Black Heart (Cursed Hearts 1)

She had absolutely no idea how to talk or act around him anymore. It had been years since they’d spent any real time together. Once he’d started college, leaving her behind in high school, they’d quickly become strangers.

Now the only time she saw him was when she stopped by the police station, he came home to visit his parents, or she drove past his house and he was outside. Even then it was only polite nods and greetings. Well, except for that one time when he’d pulled her over for speeding. She was positive that he’d been amused when he gave her that speeding ticket, but she couldn’t tell with him anymore. He’d always acted like ice. Nothing could penetrate his cool exterior. Earning a true smile or laugh from him was like winning the lottery.

She inwardly sighed.

She really missed his laugh.

She really missed him.

“No, please stay. You’re not in my way,” he said softly. “Mom wanted me to tell you that dinner will be done in two hours.”

When she hesitated, he continued. “I also wanted to say hello. It’s been a while since we’ve talked,” he explained as he ran a hand absently over his shoulder. Her eyes followed the movement.

“I heard about what happened. I’m sorry. That must have been awful,” she said, relieved that she managed to talk about one of the worst nights of her life without crying.

She knew that he wouldn’t appreciate it, especially since he had no idea that she’d spent the entire night after he’d had emergency surgery holding his hand in ICU, crying and praying that he got another chance. She’d been too afraid to ask for more than Tristan pulling through the night, terrified that it would be asking too much and that she’d lose him, but now…..

Now she wished that she’d asked for more.

From the moment that she saw him sitting in Tom and Beth’s living room the day they’d picked him up from foster care, she’d felt connected to him. It wasn’t something she’d ever admitted to anyone, not even to Tristan when they were kids and he was her world. It was so strange, still was, but from that moment when she saw him, she’d felt a deep connection with him. Still did even if they hadn’t really spoken in years. It was strange and horrible at the same time.

She wished that she didn’t feel this way about him. She hated this draw to him, couldn’t explain it, and most days she fought against the heartache that being separated from him caused. She’d never hated this strange connection to him more than the day that she got the call from her father and was told that Tristan had been shot and might not make it through the night. Hated it because the impending loss felt powerful, too powerful and so damn familiar. It felt like she’d gone through it a hundred times before and one more time would have been one too many.

He merely shrugged off her comments. “It’s over.” Most men that she knew, including her father, would have taken that as a cue to tell her all about it with the typical embellishments added. Not Tristan. Even as a child he’d hated talking about himself or bringing any attention his way no matter the reason.

“Tell me about school,” he demanded softly. It seemed things really hadn’t changed. He’d always been interested in what she had to say even if the topic was crayons, dresses, or boys picking on her. He’d always been so sweet and patient with her. She didn’t entirely believe his reputation of being a cold bastard. He’d always been kind to her even when she’d acted like a brat.

“It’s going well,” she said quickly. She was really in no mood to talk about school since she was up to her eyeballs in reading just to finish her thesis. Her personal life was out as well since she didn’t really have one. The guy she'd kind of been seeing whenever she wasn’t too busy dumped her today via a text.

Could you dump someone that you hadn’t seen in over a month? She didn’t think so. After not seeing or hearing from someone in over, let’s say a week and a half, a break up should be a mutual understanding. But if Jonathan needed closure he had it now.

Then there was her professional life. The bar she’d worked at for the past year and a half fired her earlier today. The new manager was unhappy that she wouldn’t embrace his new managerial style like the rest of his “good” employees.

In other words, she’d refused to wear the skimpy halter top with “Joe’s Bar” written across her chest and “Come get some” stamped across the back of the skimpy shorts that went along with the shirt. After a five-minute standoff, she was given her last paycheck and a dirty look.

Thankfully nepotism was still alive and thriving. Her father, the Chief of the State Police in their area, decided to give her part of the job that she was supposed to start when she graduated, early. Since she was a few months shy of having her master’s degree in forensic criminology, she couldn’t very well start that job yet. So, her father was creating a position for her even though he swore up and down that it was needed. She was going to act as a personal assistant to one of the detectives. That way she would get more hands on experience. Whatever, she just hoped whoever it was didn’t expect her to fetch coffee.

Then there was driving home while begging her car not to die on her until she made it home. Someone up there must love her because the car didn’t die until she reached the driveway. She already knew the car was gone. The mechanic told her the next time the engine died that was it. To top off her day, she locked herself out of the house when she went to get the mail. Now, she wasn’t sure if seeing him after all these years was a good or bad point in her day.

He raised a brow expectantly. Apparently he desired more details. Things really hadn’t changed that much after all. He’d always wanted her to talk, more like demanded it. She could still remember when she was four years old following after him wherever he went, talking a mile a minute about anything and everything while he simply nodded.

She knew that he wasn’t nodding out of politeness or a way to placate a young child. Any time she stopped speaking he would stop whatever he was doing and look at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. She learned very early on that he hated complete silence. If she wasn’t speaking, he covered the silence with music or television for background noise. She missed those times with him.

Not once had he told her to go away or lost his patience with her. Even when his friends were around, she’d always been welcomed. He was her hero, the one she went to when she skinned her knees and the one she yelled for whenever she got stuck up in a tree. He always came for her. Always. He would quietly take care of her before placing a gentle kiss on her boo-boo.