Chapter 29
Chapter twenty-nine
Ingrid
Curled in the corner of the coffee shop, the late afternoon light bled across the pages of my book, though I hadn’t processed a single sentence in an hour.
My mind was a repetitive loop of numbers: fifty missed calls, a hundred unanswered texts, days and days of complete silence once again.
My fingers twitched, an addict’s itch to reach for my phone again, but the phantom sting on my cheek kept my hand anchored to the table.
I’d spent the night drowning in tears, only to be met with my father’s anger in the morning once again. The slap across my face had been ear-wrenching, a punishment for a missed online assignment that felt like a lifetime ago.
I was unraveling. Even the updates from Mr. Noah offered no comfort. Tristian was pulling back, disappearing again—spending more time with his mother, not answering his father, not going to the gym, not even the tattoo parlor. It felt like he was phasing me out of his day-to-day existence.
The bell above the door chimed, a sharp, cheerful sound.
“Hi. How can I help you?” the cashier asked.
I kept my head down, turning a page I hadn’t read, but my spine stiffened instinctively at the sound of the newcomer’s voice.
“I’ll take a coffee, black,” he said in an Irish twang.
My pulse spiked, my palms turning clammy against the paper.
I didn’t look up, but I tracked Darragh’s movement by the steady, predatory rhythm of his footsteps.
When he came into the edge of my vision, I caught the glint of that polished belt buckle, saw the curve of the design pressed into the leather: a dragon, serpentine, its mouth open to a gasp of flame.
He pulled out the chair across from me and sank into it with a casualness that made my skin crawl.
“Hello, sweetness...”
I carefully closed my book, marking my place with trembling fingers, keeping my gaze fixed on the wood grain of the table. I couldn’t even look at him.
“Oh, don’t be like that. You should be excited to see me, eh?
” He chuckled. I saw him fold his hands in my peripheral vision—steady, relaxed, dangerous.
The barista set his coffee down, and he offered her a charming, flirtatious smile.
“Thank you.” He took a sip. “Ahh, delicious. You’ve well and truly warmed this Irishman on an otherwise cold autumn day.
I’m most grateful, I am.” His voice was a poisonous honey.
The barista giggled. “Any time.” I felt her gaze flick my way briefly, questioningly, missing my gaze that begged for help before she slipped away.
Alone again, the air between us was thick with tension. Between my father’s volatile rage and Tristian’s radio silence, I was one breath away from a total collapse facing Darragh.
“We have some things to discuss, sweetness… You are a very sweet girl, you know,” Darragh purred.
“Falling for someone like Tristian can be tough on such a delicate little thing…” His tone sharpened.
“And his mood swings. Christ above. I’ve tried to tame him through work, but the brute never bends.
He’s all sharp edges and rage, that boy.
But perhaps all he needed was a…” he reached out and ensnared my fingers in his calloused grip “… softer touch.”
My stomach coiled sickeningly. I pulled away.
Darragh smirked. Then the sneer faded into a calculating grimace.
“You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
I didn’t answer… he seemed to have them all given I was wearing my heart on my sleeve.
Darragh tutted in what I supposed was his attempt to be soothing.
“That emotionally stunted boy, so cruel. You’ve my deepest sympathies, doll.
He can be so brutal to the ones that care about him most. I know it as well as the best of them, eh?
You try and try and try, and that’s how he repays you. You poor thing.
“Then again,” he continued, low, “I also know Tristian can be brutish in other ways.” He leaned forward.
Face lined with fake concern, he reached for me again.
I flinched back, ready to shove my chair away—but he’d hooked his foot around one leg, and it barely shunted.
Fingers on my skin, he stroked thick callouses across my cheek, leaving it burning with revulsion.
Then he found the gash across my eyebrow.
“Did he do that to you?” he asked, and the attempt at sentimental kindness he softened his voice with made me feel even sicker than just the feel of his rough touch. “Did that boy hurt you, eh?”
I shivered pulling back. “Tristian would never hurt me.”
Darragh smiled. “Well that’s good. I’m glad to hear it.” He resettled into his seat, picked up his coffee and took a long swig. “Of course, I didn’t think he would. I understand Tristian, you see, I know him very well. Better even than he knows himself, I’d wager.”
He took a long drink of his coffee, watching me over the rim.
I was desperate to leave but I had the sense that Darragh would react in much the same way as Papa would.
The moment I tried to slip past, his hand would shoot out and snag me in a vice-like grip.
So I sat, rigid, anxious, and waited for this to all be over.
At last, Darragh lowered his coffee cup.
His gaze fixed on me. Hands steepling beneath his chin, when he spoke again, it was with a delicate seriousness.
“You’re a sweet girl, doll, truly you are.
” He tilted his head. “Too sweet for all of this, really. But you’re in the way.
And I need Tristian focused.” Then he let out a disappointed sigh. “I’d hate for you to become a problem.”
My throat tightened, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“However.” He leaned back, comfortable. “You stay on my good side, give me what I want… and I’ll make sure Tristian comes out of his fights in one piece… I’ll even make sure your father keeps his hands to himself.”
My throat constricted. How did he know…?
Darragh chuckled at the unasked question.
