Chapter 28 Tristan
TWENTY-EIGHT
TRISTAN
Keira walks ahead of me, and I watch the tension slowly seep from her shoulders with each step away from the clinic. Like the farther she gets from that sterile room, the more she remembers how to breathe.
The town unfolds around us in quiet, cobblestoned charm.
Painted storefronts in faded blues and greens line the narrow streets, windows fogged from the warmth inside.
Locals pass with polite nods but no lingering stares.
They've learned not to ask questions about the woman from the big house on the hill or the guards who trail her like shadows.
We pass a bakery exhaling the warm scent of fresh bread. A pub with muffled laughter spilling through the door. A flower shop with buckets of winter blooms shivering in the cold.
She stops in front of a bookshop.
The display window is modest. A few paperbacks propped against faded velvet, a hand-lettered sign advertising a local author's reading. I linger beside her, waiting.
"I used to read all the time." Her voice is distant, like she's speaking to someone who isn't here. "Before. I couldn't fall asleep without a book in my hands. Used to drive my mother crazy when I stayed up too late."
She turns from the window. Her reflection fades with her.
"Now I don't sleep at all."
She's not talking to me. Not really. She's talking to the version of herself she used to be, mourning her from a distance.
I want to reach for her. Tell her she'll read again. Sleep again. Laugh again. That I'm going to drag her out of this nightmare and return every single thing he stole.
But I stay silent and walk beside her.
The street narrows as we move deeper into the old part of town. The ground becomes uneven. The light dims, and the air turns colder, thick with moss and age.
Her heel catches on a loose stone.
She stumbles, losing her balance as her body pitches forward. I grab her on instinct.
My hand closes around her elbow as I pull her upright against me.
She goes completely still.
Frozen. Like the contact short-circuited something in her brain, rerouting every thought to the single point where my skin meets hers.
We're both holding our breath. Her face inches from mine.
"I'm fine," she manages, the word catching.
I don't let go. "You're shaking."
"I said I'm fine."
But she doesn't pull away.
Doesn't step back.
Doesn't do any of the things she should.
The space between us shrinks until I can feel her breath against my jaw. Until the faint sweetness of her shampoo fills my lungs. Until I'm drowning in proximity, and she hasn't even touched me.
Does she feel it?
The electricity crackling between us. The same magnetic pull I've been fighting since the garden, since the moment I saw her again and realized nothing had changed.
She takes a step back, and I let go.
Force distance between us, even though all I want to do is pull her back in, bury my face in her hair, and confess everything.
Keira turns and walks toward a small alcove between buildings, sheltered from the wind by ancient stone.
It's quiet for a long time. I'm sure she won't speak to me again today—maybe not for the rest of the week.
Then, completely out of nowhere:
"Do you ever think about disappearing?"
I'm caught off guard. She asked me this exact question years ago, in a different city. Different life. Same blue eyes searching for something I couldn't give her then.
It's now or never, Tristan.
I shouldn't answer. The second I abandon control, it's over.
"Yes."
She looks up at me. "You do?"
"All the time."
"Where would you go?"
Anywhere you are. Anywhere you want. I'd follow you to the edge of the world and off it if you asked.
"Somewhere with shitty reception and good coffee."
She looks stunned, the words rippling outward and catching on something buried deep. A memory she can't quite reach.
She's staring at me now—not the surface assessment from the waiting room. This is different. Intense. She's trying to see past the beard and the contacts and the years to something underneath.
You're almost there, Red. You can feel me, can't you?
"Have we met before?"
I can't help but laugh, which makes her look defeated. "No, madame."
"Are you sure? What you said was very specific."
"I'd remember a face like yours."
This one isn't a lie.
I remember everything about her. The way she laughed. The way she cried. The way she said my name when we were tangled together in the dark. I remember the exact shade her eyes turn when she's happy…and the way they looked when she walked away without glancing back.
I remember all of it.
She shakes her head, and the moment passes. "Sorry. You just remind me of someone. From a long time ago."
The question burns in my throat.
Who? Say my name. Even if you don't know it's me. Even if it would ruin everything. Say it.
"We should head back."
She nods.
That's the end of it.
We walk to the parking lot in silence. But my brain won't stop cycling through questions I'll never ask.
Do you think about me?
Do you remember what we had?
Do you lie awake sometimes and wonder what happened to the man you left behind?
Otis pulls up not two minutes after we arrive.
Keira straightens. Pulls her mask back into place and walks to the car.
She never looks at me.
I take the passenger seat, angling the mirror so I can keep an eye on her.
"Everything go okay?" Otis starts immediately.
"Mhm."
He nods, pleased with himself. "Good, good."
I don't ask him anything. I genuinely don't care. Part of me hoped he'd driven off a cliff.
"So I was thinking," he continues, one hand loose on the wheel, "maybe I should propose to Maren soon.
We've been together two years now, and she keeps dropping hints about rings.
Not obvious, but like…she'll see a jewelry store and suddenly need to look at something in the window.
Then wanders to the engagement section. You know what I mean? "
In the mirror, Keira stares out the window but she's not as hollow as before.
"You think two years is too soon?" Otis glances at me.
"I think you should keep your eyes on the road."
"Right, right." He turns back to the windshield, but his mouth keeps running. "It's just…what if she says no? What if I plan this whole elaborate thing, get down on one knee, pour my heart out, and she's like, actually, I'm not ready? That would be devastating. Humiliating. Just awful."
"You're right," I say flatly.
"Exactly! See, you get it." He misses the tone entirely. "I was thinking somewhere special. Like a waterfall. She loves them. Has a whole Pinterest board dedicated to them."
"You've mentioned."
"Have I? Probably." He drums his fingers against the wheel in an arrhythmic pattern that makes me want to break them.
"What do you think…waterfall or beach? She loves the beach too.
We went to Spain last summer, and she literally cried when she saw the ocean.
Actual tears. I had to hold her for twenty minutes. "
"Sounds like she cries a lot. Do you make her cry?"
In the mirror, Keira's head turns. A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.
Otis frowns. "What? No, never. She's emotional, but that's different. She feels things deeply. It's one of the things I love about her."
"Clearly. Waterfalls too."
Keira's smile grows.
"You're kind of a dick, Henri. Anyone ever tell you that?"
I shrug. "Once or twice."
"Well, they were right." But he's grinning now. "Seriously though, waterfall or beach? I'm spiraling."
"Waterfall."
"Yeah? You think so?"
"She cried at the ocean. Save that for the divorce."
Otis bursts out laughing. "Holy shit, Henri. That's really fucking dark."
He shakes his head, still grinning. "Okay, waterfall it is. But if she says no, I'm blaming you entirely."
"I'll carry that guilt to my grave."
He snorts and finally goes quiet.
I glance at the mirror, and Keira's looking back at me.
She's genuinely smiling. The kind that reaches her eyes and softens everything hard about her face.
I hold onto that image like a lifeline.