Tristan
Chloe cries for a long time, and I hold her through all of it, one hand moving slowly through her hair, my other arm wrapped around her. I keep my touch light because she needs that right now, needs someone to hold her without demanding anything, and I can give her that much.
What I can’t stop doing is thinking about Spencer fucking Noble.
My friend.
My ex-friend.
He’s a man I’ve known for years, sat across dinner tables from, shaken hands with, gotten drunk with.
A man I recommended to my own wife for a fucking business contract.
The whole time he was walking around with the knowledge of what he did to her like it was nothing, like she was nothing, and I had no idea.
My jaw clenches so hard that the muscles in my cheeks ache.
My shoulders are stiff, my entire body taut with fury, and I press my palm flat against Chloe’s back as I focus on keeping my breathing slow—because if I don’t, I’m going to end up storming out of here and doing something that will probably get me arrested.
“People… people called me the ice queen,” she whispers finally, hiccupping as another half sob wracks her body. “I figured that was fine. Better to be made of ice, because ice can’t be hurt.”
I close my eyes for a second.
I’ve heard that name. Hell, I used it myself once or twice, back before I really knew her, when I was going along with everyone else’s read on her because I hadn’t bothered to look closer.
Back when everything between us was just about the rivalry and the challenge.
I always knew there was something underneath the mask she wore, something real and soft that the composure was covering, but I didn’t push.
I should have pushed. I should have gotten there sooner, should have known sooner, should have been someone she could’ve told this to years ago instead of carrying it alone for all this time.
I can’t fix that. But I can fix what comes next.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I keep my voice low. “Not the world, I get that. But me.”
She’s quiet, her fingers still bunched in my shirt.
Then she tilts her head back to look up at me, her eyes red and swollen, her face still wet.
“I got so used to keeping it,” she says.
“And at first… I figured you wouldn’t be any more likely to believe me than anyone else.
Maybe less. And I didn’t want to seem weak in front of you. ”
“You’re not weak.” I say it flat and certain, holding her gaze so she actually hears it.
She blinks up at me.
“You’re stronger than you know,” I tell her. “Stronger than that bird you rescued. You’ve been carrying something for years that would’ve broken most people without ever letting it stop you.” I shake my head slightly. “You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever known, Chloe.”
She drops her face to my shoulder, and I feel the shudder move through her.
“I believe you,” I say into her hair, kissing her temple. “I want you to actually hear that. I believe every fucking word of it.” I pause. “And Spencer is off the project. That’s already done. I’m going to make sure you never have to be in the same room as him again.”
A soft, sad sound comes out of her, almost a laugh. “You can’t promise that. He went through school with us. He has the same contacts, runs in the same circles. I’ve been crossing paths with him for years, Tristan. I just… learned to shove it all down and get through it.”
The thought of her standing in rooms with that man, composed and untouchable, holding all of it inside while he stood there like nothing ever happened, makes me feel physically ill.
“You should never have had to do that,” I grit out. “It’s not right.”
Her face crumples. Whatever she was holding on to slips away, and she cries again, harder than before, her body shaking with it, and I hold her tighter and let her. She needs this. She’s been keeping this fucked up secret for years and she needs to let it out. I’m not going anywhere.
I move us to the couch after a while, settling with her on my lap, my arms around her as I talk in a quiet, continuous stream, barely paying attention to what I’m saying.
I murmur her name, and her nickname. I tell her that she’s safe, that I’ve got her, that I’ll always have her back.
That she’s so fucking strong, but she can let go now.
She cries until it seems like she can’t anymore, the sobs gradually giving way to quieter breathing, and then her breathing slows all the way down and she goes heavy and still against me.
I sit there for a while after she falls asleep, my hand still in her hair, battling my own wild emotions. Then I carry her upstairs.
She doesn’t stir, just stays warm and limp in my arms, and I lay her down on her side of the bed and pull the blanket up over her and stand there for a moment looking at her face.
The tension she always carries even in sleep is gone, and she looks wrung out in a way that makes a lump tighten my throat.
I stand there longer than I should before I make myself leave.
Back downstairs, I push through the balcony door and pull it closed behind me. The night air is cool, the ocean is loud as I pull out my phone and scroll to Dominic’s contact.
I love all of my brothers, but Dominic is the one I need tonight.
Growing up, he was the one who put himself between the rest of us and whatever needed dealing with, no questions asked, fists if that’s what it took.
He’s sharp as hell with money and strategy, but more than that, he doesn’t hesitate when something actually needs to get done, and tonight something actually needs to get done.
The call picks up on the second ring, and I hear the echo of a gym in the background. He used to get into bar fights, and now he spars in the boxing ring at his gym from time to time.
“Give me a second,” he says, and I hear a soft thud that might be gloves hitting the floor. “Okay. What’s going on?”
“I need your help,” I tell him, the words flat and hard.
He must pick up on the edge in my voice, because his tone turns serious. “Talk to me.”
“It’s about Spencer Noble. Chloe told me something tonight that I had absolutely no fucking idea about, and I’m still trying to get my head around it.”
Dominic is quiet for a second on the other end of the line. “How bad?”
“Bad, Dom. Really fucking bad.”
He doesn’t pause this time. “What do you need?”
A surge of gratitude rises up in me. There are no conditions, no follow-up questions, just those words: what do you need.
I think about my father’s funeral, the five of us standing there barely knowing how to be brothers outside of a boardroom, and it hits me hard that we’ve come a hell of a long way since then as a family.
Whatever else my father got wrong, maybe he saw this coming. Maybe bringing us all back under the same roof was the whole point, and everything else was secondary to that.
“A few things,” I tell Dominic. “Let me walk you through it.”
And I do, leaning on the railing with the dark ocean below me as I lay it all out, my mind already three steps ahead of where we are right now.