Текст книги "Beautiful Addictions"
Автор книги: Season Vining
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
14. Revolution
The movement of one celestial body as it orbits another.
Tristan and Josie sat in the beer garden at New Orleans Creole Cafe. It was a charming place nestled in historic Old Town. Tristan sipped an Abita Turbodog while Josie fought the urge to pull the marker from her bag and tag the seat of her chair. It had been awhile since she’d thrown up a significant piece, and the urge to do so scratched at her.
“What are you thinking so hard about?” Tristan asked.
“Going out writing. It’s been awhile.”
Tristan frowned and set his bottle down on the table.
“I hate that you do that,” he said, staring past her.
“I know. It’s not dangerous like you think. I’ve never gotten caught.”
“‘In a closed society where everybody’s guilty, the only crime is getting caught.’”
“Hmm. Who said that?” she asked.
“Hunter S. Thompson. A man so avant-garde that his suicide note was published in Rolling Stone.”
“Wow.”
“I read this book called Engaging Art. It was commissioned as a study, but it’s an interesting read. It talks about how art participation, of any kind, in today’s society will encourage future generations to do so.”
“See? I’m encouraging future generations,” Josie said.
“Encouraging what, though? Vandalism? It also discusses people’s motivations behind their own artistic expression. So what’s your motivation?”
“I don’t know, Tristan. I like the idea that there are permanent parts of me out there. It’s like being able to communicate without having to say anything. You know?”
Tristan nodded and finished off his beer.
“You’re talented. You always have been. You could express that talent in other ways, legal ways. If they catch you, they can link every piece you’ve ever done.”
“Don’t worry so much. It’ll be hard to connect all my work since I changed my writing name a few months ago. I used to sign everything JayBee.”
“And now?” he asked.
Josie looked away, a smile stretching across her lips.
“Bundy.”
Tristan laughed and slid his arm around her shoulders.
“Josie!” Monica called out when she spotted the couple.
She ignored Josie’s groan as they stood to greet her. Monica could barely contain her excitement. She wanted to wrap Josie in a hug and thank her for giving their relationship a chance, but she knew that personal boundaries should not be crossed. Instead, she offered a nervous wave.
“Sorry I’m late. I got held up at the office. I swear, I have to file paperwork every time I take a bathroom break. We like to kill trees apparently. Anyway, you two look great.”
“Thanks,” Tristan answered, though it sounded more like a question.
He took a few seconds to process Monica. Their last meeting had been brief, but he could tell she was what his mother called high-spirited.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” Josie asked, scanning the sidewalk.
“Ugh,” Monica grunted. “He can’t make it. Work again. Some big real estate buyout mumbo jumbo. I don’t know. I guess it’s better to be busy, right? Job security and all.”
As much as she hadn’t been looking forward to a date with Monica, Josie had a decent time. It sucked that Rob had to work late. Josie was curious about any man who could tame the unstoppable force of nature known as Monica Templeton. Expectedly, Tristan was a pro at making Monica feel included and comfortable. She rambled on and on about nothing in particular. With Tristan there, Josie found it easier to keep her eye rolling and huffing to a minimum.
Dinner was casual, and after two glasses of wine, Josie found herself less annoyed and more entertained by Monica’s effervescent personality. Tristan didn’t seem to be fazed by her dramatic flair in the least. He was kind and engaging and as charming as ever.
“Well, thanks for a lovely evening,” Monica said.
Josie snorted at her formal statement. Tristan nudged her with his elbow.
“It was a pleasure,” Tristan answered with his special crooked smile.
“Oh good Lord, you’re adorable. You better hold on to this one,” Monica said to Josie before winking and trotting off down the sidewalk.
* * *
Monica hadn’t been ready to head home when dinner was over. She knew Tristan and Josie were eager to be alone, so she said her good night and walked down to a nearby bar for a drink. She sat at the bar and ordered a margarita, the specialty. Monica couldn’t help but smile as she took in the decor around her. The festive colors and music seemed to further encourage her mood. She sent a text to Rob, letting him know where she was. He promised to meet her there soon.
She had been disappointed that he missed dinner, stuck at the office yet again. As happy as Monica was with Rob, she hated that he wasn’t always available to her. She knew he was an executive at a corporate real estate company, but she never asked about his work. It seemed to be the only topic that caused him stress. All she could do was become his distraction. Monica had never been so important to another human being before and she absolutely adored the feeling of being needed.
