Текст книги "Beautiful Addictions"

Автор книги: Season Vining

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

7. Eclipse

A partial or total obscuring of one celestial body by another.

Rob pulled into a parking space and killed the engine. It was rare to find a spot so close to home. He grabbed the four bags of groceries and walked the half block to his door. The sun was shining and the air was cool and salty. When all was quiet, he could even hear the waves against the shore. Beach life was good.

“Hey, man. How’s it going?” his neighbor asked.

The man stood in the shade of a palm tree waving at him. He wore board shorts and no shirt, standard dress code for these parts. Rob’s neighbors were pleasant enough, old hippies who made a living painting murals and teaching tourists how to surf.

“Good, thanks,” he answered.

He put the bags down on his front porch while fumbling with his keys. He could feel his neighbor’s eyes on him.

“Groceries?” the guy asked. “Man, I’m starving.”

Rob nodded and slid his key into the lock. Was he supposed to offer him some groceries or invite him over for dinner? He didn’t know protocol for curing the munchies of your stoner neighbor. Once inside, he found comfort in the distance between them, no longer responsible for his side of their awkward conversation.

New to the city, and the West Coast, Rob Nettles found himself out of sorts. He had moved for work, transferred for a more advantageous position. He hadn’t thought twice about leaving his former home behind.

He’d settled himself into a small beach neighborhood within the city, trying to mingle among the locals. The community was home to free spirits who supported only local businesses and were sympathetic to its large vagrant population. In the four weeks he’d been there, he’d become addicted to authentic Mexican food and learned to identify the best places for imported beer. That was the extent of his adaptation.

At sunset, he walked the short block to the beach. Content to just sit in the sand and watch the sun drop into the water, Rob knew he had it good. He wondered if the people who had been here for years still felt the appreciation he did. He couldn’t imagine ever taking this for granted. This city felt alive, like the thriving metropolis knew him and welcomed him.

He’d called some of the biggest cities in the country home, but this place was different. The Pacific Ocean calmed him, and the energy of the city fed him. He knew it wouldn’t be long until he assumed the way of life here. With its laissez-faire attitude and persuasive charm, he’d be a fool not to.

Mississippi, the place of Rob’s childhood, was an alternate universe compared to the white sand beaches of California. Back home, the oppressive summer’s heat and humidity could melt you to the sidewalk. Meanwhile, San Diego always offered a cool breeze and moderate temperatures. Rob had traded his boots for flip-flops, his hat for a messy haircut, and his bluegrass for reggae. Still, each day he returned home to the empty apartment, he felt like he hadn’t exactly found where he fit in.

That was, until he’d found a woman by the name of Monica Templeton. Within a matter of minutes, she’d turned his world upside down, making him abandon all reason. He let down his guard and pulled her inside. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This doesn’t happen in real life, not this fast.

Twenty-four hours after their first encounter, he knew he’d never been more wrong. It happens. And it had happened to him.

* * *

After spending that first night on the couch with Josie, Tristan hadn’t stepped foot outside her apartment. He’d called work, citing a family emergency, and stayed for two more days. They did nothing more than talk and sleep, and sometimes he’d watch her sketch things in her notebook while he read. Most of their time together had been spent telling stories of their past. For so long those memories had been pushed into the background of his mind. It invigorated him to relive those happy scenes, playing them out for Josie to hear.

Tristan slid his tray onto the lunchroom table and took a seat. He poked at the brown glob of chili with his spoon.

“Where’s Mac?” he asked.

“She checked out in second hour,” Kohen answered.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. April told Ryan who told me. April’s in that class with her.”

Tristan abandoned his food and searched the rows of tables for April Landry. This girl was the mouth of the South, and if anyone knew details, she surely would. Spotting her three tables over, he approached the group.

“Why did Mac leave?” he blurted out, interrupting a conversation already in progress.

“Who?” she said.

“McKenzi!”

“Oh, her,” April said, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know. One minute she was there, the next she was gone.”

The afternoon was torture. Tristan’s mind went over every possible scenario, each one more terrible than the one before. By the time the last bell rang, he’d convinced himself that McKenzi had suffered some sort of life-threatening injury and was lying helpless in Charity Hospital.

