Inescapable

Chapter 23

Iris didn’t call.

Trystan—currently on his press tour for Cryo Cop—stared glumly at the phone in his hand. He’d tried his damnedest to leave her alone. Had succeeded for the most part, but he’d been unable to let her go completely.

He sent her texts. One or two a day. Usually pictures of Luna, who was part of his press tour entourage along with Chance, Quinny and Bee. Without them Trystan would likely have gone crazy by now.

His last text to Iris had been a picture of Luna sprawled on her back, legs akimbo, and tongue lolling out of her mouth as she slept. He’d added a message:

I don’t think she likes the Spanish heat ???????♂?

Like the two dozen or so messages that he’d sent previously, this one had been read but remained unanswered. It was driving him mad, those little blue read ticks. If nothing else, it strongly drove home the point that she wanted nothing to do with him. He understood that. He knew he should leave her alone, but perversely, while the blue ticks quite explicitly told him she wanted nothing to do with him, it also gave him hope. Because if she really wasn’t interested, why did she keep the phone? And why was she still checking his messages?

He had yet another interview in half an hour and was exhausted just thinking about it. The tour had started a couple of days after his appearance on Holmes @ Home nearly two weeks ago—and pretty much all anybody was interested in asking him about was Iris. And whether he’d reconciled with her yet. As if he ever would. As if she would have him back.

All he knew was that she was safe now, able to visit her family without fear of harassment, thanks to Brand’s outstanding security team. Also, public sentiment had changed toward her after the interview. He saw a lot of positive posts about her. People lauded her for staying above the mud-slinging and for standing her ground and not running back to Trystan after his very public apology.

Looker magazine, fearing a lawsuit and the public condemnation that would likely result from keeping Evan Brooks in their employ, had printed an insincere apology to both Trystan and Iris for the breach of privacy and had fired Brooks without notice. Trystan didn’t care enough to follow up on what she was doing now.

In fact, Trystan cared about very little these days. The only thing that remotely excited him lately were his chats with Bee and Quinny about restructuring his career. Both Quinny and Bee were as enthusiastic about the shift in gears as Trystan was and they were putting a solid plan of action in place as to how he should proceed when it came to choosing future projects.

It was the only positive thing in his life currently, and he had Iris to thank for it.

It was hard to believe that he’d now been apart from Iris for longer than they’d been together. He tried to tell himself it was ridiculous to be so crazy about a woman who clearly wanted nothing to do with him and whom—in all honesty—he’d barely known. Yet, he spent his days constantly thinking about her and his nights longing for her. He was lonely without her.

It wasafter his press conference as he lay in his huge, empty hotel bed in Madrid, staring at a grainy candid image that a pap had shot of Iris just yesterday, that he finally caved.

She was laughing, out with her mum and a woman Chance didn’t know. They were eating ice cream and she looked so fucking happy that his heart twisted in his chest. He loved that she was happy. He wanted that for her, but he could see that she’d lost weight, that there were dark circles under her eyes. So maybe she wasn’t that happy. Maybe she missed him like he missed her.

And maybe Trystan was a fool who saw things that simply weren’t there.

Icy Iris Ignores Idol!screeched the catchy headline.

He went back into his messenger app and stared at the stream of one-sided messages from him to her. It was just after midnight, which meant it was after eleven in the UK.

Please. Pick up.

He waited and within seconds… two blue ticks.

Trystan sucked in a huge breath, and shoving aside his doubt and better judgment, pressed call.

She answered on the second ring….

“Hello?”

…And all the breath left Trystan’s body in a single harsh exhalation.

“You answered.” He was unable to think of anything else to say in that moment because, honestly, he hadn’t believed she would answer the call… and he was now unable to get his befuddled thoughts into any semblance of order.

“Well, you called,” she pointed out.

“I did. I shouldn’t have. I know that.”

“So why did you?” She was giving him nothing, her voice neutral, unemotional.

“I’m lonely and I can’t sleep. Why did you answer?”

A brief pause before, “I’m lonely and can’t sleep.”

“Iris…” His voice wobbled alarmingly and he sucked in a calming breath. “I miss you. Fuck, I miss you so damned much it actually physically hurts.”

Silence.

“I know I shouldn’t,” he continued in a desperate bid to get it all out before she came to her senses and hung up on him. “I don’t have that right. And by now you’re probably wondering what the fuck you saw in me in the first place, right? And you’ve undoubtedly realized that what you felt for me in that house wasn’t real. Just infatuation brought on by…”

“Proximity?” she finished for him and he frowned, a little disheartened by the fact that she hadn’t denied any of what he’d said.