After assessing the thin crowd, she sipped her drink and watched the bartender mix some fruity concoction and flirt with the tourists.
“Monica?” a familiar voice said from behind her.
She turned to find Evan standing there, eyeing her like prey. He was dressed in dark-wash jeans and a black button-up shirt, looking handsome and a little dangerous. His warm brown eyes sparkled from beneath a baseball cap. Even through his charm, she could sense that his thoughts were anything but pure.
“Evan,” she said, giving him a cautious smile.
He took a seat next to her and ordered a whiskey. Immediately, Monica was racked with guilt just for being in his presence. She wavered between wishing that Rob would show up and wishing that he’d stay away.
“I was in the neighborhood. What are you doing here all alone?”
“My boyfriend had to work late, but he’ll be here any minute,” she said confidently, hoping Evan could not sense her half-truth.
“Good, good. You seem to be in excellent spirits. Did you have a good day?”
“Yep. I just had dinner with a friend and her boyfriend. Well, she doesn’t really consider me a friend, but I think we are closer now. Hopefully, I’ll see her again soon since her boyfriend is going out of town tomorrow. Maybe I’ll stop by and surprise her or something. Oh my God, I’m rambling.”
Monica promptly shut her mouth and motioned for the bartender to bring her another drink. She had no idea why she became a blabbering fool around this man. She hadn’t suffered from word vomit like this since she was in high school.
Evan laughed and took a long pull from his drink, enjoying the slow burn of the whiskey down his throat. He leaned in close to her, barely catching the scent of her floral perfume.
“Do I make you nervous, Ms. Templeton?”
“Uh, no, I just—wait, how do you know my last name? I don’t remember mentioning it.”
Monica eyed him suspiciously, suddenly uneasy under his hungry gaze. Evan shifted in his seat and emptied his glass. His eyes darted back and forth, as if searching for an acceptable answer.
“Well, I’m embarrassed to admit that I read it off of your work badge when we met at the coffee shop. I may have found you on Facebook as well. So I know where you work and where you play,” he said, gesturing to the bar, “but where do you live?”
“I think I’ll hold on to that tidbit of information for now,” she joked, feeling a bit more nervous than before.
“Aww, I’m not a bad guy,” he said. “Just for good measure, I’ll tell you where I live. Ocean Beach.”
“I love O.B. Spent a lot of time there when I was a teenager. We used to get there early and spend all day on the beach. We’d eat lunch at Hodad’s and get ice cream before walking over to the tide pools in the afternoon. Good stuff.”
Evan smiled and motioned to the bartender for a new drink.
“Well, hey, you should come over sometime. We could grill and you could help me decorate my new place. I know you’re good at it.”
“How would you know that?” she asked.
“Well, uh, you always look impeccable. I bet that spills over to your home too.”
Monica felt slightly flattered but leery of his words. She took a swig of her drink and smiled at him, playing with the placement of her lips, not wanting him to read too much into her polite smile. Believing that she was overthinking things, she decided to just be pleased by his admiration. It wasn’t often that Monica had male attention.
“So, about this friend who is not a friend but may have become a friend.” He paused, hoping she’d catch on to his teasing. “It’s very considerate of you to spend time with her while the boyfriend’s away.”
“I owe her so much more than that.”
“Hmm, that seems loaded for someone who is barely a friend.”
“It’s complicated,” she answered quickly, finishing her drink.
“Well, I’m all ears if you’re aching to talk.”
“She’s not achin’ for anything from you,” Rob’s harsh voice cut in.
The two spun around to find him scowling down on them. Evan straightened his shoulders, sitting taller on the stool now, while Monica looked meek and a little bit guilty. Darkness clouded Rob’s face, his gaze murderous.
“Rob, you remember Evan, right?” she asked, gesturing to her drinking partner, feigning innocence. He nodded but kept his hands at his sides and his lips pressed together in a harsh line.
“He was just leaving, right?” Rob sneered.
Evan leaned back against the bar, making himself at home.
“Actually, I just got here.”
Fury blurred Rob’s vision as he rushed at the man and pulled him from his seat. His fist twisted Evan’s collar as he held him upright.
“I said, you were just leaving,” Rob’s voice said in an eerily calm tone.
“Rob!” Monica shouted, surprised by his sudden hostility.
He ignored Monica, waiting for Evan’s compliance. With a tight nod, Evan relented. He threw a few bills on the bar and said good night before leaving. Monica didn’t watch him go, more concerned with the seething man seated next to her now.
