5. Tristan
I hang out with Evie’s group for a while, playing pool and drinking before calling it a night. When it seems like her friend wants to leave with a guy, I offer to walk Evie to her car.
“You don’t have to,” she says breezily, that long ponytail swishing like a cat’s tail as we leave the bar. “If anything, I should be walking you to your car.”
“Why?” I fight to keep my gaze from the sway of her ass as she marches up the steps, but it’s a losing battle because Evie Doyle’s had a helluva glow-up.
I’ve always liked Evie. She was the youngest out of all of us, closer to my sister’s age than mine, but we got along well. She was kindhearted and super smart, always nerding out about something she’d read or learned about. As we all got older and our parents gave us more freedom, we’d hang at the beach or ride bikes around Savannah, Evie and her big sister Maribelle our unofficial tour guides.
Evie was a cool kid, but she was also overly sensitive and a little chubby. I remember her crying a lot, teased mercilessly by Maribelle, who was as beautiful as she was bitchy. And when you’re a horny teenager, you get sidetracked by the hot sister with the bouncy tits, especially when she’s always flirting with you. What can I say? I was a dumbass, and kids can be dicks .
Except for my nephew. Liam’s perfect.
“Still a space cadet, I see.”
I’ve been so caught up in memories that I haven’t been listening to Evie as we walk through the cramped alley leading to the sidewalk. Space cadet . I’d be a zillionaire if I had a dollar for every time someone called me that or something like it. “Sorry,” I mumble, guiding her to my left as a group of guys passes on our right.
We pause on the busy sidewalk, illuminated by the glow of signs and streetlights. There’s a lot going on. People wandering around with drinks, their conversations mingling with the bluegrass from a nearby bar. The roar of two Mustangs posturing at the red light. Street performers dancing for a small crowd at the end of the block.
And then there’s Evie in her chunky black boots and ripped jeans. Her silky, green tank top dips in the front, revealing a healthy hint of cleavage. She’s got line tattoos all along her right arm, too, but I can’t make out what they are in this light. I try not to smile, but … she’s so cute now. The tiny diamond in her nose glints as she makes a face. “What?”
I shake my head. “You want to grab a drink?”
“We just had drinks.” She waves at the alley leading to the Honey Hive.
Something fried and delicious wafts by, instigating a growl in my stomach. “How about a bite to eat? What’s good around here?”
“You know,” she begins, glancing over as someone catcalls from a passing car. “I probably shouldn’t be hanging with you, considering.”
“Considering what?”
“Whatever’s going down between your family and mine.” She folds her arms, like she’s protecting herself.
I’d like to say that has nothing to do with her, but of course, it does. Still, I take a step closer. “Let’s put all that aside for tonight.”
She narrows her eyes. “Why?”
“Because I’m hungry, and I’m guessing you know all the late-night spots.” I tamp down the urge to give her arm a light punch. We’re not kids anymore. “I want to hang out.” Her face goes slightly red. “With you.” Even redder. Interesting .
“You like Thai food?”
“I love it. ”
“There's a great little Thai place a few blocks over.” She lifts her chin, a hesitant smile playing at her lips. “Best drunken noodles in the city."
“We driving or walking?”
“We can walk,” she says tentatively, like she’s still not too sure about this.
“You sure? I’m parked pretty close.”
“Yeah, come on.”
“So.” I walk beside her, matching her brisk pace. “Evie Knievel.”
“Oh, for the love.” She casts a sidelong glance my way, one side of her mouth tugged into a wry smirk. “Not that awful nickname.”
“You love it.” I grin. “You still obsessed with manga?”
A snort bursts from her like she wasn’t expecting that. “Not as much these days, but it’ll always be my go-to for comfort reading.”
“Your collection was insane back in the day. Do you still have all of them?”
“Tucked safely away in my closet,” she affirms with a soft grin. “You still into jiu jitsu?”
My heart thumps. It’s like thinking about an ex-girlfriend I’m not over, a sweet and sour mix of longing, regret, and hope. “Yeah, and MMA. I teach and compete back in Boston.”
Evie gapes at me. “Are you serious?”
“Yup.” I rub at my arm, the phantom ache tugging me to tell her everything. “But I’m recovering from a serious injury, so I haven’t been able to fight in nearly a year.”
“Oh, no,” she murmurs, brows knit together in sympathy. “What happened?”