“Yeah.”

“Are you wondering what you saw in me?” she asked.

“Not at all. In you, I saw forever. I saw us, old and gray, happy and fulfilled. And I loathe myself every day for throwing that away.”

There was a long, lingering silence after his words and he heard her shuddering sigh, but she didn’t respond.

“How have you been?” he asked, desperate to keep her on the line. He closed his eyes as he imagined her curled up on her side in bed, phone pressed to her ear. Hair messy, eyes droopy with exhaustion.

“Better. Thanks to that bonkers interview you did with Mike Holmes.”

“You saw it. I wasn’t sure you’d watch.”

“I did. Thank you for doing that. It helped. Life is getting back to normal. I’m still staying with Chance and Colby at the moment, but I may be moving back into my old flat next month.”

“That’s fantastic news,” he enthused, heartened to hear it.

Another pause, this one less awkward than the last.

“Why have you been sending me those texts?” she asked.

“Because I wanted to feel somehow connected to you still, even though I know I don’t deserve it. Why have you been reading them?”

“Curiosity. And also… I wanted to know how Luna was doing. Why didn’t you stop when I didn’t reply?”

“Because you kept reading them.”

“Persistent, optimistic bugger, aren’t you?” It was the first time since she’d answered that he’d heard a smidgeon of humor in her voice, and that lifted his mood.

“My one redeeming feature,” he said injecting blatant false modesty into his voice. Her responding snort was as close to a laugh as he was going to get from her but he’d take it.

“It wasn’t meant as a compliment,” she clarified.

“No matter. I choose to see it as one.” Another snort and he smiled into the darkness as he imagined her battling with herself in a valiant attempt to keep her humor at bay.

Iris had been staringinto the darkness for what felt like hours, restless, with sleep an impossibility as always. Life wasn’t the same. It would never be the same, but it was steadily returning to some semblance of normality.

Iris could still see the questions in people’s eyes—from her family to her new group of friends to the grocer on the corner—questions Iris wasn’t even sure she had the answers to.

Her family and friends didn’t ask. They were waiting for her to break the silence, but the journalists who still dogged her steps—at a more respectful distance thanks to her security team—had no qualms about screaming them at her.

What did you think about Trystan Abbott’s interview with Mike Holmes? Would you ever take him back? How do you feel about him? Do you hate him? Do you love him? How much longer are you going to punish him?

Only Iris didn’t consider it punishment. She was trying to piece her life back together. There was no room in that life for Trystan… or the insanity that surrounded him. She’d had a bitter taste of that life and it had nearly destroyed her. She’d be a fool to go running back to that.

Yet, when his text begging her to answer the phone had come through, the small, niggling part of her brain that kept revisiting his vulnerability in that interview and recalling the naked plea in his voice when he’d publicly begged for her forgiveness, had been unable to resist. Since that interview, Iris had lain awake every night, her restless mind always circling back to the fact that this awful, humiliating thing had happened to them both.

Yes, Trystan had promised to trust her and had broken that promise literal minutes after it had been made. He’d hurt her, humiliated her and abandoned her, but Evan’s article had used Iris’s words, thoughts, and even her emotions, to expose Trystan’s deepest secrets. It had to have been hard for him to see past that and yet—even though it had taken him weeks to do so—Trystan had looked past all of that damning evidence to find the truth. Surely that deserved at least a conversation?

“How are your parents and Robbie?” Trystan asked, his deep voice wrapping around her like a warm, velvety comforter on a chilly night. She snuggled down in her bed—so damned happy she’d taken his call—and let it wash over her. She was disappointed when he didn’t continue speaking after the question was asked, and then she rolled her eyes into the darkness as she realized she’d have to answer it if she wanted him to keep talking.

“They’re fine. Business is picking up nicely again, and Robbie started dating that new girl my parents hired.” She recognized how mundane her response was and wondered why on Earth Trystan, who was currently situated in—what was undoubtedly—a five-star hotel in Madrid, would possibly be interested in the boring details of her ordinary life.

“Yeah?” His voice raised a little, like his interest had been piqued. “I thought she wasn’t that into him.”

He remembered that?

“I’m not going to tell him, but I think she finds him a lot more interesting now because of his tenuous connection to you.”