“Everything okay?” the bartender asked.
“Jameson neat,” Rob said before turning his attention to Monica. “What was he doing here?”
“I swear I just ran into him. I don’t think it was a coincidence, though. He creeps me out.”
Rob nodded stiffly and threw back his drink, motioning for another one instantly. Monica had never seen him this angry before. While it was a bit frightening, it was also incredibly sexy. She almost felt guilty at the lust swirling inside of her.
“Monica, I told you that I don’t trust him. I know it’s just a gut feeling, but I expect you to respect that. I don’t share.”
She was his, in every way, but hearing it come from his lips was somehow empowering. She decided to provoke him even further. The fact that he thought she would stray so easily was starting to piss her off.
“Oh, well, that’s too bad. I was just about to hop on his lap in the middle of this bar before you got here,” Monica taunted. “It was just conversation.”
They left shortly after, Rob driving erratically through the city. He hadn’t spoken a word to her in nearly thirty minutes, and to say it was driving her insane would be an understatement. Once inside her apartment, he flew at her. At first Monica cringed away, unsure of what to expect from his attack, but she knew in her heart that she had no reason to be afraid.
Like a caveman staking his claim, he tore at her clothes while kissing her. What started out as rough and obsessive slowly morphed into slow and sensual, where he placed soft heated kisses against her lips and whispered his apologies against her skin. Their intertwined bodies became a declaration of infatuation and mutual understanding.
Monica fell asleep to the feel of his strong arms and the sound of his loving whispers around her.
* * *
Back at Josie’s apartment, Tristan undressed for bed while Josie washed her face. Tristan had insisted on bringing some things from his place back to hers. So he wrapped her mattress in new clean sheets and stacked pillows at the head. He settled in and started on his book while he waited for her.
“So, you’re leaving in the morning?” Josie asked from the bathroom.
Tristan looked up from his book and eyed her reflection in the mirror. She looked nervous. He wanted to smooth the lines in her forehead and tell her that everything would be okay, but he hated to make unrealistic promises. The last three days had been heavenly. They had existed in their little domestic bubble, behaving as if there weren’t evil plots and assassins out to get them.
“Yeah, I plan on driving eight to ten hours a day, so I should get there by Saturday night.”
Josie stood in the doorway to her bedroom, watching him watch her. She smiled at the sight of Tristan on her mattress with his paperback book and his glasses firmly in place. He fit here with her; she couldn’t imagine anyone else ever doing so.
“Just let me finish this chapter and I’ll get the light,” he mumbled, not looking up from his page.
She crawled in next to him and lay back against the borrowed pillow. Josie loved the new sheets and fluffy pillows. It was a luxury she didn’t even know she missed.
Tristan closed his book and folded his glasses, placing them both on the floor. He turned to Josie and pulled her closer, wanting nothing more than to memorize the feel of her arms wrapped around him. They’d spent so much time together lately, he wasn’t sure how he’d survive time apart.
“I’m going to miss you,” he said into the quiet room, squeezing her tighter. “It’s going to be a long, lonely drive back to Louisiana.”
Josie avoided eye contact and any real emotional declarations.
“Do you think you’ll be able to find out anything? It could be dangerous. I don’t think you should go.”
“I’ll be fine. I have connections there, people who can help.”
Josie nodded, knowing he felt like he had to do this. She wanted to scream and cry and beg him to stay, but she knew her effort would be futile. So instead she sat up and placed kisses on his chest. She brought his forearm across his body and traced the lines of their tree on his skin.
“Is that my old hoodie?” Tristan asked, spying the black article tucked into the corner of the room.
“Yeah. I used to sleep in it, but it doesn’t smell like you anymore.” Josie took a deep breath, exhaling slowly to kill her building panic. “Please come back to me,” she whispered.
“I promise,” he answered, lifting her chin so that she was forced to meet his eyes.
“Promises are only your best intentions,” she reminded him.
For the rest of the night, they alternated between making love and sleeping. Each time he touched her, they would ravage and cling to each other, whispering words of devotion. In the early hours of morning, just before sunrise, Josie woke him one last time. This time, with tears of desperation, she begged him. She didn’t want soft and sweet, she wanted hard, possessive fucking. She longed for her body to remind her of this night with bouts of soreness and aching thighs.
