18. Evie
“ I hate this,” grumbles Opal, wrapping her smooth, brown arms around me. “But I love you, so I guess it’s worth it.”
It’s her first time at the new house and she’s salty because Tristan sent Malachi and Finn to pick her up. He doesn’t want people knowing this address, and because he’s convinced that Cole and his minions are watching our every move, he wouldn’t let me go pick her up myself. I told him he was paranoid. He told me I was careless.
“We’ll see how things look after my meeting tomorrow,” he’d promised, running his hand down the length of my hair. Tomorrow is the moment of truth, when Tristan goes back to Daddy for the final time. He’ll leave as the new owner of Doyle Whiskey, though how that goes down will be up to my father.
But something else must’ve happened today because Tristan came home from the store in a mood. He locked himself in the study, which he’s taken over as his office, and proceeded to have a long conversation with his brother. I know, because I heard Lucky’s name a few times, but he kept his voice real low so who knows what they were talking about.
After that, he started fixing all the broken things in the house. It felt like he was staying busy to avoid me, but who knows? Maybe I’m the paranoid one.
Opal and I set up in the kitchen, where I pour us each a glass of wine while she unloads her dinner supplies. “This is nice, Evie,” she says approvingly, nodding as she glances around. “Can’t think of anybody who deserves it more.”
Tears prick the back of my eyes, something that’s been happening a lot lately. It’s a combination of gratitude to my great aunt and sadness that she’s not here to help me make this house my own. She was always a source of comfort to both Mama and me. She would have helped me navigate this strange time, for sure. “Thanks, honey. I still can’t believe it’s mine.”
“I don’t know what you’re gonna do with this big ol’ kitchen, though,” she teases. “Seeing you can’t cook a lick.”
“Haha,” I deadpan, looking over the assortment of veggies she brought. “Now, what can I do?”
“You can find a cutting board and a knife.” She nods at the knife set. “And start chopping.”
Topping off our wine, I do just that, carefully dicing an onion and then moving on to cloves of garlic as Opal catches me up on the latest at work. She’s an adjunct professor over at SCAD, teaching a visual anthropology class, so there’s always something interesting going on. Unlike me, she’s been able to make a career out of doing what she truly loves.
“And what about you?” she asks, glancing at me curiously. “How’re you enjoying being a kept woman?”
Wrinkling my nose, I scrape the garlic into a little bowl and rinse the cutting board in the sink. “It’s fine, I guess. I feel like I’ve barely had a minute to think between losing my job and then finding out about this house, and then moving in, and …” I trail off, unsure of how to broach the topic of Tristan. Everything about Tristan. His work, our marriage—nothing is straightforward with us, with him.
“Is he treating you well?” asks Opal.
I nod. “Yeah. He’s great.”
“But?”
Peeking through the window above the kitchen sink, I spy Tristan and the boys lounging around the covered part of the patio. This is their thing most evenings, drinking or smoking once the sun starts going down and it’s not too hot. Tristan doesn’t smoke as much as the others— he says he needs to keep his wits about him—but he’s been a little high-strung today, so I’m not surprised to see him indulging now.
“You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?” Opal says with a sigh. “Don’t deny it. I know how you act when you’re in a relationship and you look at that guy like he hangs the damn moon. He’s turned into a caveman with you, too, keeping you hidden back here.” She tuts like her mama, shaking her head.
“Do you need me for this conversation, or should I just listen to your monologue?” I shake my wet hands at her.
“Shush and give me details,” she says with a laugh.
“Well … he’s great in bed.”
Opal smirks, nodding. “No surprise there.”
“But tomorrow he’s going to talk to Daddy.” The worry that’s been nagging at me flares, giving me a stomachache. I know how ruthless Tristan can be when it comes to business. He’ll take what’s owed to him no matter what. “It’s my father’s last chance to either give up the distillery or have it taken away.”
“You said he owes Tristan’s family, right?” Opal says, adding the garlic to a saucepan on the stove. “A lot of money?”
I nod, my shoulders slumping as I lean back against the counter. “Several loans over the years. Between Daddy’s gambling and always biting off more than he can chew, he’s really painted himself into a corner. And not just with the Kellys, either.”
Opal shakes her head. “Some people just don’t know when to say when.”
Sighing, I glance outside again at Tristan. He’s smiling at something one of the guys said, the dying sunlight glinting gold off his hair. My heart squeezes at how beautiful he is. He’s so full of light and laughter, you’d never know he had a dark side.
