“You never told me that,” he says with remorse.

“I haven’t told you a lot of things about me. I usually don’t tell people anything about me, but I must be in a sharing mood today.”

“Why, though? Why all of a sudden are you willing to open up?”

“I have no idea, other than you kind of seem like you needed me to.”

Silence wraps around us. I start to picture the dream I had last night, the one I saw of him standing in the fire and all I did was watch him burn alive.

Blinking back to reality, I bite a heap of the frosting off the cupcake then move the cakey goodness in Tristan’s direction, wiggling it in front of his face. “You want a bite? It’s really good.”

His gaze flicks from my eyes back to the cupcake before he leans in and takes a bite off the top. “It is really good,” he remarks as he licks a glob of pink frosting from his lips.

The sight of his tongue elicits a shiver through my body and creates the tingliest sensations possible.

“I told you it was.” I peel the wrapper down to get a taste of the cake buried beneath the pound of frosting, very aware that he’s watching my every movement and very, very aware of how wildly my heart is thumping.

“You’re not going to press me to tell you?” he says, raising his brow.

I sweep some crumbs off my lap. “Tell me what?”

“About what I’ve been doing for the last three days.”

“If you want to tell me, you can.” I swallow a small taste of the cupcake before handing the rest to him. “But only if you want to.”

He licks some pink frosting off the cupcake before responding. “What if I told you I did crystal? That those three months just became three hours?”

“Then I’d say at least you have those three hours. And trust me, a lot can change in three hours.”

You can die in three hours and be brought back to life.

His tongue slides out of his mouth again, and I notice the frosting is turning it pink.

God, I want to lick his tongue.

“You’d be disappointed in me though,” Tristan continues unaware of my dirty thoughts. “If I did do it.”

“Yeah, I probably would, but my disappointment would wear off, and then I’d just want to help you get those three hours to four.”

He chews on his bottom lip as he reflects on what I’ve said. Then he opens his mouth and pretty much wolfs the rest of the cupcake before placing the empty wrapper down on the nightstand, his intense blue eyes on me the entire time.

“Why?” he asks, licking a drop of frosting off his thumb.

“Why what?”

“Why did you give me a choice that night?”

I rest back on my hands and stare out the window at the sunlight. “Because giving you a choice made you think about what you really wanted to do.”

He reclines back on his elbows and stares out the window with me. “How did you get so wise?”

I shrug, trying not to feel too elated at the fact that I seem to be cheering him up. “Life.”

He angles his head to the side and looks at me. “You seem older than twenty-two.”

“Gee, thanks,” I say dryly. “Looking old. Just what every girl wants to hear.”

He shakes his head and then sits up straight. “No, you don’t look old.  At all…” His attention is locked on me, but I’m not sure if he’s looking at me or trying to get a glimpse of what I keep buried inside me. “You just seem like you know more about life than most twenty-two-year-olds do. Most would want to run away from my problems.” He narrows his eyes. “Are you here to join me? Is that why you’re really here, Avery? To get high? To get f**ked? What is it?”

He’s being an ass again on purpose—I think to try to push me away—but I maintain his gaze, even though it’s tough, knowing that he has to be the first to look away if this is going to work. He’s challenging me right now, daring me to give up first, but I’m not going to.

“No, that’s not why I’m here,” I tell him. “And I look like I know more about life because I probably do.”

One…

Two…

Three seconds go by.

His gaze grows more heated.

I grow more uneasy.

Still I don’t look away.

Even though with Conner I would have.

But with Tristan I can’t.

And finally he gives up.

Something Conner would never do.

“I drank,” he admits, looking away from me. “I got shit faced for three nights then went searching for a bump.” His head slumps forward and he massages his temples with his fingertips. “I’m honestly not sure what happened but…” He shoves his hand into the pocket of his jeans. When he pulls his hand out, his fingers are wrapped around a bag of tiny white crystals. Meth. Conner’s drug of choice and my mother loved it too. “I found this in my pocket the next morning.”

I’m shocked. Appalled. Disappointed. Terrified. Worried. “Did you—”

He rapidly shakes his head. “No, I could tell when I woke up I hadn’t done it, mainly because I had to fall asleep in order to wake up.” He flicks the bag with his finger, staring at it with hunger gleaming in his eyes. “And I couldn’t have fallen asleep with this shit in my system.”

“Who knows you have that?”

“No one but you knows.” He stares at the stained carpet in front of our feet.

“So, why do you have it?” I’m anxious. It’s not like being around drugs is new to me, but it’s always made me uneasy; the danger, the uncertainty, the instability it brings into one’s life.

“I told you, I have no idea. Nor do I have a f**king clue why I didn’t do it.”

I swallow the massive lump in my throat. “Why do you still have it?”

His expression swarms with uncertainty. “I don’t know.”

“Do you…” I fidget nervously, plucking at a loose string on the hem of my shorts. “Do you want me to get rid of it for you?”

“I’m a little worried,” he admits as he sets the bag down on his knee. “I don’t know how I got it, and I’m not missing any money, so I don’t know how I paid for it. And I’m afraid…” He winces as he glances down at the bag and then at me again. “But anyway, I don’t think… I don’t think I want to do it.”

I wonder what he’s afraid of. Part of me believes I should run away. Right now. In fact, every instinct of mine is begging me not to go down this road again, but Tristan isn’t Conner and I’ve always believed there are two sides to every person. Although very rarely do most people show more than one side.