When the last bell rang, he ran the entire way to her house, tripping up the steps and collapsing onto the front porch. He beat on the front door, yelling for Earl to answer it and tell him that Mac was okay.

Finally, the door was thrown open and McKenzi stood staring at her exhausted boyfriend.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Are you okay? Let me look at you,” he almost shouted. Tristan entered her house, his hands checking the functionality of each limb, his eyes searching for signs of injury. He spun her in place, completing his thorough examination. “How’s your pulse? Are you feeling faint? Seeing spots? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Are you done?” McKenzi asked, one eyebrow quirked at his crazed behavior.

“Why did you leave school?” Tristan asked, his voice accusatory.

“None of your business.”

“Tell me, Mac!”

“I don’t want to.”

“Fine! Just have your little secret,” he yelled.

“I can’t, Tristan.”

“You sure the hell can. I’ll go up there and rip every *NSYNC poster from your wall!”

“Fine, you hardheaded pig! I got my period, okay? I bled all over my favorite blue jean skirt and had to come home! Are you satisfied, you nosy ass?”

Tristan scrambled backward off her porch and, without another word, took off toward his house. When he finally made it home, he begged his mother to help him make it right. He couldn’t stand the idea of Mac being angry with him.

Two hours later, McKenzi answered the door to find a blue gift bag topped with a yellow bow. She looked around but found no sign of its owner. Tristan smiled from his hiding place, watching her carry the package inside. Having a doctor for a father, Tristan’s thorough sex talk had involved all aspects of reproduction and the female cycle. McKenzi sat at her kitchen table and unpacked her gift, item by item, unaware of being observed through the large bay window. There was a bottle of ibuprofen, a package of chocolates, a brand-new blue jean skirt with a tiny note written in Tristan’s obsessively neat cursive. McKenzi smiled, barely stifling her laughter as she read it: “I’m sorry. You’ll feel better in five to seven days. Tristan.”

Josie was so tickled by the story she smothered his face with kisses and insisted that he had to be the sweetest twelve-year-old in the history of the world. Tristan returned her kisses and whispered how he wished she could remember that day to tell him her own version of it.

Their relationship was a curious one—giving and taking in small doses. Josie still seemed shielded, as if she were awaiting rejection. Tristan knew no matter what he verbally promised, she’d never believe that he was here to stay. So he vowed to show her, to prove to her that he wasn’t just a fleeting reminder of her past. He felt as if his roots had taken hold and wrapped themselves around Josie. He was immovable and he’d remain that way for as long as she’d allow it.

The woman who sat before him was molded from years of acts so damaging Tristan couldn’t bring himself to imagine them. The fact that the people who were entrusted with her well-being had brought harm to her made him boil with anger. He didn’t understand how anyone could look into those eyes and bring hurt to this girl.

Tristan had always been protective. His father taught him to love and cherish women and to keep them safe at any cost. Dr. Daniel Fallbrook was just that kind of man. He still believed in chivalry and courtship and reverence for your elders. Tristan learned early on in life that his father’s word was final, his mother was never to be disrespected, and he was to put forth his very best effort on all tasks.

When Tristan lost McKenzi, he’d been devastated. He’d felt abandoned and completely cheated by her death. Everyone looked at him with sympathetic but dismissive eyes. They thought he would soon get over it. He was just a child. No one understood what Mac meant to him; they never would. Tristan had mourned her with every piece of his mind, body, and soul.

It had been one thing when she’d moved across the country. Both of them had been heartbroken. But they’d made promises to find each other again. There was solace in the fact that McKenzi still existed, however unreachable she may have been. When news of her death surfaced, Tristan hadn’t believed it. He’d thought that it had been a joke of the cruelest nature and raged out at anyone who would listen.

Looking back, he recognized now that he had gone through every Kübler-Ross stage of grief. After denial, Tristan’s anger had tried to purge McKenzi from his system, and when she wouldn’t go, he had begun to bargain. He’d begged and pleaded for just one more chance to see her, for just one more moment to tell her how much he needed her.

