15. Tristan #2
“Is that what you were going to tell us graduation night?” Weller presses, his gaze never leaving her face.
She goes still as a rock. When she finally speaks, her voice is so quiet I have to lean forward to catch the words.
“I was planning to tell you how I felt about all of you.” Her fingers twist together in her lap. “And about what he told me.” She swallows hard. “I was scared you…”
Something in Weller’s expression shifts, breaks open. “It would have changed nothing.” His voice is absolute and utterly honest. “Absolutely fucking nothing, Bianca.”
Her composure shatters completely and her blue eyes shine with unshed tears, lips parting on a silent exhale as the words hit her. I can see it in her face… the devastating realization that everything was ripped away from her for no reason at all.
Then, as quickly as it appeared, the vulnerability vanishes. She blinks, swallows hard, and schools her features back to neutral. Almost as if she’s refusing to process what Weller’s words truly mean.
“It was just one more thing that made that day...” She pauses, her voice dropping to something hollow. “The opening sequence of my worst nightmare.”
Her eyes drift to the city lights beyond the balcony. I recognize the look as I’ve worn it myself… gone somewhere we can’t follow.
She continues her story, her voice returning to its earlier detachment. “Then came the official announcement in a group message… and the flood of congratulations.”
Her voice trails off, the pause hanging heavy.
“I opened a message from an unknown number. It had the... recording.”
We all flinch.
Weller looks like he’s going to stand, and for a moment I think he might go to her… but he doesn’t.
Montgomery, Whitney, our fathers… I want to make all of them suffer for every second she spent thinking she was nothing to us.
When she’s always been everything .
“Bianca,” Freddie’s hands reach toward her before he catches himself, pulling them back like he’s been burned. “We didn’t know about any of it. We couldn’t even?—”
“I know that now,” she says, and for just a moment her mask slips. It shows us a glimpse of the girl who used to trust us with her whole heart. “I believe you. But then...” She touches her throat unconsciously. “Seeing you all like that. Looking so...”
She doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t need to.
“We weren’t in control.” Weller’s voice splinters as he presses his fingers against his temples, like he’s trying to hold back a wave of torment he’s kept buried for years.
“Knowing it was forced doesn’t erase how it made me feel at the time… how it changed everything I thought I knew. It replayed in my head hundreds of times, no matter how much I wanted it to stop.” Bianca sounds haunted, her eyes distant as if she’s watching scenes unfold that no one else can see.
I want to drop to my knees in front of her and beg for her forgiveness, but she is not ready for that yet.
“What did it do to you?” I ask, because I need to know.
She stays quiet for a long time. When she speaks again, I have to strain to hear her.
“It broke something inside me.” Her hand drifts back to her throat, fingers pressing into her skin like she’s remembering. “A fundamental part of me… a load-bearing wall in my soul just... collapsed.”
No one says anything. No one moves.
Our girl suffered. Horribly . She had no warning and no defense. She had to live through the aftermath by herself.
“My body shut down. After that, things got... dark. I spent a month in a psychiatric hospital.”
She says it lightly, as if the words mean nothing, but it’s clear to me just how close we came to losing her.
“What happened after the hospital?” Weller’s elbows are braced on his knees, watching her like he’s readying himself for another blow.
“My mom moved me to this tiny little town for outpatient treatment. She rented a place for me… thought maybe group therapy and mountain air would fix whatever was messed up in my head.”
“Did it?” I ask.
Her laugh is sharp enough to draw blood. “No, but I found ways to deal with it.”
The way she says it suggests there’s a story there, but she’s not sharing details. Not yet.
“What ways?” Freddie’s knee bounces, fingers rubbing absently at the side of his thumb—a nervous habit he’s had since we were kids.
“I learned some new skills. Met some interesting people.” She stands abruptly, clearly done with this line of questioning.
Her hands smooth down her clothes in a gesture that seems automatic, like armor being adjusted.
“Speaking of which, I should get back to the hospital. Winston’s been showing signs of improvement. ”
The sudden change of subject gives me whiplash, but I catch the way she uses her brother’s condition to deflect.
“What kind of signs?” Weller asks, straightening abruptly, all of his focus sharpening at once.
“Moving his fingers when we talk to him.” A genuine smile transforms her face for the first time tonight, and the change is breathtaking. Her posture shifts, shoulders relaxing, that control melting away to show emotion that’s real. “The doctors think he might wake up soon.”
Relief sweeps through all of us in a single, collective exhale.
“That’s incredible news,” Freddie breathes, shifting like he’s about to stand and hug her before thinking better of it.
“Yeah.” She’s already moving toward the door, and I feel panicked by it. Her movements are quick, efficient, like she’s escaping rather than simply leaving. “Which is why I need to be there.”
“I’ll arrange a car,” Weller stands and grabs his phone.
“I don’t need–“
“Humor us,” I interrupt, letting firmness slip into my tone to show I’m not leaving room for argument. “We spent years having no idea if you were safe, hurt, or worse. Forgive us for being protective.”
“Fine,” she says after a moment.
“I’ll walk you down,” I volunteer before anyone else can claim the privilege.
She looks at me suspiciously but nods.
Owen’s gaze drills into me, possessive jealousy flaring in his eyes, clearly resenting me for stepping in and taking away his chance to be alone with her.
The elevator doors slide shut, trapping us together.
Bianca presses herself against the mirrored wall, arms folded tightly across her chest. Her fingertips dig hard into her own skin, like she’s fighting to stay in control.
Her scent invades my senses—warm, sweet, achingly familiar.
Every muscle in my body goes tight with the sudden need to move closer.
I take one deliberate step forward, then another, closing the distance until there’s almost no space left between us. Her breathing quickens, pulse fluttering visibly at the base of her throat. I want to taste it, feel it under my tongue.
“Personal space, Tristan,” she murmurs quietly, eyes fixed steadily on mine.
I lift one hand, placing my palm flat against the elevator wall just beside her head, boxing her in without touching her. I lean closer, crowding her further into the wall, until there’s only a breath between us. “Is this better?” The words come out rough and low, carrying an unspoken challenge.
Instantly, her hands lift, pressing firmly against my chest to stop my advance. The sudden contact burns straight through my shirt, igniting a desperate need to put my hands on her. I swallow hard, my heart slamming against my ribs.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she challenges, eyes never leaving mine.
“Getting a closer look,” I whisper, lowering my face toward hers, my mouth just inches from those soft, parted lips.
Her eyes narrow as her fingers curl slowly into my shirt. “Did I give you permission?”
The words sink deep beneath my skin, locking every muscle into place, leaving me desperate and on edge.
I’m frozen, inches from tasting her again, from reclaiming the mouth that’s haunted me night after night.
Every instinct demands I beg her to let me close the distance, erase the boundary she’s placed between us, but before I can respond, the elevator doors open with a quiet chime.
She lets go abruptly, ducking under my arm and moving out into the lobby, taking all her delicious warmth with her. I’m left with nothing but the ghost of her hands still burning where she touched me.
She pauses, glancing back over her shoulder.
“Goodnight, Tristan.”
Then she walks to the waiting car without another look, leaving me alone, breathing raggedly and needing more.
Just like that, she’s gone again.