17. Tristan
I n the morning, I wake up way earlier than I want to. My body is so used to rising at dawn that I rarely sleep in, even on the days I really need to. Shit, it was nearly dawn by the time Evie and I finally went to bed. We just kept talking and snacking on that damn fudge until we were delirious.
I’m paying for it now, though. Feeling like death, I roll heavily off the bare mattress—the sheets are halfway on the floor—and drag myself into the bathroom, Evie’s soft, even breathing mocking me. Counting her birthday, this is the second time that girl’s kept me up so late that I can’t make it to the gym.
“ Don’t blame me ,” her phantom voice teases, and I grin, making my way to the toilet. Yeah, yeah. No one held a gun to my head. It’s crazy, this thing with Evie. Finding out that she has feelings for me changed everything. It flipped a switch, giving me permission to reciprocate—permission I didn’t realize I needed because I never saw Evie like that. But now that I do, I can’t see her any other way.
It’s like looking at one of those optical illusions, where you see one thing, but then if you keep staring another image materializes. She’ll always be the sweet, compassionate, geeky girl from my childhood. It’s just, she grew into herself, and the end result is fucking hot. When you like someone’s outside as much as their inside, you’ve got a winner .
But what if it doesn’t go both ways? Evie’s always liked the way I look, but what happens when the shine wears off and she gets to know the real me underneath? The Tristan that fights too much, and forgets everything, and zones out and loses shit? I stare at myself in the mirror as I wash my hands. What does Evie really see when she looks at me? And will she look at me the same way a year from now?
Relationships rarely last because starting is the fun part. But beginnings give way to middles, and that’s when things get tricky. Being married on paper won’t mean shit if the bottom falls out, and I’d never keep Evie if she wanted to leave. Wouldn’t that be ironic? Being crushed on for years only to be left by the girl who did the crushing?
The thought of Evie joining the ranks of my exes makes me feel slightly ill.
“You’re catastrophizing,” I tell my reflection. “As usual.”
One year. Enough time for the dust to settle with the distillery and with us. If we make it, great. And if not, well, I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.
Dad peers at me from the other side of the screen. “How’s it going? You look exhausted.”
“I am,” I admit, gulping down some more coffee. I’m downstairs in a small study off the dining room, morning sunlight shining through the dusty windows.
“You hittin’ up the bars down there, kid?” he jokes, raising an eyebrow.
“Not exactly.” I shift in my seat, fiddling with my phone. It feels wrong that he doesn’t know about Evie yet. It’s not that I’m ashamed; I stand by what I did. But I know my parents, and the rushed way things went down will seem distasteful to them. They just celebrated their thirty-third anniversary, for God’s sake. They take the institution of marriage very, very seriously.
Plus, the fact I married Randall’s daughter is going to sound messy. Because it is messy.
“Tristan,” Dad prompts. I blink, coming back to his patient smile. He’s used to me drifting off. Not even my meds help when I’m this underslept. “Just give me the rundown on the Deschamps and you can go. How are they connected to the Doyles?”
I nod, running a hand over my face. Lucky’s been feeding him bits and pieces of information as he uncovers it, but Dad wanted to talk to me since I have a local perspective. Plus, additional intel from Evie and even our friend Kenny.
“All right,” I begin, glancing at the notes on my phone. “So, we knew that the Deschamps had a long-standing relationship with Randall. Lots of trading favors, bribery, all that shit. Kenny told me the Deschamps are big in commercial real estate down here, so I guess they use their connections to get shit zoned in their favor. They’ve even greased the wheels for a couple of Randall’s ventures in the past.”
“How so?” he asks.
“What do you think?” I smirk, rubbing my thumb against my fingers. “By loaning him lots and lots of money.”
“Surprise, surprise,” he says. “Go on.”
“Looks like things are souring between Randall and the Deschamps lately. Apparently, Doyle Whiskey is on prime real estate … and the land it’s on happens to abut Deschamps’ land. They’ve set their sights on both the distillery and the land. I’m not sure why they’re so keen on it, other than the possibility Randall owes them money too, but they’re getting more and more aggressive in their attempts to acquire it. But Randall’s already rejected past offers to purchase,” I explain, lifting my eyes from my notes. “Kenny thinks they might have something on Randall, but who knows.”