And yet, I feel safe with him. I know what darkness unchecked looks like, and that isn’t Tristan.
“I’m hoping Daddy will be reasonable,” I say softly. “But I’m not holding my breath. He’s so stubborn, you know? The distillery is everything to him.”
“I know, baby, but …” She shrugs. She’s never liked my dad, and why should she? “He gambles, he cheats. He drove your mama away, and no w you too. Always taking and never giving back. There’s only so long you can live like that before it catches up to you.”
We’re both quiet for a moment, the sizzling garlic the only sound in the kitchen. Opal’s sobering words shouldn’t make me feel better, but oddly, they do. They’re freeing. Sometimes I still find myself mourning a relationship I never had with my dad, but none of it is my fault. Not the distance between us, and not what’s happening with the distillery.
“I wish I could cook like Opal.” Yawning, I snuggle down deeper into my new, soft comforter on the bed. Dinner, and the nice, long bubble bath I took after the boys dropped Opal home has me feeling content and lazy.
Tristan, looking edible in yet another pair of low-slung sweatpants, is sitting beside me, propped against the headboard as he taps lightly against the surface of his phone, lost in whatever he’s looking at. “Yeah, dinner was incredible,” he says after a moment. “She’s a good cook.”
“Bet you wish I could cook like that,” I provoke, running my fingers over his side. His skin is smooth and hard under my fingertips, making me want to explore more of him.
His gaze flickers toward me briefly before returning to his phone. He strokes my hair absently for a second, frowning at the screen. I dance my fingers down a tattoo, pausing at the top of his sweatpants before sliding farther, resting my hand over the bulge of his dick at rest. Even flaccid, it’s impressive, and I stroke it the way he’s been stroking my hair: feather soft.
Only, his stroking pauses. I watch a smile play at his lips until he puts that stupid phone down and looks down at me. “Evie,” he says, amused even as he grows thick and hard beneath my touch. “Are you propositioning me?” The hand in my hair tightens then slides down to my face so he can tilt my chin up. He doesn’t have to—I’ve had my eyes on him since we climbed into bed—but I give him my attention anyway, my heartbeat picking up as tension grows between us. I’m still sore from last night, but all I want is him on top of me, inside of me. Looking at me.
All I want is him .
“Where’ve you been all day?” I ask instead, the question materializing from the thin air of my subconscious.
“I’m here,” he says, not quite answering my question but relieving the ache anyway. It’s pitiful, how little I require from him.
My hand falls away as he rolls on top of me and kisses his way down my throat, the scruff from his beard scratching deliciously at my skin. He lifts the t-shirt I’m wearing and draws my nipple into his mouth, suckling indulgently until it’s puffy and ultra-sensitive. When he starts to go to the other one, I bring him back to the first, and he obeys, smiling wickedly around my nipple, his gaze a flash of green in the dim light. He massages my other breast instead, rolling the nipple between his fingers. The dual sensations send warm surges through my body, each one stronger than the last. I’m so close, so close . I hold his head in my hands, tunneling my fingers through his hair, and then I’m coming, my body arching off the bed in one long gasp.
“That might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Tristan says, nibbling and licking at my other breast. “Can you do it again?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, watching him lick my second nipple into a stiff peak.
“Let’s find out.”
I didn’t think I could come again, not like that and not so fast, but a couple of minutes later, I do. I’m so wet now that my thighs are slick.
“Fuck,” he grits out, his lips as pink and swollen as my nipples. “What else are you hiding from me, Evie Knievel?”
“I could ask you the same question,” I whimper, my knees tight around his hips.
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” he says, his voice husky with need as he kicks his pants off.
“That’s your dick talking,” I laugh breathlessly.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” he says, rubbing his tip around my entrance, getting himself wet with me. “I love making you come for me. I love how you sound.”
“That’s two things.” We kiss, a desperate clash of tongues and teeth as he rocks against me, rubbing himself up and down my pussy without ever going in. “I want you to fuck me,” I beg. “Just like this.”
“Just like this?” he echoes, pausing at the next pass and pressing, just like he did last night .
“Yes.” I bring his face back down, kissing him as I tilt my hips up.
“Gladly,” he groans, sinking into me.
It hurts a little, but mostly it feels like heaven, the pleasure only sweetened by the pain, and I cry out. Sliding his fingers through mine, Tristan pins my hands on either side of me and starts to move.