To a fourteen-year-old-boy, depression was not a familiar state. Though he knew the definition of the word and all its symptoms, Tristan was not able to recognize it in himself. Even though his grades suffered and he didn’t have the will to eat, Tristan thought he had finally accepted the loss of his best friend. His mother had watched him with a worried eye and his father had grown tired of the moping.

The summer after his sixteenth birthday marked two years since McKenzi had been gone. He’d finally become social again, hanging out with friends and spending more time outside his bedroom than in it.

This particular day, a group of boys had gone down to the lake for a party. There had been loud music and kids dancing around an overgrown bonfire. Couples huddled in dark shadows, kissing and pawing at each other. Girls, wearing next to nothing in the heat, danced together, taunting the boys. Tristan was immune to all of it. The waves lapped at the shore as he sat motionless, eyeing the beer growing warm in his hand.

She’d first appeared as part of a group, though Tristan would say that Fiona stood out like a goddess among mortals. Her cheerless blue eyes had reflected his own feelings and he’d felt drawn to her sadness. That was the instant that his life shifted, the circumstance that set into motion the destruction of every dream he had ever built.

Fiona, the bottle blond with an acidic smile, had changed who he was destined to be. The girl had redirected his life, and he’d been all too willing to let her. Tristan had left behind his family and embraced her as the only thing tethering him to happiness.

“Where were you?” Josie’s voice startled Tristan, and he looked down to see her eyes fixed upon his. “Up here,” she clarified, tapping at his temple. “Where were you?”

“In Wonderland,” he answered absently.

“How’s the Queen?”

“Which one?”

“Huh?” Josie asked. “The mean one.”

“Well, there’s the Queen of Hearts in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and then there’s the Red Queen in the sequel, Through the Looking Glass,” Tristan answered.

“Whichever one said ‘Off with their heads!’ I liked her.”

Tristan smiled.

“That’s Disney’s version. She’s more of a combination of the Queen of Hearts, the Duchess, and the Red Queen. Pretty much a sadist who is easily annoyed.”

“So she just goes around beheading anyone who irks her. I can get behind that,” Josie said.

“If we lived in a world like that, we’d have a much smaller population. Get cut off in traffic? Bang. Cashier doesn’t take your coupon? Bang. Chaos and no laws to hold people accountable for their actions.”

“Can you imagine the thrill, though? Never knowing when you were going to die? Maybe you piss someone off and that’s it. You’re gone. I think it would force people to live the best life possible all the time. No working at jobs they hate or staying in bad relationships.”

“And also people would go around fulfilling all of their selfish desires, however heinous they might be. How would you separate the general population from the guy who wants to chain women up in his basement and torture them? You couldn’t. Anarchism is a philosophy that holds the government to be immoral because of its use of violence, authority, and force. Seems ironic that, with lawlessness, the citizens would be just as immoral.”

“Depends on your definition of morality, I guess,” Josie said.

“Conformity to the rules of right conduct. But then, what is right?”

“Exactly,” she said. “Getting high and tagging pristine walls feels right.”

“Psychopaths and deviants believe what they do is right. Or they just don’t care.”

“Kind of like me,” Josie teased.

“I don’t believe you don’t care about your self-destructive behavior. I’d say you were more masochistic as a result of neglect and dysfunctional feelings about yourself.”

Josie popped up and stomped to the kitchen. She pulled a beer from her otherwise empty fridge and twisted off the cap. As she brought the bottle to her lips and let the coolness soothe her scorching insides, she squeezed the cap tight into her fist. The metal edges cut into her palm until she released it to the floor.

She kept her back to Tristan as she finished the beer. When she slammed the empty bottle down, Josie realized her fingers were trembling.

Tristan’s shadow cloaked her in darkness as he approached. Josie closed her eyes and titled her head toward the ceiling. She exhaled slowly and deliberately before speaking.

“Not you too,” she said. Tristan remained silent, but he wrapped his arms around her. His embrace was comforting and the answer to all her problems. “Don’t head-shrink me. I’ve had enough of that. Not from you, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Josie spun in his arms and gave her most convincing smile.

