

Colby put the television on mute, while Iris continued to stare at the screen in disbelief, and no small amount of horror.

“How does he think this is going to make things better?” she asked, the question directed mostly at herself. “Now I’ll be getting death threats if I don’t take his sorry arse back.”

Colby smothered what sounded like a laugh and rubbed Iris’s back in comforting circles.

“Drink your tea before it gets cold,” she instructed. “I agree that parting shot was a little ill advised, but the rest of it was pretty decent, right?”

“So… I’m supposed to just fall over myself and forgive him now?” Iris asked querulously, taking a sip of her lukewarm overly sweet tea. She wrinkled her nose and glared at Chance, out of sorts and irritable and willing to take out her frustration on anything male right now. “This tastes like syrup.”

‘Thought you’d need it sweet for the shock,” he said with a nonchalant shrug.

“Did you know he was going to do this?” she asked him with a glare, pointing a shaky finger at the TV.

“I knew he had an interview, but I had no idea it was going to go down like that. I was backstage when they dragged Evan back there. She had a shell-shocked look, like she’d just been hit by a bus and didn’t quite understand what had happened to her. Once the shock wore off, she started pacing, so furious you could practically see the steam coming off her. She was on her phone, sending frantic texts and making urgent, low-voiced phone calls. Got to admit, it was fun to watch her carefully constructed house of cards implode.”

Iris was gnawing her cuticle again, and she hissed in pain when she hit a raw spot.

“Look, Iris, he asked me to give you this.” Chance tugged a slim phone from his jacket’s breast pocket. He didn’t make any attempt to give it to her, merely held it in his hand. “I told him I’m not going to be his little errand boy, ferrying notes between you two like we’re high school kids in the middle of some teenage drama. If you don’t want this, I’ll happily hand it back to him tomorrow and that’ll be the end of it, okay? You don’t owe him anything.”

“Why does he want me to have that?” Iris asked, staring at the device like it was a venomous snake poised to strike.

Chance shrugged. “In case you want to talk, I reckon.”

“I have a phone.”

“Maybe he wanted to be certain you’d get his texts and phone calls. Since you’ve blocked and deleted him from your other phone.”

“Not interested.”

“Okay.” Chance palmed the phone and moved it back to his pocket.

“Wait,” Iris said, her eyes glued to the innocuous-looking device. She shook her head, furious with herself and held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

Chance handed it over without comment.

“I don’t want to talk to him,” Iris maintained, sliding the phone between her thigh and the sofa cushion, and then tried her best to ignore the slight warmth emanating from the damned thing. “But I’ll keep it in case I change my mind.”

“You can smash it to pieces with a mallet if you want, Iris. It’s your business.”

“What’s going to happen now?” Iris wondered.

“Hopefully this will all blow over soon,” Colby said and then shook her head. “Frankly, after this interview, I don’t see interest in you waning anytime soon, but it may be a lot less hostile and negative.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

“You’ll have a security team, which means more freedom of movement,” Chance said.

“A security team?”

“Trystan insisted.”

Iris didn’t like the thought of that at all. “I don’t want to be beholden to him for anything.”

“He got you into this shit. It’s the least he can do,” Chance said, his green eyes icing over. “It’s not a permanent arrangement, Iris. But you’ll be able to go for walks, go shopping, visit your parents, have some semblance of freedom again until things get a bit more normal.”

“It’s a good thing, Iris. Trust me,” Colby said. “Our guys are so good you’ll hardly even know they’re there.”

Iris gnawed uncertainly on her top lip before nodding.

“We’ll see how it goes.”

“You can go, Quinny.”Trystan told his hovering friend, while he stared into the glass of cognac he’d been nursing for the past half hour. But Quinny continued to hover and fuss like an overanxious nursemaid. He sighed—the sound filled with impatience and irritation—and lifted his gaze to Quinny’s concerned eyes. “I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay, mate,” Quinny denied. “You’re very fucking far from okay.”

“I’m not going to run off into the WiFi-less wilds again, if that’s your concern.”

“My concern is that this is nothing at all like the Trish Nesbitt thing. Because, even though you felt guilty, you knew it wasn’t your fault. You just needed time to figure that out.”

“And this time, what?” Trystan sneered. “I’m guilty as fuck? You think I don’t know that?”

“I think that despite what went down tonight, you still believe that you’re the villain here.”

“All that matters is what Iris thinks. And Iris hates me. So…” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, trying to massage away the headache that was forming between his eyes. “Make of that what you will.”

“You should fight for her.” The words were an echo of the ones that had been rattling around in Trystan’s skull for the better part of the week.

“Even if I did convince her to come back, what the hell do I have to offer her?”

“Seriously?” Quinny sounded incredulous and Trystan looked up in time to see his friend’s eyes dart around the luxurious den they were in.

“Iris doesn’t give a fuck about any of this crap.” He waved a hand around wildly, and some of his cognac spilled onto his fingers. “I meant that she’s already seen how bad it can get, what could ever induce her to willingly subject herself to such intrusive public scrutiny and criticism on a daily basis? The best thing I can do for her is to leave her alone. She’s lost to me. And I have to figure out how to go on without her. Thing is, I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know if I can do that. I don’t want to, Quinny. She’s everything.”

He directed his blurred gaze down into his glass, feeling defeated and so fucking sad. He thought about the phone he’d asked Chance to give to her, so hopeful even while knowing that it was a futile shot in the dark.

Defeat settled over him, weighing him down and smothering him like a sodden woolen blanket. He was barely able to breath. Suffocating beneath the staggering mass of his loss.

“Maybe after she sees the interview…” Quinny’s voice trailed off when Trystan shook his head slowly.

“She deserves better, mate. Tonight wasn’t about getting her back. It was about returning some semblance of peace and normalcy to her life. It was the least I could do.”

Quinny poured himself a drink and sat down on the chair across from Trystan’s.

“You don’t have to stay. I’m fine.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Trystan’s friend said, resolve in his voice. Seeing the determination in Quinny’s expression, Trystan nodded. And they sat like that for hours, drinking in stoic, companionable silence.