“I have my ear to the ground, sweetness. Have to in this business. Believe me, very little of what goes on behind closed doors remains behind closed doors. I’m not saying your daddy hurt you in public, I know he has far too much to lose doing that.
But people whisper, sweetness. And whispers have a way of finding me.
” He tapped both his ears before he tipped a wink at me.
“So, I’ll keep this nice and simple. You get Tristian to behave for me, and I’ll see to it the two of you are safe. But if not…”
He didn’t finish, but I knew the answer from the look in his eyes.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t react, couldn’t even speak.
What was I supposed to say? Tristian hated this man for very good reason.
My time captive with him in The Obsidian still haunted my nightmares, and the way he kept showing up and throwing his weight around hadn’t gone unnoticed either.
If Tristian, my hulking tattooed boyfriend who threw down in boxing matches, was scared of Darragh, then that said everything I needed to know about the Irishman.
Recognizing my paralysis, Darragh stood up, coffee in one hand. He leaned down, heavy and suffocating, and pressed the other to my shoulder. I flinched again, and a small, satisfied smile touched his lips.
“I’m glad we were able to have this conversation, sweetness,” he said. “We’ll talk soon, eh?”
He walked out, pausing only to wave goodbye to the barista and throw her some flirtatious little compliment that left her giggling. Then he was gone, leaving me trembling in the booth.
My phone vibrated on the table. My heart leaped at the contact… then sank.
Tristian
We have a meeting at Noah’s office this afternoon. He wanted me to let you know. Starts at 5.
No “hello.” No response to my frantic messages. Only a cold, logistical update. It stung worse than the slap from my father this morning.
I wiped my face, swallowing the sob that threatened to break through, and tried to find a spark of hope. Maybe this was a doorway. Maybe I could fix this.
But I couldn’t wait until the meeting arrived. I’d accomplish nothing in a room with my father and his looming. No, I needed to see him now, to ease all this out before whatever awaited us later.
Doing my best to put my latest run-in with Darragh out of mind, I gathered up my things and hurried from the coffee shop. Before long I found myself standing in front of Tristian’s apartment.
I knocked. A minute passed before the door swung open.
Tristian stood there, broad shoulders, damp hair, his expression a mask of indifference. He stepped aside wordlessly to let me in, then headed toward the bathroom.
“Meeting’s not until later,” he said, his voice flat.
I cleared my throat, following him into the doorway of the bathroom. I watched him brush his hair, his movements precise and distant. “I-I just wanted to talk. We haven’t spoken in a little while.”
He raked his fingers through his hair, his movements controlled, but angry. “Well... I’m sure you can guess why,” he replied. He didn’t even look at me.
“Tristian... I-I... I’m sorry if I made you upset,” I whispered.
He slammed the brush down.
His jaw clenched hard. “Why do you keep thinking apologizing will fix everything?”
I bit my lip, shrinking back. I’d seen him violent in the ring, but this directed, simmering anger was new, and it was terrifying.
“What will fix everything then?”
“The truth, Ingrid. That’s it. That’s all I want from you.”
My heart began to race at his words. “What d-do you mean?” I stammered. But I already knew.
He exhaled through his nose, shutting his eyes briefly.
My throat tightened. “Tristian, please… I’m—I’m trying.”
“So am I,” he seethed before he scoffed.
“I’m tired of seeing you hurt and not being able to do anything about it.
I see the bruises. I’m not blind, I’m not stupid, and I’m tired of pretending I am.
Every time I try to get close, you shut me out.
Every time I want to protect you, you make me feel like I can’t. ”
I flinched, instinctively reaching for my sleeve.
He didn’t miss it. “For fuck sake, just a few days ago he interrupted our video call, and when you finally called me back ten minutes later you were crying and covered in blood. You know how hard it was? To not come the same day and put that fucker in the ground?”
“He didn’t—” I started, but the words died on my tongue the second they came.
Tristian didn’t falter.
“Say that again,” he muttered, towering over me. “Go ahead.” His voice dropped, quieter. “Tell me he didn’t do it. Tell me the man who split your eyebrow open and left a bruise on your cheek didn’t do it. You want me to leave it alone again? Is that what you’re asking me?”
I stood frozen. I hadn’t realized how much my silence was poisoning him.
I thought keeping quiet protected him.
I thought if I carried it alone, things wouldn’t explode. I was wrong… so, so wrong.
Tristian strode past me, grabbing his keys, and a sob broke through my throat.
“Tristian... I-I don’t... I-I…”
“You don’t think I would be able to protect you? Is that it? When I was willing to get fucking destroyed every fight to keep you safe from Darragh? Am I not good enough to get close to you?”
He was seething, his voice raw with a betrayal I hadn’t anticipated. Then, he pulled on his jacket, refusing to spare me even a glance.
“Lock the door behind you when you leave. I’ll see you this afternoon,” he growled.
The front door slammed behind him, the sound echoing through the empty apartment and vibrating through the walls.
I kept thinking I should call after him. Kept thinking I should explain, fix it, say something that would make him come back. But my legs wouldn’t work and my voice was gone and all I could think about was the way he’d looked at me.
I had survived my father’s worst. Moments when I couldn’t even gasp for air under his weight. But this was a different kind of suffocation. Tristian was the air I breathed, and as the silence of the apartment rang louder in my ears, I felt more lifeless than my father could ever make me feel.