CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO #2
His eyes were still hard when he looked at me, but his voice was spine-tinglingly soft when he replied, “I lost someone. You’re right. I’m angry and I…”
The words trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish.
I blinked, unsure how to respond to that. I thought of the person who had hurt him, and my throat bobbed with emotion. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “Don’t be.”
My heart dipped sadly. “I know what it’s like, and I know you’d give anything to change things.”
He swallowed thickly and stiffened a nod. He didn’t speak for a few moments.
“I didn’t know what drew me here, but I listened to my gut, and I think I’m getting closer to finding out why.”
He looked up at the sky, and my eyes trailed his thick throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
He was absolutely mesmerizing. I had to look up at the sky just to stop staring shamelessly at him.
I wanted to ask him about what he said, but he sounded like he was hurting and rambling, and I didn’t want to get too personal like before.
“I tried to get lost in the stars just a few minutes ago, but there’s no magic here,” I said instead.
“It’s loud, too,” he returned. “I miss the quiet.”
“You sound like a small-town boy.”
His smirk made my heart clench. “I am.”
“No wonder you wear your heart on your sleeve,” I joked. “You small-towners and your big hearts.”
He chuckled, and my stomach tightened. “We’re big in a lot of ways.”
I rolled my eyes, my lips spreading wide. “I practically asked for that, didn’t I?”
“I have a feeling you’re not as well-mannered as you look.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. The feeling was beautiful in my chest. My cheeks burned as I said, “I have a feeling you’re still holding back.”
“I could have been more vulgar, but I’m in the presence of the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, so I’m reining it in.”
I couldn’t look at him now. Speechless, I forgot to breathe. I should have felt warning bells. Something to tell me he was being sleazy and disingenuous, but there was nothing but pure fire in my chest and a sudden thirst for more of his presence.
I snuck a look at him. He was still looking up at the sky, appearing thoughtful, his expression soft. But then his brows came together, and he looked suddenly perplexed.
“You feel that?”
“What?” I wondered.
“Déjà vu,” he whispered. “I’ve been here before.”
I looked around us. “The restaurant? The street?”
But his eyes were pinned on me now. “No.”
His concentrated look sent shivers throughout my body. I crossed my arms, burying my nails into my skin to be sure I wasn’t dreaming because the feeling of floating struck me. I felt cloudy and light, and my heart wouldn’t stop beating fast.
“I heard once that déjà vu means you’re following the right path,” I forced out, trying to ease the moment. “It’s a reminder that you’re supposed to be right here, in this time and place.”
His intensity didn’t lessen. I was his only focus. “I thought it meant your mind remembered something before you did.”
“Remembered what?”
His gaze moved slowly over my face. “A place. A person. Something unfinished.”
“You can’t remember someone you’ve never met.”
“I know.”
“Then what are you saying?”
He held my gaze for a moment longer before rubbing a hand over his jaw and looking away. “I’m either not sober enough for this conversation or not drunk enough.”
A second laugh escaped my lips, and it felt just as delightful as the first. “Stay sober.”
He smirked, and my chest squeezed at how gorgeous this man was. “Where were you two weeks ago?”
Secretly watching my husband get away with something sinister.
That thought didn’t even sour my mood. I smiled in response and then glanced once more at Oliver.
Angela had a receipt in her hand, so they’d paid for the meals, but now a waitress was standing beside them, most likely laughing at another one of his hideous jokes.
Both women were so close, they could probably smell his breath.
At this rate, the whole fucking restaurant would unknowingly need my rescuing, and I still.
Didn’t.
Move.
“I’m staying at the Queen’s Garden Hotel,” he said abruptly. “It’s a block from here.”
“I know where it is,” I replied quietly, looking down at my feet.
“I’ll be singing here again tomorrow afternoon, and then at the Feast & Fable the day after.”
I stiffened a nod, knowing where he was going with this. “You’ll be busy.”
His face fell, unhappy with my response. Still, he leaned over, his gaze trapped on my face. I wasn’t looking back anymore.
“What’s your name?”
I shook my head. “Why?”
“I want to know.”
“For what purpose?”
His chuckle was dry. “If I told you, you’d be running.”
Now my eyes flickered to his, intrigued by the tormented look in him. “What’s your name?”
“Tristan,” he offered easily.
“Tristan,” I repeated, and he stilled, his focus pinned to my mouth now. His jaw tensed again, and he quickly rubbed at his stubbled cheek, recovering. What did he think at that moment, I wondered.
“Please tell me your name,” he whispered, and there truly was a plea in his voice as he stared harder at me.
