CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #3
It was like being pulled from water. Sounds cleared around me as I blinked and looked around, catching the horrified expressions of customers and workers. One angry woman was admonishing us, ordering me to leave or she would call the police.
“Over a used book,” Tristan responded dryly. “I left you money on the counter. Chill the fuck out.”
Tristan didn’t have to drag me out. I stumbled willingly, held upright by his grip. I didn’t realize I’d been crying until I tasted the salt in my mouth. I was still mumbling nonsense. Words from that damn book. Verses that felt like hands wrapped tightly around my throat, squeezing, squeezing—
“Look what you’ve done, Daisy.”
I groaned at the memory.
His voice was so loud in my ears.
Tristan placed me in the van, and I went willingly, shaking everywhere. I clenched my fists tightly, unable to revisit those memories.
The grief.
The fucking grief—
Something crinkled in my hand.
I looked down and uncurled my fingers from around the random page I’d torn out and crumpled. As Tristan hurried around the van, I smoothed the paper out and looked blearily down at the words, my breath trapped in my lungs.
“Whatever you do, keep death in mind.”
Tristan slid in beside me, his gaze quickly latching onto the paper in my hand. I felt the blood drain from my face.
Cold and clammy, I whimpered, “Your friend was right. I have so many secrets, Tristan. So many. Oh, God—”
Without saying a word, he ripped the page from my hand and threw it out the window.
We were back on the road a moment later.
Tristan sped out of town and didn’t stop driving. He held my hand the whole time, gripping me tightly like he thought I might disappear.
“I had a dream, Daisy.”
I opened my eyes and stared emptily at the ceiling of the van. It was so dark, I couldn’t see. I stretched out an arm, searching for Tristan. I touched his side, and his hand immediately shot up to wrap around mine.
“How late is it?” I rasped.
“Past midnight,” he answered quietly.
I ran a hand down my face. “I can’t even remember today…”
“You had a rough day.”
“I went a little crazy, didn’t I?”
“You were in a bad place.”
My voice was small. “Did I black out again?”
“You weren’t very responsive at times.”
“Did I…” I swallowed hard. “Did I do anything bad?”
“Aside from ripping the pages out of an old man’s book, no.”
I groaned, ashamed. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was only Seneca. Relax.”
A sudden laugh escaped me. “Only Seneca?”
“Do you think he cares that you tore that book apart? He’s been dead a while.”
“But that woman—”
“She’s not pissed that she didn’t sell the used book for three bucks, Daze. She enjoyed every minute of your breakdown. You know how these people are. Small town, hot woman tearing pages out of a book—”
“Seneca’s book—”
“You’ll be fun gossip in her tea circle, and yeah, once again, it was Seneca. So what?”
“Seneca, Tristan.”
His body shifted beside me. Within seconds, the overhead light came on. I shut my eyes against it, wincing. When I managed to keep them open, Tristan was staring at me, and he didn’t look like he’d slept a wink.
“Were you part of some Seneca cult?” he asked dryly.
“I just think there are some books you don’t rip pages out of,” I whispered before cringing. “You must think I’m insane.”
“I like insane.”
He delivered the words so honestly.
I reached out and lightly brushed the strands of hair away from his forehead. “You can’t like insane, Tristan.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s not a normal response.”
He took my hand before I could pull it away and kissed the inside of my palm. His blue eyes locked onto mine.
“What is a normal response?”
“I feel like I can do no wrong in your eyes.”
“You can do no wrong.”
I let out a laugh, and he grinned. My breath went light as I strained out, “Tristan…”
His grin disappeared. He whispered, “Daze…”
I squeezed my eyes shut and sighed. “Did I do something bad, Tristan?”
“You asked that already.”
“I just… Can you tell me again?”
“You did nothing bad.”
My eyes ached with unshed tears. I nodded, unable to speak now as he settled closer to me.
“What are you worried you did?”
I shook my head, waiting a few moments before clearing my throat. “I, uh… It’s just hard to hear, you know.”
“What’s hard to hear?”
“That I didn’t do anything.”
I could hear the frown in his voice. “That’s a bad thing?”
“It just… It hurts to know I’m not that crazy. After you believe it for so long… After you do things that hurt people…”
I couldn’t finish.
He didn’t respond. I knew I wasn’t making sense. I was talking gibberish to him, and suddenly, I was scared he wasn’t telling me the truth.
He could be protecting me from whatever I did.
Because Tristan was that kind of man.
A protector.
A fighter.
A carer.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I whispered next.
He scooped me into his arms and pulled me against him. My back pressed against his hard chest as he cradled me. After my heart slowed and my panic ebbed away, I opened my eyes.
We lay like that in silence until I couldn’t bear it anymore.
I turned my head toward him and kissed him.
I needed him.
I needed him to make me feel good.
Tristan understood straight away.
Within minutes, our clothes were gone, and he was inside me, moving at the pace of my frenzied heart.