Tristan gave her what she wanted. When she was passed out, he wrapped her in the cool sheets and placed a kiss on her temple. He was exhausted but forced himself to shower.
As the early light tried to push its way through the thick curtain, Tristan stood at the foot of the mattress, watching Josie sleep. Even in her slumber, she called to him. He eyed his packed bag waiting by the door. Tristan summoned his strength and whispered his good-bye. Remembering his old hoodie, he grabbed it and threw it on, knowing that it would be as close as he could get to being wrapped up in Josie.
15. Occultation
The act of one celestial body obscuring another.
Tristan had done some hard things in his life. He’d faced his own demons and those of others. He’d been shot at, threatened, and survived heartbreak, but nothing had been harder than leaving the girl he loved.
In her slumber, her face was no longer stamped with the hardness and doubt like when she was awake. Her lashes cast tiny shadows on her freckled cheeks. Despite the way they turned down into a natural frown, her pouty lips had begged to be kissed. Like some kind of foreshadowed tragedy, Tristan had got this feeling in his gut that he’d never see her again. It’s what made it so hard to leave.
In the dark and dingy hall of her building, he’d pounded on Alex’s door until rousing the man from his sleep. The door swung open and a Glock was pointed directly at his head. Tristan didn’t even flinch as he waited for Alex to recognize him. He knew what being on the business end of a piece of steel felt like, and through the years he’d grown indifferent to it. Alex smiled and dropped the gun to his side.
“Damn, man. What the hell couldn’t wait until the sun comes up?” Alex asked, gesturing for Tristan to come in.
Tristan declined.
“I need you to keep an eye on her, more than usual. There’s a hit out on her. A professional. I’m heading back home to see what I can find out.”
“I’ll kill anyone who comes near her,” Alex growled. “Why not bring her?”
“I can’t take her with me. It’s too dangerous. I thought about taking her to my place, but they know where I live. She’ll be safer here.”
Alex leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms, exhaling loudly.
“You know I got her. You fuck with me, you fuckin’ with the best!”
“Nice, Tony Montana.”
The two bumped fists in solidarity, a silent vow between them to trust each other unreservedly.
As Tristan traveled east on the I-10, he found himself frustrated with the amount of time he had to spend alone. He wasn’t sure how closely he was being watched by Moloney’s men, so he stuck with driving back to Louisiana instead of flying. It was easier to stay off their radar this way.
For the past thirty-eight hours, every waking thought had been of Josie. Trapped with no one to converse with but the open road, he became a prisoner of his memories. There were no distractions here, just the rhythmic passing of mile marker signs and his fellow travelers tucked away in their vehicles. He wondered where they were headed and what they expected to find when they got there. He wondered the same for himself. Sometimes he’d drive for hours without even recognizing where he was or where he’d been.
As he navigated away from the West Coast, he felt the shift in the air as it became warmer and denser. The South presented the familiar scene of more trees than buildings. Pine and oak and cypress flew by in a streaked green blur past his window. It felt like home.
Home was where his parents lived, in their ostentatious Victorian-style house on the West Bank. It was where he lived his entire childhood, surrounded by the same common faces and same group of peers. Home was where all the memories of McKenzi began and ended. It was where Fiona entered his life, where he made hasty decisions and had thrown away his future. It was where he sat on the leather couch in their living room and broke his parents’ hearts.
Tristan had debated whether to call his mother and father to let them know he was coming. Eventually, his cowardice won out and he decided to just surprise them. A sly grin crept across his lips as he thought of the heart attack his father would have at the sight of him. The prestigious Dr. Daniel Fallbrook would surely not embrace his only child looking like a common criminal. Tristan knew, though, that his mother wouldn’t care one bit. She would cling to him and bathe him with her tears, just happy to have him back. Suddenly, he didn’t dread heading back home and he pushed the accelerator down.
Just before eleven o’clock in the evening, Tristan turned down the long driveway lined by hundred-year-old oak trees draped with Spanish moss. His nerves got the better of him and he wiped his sweating palms on the thighs of his jeans. His pulse quickened, and he struggled to understand why anxiety was plaguing him. Then it occurred to him—he was afraid of rejection.
He parked behind his father’s car and killed the headlights. For a full two minutes he sat there debating whether to back out and find a hotel in the city. It was then that the old, familiar tree came into focus. Sitting at the edge of their property, it was barely visible with no moonlight filtering through the cloudy night sky. It sent a warm feeling through his chest, and he remembered that he’d come here for Josie above all else.