He snorted, the sound disdainful. “Then he’s better off without her.”

“I think so too. It’ll run its course eventually and he’ll move on, but he’s like a lovesick puppy right now. It’s kind of cute to see him like this, actually.”

“Your parents? Did they get the third van?”

“Uh, yes. Last month.”

“And you, Iris?” His voice deepened on her name. “Have you been writing?”

“I have.”

“What have I missed? With Celestine?”

“I don’t—” She began.

“Please, Iris,” he interrupted. “Talk to me, just for a little while. Tell me what Celestine’s been up to. Has she had the baby yet? Was it a wolf cub? Puppies?”

Iris stifled a laughed at the question and shook her head, unable to resist the plea.

“Where did you stop reading?”

He told her and—because she missed him as much as he claimed to miss her, because it was dark and she was lonely, and because this felt like a warm, safe cocoon made just for the two of them—Iris started talking.

Trystan

Is it true you’ve been stepping out with Henry Cavill? ??

Iris

I should be so lucky ??. Have you really been having secret coffee dates with Rihanna ??

Trystan

She wouldn’t be caught dead with my sorry arse ?? ?? ??

Iris

????

Iris

Moscow looks cold ??

Trystan

I’m fucking freezing my nuts off and Quinny is driving me insane with this ridiculous schedule??

Iris:

I’m sorry ??

Trystan

No. I’M sorry. I sound like a whiny bitch, I know. It’s been a long month. I’m exhausted.

Iris

Still not sleeping well?

Trystan

I only get a decent night’s sleep after talking to you. You?

Iris

…

Iris

…

Iris

…

Iris

Same.

Trystan

What are you doing RIGHT now?

Iris

Random. Lol. I’m in Gunnersbury Park having a ham and cheese sandwich. It’s cold af. Winter is coming.

Trystan

A GOT reference? Dated. And lame.

Iris

Are you still salty because they didn’t cast you as Jon Snow?

Trystan

Don’t believe everything you read in the tabloids, Iris!

Iris

Oops, sorry. You’d think I’d know better by now.

Trystan

It was Robb Stark.

“My mumalways makes the same meal my first night back,” Trystan confided two weeks after that initial phone call to Iris from Madrid. “Sausages with onion gravy and mash. It was my favorite back when I was an ankle biter. Nobody makes it like Mum.”

He always called Iris at the same time every night, even though his time zone kept changing with each subsequent stop on his tour. He’d been to ten countries throughout Europe and Asia in fourteen days. It exhausted Iris just thinking about it. He was currently in Cairns, his hometown. It would be a four-day stop, allowing him and his team time to rest and Trystan to spend time with his family.

Hunter Quinn had grabbed the opportunity to fly over to Christchurch to visit his parents and Chance had been temporarily relieved of duty as well, allowing him time to visit the few friends and acquaintances he had left in the Northern Territory.

“Do you have any special plans?”

“Nah, maybe have a barbie with some old schoolmates tomorrow. But nothing special.”

“You must be happy to be home,” she said with a smile.

“I’m not home.” The sudden, overwhelming sadness in his voice made her heart stutter in her chest.

“Trys—”

“Iris… Home is where you are.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that. Why would you say that?” she asked in an appalled whisper, tears welling in her eyes. This was the first time, since they’d resumed communications, that he’d brought the conversation back to this place.

“Because it’s true,” he replied. “What do you think we’re doing here? With the calls and the texts?”

“We’re friends…”

“No,” he said, his voice low, vehement. “Fuck that, Iris. We’re not friends. If you think we’re friends you’re lying to yourself. I can’t sleep unless I’ve heard your voice at night. And when we’re not in the same time zone, I listen to your voice notes on repeat after I crawl into bed at night.

“Tell me that it’s not the same for you. Every single one of your texts brightens my day… I dare you to say that you don’t feel the same way about mine. This is not about friendship. I have enough friends. But I only have one you.”

“You don’t have me, Trystan.”

“If that’s true, then what are we doing here?”

“I don’t know.”

“I…” He stopped talking and they lapsed into silence. When he spoke again, she could hear the heaviness and despair in his voice. “I have to go.”

“Trystan—”

“If you can’t forgive me for my stupidity and weakness, Iris, tell me now. And I’ll stop bothering you.”

Iris hesitated and before she could speak, he sighed.

“I guess that’s it then.”

He hung up before she could reply.