“Damn it, this really complicates things for us,” he laments. “You’re no longer just dealing with Randall, because you’ve got this other family trying to make moves, too.”
He doesn’t know the half of it. “Yeah, and it gets even more convoluted. Lucky’s contact found out that the Doyles used to be in business with the Deschamps way back in the day. Doyle Whiskey’s secondary warehouse on West Saint Julian Street used to be owned by the Deschamps family, and they’ve been trying to get Randall to give it back to them.”
“What a clusterfuck.” Dad grimaces, rubbing his face. “Is he gonna give it back?”
“Apparently he was going to, as a partial repayment of his considerable debt to them, but he keeps putting it off and there’s not much they can do about it because there’s no legal grounds.”
“They could try suing,” Dad says thoughtfully. “You know, I’m surprised the Deschamps haven’t moved on him already, if they’re as fierce as they sound. Maybe they’re biding their time, waiting to use whatever they have on him.”
“Evie used to work at the distillery, and she said that Maribelle was cooking the books. Maybe the Deschamps found out about that,” I offer.
“Depends on how close they are to Randall,” Dad says. “How would they find out?”
“Don’t know. But they’re the type to know a little about everyone.” I rub my chin, wondering if this is a good time to segue into Randall’s most recent botched deal with the Deschamps. “Anyway, they’re so serious about getting Randall to pay up that he told Evie a couple weeks ago he’d arranged for her to marry Cole Deschamps. He’s around my age.”
“That dirty fucker.” Dad rolls his eyes in disgust. “Poor Evie. She told you this?”
“Uh, yeah.” I wipe my suddenly sweaty hands over my shorts.
“Is she gonna go through with it?” asks Dad. “Is Cole at all decent?”
“Nah, he’s a psychopath. Evie actually went out with him in high school, and he’s been after her ever since.”
Dad grimaces. “Poor kid.”
I take a deep breath. “I married her so she wouldn’t have to marry him.”
My father grins, waiting for the punchline, but it never comes. When he realizes I’m not joking around, he leans forward, gaze sharp. “Wait, you’re serious? You married Evie Doyle?”
“Yeah, I figured it’d be like killing two birds with one stone, you know? I could protect her and protect our interests in one fell swoop.”
“I don’t know if that’s brilliant or pure fucking stupidity,” he says, shaking his head. “I mean, I get what you were going for. It seems sound, strategy-wise. But it’s messy. We’ve known that girl since she was in pigtails, for God’s sake.”
I drain the rest of my coffee, wishing it were whiskey.
“You’ve always been so damn impulsive, Tristan.” My father sighs, long, deep, and drawn out. It’s a sound I heard many times growing up, usually after failed tests or missed curfews. “I really wish you’d talked to me before doing something like this … talk about goin’ off-script. Lucky give you the stamp of approval?”
I nod, and he nods too, as if he figured. “So he’s been covering for you, just like when you were kids,” he says, eyeing me as he leans back in his chair. “This isn’t something you can just undo, you know. No matter what you and Evie decide. Marriage is a holy sacrament.”
Here we go . I rub my forehead, swallowing a groan. Dad and his fucked moral code, I swear. Kill a guy for snitching? Fine. Skip Mass? Now you’re in for it.
“You listening?” he continues. “Evie doesn’t deserve?—”
“She didn’t deserve to be sold off to cancel Randall’s debt,” I retort, heat rising up my neck. “I did this because I’ve known Evie her whole life. She was terrified, Dad, and she didn’t feel like she could run because if he didn’t chase her down, then the Deschamps would.”
“Fine, but this could still go wrong a million different ways. You think Randall’s gonna hand over that distillery without a fight once he finds out?” He cuts a sardonic laugh. “Come on.”
“He’s been fuckin’ around for years. He was never gonna hand it over without some encouragement. Hence the contracts I presented to him last week,” I argue. “And he already knows about me and Evie ‘cause we told him.”
“Yeah?” Dad smirks. “And how’d that go?”
“Badly.”
“Not as badly as it’s gonna go when your mother finds out,” he warns with a dark laugh. “Anyway, what I’m really concerned about are the Deschamps. None of their attempts to make Randall pay up have been successful, so when they find out about this, it could be the last straw. There’s no telling how they might retaliate.”