“Stop being such a pussy. Rejection is to discard as defective or useless. They wouldn’t do that,” he told himself.
Tristan shook his head, threw his bag over his shoulder, and decided to leave his pistol beneath the driver’s seat. He climbed the steps to the front door and took a deep breath before ringing the bell. It felt odd, considering he’d never rung the bell at his own house before.
Time passed slowly, each second exponentially increasing his unease. He rang the bell again and exhaled, needing to get this part over with so he could focus on Josie. A few seconds later, he heard shuffling feet and whispered conversation on the other side of the door. The red door creaked open and both of his parents stood there gawking. Tristan squared his shoulders and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, waiting for the moment of recognition.
They looked tired and weary. His mother was as beautiful as ever. Even huddled behind her husband in her nightclothes, not a hair was out of place. Tristan’s father looked a bit older, the graying hair at his temples giving him away. Their eyes started at his feet and did a synchronized dance up his frame, lingering on the art on his skin and finally reaching his face. His mother gasped aloud, her trembling hand flying to her open mouth.
“Tristan?” Daniel’s crackling voice barely got out.
“Hi,” Tristan answered, shuffling his feet while one hand rubbed at the back of his neck.
Bitsy pushed her husband aside, no longer frozen from shock. With tears in her eyes, she threw herself at Tristan, burying her face in his chest. Tristan wrapped his mother in a firm embrace.
“You’re here? You’re really here?” she whispered between sniffles.
“Yeah, Ma. I’m here.”
Tristan placed a kiss on top of her head just as she released him and took a step back. Daniel watched the reunion with conflicting emotions. Elation, concern, and relief billowed around his head, making a conscious decision impossible. Instinctively, he held out his hand and hoped it would convey his forgiveness.
“Son,” Daniel said.
“Dad,” Tristan answered, taking his father’s hand and shaking it.
Without letting go, Daniel pulled him in for a hug. Despite their disagreements in the past, this was his child, his flesh and blood, and he loved him unconditionally.
Bitsy ushered them inside, immediately assuming her motherly responsibilities again. She felt so first-rate in that role, so fulfilled. Tears filled her eyes as she watched Tristan sit at the bar practically inhaling the sandwich she’d made. Her boy had become a man. He looked different, so grown up. He looked like a stranger sitting in her kitchen.
Daniel joined his wife and watched their son in fascination. Of all the paths he’d imagined for Tristan, he wondered which one the boy had ventured down. He wondered which one had led him to become this man, the one with cropped hair and tattoos.
“Tristan, it’s really good to see you.” Daniel spoke softly, not knowing how to broach the subject of Tristan’s motives. “What brought you back to us?”
Tristan stopped midchew and stared at his father. Of course they deserved an explanation of his sudden arrival, but he couldn’t bring himself to share the entire story just yet. He threw the last bite of sandwich in his mouth and swallowed quickly.
“Can we talk tomorrow? I just drove for three days. I really need to crash.”
“Of course,” his mother answered, a sad smile pulling at her lips.
“We will talk in the morning,” his father said, daring Tristan to refuse.
Without another word, Bitsy led Tristan up to his old room, where he discovered that they hadn’t changed a thing. His eyes scanned the room and he smiled at all the memories he found there. Each shelf was still filled with his book and music collections, not a speck of dust covering them. Too tired to explore, he fell onto his bed, face first.
“Do you need anything, baby?” his mother asked.
“No, I’m good. Just tired. So tired,” he mumbled into the mattress.
“Okay, well, you know where we are if you need anything. Throw a rock.”
Bitsy smiled at the sight of his large frame sprawled out across the bed. His feet hung over the edge and his spread arms touched each edge. She wanted to go to him, tuck herself in beside him, and hold him, but she knew he’d have none of that. She resisted the urge to kiss him good night and quietly closed the door behind her.
That night, as they all slept the deepest of slumbers, the Fallbrook house, made of brick and mortar, magically transformed back into a home.
* * *
Feeling like a hostage, Josie paced the perimeter of her apartment for the twentieth time. She’d never had a problem with confinement before. She’d spent so much time in small spaces, so much time alone that she should be used to this. She knew it had everything to do with the fact that both Tristan and Alex had forbidden her to leave the apartment. Solitude was okay only when it was on her terms.
