Black Heart (Cursed Hearts 1)

“That’s the requirement while you’re out on medical. There’s nothing anyone can do about it,” Tom reminded him and Tristan knew that it was pointless to argue, but he did it anyway.

“Hank could always sign off and let me return to light duty,” Tristan pointed out as he sank back against the seat, raising his knee against the door until the leg of his pants rose up and over the ankle holster attached to his leg, revealing his favorite handgun. He absently reached down and adjusted the holster before returning to his lazy position.

Tom sighed heavily. “You know Hank’s hands are tied on this one. He needs you back on duty, but you won’t be any good to anyone until that shoulder of yours is healed. You have two more weeks until you can go on light duty. Until then you’re going to have to suck it up and deal with your mother fussing over you and these therapy sessions.”

At Tristan’s grunt, he continued, “You know it’s your own fault that you’re stuck in therapy.”

“It’s not my fault the emergency room doctor is a f**king bleeding heart.”

“I know. I think he overreacted as well.”

An understatement.

If Tristan hadn’t decked the man, Tom would have and judging by the expression on Hank’s face at the time, he hadn't been too far behind. Once that recommendation was sent to Concord, Tristan’s fate had been sealed.

“Can’t believe he complained because I didn't cry over blowing that f**king maggot’s head off. It will be a cold day in hell when I cry over some child molester.”

“Well, it probably didn’t help when you broke the doctor's nose after he refused to pull his recommendation for therapy,” Tom said dryly.

Tristan’s lips twitched. “But it felt damn good.”

Chapter 2

Twenty minutes later they were pulling up to a large, two-story white colonial house, his first real home. Tristan slowly climbed out of the truck, wincing when the movement pulled at his wound. Before he could make a quiet escape and walk to his own home, two houses down, the front door of his parents’ house was thrown open and a short, yet very determined, woman rushed out. He swore softly as his mother quickly made her way over to him.

“How’s your shoulder today?” she asked, running an assessing eye over him, probably trying to determine how much babying she needed to dish out.

“Fine, Mom. I’m going to head home now. I’ll see you later,” he said, quickly giving her a one armed hug and a kiss on her forehead. The one thing he didn’t need right now was his mother fussing over him. He’d had enough of that over the past few weeks to last him a lifetime.

“That’s fine,” his mother said, giving him a kiss on the cheek and giving in a little too easily, instantly putting him on alert.

As Tristan pulled away, his gaze automatically shot across the street, looking for a beat up old yellow Volkswagen that belonged to the woman that he forced himself to pretend didn’t exist. It was there in the driveway. His heart sped up before he could force himself to look away.

“That reminds me, sweetie. Marty accidentally locked herself out. I told her that she could study in your old room until Hank came home. Why don’t you go upstairs and say hello? It’s been a while since you saw each other.”

“I guess I could do that,” he said, telling himself that it was okay, that it wouldn’t kill him to allow himself a moment with her, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed her, craved her and, although he’d never understood it, right now he didn’t want to fight it. Right now he was going to be a selfish bastard and steal a few moments with the woman who deserved better.

His mother smoothed down the collar of his shirt while he struggled against doing the right thing and walking away. “Well, you both moved on since high school and, by the time she’d started college, you were already finished and starting the academy. Sometimes it’s difficult to keep in touch.”

“I know, but I should go say hello. Her dad is my boss after all and I haven’t had a chance to say hello to her since I moved back into the neighborhood,” he said, bullshitting them or himself, he really didn’t give a damn.

“Tell her that dinner will be in two hours when Denny gets here.”

“Sure thing,” Tristan said as he walked towards the house, slowing his pace on the off chance that he’d change his mind like the thousand other times before and simply walk away from her.

As he took the front steps two at a time, he realized that something about this time was different.

There would be no turning away this time.

*-*-*-*

Tristan jogged up the stairs, taking them two at a time, but somehow managed to force himself to slow down before he reached his old room. The door was open and he could see Marty sitting on his childhood bed among a pile of books, reading. He stepped into the room and leaned back against the doorframe, content to watch her for a few minutes until even that wasn’t enough, until he needed more than just to watch her from a distance.

“Hey, Marty,” he said quietly when he knew that he should have just walked away.

Startled, Marty let out an adorable squeal as she jumped back. Unfortunately the movement caused her to tilt to the side and fall off the bed. Cursing, he shoved away from the doorframe. His long strides quickly ate up the distance. Before she managed to hit the floor, he was there. He scooped her up into his arms, forcing himself to ignore just how good it felt to touch her, and quickly placed her safely back on the bed. Once she was settled in the middle of the small twin bed, he dropped his hands away from her as if the contact burned him, because it did, and stepped away.

“Thanks,” she mumbled as she pushed her long brown hair out of her face.

“No problem,” he said gruffly, moving away from the bed, hoping to put more distance between them so that he didn’t do something that he’d truly regret later. He moved to the other side of the room and dropped his large frame onto the oversized chair that his father had stuffed in the room a few years ago to keep it from ending up in a yard sale, hoping that he wouldn’t regret doing this later.

*-*-*-*

Marty nervously tapped a pen on her notebook as she frantically searched for something to say to the man that used to be her entire world. “I got locked out,” she blurted, most likely sounding like an idiot.

He gave her a barely there smile. “I heard.”

Not knowing what else to do and in no mood to make an ass out of herself, she began collecting her books. “I must be in your way. I’ll go downstairs and sit at the table.”