Chapter 16 Tristan
Tristan
Inside the distillery, the air is hot and heavy, thick with steam rising from copper stills and the burn of alcohol in the pipes. The rhythm is steady—hoses, hammers, voices echoing through the concrete. It’s normal. Predictable.
Everything I’m supposed to be.
But the world feels tilted. Like I left part of myself up on the ridge last night, and it hasn’t found its way back.
I shove my hands into my jacket pockets and scan the catwalk below, pretending I’m checking workflow. In reality, I’m replaying the sound of her breathing, whimpers, and moans in the dark.
Soft. Uneven. Passionate.
The feel of her clenching around my fingers as she released, her juices soaking my digits.
The way the moonlight curved over her face before I slipped away.
It’s a sickness how natural I felt watching her.
But there’s no calmness here now that we’re apart. The hunger to see her is worse than it’s ever been.
A voice breaks through the hum. “Tristan.”
Calder’s boots thud on the stairs before I see him. He’s in his usual state of half-ironed chaos—sleeves rolled, tie hanging loose. He holds two coffees, passing one to me like he’s trying to make peace before the fight even starts.
“You look like hell,” he says, settling on the railing beside me. “Did you even go home last night?”
“Eventually.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I take a slow drink, letting the heat burn down my throat. “Had work to do.”
Cal snorts. “Right. Work that apparently involves driving past the Voss place at midnight.”
My jaw tightens. “Who told you that?”
“Half the valley knows your truck by sound.” His grin fades when I don’t reply. “Christ, Tristan. What are you doing?”
I stare out at the warehouse floor where sunlight filters through high windows, cutting long lines of dust through the air. “Just making sure she’s safe.”
“Safe?” He laughs without humor. “From what? You?”
I don’t answer. The coffee scalds my palm, but I hold it anyway.
Calder studies me quietly for a moment, the kind of silence that’s almost pity. “You need to let her go before this turns into something worse.”
“She doesn’t belong here,” I say finally. “That house—she’s not built for it.”
He shakes his head. “You mean she’s not built for you.”
The words land harder than they should.
I look down at my reflection in the black surface of the coffee. My pulse hums, the echo of last night still in my blood. The smell of honey and rain still clings to me, faint but persistent.
“She’s not the one who needs saving,” Calder adds quietly. “You are.”
Calder’s footsteps fade into the hum of machinery, leaving me alone with the sound of pipes and my own heartbeat.
I stare out the high windows toward the ridge. The light hits the valley just right, catching on the faint silver line of her roof.
Too far away to touch. Too close to forget.
I should be working.
Instead, I find myself whispering her name. “Raine.” The sound of it is dangerous on my tongue.
I already know she’s something I can’t stop.
Not now.
Not ever.