This was the third morning she’d endured since Tristan had left. While she tried to remember what her life was like before she’d found him, she couldn’t. All she knew was that she wanted him here. She wanted him safe and happy. She just wanted him.
A bang at the door jarred her from her inner ramblings. She flew across the living room to open it. She had two of the locks undone before she remembered to ask who it was.
“Alex, mami,” he shouted.
Josie let him in the apartment, along with the delicious-smelling breakfast calling to her from a Styrofoam container.
“Ohhh, what’s that?” she asked, holding out her hands.
He gave her the food, took a seat on her couch, and propped his large boots up on her coffee table.
“A breakfast burrito from Sombrero. De nada.”
“Thanks,” she mumbled with a mouth full of food.
Alex nodded and flipped on her television, grumbling about her lack of channels.
“Maybe you should come stay at my place. At least I have cable.”
“No way. The fact that I’m stuck inside till further notice is enough of a punishment.”
“Fine, whatever. You heard from ya boy?”
“He sent me a text last night, telling me that he made it to his parents’ house, but that’s it,” she answered, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice.
“No worries, Jo. He’ll be fine.”
“I know.”
But she didn’t really know, she only hoped. Josie had never been one to pray, but the last two nights she’d found herself pleading for his safe return. She tried to reason with herself, knowing that he was intelligent and had been hardened by the streets, but it offered little solace.
“With me here, you’re safe. No one gonna mess with this cobra.”
Alex flexed his large arm and curled his fist around, imitating a snake’s movement. Josie rolled her eyes.
“Know the difference between this and a real cobra?”
“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“If a real cobra gets ya, you might survive.”
He laughed at his own joke and lay back against the couch cushions. Josie shook her head and decided to make no comment. She didn’t want to encourage him.
“Ya think he’ll find somethin’ down there, Jo?” Alex asked.
“I don’t even care anymore. I just want him back here with me. We could take off. Try to outrun them. Or, if it’s inevitable that they’re going to find me and kill me, I’d rather spend the time I have left with Tristan.”
“That’s heavy. You miss him, huh?” Alex asked, his eyes studying her closely.
She looked down at her lap and her suddenly unappealing breakfast before answering.
“I love him.”
* * *
After swearing them to secrecy, Tristan sat his parents down around their dining room table and told them everything he knew. He relived his introduction to a life of crime, his breakup with Fiona, and his life-changing discovery of McKenzi Delaune. They remained silent the entire time, processing the details of the story he told. When he was finished, Tristan sat back in his chair and exhaled, relieved by no longer shouldering this burden alone. Daniel and Bitsy remained quiet, letting the facts and implications sink in.
“I need to find out how Moloney is connected to Josie, why he wants her dead. I don’t want to involve either of you. I don’t want to put you in danger. Just know that I have to do this. I won’t lose her again.”
“I can’t believe she’s alive,” Bitsy whispered, reaching across the table to rest her hand on Tristan’s.
“Most days, I can’t believe it either,” he said solemnly.
“Organized crime, Tristan? You can’t be serious,” Daniel said. “You could have done anything!”
“Honey,” Bitsy said, placing her hand on Daniel’s shoulder.
“I just don’t understand how we lost you,” he said defeatedly.
Bitsy wiped tears from her eyes before they could slide down and ruin her makeup. She looked at her husband and then her son, not knowing how to mediate this battle.
“That’s not important right now, Dad. Can we focus on why I’m here?”
Daniel took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“What’s your plan, Tristan?” Daniel asked.
“I’m going to go talk to anyone at the station who was working when Earl was there. I also know a few people who work for Moloney in the city. I don’t want to alert him to my presence, so I’ll try them last.”
“This is dangerous. I don’t like the idea of you getting involved,” Daniel warned.
“I’m already involved.”
“I knew Moloney was dicey, but I never dreamed it reached this far.”
“How did you know about Moloney?” Tristan asked, his curiosity piqued by his father’s statement.
Daniel sighed and folded his arms across his chest. He hadn’t planned on ever having to tell this story. He slid his eyes toward Bitsy, knowing she’d be displeased that he’d kept it from her.
“The spring before your sixteenth birthday, Dean Moloney’s son, Dean Jr., was diagnosed with a heart deformity. It was somehow undetected for years. After a consultation with his parents, we all agreed that surgery was the only way to give him a fighting chance. I performed the procedure, assisted by Dr. Marcus. He flat-lined twice on my table, and the second time, we couldn’t get him back.”