Right now I think I may be seeing Tristan’s other side—vulnerability. I’m not sure what to do with it, or why he’s choosing to let me see it. However, the fact that he trusted me enough not to lie to me when he’s clearly been lying to Nova and Quinton makes me not want to bail right now, not when this might be why I’m here.

“You have no clue where you got it from?” I ask. “At all?”

“I was pretty drunk,” he confesses with a shrug. “But I’m guessing from the neighbors.  I saw them spun the other day, and I can vaguely remember being outside the motel for a while.”

“You could always go return it just to make sure you won’t get into trouble with them.”

He chuckles, but his eyes are filled with sadness. “You’re cute.”

I feel like he’s making fun of me for some reason. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I think it’s cute you’d believe there was some sort of return policy for drugs.” He presses his hands against his eyes. “God, I can’t believe this is happening again.”

“How many times has this happened?”

“Too many times.”

I realize just how little I know about him and also how much I want to learn about him.

“So what do we do?” I ask, glancing out the window as Quinton walks by.

Tristan tips his head to the side and glares at me.  “We aren’t doing anything. This is my problem.”

I open my mouth to protest when he abruptly stands up. My gaze follows him as he walks back into the bathroom. Moments later, I hear the toilet flush, then he returns to the room and throws the now empty bag into the trash can.

“There, problem taken care of.” He flops down on the bed across from me. “Now, you can go.”

“What if you did get it from your neighbors and they come looking for you? What if you owe them something?” When he glances up at me, confounded, I add, “I know more about this stuff than you think.”

He scowls. “That’s my problem. Now go.”

I shake my head. “I’m not ready to leave yet. And I’m really proud of you, for dumping it.”

His scowl hardens. “Well it doesn’t mean I won’t ever do it again.”

“So, it still means you chose not to do it for the second time,” I say and if looks could kill, I’d be dead. “What? Am I being too calm for you? You want me to leave instead? Run out of here crying because you messed up? Yell at you? What do you want from me Tristan?”

He sighs, lowering his hands to his lap. “I honestly don’t know what I want from you, but you’ve got me curious.” He swallows hard. “You got me curious three months ago too.”

I smash my lips together and really consider what I’m about to do with all of this because that’s where I’ve always made my mistakes. Before the fire, I never thought three steps ahead, never thought about the future.

Now I think about it a lot.

All the time, actually.

It’s what’s made me so cautious with guys and people in general.

Regardless I have a feeling I’m supposed to be here. Even when I blew off the kiss, it felt like I shouldn’t have let Tristan walk away. Call it a life purpose. Call it fate. Call it madness. Call it stupid attraction. Call it whatever you like, but in the end I know what I need—want to do. Something that I’ve needed to do since before I even met him.

When I arrive at my final decision, I rise to my feet. Then I offer Tristan my hand. I’m not saying that I’m going to start dating him or even kiss him. I’m just trying to help him the only way that I can. He has to take it, though.

“What?” he asks, glancing from my hand to my eyes.

I shrug with my hand still extended. “I really have no idea what I’m doing, but I thought we could go somewhere, like maybe to lunch. Let’s get you out of this room and get some fresh air.”

“What about your no guys rule?” he asks guardedly.

“I’m making an exception right now.”

His intense gaze notes every one of my piercings and ink. “Never pegged you for a rule breaker.” His voice drips with sarcasm.

“Ha, ha, you’re a riot,” I retort, equally as sarcastic. “Now come on. And maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll let you know a thing or two about me.”

He stares at me and then my hand. At me. Then my hand. Me. My hand. Torn between what to do, until finally, he decides.

He laces his fingers through mine and for the briefest, most terrifying moment, they kind of feel like they belong in my hand, like I need his hand as well.

I’m not sure what to do with that. Or what to do with how easy this is. Or if I should do anything at all. So I do the only thing I can do.

I take his hand too.

Reminding myself that he’ll only be here until the house is finished.

Not forever.

I just hope I’m not making another mistake.

Three years ago….

Chapter 17

Bottom of the bottle.

Avery

Music blares from the living room and cigarette smoke snakes through the air. I’m attempting to curl my hair in the bathroom so I can go to a job interview at the gas station, which is pretty much the only place that would consider hiring me without a diploma or GED. But I end up abandoning my attempt to do my hair when my two-year-old son starts crying from his bedroom, probably because the music woke him up.

“God f**king dammit,” I curse as I burn myself while setting the curling iron down on the countertop. I bang my elbow on the wall on the way out of the tiny bathroom then stub my toe on the foot of the bed because there are only about six inches between it and the doorway. “Conner, turn the music down please!” I shout as I hobble down the narrow hallway and into the small and narrow living room.

My already aggravated mood spins out of control as I realize the smoke I’ve smelled isn’t cigarette smoke but a much more pungent substance. Conner is sitting on the shabby sofa with a lit joint in his hand. He looks so unlike the guy I fell in love with; his brown hair cropped to his skull, his muscles thinning, and his body covered in art we can’t afford.

“Don’t smoke that shit in here!” I call out over the music as I throw open the window. The sounds of the freeway rush into the house as I make my way over to the stereo and turn the music off. “What the hell are you doing?” I ask, snatching the joint from his hand and setting it in the ashtray. “Mason’s just down the hallway, for God’s sake.”

He blinks up at me with bloodshot eyes. “I closed his door.”

I shake my head, frustrated. “What was the point of moving clear across the country so you could get away from that shit”—I point at the joint—“and clean up your act if you’re not really going to clean yourself up?”