“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked.

“Yeah, where to?”

She just pulled him toward the door.

“Do you have your car?” He nodded. “Good.”

No questions asked, Tristan drove her to Trader Joe’s and followed her around as she shopped. He loved how domestic and utterly normal it felt to do this with her. As they loaded the bags into his car, curiosity finally got the best of him.

“Are you cooking?” he asked.

Josie laughed, throwing her head back and placing her hand over her stomach. Tristan just watched and waited for an answer.

“Uh, no. This isn’t for us.”

She instructed him toward Balboa, and when they were parked, she wordlessly grabbed half the bags and started walking. Tristan carried the rest of the food and followed her through the grass.

“Stems!” Gavin shouted. She sat on their usual bench smoking a cigarette.

“Hey, Gavin. What’s up?”

Tristan made it to the bench and set his paper bags down next to the others. He looked between the two women and waited for an explanation.

“Holy hell, Stems. Who’s this?”

“Tristan,” he answered, holding his hand out. Gavin placed her hand in his and smiled sweetly.

“Well, it’s certainly nice to meet you,” she said.

Josie laughed at the exchange while Tristan looked on.

“Stems?” he asked.

“It’s just Gavin’s nickname for me.”

“Yeah, it’s those legs,” Gavin answered.

“Oh. Well, I can second that appreciation. Gavin’s an interesting name,” Tristan said. “Some people think it originated with Sir Gawain who was a knight of King Arthur’s round table.”

“And smart too? Don’t you two make a pair. Damn,” Gavin said. Her eyes roamed up and down Tristan while she licked her lips.

“Gavin!” Josie almost shouted. “I thought you liked girls.”

“I did, until about two and a half minutes ago.”

The girls laughed while Tristan rubbed at the back of his neck and shifted from foot to foot.

“Anyway, make sure those get to the kids?”

“Of course, dear. She just loves to crack that whip,” Gavin said, giving Tristan a wink.

“You have no idea,” Tristan answered, returning the wink.

Josie stood and took Tristan’s hand in hers.

“I’ll see you around, Gavin.”

“You’re not staying for—”

“Nope. Don’t need to,” Josie cut her off.

Gavin smiled up at the couple as they walked away.

The ride back to Josie’s was quiet but not uncomfortable.

“Did we just deliver food to homeless kids?” Tristan asked when they parked in front of her building.

“Yes,” Josie said, looking out at the street.

Tristan sighed and looked at her. Every time he thought he had her figured out, something surprised him. He wondered if he’d ever truly learn all the secrets that made up Josie Banks.

“‘An outlaw that dwelled apart from other men, yet beloved by the country people round about, for no one ever came to ask for help in time of need and went away again without.’”

“What is that from?” Josie asked.

“The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood.”

“I don’t steal from the rich, though that’s an interesting idea,” she said.

“Let’s not add to your list of illegal activities, okay?”

Josie shrugged and stared out the window.

“When I turned eighteen, I left my foster home. I just had to get away from them. I didn’t have anything. So I ended up with a group of kids living near I-65 in the park.”

“Couldn’t anyone help you?”

“I was legally an adult. No one cared.”

“I’m not sure I’m an adult yet,” he said.

“After a few months Monica found me again. I had just started tagging. Throwing up pieces wherever I could. She tracked me down that way. She’s a persistent woman.”

“So she got you back on your feet?”

“She told me about my inheritance. Helped me get the money and a place to live. Now that I’m more fortunate, I bring them food whenever I can. It’s the least I can do.”

“That’s how you know Gavin and Gregory,” Tristan said, placing his hand over hers.

“The worst part is, most of us were better off on the streets than at home.”

Josie exited the car, ending the conversation.

A couple hours later, Tristan and Josie sat together on her couch.

“I’ve got to go soon,” Tristan said softly, running the pads of his fingertips along the back of her hand.

“What? No!” Josie protested.

“There’s nothing I’d rather do than stay wrapped up with you, but I can’t stand another day in these clothes, Josie. I have to work tonight.”