“I know. I’ve thought about that,” I say. It’s all I think about. “Lucky’s already sent down another crew—they should be here in a day or two.”
“Strapped to the teeth, I hope,” Dad says.
“Of course.”
“Good. Because if this turns into a war, I need you to be ready.”
“I was born ready,” I quip, but he doesn’t laugh .
“You’d better take care of that girl, Tristan,” he says, pointing to me. “Maybe you should send her up here until all of this has blown over.”
My stomach twists unexpectedly at the thought of sending Evie away. I like spending time with her, and not just because we’re hooking up. Though that’s pretty fucking great, too. But this isn’t the time to be selfish. “I’ll talk to her, see if she’ll go, but I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.”
“I know you got a million and one things to deal with right now, so I won’t bust your balls anymore about this, but if you don’t tell your mother about Evie, then I will,” he warns. “I don’t like keeping secrets from her.”
“All right, all right,” I say, taking my licks. I deserve everything he’s saying.
“Who else knows?” He squints suspiciously. “Besides Lucky?”
“The boys down here. They were at the wedding.”
“The wedding,” he echoes with a tired sigh. “Your mom’s gonna hate that she missed your wedding , Tristan.”
“Trust me, I know.” I sag in my chair, feeling shittier than ever. I hate letting him down.
“You care about Evie though, huh?” Dad’s voice gentles as he pivots.
I nod, thinking about last night. The way I felt when I was inside her, how she held onto me like she didn’t want to let go. I didn’t want to let go of her, either. She makes sense in a way I never expected, in a way I didn’t even know existed until we crossed the line.
“Then do right by her.”
“I’m trying, Dad. I’m trying.”
Evie crawls over to me, her hair tickling my thighs as she kisses and licks my tip. I clench the sheets, watching my dick disappear into her warm, wet mouth. Fuck, that’s hot.
“I’ve wanted to do this since that shower,” she murmurs, pulling back for just a second before she resumes sucking.
I jerk a little, my stomach tensing as I tangle my fingers in her hair. Knowing she’s been thinking about this, wanting it, is a major turn-on. And she’s good at it, too, swirling her tongue in long, slow circles, then going hard and fast, so deep I touch the back of her throat. She hums, teasing me, and ? —
My phone vibrates with a call, startling me from the x-rated memory of what Evie and I were doing before we left the house today. Blinking, heart pounding, I fumble with the phone, dropping it. I’m so hard I can barely function.
I’m outside Target, waiting for Evie in the car. She said she needed a few things for the house, like sheets that fit, and I needed to stop screwing around and call my mother, so we decided to divide and conquer. I never did get around to dealing with Mom, though, because I started thinking about Evie and then shit . I grab the phone right as it goes to voicemail.
It starts ringing again immediately, Maeve’s face lighting the screen.
“Hey, Mae,” I answer, sitting back.
“Took you long enough,” she teases.
“Says the girl who said she’d call back when she landed. Where’d you go? The Middle East?”
“Says the guy who was supposed to call me back days ago,” she shoots back.
“Yeah, sorry. Things have been a little hectic. So, how’s the West Coast?” I ask, envisioning her and her shitty boyfriend strolling across the Golden Gate Bridge or some shit.
“About that,” she hedges. “I took a little detour. I need your address.”
“My address?” I echo, confused. “Wait, you’re here ?”
“Just for a day,” she says. “I arranged a layover so I could see you before I went to Oakland.”
“Why?” I ask, keeping an absent eye on the store’s entrance.
“Because I miss you, idiot, and I’m not gonna see you for a while,” she says with a little laugh.
“Why not? You’re not staying out there, are you?” I ask, dismayed. We keep waiting for Maeve to outgrow Callum Barry, but so far it hasn’t happened. Why someone as smart as my sister would suffer that fool, I’ll never know.
“Yeah, I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. But for now, I need your address because I’ve already left the airport—which is so tiny, by the way—and all I know is that you’re in Savannah,” she says.
Maeve keeps looking between Evie and me, curiosity burning in her eyes. We’re in the kitchen, catching up and sipping beer while we wait for dinner to be delivered. Korean, naturally, because that’s the default when hanging with Maeve. Timmy and Finn are smoking out back with Malachi, who’s randomly decided to bring the fountain back to its former glory. I know it’s been a little boring these days, but sheesh.