Iris

You stopped calling and stopped texting. I miss you. I never said I couldn’t forgive you, Trystan. I think I fully forgave you the night you laid your soul bare on Mike Holmes’s ridiculous couch. I just don’t know how we could work. And after what happened the last time… I’m absolutely terrified of taking that leap of faith with you.

The message remained unread.

“I’d like to state—forthe record—that I think this is a terrible idea,” Chance drawled, as he watched Trystan lift his hand to knock.

“Noted. I want you to talk to Brand about beefing up security in this building. It’s disgraceful how that kid just let us in without even checking if we really belonged here.”

“Worked in your favor though, didn’t it?” Chance pointed out, and Trystan glared at him, recognizing the hypocrisy in pointing out a flaw that he’d just used to his own advantage.

“I don’t mean any harm,” he said.

“Iris might not agree.”

“Shut up, Chance. I don’t need you to tell me what I already know. Isn’t your job to protect and silently observe?”

Chance merely lifted a brow at that slur but shifted his broad shoulders and sarcastically waved his hand at the door.

“Have at it, sir.”

Trystan gritted his teeth at the sardonic emphasis on the honorific. Since Chance had taken to calling him Trystan or just mate, the deferential sir was not in the slightest bit respectful, and they both knew it.

Trystan would take exception to the man’s familiarity if he didn’t like him so much. He’d enjoyed Chance’s company during the punishing press tour. Quinn was as exhausted as Trystan and their long-term friendship had taught them that when they were both tired, it was best to avoid each other to prevent petty arguments. And, while Trystan was fond of Bee, her esoteric tastes meant that they had little in common outside of work.

Chance, with his irreverent sense of humor and laid-back nature, was easy to be around. And since Trystan had to spend so much time in the man’s company, it helped that they got along.

Trystan eyed the door again, before throwing back his shoulders and lifting his closed fist to knock.

Afterward he dropped his hand and tugged at his shirt self-consciously, straightening his cuffs, smoothing his palm over the cool fabric covering his chest. Seconds passed without any sound from inside. Trystan ran a nervous hand over his hair before trying again, knocking a little harder this time.

They heard the muffled grumbling of a woman approaching the door and Trystan’s breathing stalled and his heart sped up when the key turned in the lock and the door swung inward.

The woman glowering up at them, wearing a robe, with a towel wrapped around her hair, was decidedly not Iris.

“What?” She snapped, before her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “Oh. Wow. Hey… Trystan Abbott. This is—how’s it hanging, man?”

She held up her fist and Trystan hesitated for a second before pounding it awkwardly.

“Is Iris home?” he asked, feeling like a child calling at his friend’s house and asking if they could come out and play.

“Iris? No. She’s not. She left early this morning. Said something about going to her parents’ place. Why don’t you try there? So this is it, huh? You’re finally grand-gesturing?”

“What?” Trystan asked, wanting to get the hell out of here now that he knew Iris wasn’t home, but not wanting to be rude to her flatmate. He was trying to mend fences here. Alienating her friends wouldn’t be the way to do so.

“You know? Like at the end of every romcom when the guy—or girl—runs barefoot through the city, to the airport, bus station, train station, wherever… and proclaims his, or her, or their, love to the object of their affection? I must say as grand gestures go, merely knocking on her front door is a bit of a letdown.”

“She’s at her parents’ place?”

“Yep. Nice to meet you, by the way, I’m Nora. I’m not into movies all that much, but yours aren’t that bad. Night of the Killer Wetās was bitching. My mates and I have a viewing every Halloween. We’re all allocated different roles and recite the lines while watching.”

It sounded fucking horrendous.

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll join in on the next one and read Adam’s lines,” he offered—Adam was his character in the movie—and cringed inwardly when her face lit up. Shit. Well, he might as well try and ingratiate himself to the people within Iris’s most intimate circle. It could all form part of his not-at-all-thought-through Grand Gesture.

“That’s cool, man. You’re not too bad. I hope she takes you back. Although… I can’t say I’m hopeful.”

Neither was Trystan. But after her last message, which he’d seen two who days after she’d posted it, he had to try.

“Iris,we need refills on the dolmades and spanakopita. They’re flying,” Jason Hughes called across the bustling kitchen. It was organized chaos. Everybody knew their place and worked together like a well-oiled machine. Iris, who hadn’t helped out since before leaving for South Africa, had simply slotted back into the flow of things, familiar with the routine and the rest of the kitchen and waitstaff.

