Chapter 43
Chapter forty-three
Tristian
The scent of maple syrup and butter hit me. In the dream—the memory—my mother was humming. Knowing she was going to force me to eat breakfast before I headed out, I took a seat, the wood of the chair scraping against the tile.
She smiled over at me. “Well, someone’s in a good mood.”
“With your eggs? It’s always a good morning.”
“Tell that to your father. He leaves so early in the mornings, you’d think he was trying to avoid my cooking,” she joked, but I didn’t laugh.
My father’s absence was always present in our home.
Geoffrey filled the void where he could.
It never stuck though. My mother wore her denial like her own personal armor, smiling through the cracks of a marriage that had died years ago.
“I guess he’s already out then, huh?” I muttered.
“Lawyers never sleep. He’s got a lot on his plate.”
“Everything except his family.”
She shook her head. “You know that’s not true.”
I looked back at her. “And you know that’s not true.”
She said nothing as she placed a plate in front of me, stacked to the brim with her famous homemade pancakes I loved. Then, taking my face in her hands, she met my eyes with a sigh.
“While you might be right, you’ve got to learn to give him some credit.”
“Why? For putting a roof over our heads?”
“For being the example of everything you should and shouldn’t be for your own family someday,” she said, turning the situation more positive like she always did.
“You always do that,” I muttered.
“Do what?”
“Find a reason to defend him.”
“Because he’s my husband and your father first before all else.”
I didn’t say anything. Because if I never defended his actions, and he defended the world for his clients… then maybe that’s why she felt obligated to make excuses for him. I would only do her more harm by pointing out the obvious. Still, I did it even when I knew I shouldn’t.
After finishing breakfast, I rinsed my plate before she could shoo me away. My phone buzzed in my pocket: a text to let me know Kane and James were already waiting for me at the gym.
I kissed her forehead goodbye.
She smiled. “Stay out of trouble for me, okay?”
I nodded. “Always,” I said, giving her a quick wink, and she shook her head, a smile making its way to her face as I left our home.
Four hours later I was in a cell.
I ran a hand down my face, puffing into the cold air. The chill from the concrete bench had crept up my spine.
My knuckles throbbed. The blood on them wasn’t mine… not all of it, at least. The skin was split, stained with a dark smear that belonged to Brandon.
I stared at the wall and replayed it. I didn’t regret kicking his ass. I never did. If he had kept his mouth shut he wouldn’t be in the hospital and I wouldn’t be here.
The guard’s boots echoed down the corridor. “Phone call.”
I stood slowly. My muscles were sore. My face bruised. Lip split.
They hadn’t let me call her at first. Not until they were sure I’d calmed down enough to sound like a person.
The phone felt heavy in my hand as I pinched the bridge of my nose and dialed.
She picked up on the second ring.
“Tristian?” Her voice was gentle, worried… the only softness I had left in this world.
“Yeah, Mom. I’m… sorry.” I pressed my forehead to the glass like I hadn’t said that a million times before.
“Oh, baby…” I could hear the shuffling on her end, like she was grabbing her keys already. “It’s okay. I’ll be there soon, all right? Just hang tight. I know your father won’t—”
“I know,” I cut in, jaw clenched. “He already said he wasn’t coming.”
“Of course he isn’t,” she sighed. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got you. Like always.”
That part made my throat tighten.
“I’ll be there in thirty, maybe forty minutes,” she promised. “Try to breathe, baby. Just breathe.”
I stayed silent as the line clicked dead.
And then I waited. Thirty minutes passed… then an hour… then three. The silence of the station began to thicken. Mom obviously wouldn’t have forgotten me, but the process was usually less than two hours with the connections my father had… Maybe she was just running late?
But that didn’t stop the sinking feeling in my chest as the minutes continued passing by.
Fuck… five hours now?
Maybe my father had distracted her. She could’ve had some trouble with her bank. It’s not like these officers would tell me if she was pulling into the lot or speaking to the man at the front desk, now would they?
Finally, the door to the cells opened. I expected the clank of a guard’s keys, but instead, the atmosphere shifted. Noah walked down the aisle, his tailored suit a stark contrast against the grime of the station. He walked in like he owned the place.
I stood up. “The fuck are you doing here?” I asked, my voice low.
He didn’t answer right away, just signed the paperwork before he nodded at the deputy. The air around him was calmer than usual… It made the hair on my arms stand up.
“Where’s my mother?”
Noah finally looked at me. His mouth pressed into a hard line.
“She’s not coming,” he said simply.
“What the hell does that mean? What did you tell her?” I stepped forward, fists tight. “She was just on her way,” I seethed.
He remained silent, his eyes watching me with—was that regret? Pity? Hesitancy?
My father never hesitated. He spoke the truth whether anyone wanted to hear it or not. The fact that the asshole was pondering his next words had me confused… and worried.