“I saw Cole today,” he whispers in the dark. His body is wrapped around mine, one large hand splayed over my stomach.
Tensing, I reach back to touch his hair. I’ve always loved his hair. I told him I fantasized about kissing him, but I also used to wonder what it would feel like to run my fingers through these curls. “Where?”
“His family’s restaurant,” he says casually. “I was at a hardware store in town, so I stopped by afterward.”
I know just the store he’s talking about, tiny and family-run. “But why would you go to a store all the way over there when there are closer ones?”
“Because it’s far away from here,” he says.
My throat feels dry suddenly, and I swallow roughly, wishing I’d brought a glass of water to bed. “Do you think he knows about this house, too?”
“No, and I want to keep it that way.” His breath ruffles my hair. “Anyway, Cole’s obviously been watching me. Figured I might as well pay him a visit this time, save him a trip.”
I try to turn so I can face Tristan, but his grip tightens, holding me still. “What did y’all talk about?”
“What do you think? He’s trying to figure me out, see why I’m still down here. His people do business with your dad, and I’ve been doing business with your dad,” he says with a dark chuckle. “And then, of course, there’s you.”
I tap the hand wrapped around me. “What about me?”
“He was trying to get a rise out of me, talking shit,” he says quietly, nudging his nose along my neck. “About how he was your first.”
A slightly sick feeling comes over me, and now I’m glad I can’t see Tristan’s face. I’ve never felt bad about past relationships and hook-ups, but Cole is the exception of all exceptions. I was a different version of myself when I went out with him, and while I generally chalk up my bad judgment to youth and inexperience, I hate that he knows me so intimately. It feels like he uses it against me, like an unspoken threat whenever I see him.
Guess it’s not so unspoken now though, if he’s saying things to Tristan.
“Yeah?” I question, trying to keep my voice steady despite the pit of unease forming in my stomach.
“You know what they say about firsts,” Tristan continues, his voice gravelly against the shell of my ear. “They always leave a mark.”
“More like a scar.” I grit my teeth. “But he doesn’t own me.”
“I know.” Tristan squeezes me. “He feels like he does, though. And perception can be more dangerous than reality.”
I struggle to keep my voice steady. “What do you mean?”
His arms tighten around me even more, as if the mere thought of Cole brings out his possessiveness. “You told me from the beginning that he sees you as this thing he can’t have, so he’s obsessed. He wants to have you the way he did before, and he feels entitled.”
Just thinking about it makes my stomach cramp up. “I know.”
“And now it’s even worse, because I’m here for the same distillery his family thinks they’re entitled to. He sees me as a rival in more ways than one, so the same obsession he has for you is bleeding onto me.”
The thought of Cole lurking around, trying to sabotage what we have, is both chilling and infuriating. I manage to turn in Tristan’s arms, touching his face. I can’t quite see his expression in the dark, but I can feel the wrinkle between his brows, the tension in his jaw.
“I got you, Evie. I’ll keep you safe,” he says, his hands spreading over my lower back. “No matter what.”
“But what about you?”
“Don’t worry about me,” he says. “I’ll take care of him.”
“That’s what worries me,” I mumble, my heart drumming in my chest. I know Tristan can handle himself, but what happens if things go wrong? What if Cole somehow gets the upper hand? He’s crazy, but he’s smart. “Please, please be careful.”
“I always am.” He kisses my forehead. “I rarely go anywhere alone?—”
“You did today,” I blurt .
“To lure him out,” he says. “And it worked. But from now on, I’ll always have my guys. In fact.” He stretches back to reach his phone, looking briefly at the screen. “My backups are about a half hour away. They’ll be staying in a house not too far from here. Easy access.”
“For tomorrow?” I ask.
“For tomorrow, and for as long as it takes.” He tosses his phone aside. “And on that note, we should get some sleep. I can’t afford to be tired in the morning.”
“What about Finn and Malachi?” I ask, yawning. “And Timmy? Will they be staying in that house, too?”
“Yeah, it’s probably time they moved out, huh?” he says, a smile in his voice.
“They don’t have to.” I close my eyes, sleepiness settling over me. “I kinda like having them around.”
In the morning, when I wake up, Tristan’s already gone. I run my hand over the rumpled sheets, my heart clenching when I find another origami flower. It’s a rose this time. A red origami rose.