Chapter 9 #2
I want to sign to my dad that Tristan is everything I have ever dreamed of.
That in the quiet hours of the night, I picture us at the altar of a church saying, I do.
That when I did not have hope to keep me warm, I imagined his voice and all the encouraging words he would tell me to keep going, to not give up, because that’s the kind of man he is.
A real partner and a friend. Instead, I stay frozen as I finally understand that something other than me is taking over the room.
A silent standoff between my dad and Tristan.
“So,” Dad murmurs, his voice barely more than breath. “You’re the infamous Tristan who saved my daughter and brought me here.”
“I am.”
“And…is it–is it true? Did you truly sell millions and millions of dollars to find Ella? And truly put yourself at risk to save her?” Tristan nods once, dismissing the magnitude of his sacrifices.
“Why?” my dad asks.
“Because,” Tristan clears his throat, “because I’m in love with your daughter, sir, and I intend to support her and be there for her for as long as she lets me.”
I’m in love with your daughter.
In love.
A rocket launches. A volcano erupts. Thousands of horses run wild on a mountain, and my world falls from its axis. Tristan loves me. And he told my father. His hand flexes around mine, and I squeeze it back, speaking our silent dialect. That I, too, love him.
“I won’t stay long here, son,” my father says, focused on Tristan. “Someone has to be in her corner.”
“I am,” Tristan answers in the blink of an eye. “I’ll always be.”
“Dad,” I sign with my left hand since the other is taken, spreading my fingers and connecting my thumb to my forehead.
“I failed her, but you won’t,” Dad states, like he is giving a mission to Tristan, like they are his last words. “You’ll do better.” A knock sounds at the door, then a nurse enters, smiling in a lavender blouse, with short red hair, and carrying a food tray.
“Sorry to disrupt you. I’ll leave you to it.”
“No,” my father calls. “You kids go. This isn’t a place for young people to waste their youth. I’ll eat,” he coughs. “I’ll eat now, please.”
“Are you sure? I could stay.”
“Will you come back?”
“Of course. Every day.”
“Then that’s all I need, honey.”
“What about…Mara?”
He sighs. “I…I don’t know. I honestly don’t know what to do about Mara. When she comes, we’ll talk and hopefully put an end to our union.”
“I’m so sorry, Dad.”
“You know, on our first date, she said she hated chocolate, and your mom always said people who hated chocolate couldn’t be trusted.”
“Dad.” I roll my eyes.
“No, really.” His mouth twitches weakly. “The signs were there all along. I just didn’t…” He pauses. “I’ll be all right here, Ella. As long as I can see you, I’ll be a happy man.”
“Then I’ll be there tomorrow. Rest, Dad. They’ll take great care of you here, and you can video call me from the tablet right there. The nurse can set it up for you whenever.” Dad’s eyes find Tristan again.
“I’ll…I’ll call Mara, though, to straighten things out, but…” He looks at Tristan with the same solemnity they exchanged moments ago. “If Mara comes for her…”
“She’ll have to go through me.” His words settle over the room like steel, and my heart stutters.
Part of me is eight years old again, waiting for someone bigger to stand between me and the monster under my bed.
Dad exhales, and it sounds like something leaving him.
The nurse settles on the opposite side with the plastic tray, sorting out spoons and napkins.
“Thank you,” I tell her silently, before leaning in and squeezing Dad’s hand.
“See you tomorrow, Dad,” I sign before blowing him a kiss like I always did.
We exit, and I catch Matt in the corner of my eye, standing ten feet away, watching over us in low-profile tactical gear.
Black T-shirt, pants, boots, and a holster clipped discreetly at his side.
Tristan’s hand hovers near my back without touching it.
“You did so well, sweetheart,” he murmurs in my ear, and the tenderness of it almost ruins me, because all I want is to curl into his arms and stay there until the end of time. A sound slices through the moment as my phone rings.
Mara’s face appears on the screen, and my breath catches so sharply it feels like my body has mistaken her name for a hand around my throat.
My knees threaten to give, the exhaustion of the last few days gathering all at once in my bones, but I force myself to stay upright.
Dad doesn’t hate me. I haven’t ruined everything.
Stand, for God’s sake. Be stronger than her.