“I got shot.” Evie stops walking. Chuckling, I slow down and turn to look at her. “It’s fine. I survived, obviously.”
“Tristan,” she breathes, horrified. “How the hell did you get shot?”
“Long story I really don’t feel like getting into,” I say, taking a few steps backward. “Or thinking about.”
She stares at me for a moment, a couple of emotions playing across her face that I can’t quite read. “Is that why you’re down here?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, your dad is usually the one that deals with my dad.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Evie’s always been so damn perceptive. She’s right—my father was the one handling this. But taking care of his heart means mitigating stress, and that means delegating tasks like this to Lucky and me. “He’s got a lot going on these days, and I don’t, so it made sense for me to take over.”
“I see,” she says, lowering her eyes.
Not sure what that’s all about either, but I’m hungry and, honestly, over this conversation. “Can we go eat now?”
With a reluctant nod, she catches up to me and we continue on. It’s obvious that there’s way more left unsaid between us than she’d like, but we’re not here to dig into family shit. If we were, I’d ask if she gets along with her dad because he was pretty angry the morning I stopped by. I’d let her know how sorry I am her mom passed away. I remember my parents flying down for the funeral years ago, how sad my own mother had been.
But I keep it light, coaxing Evie into reminiscing about nicer things, letting the awkwardness between us fade more and more with every recovered memory. Remember when we caught fireflies and you cried and made us release them? Remember when I cut my foot on that nail and had to go for a tetanus shot? Remember when Lucky and I sneaked your dad’s whiskey and got so drunk we puked in the garden?
The Thai restaurant comes into view, a hole-in-the-wall with a faded sign and a bunch of people lingering out front. Evie tosses a look over her shoulder. “See? Told you it was close.”
An hour and a half later, we leave with very, very full bellies. It’s late enough that we closed down the joint and the sidewalks are nearly empty, streetlights casting pools of yellow on the pavement.
Evie yawns widely, covering her mouth with both hands. “Man, I’m sleepy.”
“Lightweight,” I tease.
“Some of us are used to getting up early.” Digging around her purse, she pulls out her phone and checks it. “Some of us have to work .”
“On a Sunday?”
“No, thank God,” she says. “Although Opal’s mama usually tempts me with brunch if I go to church with them. ”
I chuckle, nodding. “Sounds like my mom.”
“Yeah, my mama used to be pretty strict about us going as a family, but now Daddy doesn’t give a shit. That holy water would probably burn his fingers, anyway.”
“Hm.” Her father is a piece of work, for sure, but this is the first bad thing she’s said about him and if I want more unfiltered Evie, I need to listen more than I talk.
She quiets, maybe realizing the same thing I just did.
“What are you up to tomorrow, then?” I ask. “If you don’t go to church?”
“I’ll probably work in the garden for a while.”
“That’s how you kick back, huh? What d’you have growing?”
“A little of everything. Lots of herbs, plants. A few flowers.”
“My mom’s really into flowers and herbs, too. She prefers to use her own stuff when she’s cooking.” Why do I keep talking about my mother? “You cook?”
“No.” She huffs a soft laugh, shaking her head. “I make teas, creams, tinctures, medicines, stuff like that.”
“Edibles?” I ask, only half-teasing.
“Why? Do you need to chill out?” she teases back.
“Always.”
“I do have edibles, but I buy them,” she says, giving me a shy smile. “They’re not my specialty.”
I look at her, intrigued by all of this. “You get more interesting by the nanosecond, Ms. Doyle.”
“I’m the most interesting girl you’ve ever met,” she replies, looking back at me.
Heat flickers unexpectedly through my belly, gone as quickly as it came. “Tell me more about this medicine garden. What exactly do you grow?”
“Valerian, which helps with insomnia. Chamomile, lavender, and lemon balm,” she says, listing them off on her fingers. “They’re all calming herbs.”
“Weed’s calming,” I say, just to be obnoxious.
“It is,” she agrees. “But my father would keel over and die if I grew that on his property.”
I give a sage nod. “What else you got? ”
“Well, my echinacea is blooming beautifully now. That’s good for your immune system.”
“And you make stuff from all of this?” I ask, intrigued.
She nods. “I have different kinds of mint too—peppermint, spearmint, lemon mint. They’re nice for teas and digestive issues,” she says enthusiastically, gaining momentum. This is obviously Evie’s passion. “Thyme and oregano help with respiratory ailments, so I’ll brew some up if I get a cold.”
