Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
TRISTAN
When they say “ride or die,” I didn’t think they meant literally.
Daphne’s blasting Kesha through Bluetooth in my truck and dancing around with her shoes off as she munches on the lukewarm fries from Burger King.
Part of me is worried that we might die either from a crazed assassin that could be tailing us, or from me not being able to keep my eyes on the road because they’re glued to my girlfriend’s tits bouncing to pop music.
The second option might be a sweet death for me, but ghost-me would never forgive myself if something happened to Daphne.
Forcing my eyes back onto the road is a Herculean task, but I manage and deserve a participation trophy for keeping my eyes off her body.
Today’s been an absolute nightmare since the moment we woke up.
Leaving her in a police station alone for hours was the exact opposite of what I needed to get through today.
I needed her. I needed to touch her, and hold her, and know down to the marrow of my bones that Daphne was safe.
But she was carted off like a criminal and kept in the police station for the entire afternoon.
I drove her stuff to my house, along with Hawkeye.
Tessa’s babysitting Hawkeye now, but I need to get out of this truck and get Daphne alone.
The hours waiting for her to call, to tell me she’s alright, were maddening. With each second that passed, my imagination went wild. What if Ghost broke into the police station? What if they’d bribed an officer to hurt her? What if they were charging her with the dead agent on her lawn?
The not-knowing was driving me to the brink of insanity before I was finally allowed to come get her.
After the hell of today, I need to touch her, to feel her, to know she’s safe and that she’s alright.
Thoughts of showering with her haven’t slipped my mind.
I want to scrub this day off our skin and watch it go down the drain before I go down on her.
The world makes sense when my head’s between Daphne’s thighs.
I plan on making sure she’s physically exhausted tonight so she can sleep soundly in my arms.
“They really had no idea?” I ask her again, for the eighth time during the car ride.
“No, Tristan. They don’t know your secret vigilante persona, or what your hobbies are.” Daphne places a hand on my thigh to reassure me, but all it does is reassure my cock that he needs attention. My erection grows like it’s trying to reach for her hand.
Five minutes. We’ll be home in five goddamn minutes.
I take her hand off my leg and raise her knuckles to my lips.
“Thank you.” They’re weak words compared to the mountain of gratitude I feel for her not saying anything about the murders.
Sure, some of that might be self-preservation.
She’d get convicted as an accessory or something for failing to tell the police.
But I like to think it’s because my girlfriend cares about me and doesn’t want to have a long-distance relationship via love letters between jail cells.
“Do you want any more fries?” She offers me the bag, but I shake my head. Sharing your fries is a sign of true love.
Daphne Fox is in love with me. Actions speak louder than words. That’s it. She’s mine. Forever and ever.
Daphne Sinclair has a nice ring to it.
I don’t care how batshit ridiculous I sound right now. I’m mentally and emotionally exhausted. And as soon as we’re alone, I’ll add physically exhausted to the list. Sometimes, a good, hard fuck with the most beautiful woman in the world is exactly what you need.
I release her hand as I wind my way onto a small road and flick my high beams on to see down the winding dark path.
At night, it’s pitch black outside. And it’s peaceful.
Not until today did I worry about what that darkness might conceal, and reality settles in my stomach like food poisoning.
“Home sweet home,” I say as I pull into my driveway. I tap the sensor on my keychain, and my garage door rises to reveal my Porsche, my Kia, and Tessa’s VW Beetle.
As I pull in beside my Porsche, I watch the rearview mirror as the garage door lowers, making sure no one rushes in. Once the door closes and locks, I can breathe again.
Paranoia sucks.
“I’ll come back for the boxes,” I tell her as we exit the truck. “I want you to meet my sister.”
Daphne beams and, as we walk towards the door leading into the house, I slip Daphne’s hand in mine and guide her inside.
“Tessa!” I shout out.
Hawkeye’s paws tap along the hardwood floor as he races from another room toward us, his tail wagging furiously as he darts over to his mom.
Daphne scoops him up in her arms as his tongue lashes her chin with kisses. “Hello, Hawkeye,” she coos. “Were you a good boy? Do you like your new home?”
Home. My chest feels all warm and fuzzy, like a seventies shag carpet. This house has always been empty, even after I hired someone to decorate and fill it up with stuff. But Daphne and Hawkeye liven the place up in a way no Pottery Barn furniture can.
Tessa’s bubble-gum soft curls bounce as she steps in, waving a fingerless-gloved hand at us. “Finally!” She flashes a bright smile, like a laser beam, at Daphne and sweeps her and Hawkeye up in a hug. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
Hawkeye wiggles in Daphne’s arms, trying to free himself. “It’s nice to meet you too,” Daphne says once Tessa steps back and gives her space to set Hawkeye onto the floor.
“Tristan hasn’t shut up about you.”
“Tessa,” I hiss, which earns me an eyeroll from her.
“Don’t mind him,” Tessa dismisses me with a wave of her hand as she loops Daphne’s arm in hers and guides her into the kitchen. “How was the ride up?”
“Tessa,” I interrupt, “I’m sure Daphne’s tired.”
“And I’m sure Daphne can speak for herself,” Daphne snaps back with a sassy grin.
Oh, great. The two of them together is going to be a Goddamn tornado of smartass remarks. What have I done?