When he said things like that, Josie felt dizzy and mindless, like a happy drifting cloud with no direction. Despite his declaration, she huffed and pushed out her bottom lip, pouting like a child.

“Okay, I’ll let you go on one condition.”

“You’ll let me go? Am I being held hostage?”

“I guess it depends,” Josie hedged.

“On what?”

“Whether you’re here against your will or not.”

“Touché,” Tristan consented. “Well, the first phase of hostage negotiation is that you tell me your demands.”

She brought his nearest hand closer to her face, inspecting the small scars across his knuckles. She kissed each one reverently.

“Tell me about that night in the alley.”

Tristan frowned and curled his lips in on each other, as if locking his confession away. It occurred to him that Josie had already shared so much that he owed it to her to share this.

“Next we have the standoff. Ideally, this results in a peaceful ending,” he said. “But sometimes it ends in violence.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Josie answered.

“Fine. I’ll terminate negotiations by giving in to your demands.”

“Good. I love winning.”

Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself to reveal secrets never spoken aloud before.

“I met Fiona when I was sixteen. She was beautiful, in that bought-and-paid-for kind of way. She was sad like me. I found out from a friend that her twin brother had recently died. I felt connected to her. At first, she ignored me. No matter how hard I tried, she dismissed me. She told me she wasn’t interested, but I never gave up.”

Tristan paused and glanced at Josie, nervous about her reaction.

“So not everything comes to you so easily?” Josie asked, grinning.

“No, not everything. After a few months of friendship, something changed and suddenly Fiona wanted more. By the time we graduated high school, I was completely infatuated with her. I was valedictorian of our class, had plans to go to Harvard and then law school. Fiona accused me of abandoning her. She cried and begged me to stay. I asked her to come with me, but she said her father would never allow it.”

“What did you do?” Josie asked.

“I blew off Harvard and enrolled in UNO. My parents were outraged. They said I was throwing away my future for a girl. They were right. I knew they were right, but I didn’t care.”

He could picture the fight in his head, his mother sobbing into her hands, his father throwing things around the house, cursing and shouting. He remembered feeling numb and unaffected by the theatrical meltdown. Tristan had only wanted to be with his girl. It was as simple as that.

“A few months after we moved in together, her father came for a visit. He was an intimidating man, loved to bully people with his money. He offered me a job. Said I’d be paid well and all I had to do was be available to deliver packages. He wasn’t the kind of person you turned down. That’s where it started. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was delivering illegal weapons, drugs, and cash to some of the dirtiest crooks in the South. Just like that, I was sucked into a life of crime.”

“Did Fiona know?”

He nodded and fiddled with the hem of his T-shirt. Of course Fiona knew, she knew everything. Tristan knew nothing.

“After a while, I dropped out of school and did her father’s work exclusively. I got my first tattoo after someone tried to kill me, the Day of the Dead skull on my shoulder. I also bought my first gun that week. I dealt with the shadiest people. They all feared me, and for a moment I felt like a god. The power, the money, it all got to me. My parents begged me to come home. Instead, I cut them out of my life.”

“How’d you end up here?” she asked, interlacing her fingers with his and pulling their joined hands into her lap.

“The guy in charge of the West Coast had been taken out and I was ordered to relocate. We moved four days later. When I wasn’t working, I was with Fiona. I could tell she wasn’t happy, not with me or our life. The more I tried, the more she resented me.”

Josie just shook her head, unable to imagine not being happy with Tristan.

“One night, I was supposed to accompany a delivery from Tijuana, but it was our anniversary. I wanted to do something nice for her. I got Padre, my second-in-command, to see about the delivery while I stayed home to surprise Fiona.

“She finally came home around eleven, but she wasn’t alone. From where I stood in the kitchen, I could see her kissing this guy with all the passion that she’d never given me. It was a side of her I’d never known. He fucked her, bent over our six-thousand-dollar leather sofa, and I just stood there.

“It was Fiona’s voice that broke me out of my trance, her declarations of love for that man sent me over the edge. Before I knew what I was doing, I pulled my piece and placed it to the back of his head. She screamed when she saw me. She begged for his life. I wanted to see his blood on her hands. But I didn’t do it. Instead, I threw everything that was important to me in a bag and left.”