When he did choose his words, they broke me.
“Her car stalled on the tracks, Tristian. A train hit her.”
The dream moved, prison cells replaced with the clinical white of hospital, air tinged with bleach and death, the fluorescent lights humming overhead.
What I wouldn’t give to be sitting in that dark, miserable cell again.
Even if it was for a few more hours or days, I would take being there over my mother being here any day.
I couldn’t feel my hands. Couldn’t feel my feet. Just the pounding in my chest… my heart wanting out of my body.
They didn’t let me run to her or let me see her right away.
They sat me down in the lobby, handed me a clipboard, and spoke in words that didn’t mean anything. Words I’d only heard in movies.
“—severe trauma.”
“Impact point to the driver’s side.”
“…unresponsive.”
“Inoperable swelling—”
I just nodded. Like I understood. But I didn’t, because none of it made any sense. I’d just heard her voice a few hours ago.
“I’ve got you. Like always.”
But she hadn’t walked through the doors. Not this time.
The guilt hit first. Then, the numbing silence. Then the rage.
She was on that road because of me. Every shattered bone, every drop of blood—it was a debt I had signed in her name because I couldn’t keep my fists to myself.
When they finally let me see her, I stood in the doorway for a full minute.
She looked small. Pale. One eye swollen shut. Tubes down her throat. The monitor beeping beside her steady. She looked utterly broken.
My breath hitched.
But I didn’t cry. I couldn’t.
I sat there next to her and stared.
The monitor kept sounding. She was alive… but she wasn’t living.
From that day on, it seemed like the same could be said about me.
Ingrid
The bed erupted beside me. I came awake to frantic movement, sheets thrown back, Tristian bolt upright beside me. Eyes bloodshot. Chest heaving.
“Tristian…” I croaked softly, already reaching for him.
He had broken out into a sweat, his eyes wide and wild, his breathing erratic.
He seemed confused, lost in a daze, and grabbed my hand, pressing it against his sternum, trying to ground himself.
His fingers dug into my skin, a bruising grip that I welcomed because he was still half-gone in whatever nightmare he’d just escaped.
“It’s okay… you’re okay,” I murmured.
Slowly, he leaned his head into my chest, his body finally relaxing as I ran my fingers through his hair.
I wanted to ask him what had happened, but that seemed too sudden. Instead, I settled on comforting him, running my hand up and down his back, soothing him as best I could with my voice. He stayed curled into me. His body was trembling, just slightly. And it broke me.
I’d seen him cloaked in violence—blood under his nails and bruises across his skin. I’d seen him shattered in ways he’d never speak of. But this was different. This pain seemed to be eating him from the inside out.
Finally, Tristian’s arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer, tighter. His grip was a desperate, silent plea not to let go.
“I’m right here,” I murmured, softer this time. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Finally, his voice came barely above a whisper. “She said she was coming.”
My hand froze in his hair.
“She said she’d come bail me out again,” he breathed, so quietly I almost didn’t hear it. “And I… I killed her.”
He said it like it was a fact. A cold truth that he’d carved into his own heart.
I kept my fingers moving through his hair, slower now, more deliberate. But inside, I was fracturing along with him.
“I shouldn’t have called her,” he whispered. “Should’ve just sat there. Let them keep me locked up. She wouldn’t have been on that road. Wouldn’t have been in that car.”
He pulled away just enough to look up at me, eyes glassy, red-rimmed, vacant in a way that scared me. I’d never seen him this open before… this vulnerable. That was usually my part. The part I showed constantly because I relied on him for that support.
He looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself. Didn’t know how to carry this kind of guilt anymore.
“She was humming that morning,” he murmured. “Made pancakes before I left…”
His voice caught. “I didn’t even say ‘I love you’ before I hung up. She just told me she’d come, fix things like she always did, and I just… let the line go dead.”
God, I wanted to take it from him. The pain. The weight. The guilt. The way it hollowed him out like he didn’t deserve peace. But I couldn’t fix this. All I could do was stay by his side.
I leaned in, placing my head against his forehead. “You didn’t kill her,” I whispered. “Life doesn’t work like that. Pain doesn’t work like that.”
His grip loosened as he shook his head.
“I was the reason she was on that road,” he mumbled.
I grabbed the sides of his face with my hands, anchoring him before he could spiral back into the dark.
“And she would’ve gone anyway,” I said softly. “Because she loved you… Because she always showed up. You show up for her to this day, which shows how much you love her, too.”
He didn’t say anything else as his eyes met mine. I placed a soft kiss on his lips, reminding him I was with him, and he breathed out a sigh of relief against me.
Eventually he sank back down, head heavy in my lap. I stroked his hair and let him stay there. Watched him come back to himself slowly, inch by inch, the tension leaving his body one breath at a time.
Until his eyes finally closed and he was asleep again.