Evie’s explaining how she came to inherit Aunt Myrtle’s estate when Maeve zeroes in on her hand and grabs it. “Is this a wedding ring?” she squeals, leaning down to look more closely.
Floundering, Evie turns predictably pink. “Well, yes.”
Maeve gapes at her then at me, her gaze falling to my left hand. “Tristan Kelly! Did you get hitched and not tell me? You know, I thought you two were acting reeeeeally chummy, but I thought maybe you were just hooking up? And I was like, okay, that makes sense because hello , Evie’s beautiful, but?—”
“Maeve,” I interrupt, grabbing her shoulder and giving her a shake. “Relax. Yes, we got married. Evie was in trouble, and I couldn’t let her marry some asshole. And now …” I peter off, my stomach twisting. This sounds bad, even if it is the truth. Was the truth—maybe that’s why I feel like I have heartburn. I’m reducing our relationship back to what it used to be, but it’s outgrown that now. I glance at Evie, who’s staring at the table, playing with her bottle cap. Reaching over, I squeeze her thigh. “Now she’s my girl.”
Evie peeks up at me, a tiny smile playing at her lips.
“Oh, my God! Tristan! You’re nuts, but …” Maeve’s eyes fill inexplicably with tears, and she jumps off her chair, hugging me. “Love looks good on you.”
Before I can react to that, she flits over to Evie and embraces her, too. “You’ve always been the sweetest girl. Tristan could not have chosen better.”
“Thanks, Maeve,” Evie says quietly, flustered. But she seems pleased, too, and that makes my chest feel warm. Evie deserves to be loved, and my sister’s great at that. My whole family is.
Maybe I can be good at it, too.
“You better be sweet to Evie,” Maeve says, poking my side savagely. “I think she had a thing for you when we were kids.”
Apparently, everybody knew about that but me. Captain Clueless . “Oh, I’m real, real sweet to her.”
“Ew. I don’t even want to know.”
“And you won’t, because it’s none of your business.”
“I’m serious, Tris,” she insists. “Please be good to her.”
I take a hit off the joint and hand it to my sister. “Why wouldn’t I be good to her?”
“Because you love love. You love being in love.” She pauses, inhaling. “I’ve lost count of how many girls I’ve seen you with.”
“We all gotta grow up some time,” I say sagely.
“This just seems so sudden,” she says.
“It is,” I agree, glancing back at Evie, illuminated in that window. “Because when you know, you know. It’s easy with her, Mae. In a way it’s never been before.” I realize, as this nonsense flows from my mouth, that it’s not nonsense. That I mean it. That I really, really like being with Evie, a lot. In every way there is to be with her.
Maeve squeezes my hand briefly. “I love that for you.”
“Enough about me and Evie,” I say. “It’s time to talk about you and why you’re trading ballet and everybody you know back home for Callum. In California.”
We’re lying on the grass in the garden, looking up at the stars. The guys are inside watching TV, and Evie’s in the sunroom-turned-apothecary with all of her herbs and tinctures. I think she’s really just giving Maeve and me time to talk.
“I know you don’t like him,” Maeve says with a sigh, drawing her finger through the air. “You and Lucky never made a secret of that.”
“You can do better,” I mumble, yawning. Last night’s activities are catching up to me. “Way better.”
“Well, that’s for me to decide,” she says primly. “And it’s not like I’m giving up ballet, Tris. I wasn’t getting any lead roles back in Boston, so Callum suggested I start looking elsewhere. His family has connections to the Oakland Ballet, so I’m auditioning as soon as I get there.”
“Are you serious?” I turn to look at her. “You’re just gonna move? ”
“Why’s that such a big deal? Lucky went to college in Belfast. You traveled for fights, and now you’re here ?—”
“This is temporary,” I remind her. “Anyway, I’m not saying you shouldn’t travel and live your dreams and shit. I just don’t know that you should hitch your wagon to Callum Barry. What did Mom and Dad say?”
Maeve’s silence tells me all I need to know. She takes a long hit and passes back the joint. “I think I’ve had enough.”
I out it and sit up, looking at her in the faint light coming off the sunroom. “Mae.”