“I would have probably killed them both,” Josie commented.

Tristan shook his head. He’d been a part of so much violence, he hadn’t had the will to destroy another life.

“I emptied my bank accounts and drove down to San Diego. I got a new apartment and had no idea what to do with myself. My jealousy and hurt consumed me. I tried to drink away my anger. That only left me worse off. One night I just walked. I walked and walked until my legs hurt and my high had disappeared. I saw this graffiti on the corner of your building. This boy’s face seemed familiar. I was drawn to it.”

“That piece is you,” she stated.

“Yeah. Maybe subconsciously I recognized that. I just lost it.”

“You were so wrecked that I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” Josie admitted.

“I remember your face, lit by the moon that night. When I got home I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined you or not. I figured I’d made you up.”

“But you didn’t.”

She leaned over and kissed his jaw, then his chin and eventually his lips.

“So you could say that my graffiti led us to each other.”

“You might say that. I might say that your dangerous illegal activities captured my attention long enough to have a mental breakdown in an alley where I was more likely to be mugged than find you.”

“There’s nothing dangerous about what I do.”

“Right. There’s only being arrested, felony charges, going to prison. No big deal. Eighty percent of graffiti is gang related. That’s supersafe.”

Suddenly, the door burst open and Alex came barreling in.

“Damn, Josie, I told you to lock this door. You want some crackhead to walk in here?”

His voice boomed through her apartment before Tristan caught his attention.

“Oh, you’re still here.”

Tristan stood when Alex entered the room, his eyes assessing what he thought was a high-risk threat. Immediately, his hand slid along his waistline, searching for the gun that currently sat tucked beneath the front seat of his car. He cursed to himself and practically growled. His muscles twitched, readied for confrontation. Josie marveled at the ability of Tristan to switch from geek to guardian in a matter of seconds.

“Tristan, this is my neighbor Alex,” Josie said, standing between them now, not prepared for this introduction so soon. “He sort of keeps an eye on me.”

Tristan’s shoulders relaxed and he held out his hand. They gripped each other tightly and shook once before retreating back to their corners. As men often do, they sized each other up. A prickly air hung between them, and Josie could almost hear the snarling warnings between the two. She knew Alex relied on his size to do half the job of intimidation, but it was clear that Tristan wouldn’t be intimidated by the devil himself. She felt only a small tinge of shame at being turned on by the manly display of bravado.

“I’m heading home,” Tristan announced.

He stepped over to Josie and pulled her flush against his body, placing a less than chaste kiss on her lips.

“I’ve got to be at work in a few hours. I’ll call you.” Tristan nodded at Alex and headed toward the door.

“Wait, Tristan! Your book,” Josie said.

She grabbed his forgotten book and waved it at him.

“Keep it. I’ll be back.”

He gave Alex a pointed look over her shoulder and turned to go.

Josie couldn’t help the smile that swept across her face as Tristan ran down the steps, disappearing from view. She closed the door and turned to face her neighbor.

“Well, that was smooth,” Josie said to Alex, rolling her eyes.

“What?”

“That whole pissing contest you two just had. I’m surprised you didn’t just pull out your dicks and compare size.”

“I don’t wanna shame your man,” he said, giving her his dimpled smile.

“He’s not my man. Give me that,” Josie demanded, eyeing the bag of food still clutched in his giant fist.

“So what did you guys do for two whole days?” Alex asked, wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

“Not that. I thought about it nearly every second, though. We just talked.”

“Are you gettin’ up tonight? My boy said your piece on Fifth is crazy good.”

Josie nodded. While she loved her art, she didn’t want the notoriety that many writers did. She just wanted to be seen and heard in a way that didn’t make her vulnerable.

“Tell him thanks. Oh! There’s something you have to see,” she insisted, leading him down the hall toward her bedroom.

“I’ve already seen your chichis, Jo. They’re amazing.”

She smacked him on the back of the head and opened her bedroom door, glancing at the papered walls of now familiar faces.

“Come on, I want to introduce you to some people.”