My heart thumped faster, but it wasn’t from excitement. I was frightened. This was banter that was escalating in the wrong way. I swallowed hard and forced out, “Daisy.”
“Daisy,” he repeated.
Then he repeated it again, more slowly, as though testing the sound.
“Daze.”
A zap of something thrilling and dangerous shot through me. I couldn’t breathe. Not when he said my name like that. Not when he condensed it into an affectionate nickname, as though we were familiar.
I looked back at Oliver, desperately hoping he wouldn’t look at me and that he would be swept away by one of those women. Let him find a new person to destroy. I didn’t even care anymore.
I just wanted this stranger to keep talking to me. I wanted his smoke clouds and cruel eyes and his beautiful fucking attention—
Run away with him.
I froze, startled by my selfish and callous thoughts.
What the hell had gotten into me?
This wasn’t the way, I reasoned. This man was a depressed and angry singer and, oh God, it sounded so clichéd. I knew nothing about him except that he was heartbroken and judgmental. He could be another Oliver, charming me in some weird reverse-psychology sort of way.
I decided to do the right thing. I spun around and took a step in my husband’s direction—
“I saw you,” Tristan said solemnly, making my skin tingle at the deep and quiet tone in his voice.
I stopped moving. Though my body faced the restaurant, my eyes found his, and I stilled at the sharp look he was giving me.
“While I was singing, you appeared out of nowhere. Seeing you felt like getting punched in the gut.”
His words again were not delivered in some passionate way so as to flatter me. This made me wary of him, yet I stayed put, listening, too cowardly to confront my curiosity in its entirety by asking him what he truly wanted.
I couldn’t figure out why he was saying any of this to me, or if he truly meant those words. A shiver ran through me because he wasn’t staring back at me now. His gaze was latched on my left hand, and the wedding band burned my flesh where it sat.
This wasn’t flirting, I was certain at that moment. His nostrils flared as he looked back up at me, those blue eyes burning with an emotion I couldn’t decipher.
“I practically leapt out of my chair when you disappeared.” His teeth ground together, a brief flicker of bitterness crossing his features before he tightly said, “He’s a lucky man.”
Like a switch had been flipped, my eyes welled with tears. A lump formed in my throat, thick and aching. I began to shake my head at him. My lips parted.
I was about to stutter out some words, like Oliver wasn’t lucky, and neither was I, and everything was fucked, and my boy was in the ground, and it was my fault because I mistakenly thought I had rescued us when I met that lucky man currently sweeping those stupid, naive women off their feet.
And fuck them all.
Fuck that university and fuck that school and fuck the library I crammed those hours in, learning biology and the body and all those dumb, stupid fucking dreams I chased.
That poor little girl.
That poor little girl I used to be.
All she wanted was love.
I suddenly wanted to weep for her because she was a bright light. Even when the world was hard and ugly, she was hopeful and innocent and filled with good intentions—
I sucked in a breath, lightheaded. “No…”
That was all I could push out. Just a breathless no out of numb lips that hung in the air between us, unfinished.
His eyes narrowed on me, and before he could see the tears fall, I whipped my head away, staring forlornly at the streets around us.
“You don’t feel that?” he whispered, awed. “It’s still there, Daze.”
“I don’t feel anything,” I whispered back, but I lied.
I felt lightheaded and dreamy. I felt warm and tingly. I felt like I knew what it would be like if he whispered Daze in my ear.
“I don’t want to be alone in this,” he replied, aggrieved. “I’m tired of being alone…”
I looked at him, and his eyes swam with emotion as he looked back. I could stare into his eyes for eternity and not grow tired. There was something so enchanting about this broken man. I stopped breathing, wanting nothing more than to tell him he wasn’t alone.
“I feel it,” I whispered, though it was so quiet, I wondered if he heard me.
I didn’t get a chance to know because the restaurant door opened and the sound of laughter filled the air. I quickly turned around, severing the moment. Oliver was walking out with Angela, saying his goodbyes.
“I’ll see you on Monday,” she said, walking in the opposite direction. “With doughnuts and coffee!”
Oliver waved at her and turned his sights on me. His eyes ran over me, evaluating. “I hope I wasn’t long.”
I shook my head. “No.”
“I shouldn’t have sent you out here.”
He clearly wanted to speak to Angela alone, but it wasn’t just that. Oliver simply liked to have me waiting for him. It was his favorite thing to do.
Just to wait.
Wait in the house.
Wait for breakfast.
Wait for dinner.
Wait in cars.