I’m so focused on her that I don’t notice people coming our way until a familiar voice says, “Guess our fates are aligned tonight after all, sugar.”
Cole Deschamps. Everything Kenny told me about him blends with the subtle malice coming off him. I’ve known guys like him my whole life, and while I’m not someone he wants to mess with, I know instinctively that the same is true for him. He’s a bad seed.
He and one of his friends from earlier stop in front of us, a little unsteady on their feet. This could go either way. Their drunk asses might be too sloppy to fight, but alcohol can also make people meaner. More savage. I knew we should’ve driven here. I should’ve been paying closer attention to our surroundings, too. I know better.
“Hey Evie,” the friend says, bringing a cigarette to his mouth. Lucky’s been on me to quit, and I’m trying, but the smell of smoke makes me crave it something fierce.
“Hi, DJ,” she says quietly, moving around them. “We’re just heading out, actually. Y’all have a good night.”
Cole takes her hand as she passes by. Gently, but the fact he’s touching her at all after she’s made it clear she doesn’t like it really pisses me off. She said she could handle him, though, so I shove down the urge to handle him myself.
“See you later, okay?” Disentangling their fingers, she glances back at me and jerks her head.
Giving Cole and his boy DJ plenty of space, I catch up to Evie and we continue on our way. It’s a tense few minutes. She’s quiet, probably listening for sounds of movement behind us just as closely as I am. We round the corner, and I glance back as Cole strides up, his friend still hanging back beneath the streetlight.
My irritation with the whole encounter boils over into rage, but I know how to keep a lid on it until the time is right. Tucking Evie behind me, I turn to face Cole. “We’re not doing this.”
“I don’t know you, motherfucker,” he snaps. Guess we’re done pretending to be civil. “I got things to say to this girl, so you can get going.”
“But this girl doesn’t want to talk to you, so stop following her around.” My voice is even but my muscles are coiled, my palms tingling with anticipation. We’re around the same height, but I’m a little bigger. And even if I wasn’t, I just don’t lose. Ever. Bad arm or no.
In a move that surprises no one, he gets up in my face, stinking of stale liquor and cologne. “Cole—” Evie says, putting her hand on his arm.
But he shakes her off, his eyes gleaming darkly now that he’s dropped the act. Ah, yes. This is the real Cole. We’re not chuckling and smirking anymore, are we, fucker ? DJ lopes over casually, hands in his pockets.
Cole brings his eyes back to mine and then, without a word, swings a wild punch. I duck just in time, feeling the whoosh of his fist above my head, and counter with a jab to his gut, making him double over. As he staggers back, his friend blindsides me, somehow landing a random hit to the one spot I can’t afford it: my left bicep. Pain shoots down my arm, nearly taking my breath away, but there’s enough adrenaline burning through my veins to carry me through.
Gritting my teeth, I return the favor with an elbow to the friend’s face, but now Cole’s recovered and coming back for more. He lands a nasty punch to my cheek, and that’s it. The switch is flipped. I pop him right back in the cheek, and then his mouth, followed by punches to both sides of his ribs. I spin around to deal with DJ, but Evie has him on the sidewalk. She’s wound around him like a python, maneuvering him into a sleeper hold—a fucking choke hold—as he squirms, his long limbs flapping uselessly. Wait, what?
But I don’t have the time to process all of that because Cole’s lunging for me like a drunken sailor, curses spewing from his bloodied mouth. I sidestep, taking advantage of his lack of coordination, and deliver an uppercut so savage that his head flies back. He lands in a heap across the sidewalk, stunned.
Panting, I turn to assist Evie, but she’s already climbing to her feet. DJ’s slumped over, breathing shallowly—I can’t tell if he’s out or just too fucked-up to move. This is by far the most bizarre fight I’ve ever been involved in. “Are you … okay?” I ask, but she obviously is. She didn’t even need me.
Nodding, she bends to pick up her purse. That’s when I see that her hands are shaking. “Let’s go.”
We walk in silence, the night air cooling my sweat. I keep peeking at Evie, unable to reconcile this newer, fiercer version of her with the timid, insecure girl she used to be, but she won’t look at me. Still, I can’t help but feel a swell of admiration mixed with something else—a warmth spreading through my chest that I can’t quite define.