“They’re not happy about it,” she says, clasping her hands on her belly. “Dad and I … we kind of had a fight. I didn’t realize how much he hated Callum. Lucky, too.” She looks up at me, her eyes shining in the dark. With tears, I realize. “But I love him. I’ve loved him for a long time, through all the ups and downs. He’s been trying to get me out there for a while now and finally I thought, why not? Why can’t I have my own happy ending, you know?”
“I get it,” I say, squeezing her shoulder. “I want all that for you, too. But make sure this is the right thing for you and your career, not just for Callum. You need to have your own stuff going on, too.”
Maeve sits up, wiping her eyes. “I know. And I will.”
“Do Mom and Dad know about the audition?”
She shakes her head. “I wanted to get it first before saying anything.”
“They might feel better if they knew,” I say, shrugging.
“Maybe,” she says doubtfully. I know how she feels, having made a few decisions lately that’ve shaken Dad’s trust in me. The difference is, Evie’s a real one and Callum isn’t shit.
“I’m good as long as Callum treats you right.” I have my doubts about that, but I help Maeve to her feet and sling my arm around her shoulders. “Because if he doesn’t, Lucky and me are just a phone call away.”
In the morning, after Maeve leaves, Finn and Malachi following at a safe distance to make sure she gets to the airport without issue, I head out. There are all kinds of minor fixes that need done—blown lightbulbs, a loose cabinet in the kitchen, a new filter for the fridge—so I told Evie I’d run to the hardware store. That way she can stay back and keep unpacking, which is what she really wants, and I don’t have to think about anybody but myself while I’m out.
Evie’s afraid of Cole. She puts on a brave front, and she handles herself fine around him, but I sense she’s not being totally transparent when it comes to what she knows, or even their history. Because I know there’s more. Why else would he be so stubbornly intent on having her? I get that his family is interested in the Doyles’ money and maybe the distillery, but Cole’s obsession with Evie predates all that. He would’ve been fine with marrying her, knowing she didn’t want it—if that’s not a major red flag, I don’t know what is.
We have some things in common, Cole and I. Our family dynamics, our willingness to do whatever it takes. The difference is, I respect Evie’s choices. She’s more to me than just a means to an end. That’s not the case with Cole. He’s lucky I’m down here on business, that I have to tread lightly, otherwise I’d be figuring out ways to make him disappear. But there’s a lot at stake here, and this isn’t my city. It’s his. His family has the upper hand, the numbers, the manpower. When it’s time to strike, I will, but that time isn’t now.
According to navigation, the hardware store I’m looking for is right ahead. Spotting the sign, I pull into a small parking lot and go inside. Despite its busy, downtown location, the store is quiet this time of day, and I complete my shopping in minutes. Then, leaving my purchases in the back seat, I walk a block up to the restaurant with the bright blue flag.
“Welcome to Mama Avanelle’s,” the hostess chirps from her stand, a pretty girl with light brown skin and long, dark hair. “Just you today?”
“Yeah, actually—can I order something to go?” I ask, glancing around the bustling space. Upbeat jazz plays while servers deliver spicy, aromatic dishes to the crowded tables. According to the menu the hostess hands me, Mama Avanelle’s specializes in French and Creole cuisines.
Interesting, but that’s not really why I’m here.
I could’ve gone to any number of hardware stores closer to Evie’s, but I chose the one up the street because it was closest to the Deschamps’ pride and joy. I figured there was a fifty/fifty chance that Cole would be around, and sure enough he emerges moments later from a door near the back. He surveys the room briefly, pausing when he sees me. A female server with a tray approaches on her way to the back, and he opens the door for her, saying something that makes her giggle.
The hostess asks if I’m ready to order, but I shake my head, keeping my eyes on Cole as he casually walks over. “Well, hey there, Boston,” he drawls, mouth cut in a small, sharp smile. “Fancy running into you here.”
“Is it?” I rest the menu on the hostess stand, stepping back. There are only so many times I’ll let this fucker creep around my house before flipping the script and showing up on his turf. “I was under the impression you wanted to talk.”
His smile widens, never quite reaching his eyes. You hear about dead eyes when people describe killers, but Cole’s aren’t dead. They’re malevolent. I’ve met guys like this in the ring, the ones that get off on pain. You gotta watch guys like that. I have no doubt that if I was less prepared the night Cole and his friend tried to jump me, he would have relished crushing me … and he didn’t even know me.