“Do you want me to talk to her?” Tristan asks calmly, though something violent lurks beneath the calm. The call ends before I can answer, and a voicemail appears in its place.
“Anything she says from now on could incriminate her,” Tristan explains, his voice low beside me.
“I’ve got people listening to her calls to gather proof of her involvement with you and your father’s condition.
She may be aware of it, so if she sounds strange, that’s why.
” I nod and press play, and with it, I let Mara’s sickening voice thread itself back inside me.
“Hi, Ella, sweetie. I heard you were staying at a friend’s for a few days, and I’m so glad to know you’re back.
I had, well, a little surprise a few days ago when I couldn’t find something valuable, something that should never have left our home, so I just wanted you to know, love, that I’ll be coming for you.
Rest assured, little birdy, I’m always there.
Always. I love you, darling. The girls and I miss you so much.
Please say hi to your Prince Charming. I can’t wait to see both of you. ”
The message ends, and ice-cold dread slides down my spine.
I look at Tristan, then back at the screen, unable to understand how a voice can sound so sweet while carrying so much poison.
Tristan’s jaw clenches, his eyes fixed on the phone as if he could reach through it and put his hands around the threat itself.
“She wants a war, sweetheart,” he says, too calmly for the wrath gathering in his face. “I’ll take care of it.”
Then, without giving me any warning, he lowers his mouth to mine, granting me a brutal, merciless kiss, saying, I am here, I am yours, I will stand between you and the whole world if you let me.
And I kiss him back because, for one reckless second, I need to believe in the promise of him more than I fear the threat of her.
We break apart only when two people in white coats pass us in the hallway.
Tristan rests his forehead against mine, his breathing controlled but rough at the edges.
“And I meant what I said to your father,” he murmurs, low enough that the words belong only to me. “Every single word.”
Tristan
I’m a practical man. I have never vanished into fantasies of building a family of my own.
When you spend years at the end of a relentless cane, you begin to rethink the whole father-son relationship.
I do have a brother I love. A mother I love.
That being said, if there is one thing I was reminded of growing up, it was that I was exactly like my father.
So naturally, in an attempt to avoid becoming the kind of man who could harm his own child, I buried the idea of fatherhood entirely.
Hurting a child was out of the question.
Yet ever since leaving the clinic, I have found myself walking backward on that prophecy.
I should be focused on Brenton’s report about Cole’s whereabouts, the one he gave me over the phone while Ella was visiting her dad.
I should be focused on the fact that the rat is hiding and has been seen at one of his uncle’s houses.
I should be equally disgusted by the slow police procedure, because yes, they are searching for Cole, but they haven't found him yet. I should also be thinking about the fact that Ella’s stepmother literally threatened us over the phone minutes ago.
Each one of those things is a priority I need to tackle today.
One by one. Once I can think straight. Which is not easy to do, given the angel sitting beside me on my sofa.
I said I needed to go and would be back late. And yet, here I am, sitting next to her as she curls into the cushions under a blanket, while my housekeeper prepares pasta for her in the kitchen. I mean, look at her.
“Go,” she signs. I connect my fingers above my knees, trying to focus, to make sense of those…
feelings. I told her I loved her, and I meant it.
Even though she has not reciprocated my confession, I can live with that, since loving her is a natural state I seem unable to exist without.
Work needs me, but my mind is stuck on flashes of our future family, on our… kids.
As grateful as I am for school and nannies and anything that added distance between my father and me, he was still there, a constant shadow, calling me late in the evening to his office for a man-to-man talk that ended with him teaching me a lesson about manhood with a wooden ruler across my back.
Yet again, I am visualizing things that will probably never happen, but if they did, Ella seems to be the only woman I would do those things with.
Life things. Those kinds of things. And I have no issue picturing her one day, pregnant with our child, running through our garden after our kids, laughing with her quick exhales, sharing everything with me.
“What is it?” she signs, blue circles beneath her eyes. Should I really burden her with my worries? Even tired, her gaze pierces me, daring me to evade the question.
“Too much going on,” I admit quietly, hating myself for being in this state when I should be sharp, focused, and solid enough for her to lean on without wondering if I might collapse too.
“Tell me,” she signs.