“Is Daphne going to talk about herself in the third person?” I ask.
“She just might.” She and Tessa link their arms and walk to my kitchen while Hawkeye and I trail behind.
“Whoa.” Daphne stops in her tracks. Hawkeye bumps into the back of her legs before coming to a halt.
She gazes around the custom-designed kitchen I dreamed up a few years ago. Two ovens, a six-burner stove, and a kitchen island larger than the childhood racecar beds Tuck and I had. She coasts her hand along the creamy marble countertop.
“Um, are you okay?” Tessa asks in confusion as she glances at Daphne, to me, then back again.
“This kitchen’s gorgeous.” The awe in Daphne’s voice sends a weird streak of pride in my chest. I designed it after all. With the help of an architect. And a designer. But I approved their ideas, so that counts for something, right?
“Haven’t you seen it before?” Tessa asks.
Daphne shakes her head. “No. Tristan’s a pretty private person.”
I don’t miss the shady way she says ‘private’ like it’s a swearword.
“Well, I’ll let him give you the tour.” When Tessa turns her back to Daphne, she flashes me a wink and a thumbs up. Luckily, Daphne’s too fascinated by the stovetop to notice the, “I like her,” she mouths.
They’ve barely spoken, but I’ll take it. If Tessa approves of Daphne, then that’s one sibling’s approval down. Hopefully Tuck will like her too.
“Daph, you better come to family dinner on Sunday,” Tessa demands.
“We’ll be there,” I tell Tessa. “We’re having dinner here anyway.”
“Make sure he shows you his bedroom,” Tessa shouts before cackling at me.
Heat creeps up my neck as Daphne lets out a bark of a laugh.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it, Tris.” Tessa pats me on the shoulder before she heads out. “See you Sunday, Daphne.”
“Bye, Tessa,” Daphne calls out with a wave. “Thanks for watching Hawkeye.”
“No worries.” She flashes a wide grin over her shoulder before she saunters out. The front door alarm beeps on her way out.
“So, that’s your sister,” Daphne smirks as she rests her elbows on the counter. Her breasts squish together and I could fall into the cavern of her cleavage. I’d suffocate, but at least I’d die a happy man.
I glance back up at her blue eyes and she’s smirking at me like I’ve been caught with my hand in the metaphoric cookie jar. “Tessa’s not one for subtly.”
“I appreciate that,” Daphne’s smirk slips into a genuine smile. “I’m used to polite backstabbing. It’s nice to have someone be blunt for a change.”
“She’s always been honest.” My heart warms at the memory of how spunky Tessa’s been since we were kids. “Dad used to say she got her mouth from him, but her brains from our Mom.”
“You mentioned your Dad died,” Daphne says. “What happened to your mom?”
A sheer veil of sadness covers my heart at the thought of Mom. I don’t think about her often, but when I do, it’s always with a level of sadness.
“She died when I was seven. Car accident,” I say with a tightness in my throat that I thought I’d resolved years ago.
I barely remember her most days. If it weren’t for Dad’s home movies, I wouldn’t remember her smile or her laugh or the soothing sound of her voice.
“Tessa barely knew her when she died. She had just turned four. Dad took it hard, from what I can remember, but he was still a great Dad.”
Daphne strolls over to me, like she’s trying to hear me better.
“I had to help raise her.” My voice is weak, and it’s so soft I can barely hear myself speak.
“I started working in a mechanic shop, the one where Dad worked. The owner was an old family friend, and he trained me. I took on odd jobs. Catering. Grocery bagger. Painter. Lawncare. If I was awake, I would be busting my ass to make sure there was food on the table and a roof over our heads. I had to send Tuck money for school since he only had tuition covered, but he needed room and board.”
“What about your brother? Did he help?”
I clear my throat. “Tuck is… gifted. He’s always been a bit of a genius.
He skipped two grades when we were in elementary school, which is shit when you’re the dumb twin.
He was a senior in high school when I was a freshman.
I told him he’d better stay in school, and I’d kick his ass so hard he’d need a plastic surgeon to resemble a human being again.
He focused on his schoolwork and managed to get through college.
Once he started working in his residency, he’d send some money to help, but by then Tessa was pretty independent.
” Independently hacking into rich asshole’s computers and syphoning money to make sure we were comfortable. But I spare Daphne those details.
Daphne’s eyes widen. “Whoa. So, your brother’s a real-life Doogie Howser?”
I laugh. “He’s a doctor in the ER. He works with kids mostly. But yeah, he’s always been the smart one.”
“Does that mean you’re the good-looking one?” I can tell she’s trying to lighten the mood, so I try to play along.
“We’re identical,” I say.
She laughs. “Oh, you’re so screwed then. Maybe I picked the wrong brother.”
The wrong brother? Oh, absolutely not.
I take two steps closer and scoop her against me with such fierceness her breath whooshes out along my neck. “Maybe I should remind you why you picked me in the first place, Princess.”
Daphne doesn’t back down. No, instead she smirks as she loops her arms around my neck. “I think I could use a long, hard, thorough reminder. Multiple times. Please, Tris. Make me forget today.”
Oh, I will. By the time I’m done with her tonight, Daphne Fox will be so orgasm-drunk, she’ll forget her own damn name. Hell, maybe I can convince her that Sinclair would be a better last name for her someday.