“Figured I’d make it easy for you,” I continue when he doesn’t offer anything up. “Besides, I’ve heard so much about the famous Mama Avanelle’s. How could I not come check it out?”
“Welcome,” he says, gesturing grandly. “We got the best gumbo in town, my great grand-mère’s special recipe.”
“Oh, yeah?” I cock my head. “If the gumbo’s so great, why’re you into all that other shit?”
“You think you know about me,” he says. “I know about you, too, Mr. King of the Cage. I’ll give it to you, you know how to throw a punch.”
His eyes flash in challenge, but I don’t take the bait. We both know I clobbered his ass the other night. He’s not even worth my energy.
“But I also know that you ain’t even the top dog in your family,” he continues, eyes wide in mock sympathy. “Your brother is, right? You just kinda do his bidding?”
Mind games like that might work on someone else, but in our family, it’s nothing but love. Despite Lucky being the oldest and the duty that comes with it, there’s never been preferential treatment .
And when you see your big brother fight for you, kill for you, being his second is an honor.
“See, I come first in my family,” Cole crows. “People listen to me. And now you’re gonna listen to me. You’ve been fuckin’ around for a while now, making trouble, showing your face where it don’t belong. And I get it—there’s a lot going on down here. Money to be made, women to be had. But it’s time for you to go back home.”
A large group walks in, and we move aside, closer to the windows. “I’ll go home when my work here is done,” I reply.
He stares hard at me for a long minute. “And what kind of work is that?”
“Mergers and acquisitions.”
“All the things you think belong to you, Boston?” He shakes his head. “They don’t.”
He could be talking about Evie or the distillery. I’m guessing it’s both.
My phone vibrates. It’s Evie, asking me to bring back a salad mix from Publix. “Listen, I gotta go,” I say. “But you might want to stop creepin’ around my house. You never know what could be hiding in the dark.”
“How’s Evie?” he asks suddenly, looking at my phone even though there’s no way he saw the screen. I just know this is what keeps him up at night, trying to suss out the kind of relationship she and I have.
“She’s great.”
“Yeah.” He nods, running his hand over his chin. “She is great, isn’t she? Hard to get over a girl like that.”
“You might want to try,” I say dryly.
“Evie used to be so sweet,” he says conversationally, like he didn’t hear me. “And I mean sweet . You know, I was the first one to taste that pussy.”
It’s an obvious attempt to work me up and knowing it’s probably true makes it hard not to drive my fist through his smug face. His comment would’ve pissed me off even if Evie were just a friend. But she’s a lot more than just a friend, isn’t she?
“Still can’t look at my back seat without thinking of her,” he adds, a faraway look in his eyes. “Fuck, she was feisty. Redheads, right?”
I must not be doing a very good job of keeping the rage off my face because he holds up his hands, feigning innocence. “Just making conversation.”
“That’s not polite conversation where I come from, Cole,” I reply. “But I’ll let it go because not everyone’s raised right.”
His eyes harden, but his smile lingers.
I give him a creepy smile of my own, leaning back against the windows. “You’re right about one thing, though. Evie is sweet. She’s also mine. Her pussy, her heart, her future. So, do me a favor and stop looking for her, stop talking to her, and stop thinking about her. Keep her name out of your fucking mouth.”
“You think Evie’s yours.” He chuckles. “But like I said, she ain’t. None of this is. You’ll realize that soon enough, and it’ll be a pleasure watching you run your ass back up north.”
I wasn’t going to do this, because we’ve been choosy with who we tell, but some people need the more direct approach. “Hate to break it to you, but Evie’s my wife. If I run back up north, she’s coming with me.”
In a heartbeat, the amusement on Cole’s face vanishes. He steps to me, jaw clenched, flaring nostrils nearly touching mine. “The fuck you just say?”
“You heard me.”
“Is everything all right, Cole?” the hostess asks in a small voice. She’s frozen at her stand, staring at us like we’re rabid dogs about to tear each other’s throats out.
“Everything’s peachy,” growls Cole, and she jumps a little, scurrying away from her post. I doubt this is the first time his antics have freaked out the employees. “You listen to me, fucker. You’re in over your head. I don’t know what you got going with Randall Doyle but consider this your cease and desist. It ain’t for you.”
“Your concerns are noted.” Shoving by, I swing open the heavy door, letting in the sunlight. “Good talk.”