She was getting stares and a few rushed questions about him though, but for the most part she’d simply kept her head down and got the work done. There was some tension between Robbie and his girlfriend, Chloe, or Khlo—with a K and a haich—a seventeen-year-old with thick smudged black eyeliner around her vibrant blue eyes and badly dyed straight, limp black hair. She was constantly chewing gum and popping bubbles, which was both annoying and unhygienic. Iris’s father had reprimanded the surly girl several times about the bubblegum, and each time she made a big, sulky show of spitting it out, but the discarded gum was always replaced with a fresh stick mere minutes later.

Robbie kept staring at her like a sad little whipped puppy. They’d clearly had an argument and Khlo was giving him the cold shoulder. It was pretty pathetic watching her lanky brother trail after the girl. He insisted on doing her work, and she wanted nothing to do with him, which meant that neither teen’s work was being done and the rest of the team had to pick up the slack. Iris could tell that her father was getting annoyed by the way he constantly barked orders—uncharacteristic of him—at the pair of them.

Speaking of which… a kerfuffle broke out at the dessert workstation.

“Let me,” Robbie pleaded, trying to grab a tray of kataifi from Khlo.

“No,” the girl protested. “I can do it myself.”

“Khlo… you…” She made a sharp movement away from him and the kataifi went flying off the tray in all directions.

Everybody froze for an instant and all eyes flew to Jason Hughes. Normally mild-mannered and an awesome boss, the man had zero tolerance when it came to incompetence in his kitchen.

Iris watched her father’s jaw clench in that familiar way that said he was trying very, very hard to rein in his temper, and she winced.

“Robinson Burke Hughes,” Uh oh, full name. Robbie was in deep shit now. “You and Chloe need to clean up that mess and then I want you out of this kitchen. You’ve both been useless today anyway!”

“But Dad,” Robbie began, in his whiny I’m-so-misunderstood voice.

“No buts. We’ll have to make do without you.”

“Mum…” Robbie tried, swinging his gaze over to their mother who stood with her arms folded over her chest, her expression entirely unsympathetic.

“You heard your father. Clean this up and go home—straight home—right now.”

Khlo glared at Robbie who gave her a surly look in return.

“You made the mess,” she said stubbornly. “You clean it up!”

Oh bravo, Iris heartily agreed with that sentiment. Robbie was wholly responsible for the mess. He should have left Khlo alone when she gave him clear signals that she was angry with him. Iris would have a talk with her little brother later about respecting a woman’s boundaries. If her parents didn’t get to him first.

Khlo whipped off her white apron before flouncing out of the kitchen, nimbly sidestepping the sticky mounds of ruined kataifi scattered all over the floor. This was definitely not how Jason and Rosa Hughes ran their kitchen.

“F’fuck’s sake,” Robbie muttered beneath his breath and Iris grimaced. Their mother did not condone profanity. Even Robbie froze after saying it and slanted the woman a wary glance. Her expression had gone murderous. He uttered a hasty sorry and, showing more wisdom than Iris had ever given him credit for, meekly bent to clean up the sticky mess on the floor.

“Right, people, back to work!” their father commanded his troops with the confident authority of a seasoned general.

Everybody instantly obeyed and the small, efficient army of servers and kitchen staff began to ebb and flow around the surly Robbie, who was hunkered on the floor with a tray, gathering up broken bits of sticky dessert. Iris hopped to her previous assignment, loading up on the dolmades and spanakopita to refill the empty chafing dishes out in the grand ballroom where the buffet dinner service was in full swing.

Iris was happy this wasn’t a sit-down meal service because she could flit in and out of the reception area with little chance of being noticed and recognized by the guests. Her thick hair was tightly gathered in a neat bun at the top of her head and she wore the company uniform of crisp long-sleeved white shirt, black waistcoat, black trousers, black bow tie, and polished black brogues on her feet.

After she deposited the food, she headed back to the kitchen, neatly dodging a pair of children playing tag on the dance floor, and careening straight into a solid male form in the process. His hands came up to steady her, loosely encircling her upper arms.

“Oof,” she gasped, rubbing her nose, which had hit the bony ridge of the man’s clavicle. “So sorry, I wasn’t loo?—”

She looked up and the words died on her lips, as she registered exactly who it was she was staring at. But it was impossible. There was no way he could be here. How could he be here?

“Trystan?” she whispered as the world simply froze around her, ceasing to exist entirely while she tried to make sense of this impossibility.