Chapter 55
chapter
fifty-five
To his credit, Tristan doesn’t try to make excuses. Instead, he sighs, “Well, I can’t hear you, but I can feel whatever you’re feeling, yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” I shriek, drawing some concerned scowls from fellow patrons. I drop my voice into a hiss, “Real respectful, Senator !”
He cringes. “I did try to tell you, that first night, when I said you shouldn’t lie to me about how you feel. But you were so upset, I didn’t want you to feel worse. And then, sometimes, it almost felt like you knew I could feel whatever you were feelin g. Like you maybe liked it , even.”
Is that true?
Oh God.
What does it say about me if that’s true?!
I never get a chance to decide. Because he isn’t done.
With complete, honest humility, Tris looks into my eyes and admits, “ I liked it. And I hate myself for that. Because I was so wrong , biting you, and I haven’t done one single goddamn thing to deserve you. But having you with me like this—even though it hurts—it’s been the first time in as long as I can remember that I haven’t felt alone.”
I’ve been keeping a catalog of Tristan Thorne’s secret traits. How he’s much quieter than I ever expected a public figure to be. So smart and deep. Calm. Kind. Unyielding in his dominance—without ever needing to show his teeth.
Now, a new word joins my list. One that fits him better than I want it to.
Lonely .
He spends his life working for everyone else. Fighting for the rights he thought his brother might not have; making sure all of his packmates had their dreams come true.
Who does the same for him?
No one.
He watches me realize the truth. Unflinchingly honest and humble, even in this.
Better than me. Because I spent years surrounded by people, knowing I was completely alone—but I don’t know if I would have had the courage to tell anyone that.
Especially him.
I don’t understand one thing, though. “M-me? I don’t—I’ve basically been a hot mess this whole time. Scared and confused and”— falling in love and fucking nonstop — “everything else. How could that possibly be a good thing?”
He lifts his shoulder, smiling softly. “It hasn’t always been easy,” he concedes. “But it’s always been good . It also made i t a lot easier to make sure you always had what you needed.”
He taps his phone, sending a cold wash of realization through me. My mind skips back to that day at the nest store—the way the guys’ phones went off every time I started to freak out.
He’s been texting them. Checking on me.
Our eyes lock again as he adds, “I didn’t want you to feel alone, the way I used to.”
It doesn’t matter that I have no words to reply to that. He feels the bittersweet amazement swelling in my center and reaches over to clasp my hand again.
When I sniff back a rush of emotion and squeeze him back, he flashes the soft smile again. “Mind if I try something?”
I manage a shaky nod, losing the battle with one of the droplets clinging to my lashes. He watches it roll halfway down my cheek before reaching his free hand over, moving his chair close enough to swipe it away.
Something shifts in that indistinct place that somehow feels like the very center of my being, even if I can’t pinpoint where exactly it is. The feeling slowly fills me. Bright and gentle, with shaky edges.
It feels… a lot like hope.
His hope, I realize.
He’s showing it to me; so carefully, I know it must be something he practiced after the night he accidentally knocked me out.
I suspected as much after his rut, when he somehow sent me that one little beat of gratitude. This time, it’s more than one feeling, though. It’s a swirl of typical Tristan and the completely unexpected.
His guilt and regret feel so familiar, it would almost be wrong not to sense them. But everything else?
That whisper of hope. Then, gratitude—the same soul-deep kind he showed me in the shadows after I told his packmate I would be their omega .
Uncertainty—he doesn’t know if he’s doing the right thing, being here with me, but he wants to try.
Because, above and below everything else, there’s longing .
So much—so deep, so raw —it instantly pricks my eyes all over again.
He wants me ; more than he wants to breathe . His body aches with it. His heart hurts . His lungs can barely expand enough to keep him going.
The night he bit me, he left a piece of his soul embedded in mine. And now there’s a throbbing hole where I should be.
Only I’m not there. Because he refused to ever press any advantage. Refused to take one more speck of freedom from me.
And there’s the guilt again. The shame of not deserving me, or this. The deep, unshakable sense that he never can because he ruined us right from the start and?—
I shove to my feet. Take three steps.
And settle into his lap.
He blinks his surprise, his sculpted lips falling open slightly when I cup my hands around his face and stare into him as fiercely as I can.
“ Enough .”
In all my years at Wally’s, I could never summon an omega bark. No matter how scared or desperate I got. But it comes naturally now. “Enough, Tristan.”
And my alpha shudders, absorbing my words. The chagrin in his gut starts to wither as I hold his square jaw between my palms and stare into him. Showing him how strong his pack has made me.
“Do I look broken to you?” I whisper.
A devastating pang of want zings through him, turning his voice into a rasp. “ No .”
“That’s because I’m not. You didn’t break me , Tristan Thorne. Nothing has.”
The truth of that soaks into my bones as it slowly sinks into his. Soothing him. And giving me a feeling I’ve never felt before .
I’m… proud. Of myself .
Instead of stuffing it down or picking it apart, I let the sensation swell through me. Wanting him to feel it. Wanting him to see.
“I’m proud of you, too,” he murmurs, leaning his forehead into mine. “You have no idea how much.”
I do a moment later, when joyful, awed feeling sparkles into me, bubbling through my veins like champagne. His hands chase the feeling, trailing down my arms and back up again, sliding into my hair.
His eyes bounce between mine, giving me time to pull away. I start to roll my eyes at him, but he strikes, sealing his mouth over mine.
Unlike our brief kiss in the car, this time, he’s in complete control. Tilting my head just so, smoothing his tongue over mine in a toe-curling glide that leaves my lips tingling.
Dizzy shivers rush down my spine, dampening my panties as his suit jacket teases the hardened points of my nipples through the thin fabric of my dress. He can’t scent me, but he feels my arousal spike through our bond and hums, settling me closer.
Right where I want to stay.