He and Wes shared a look.
“It’s Taylor Blaine Westinghouse, Jr.” My voice shook. “My half-brother.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The look of joy on his face right before he jumped made me sick. I called 911 with trembling fingers. When they arrived on the scene, I was already down at the river bank. The EMTs thought I was going into shock over the trauma, when really I felt nothing but relief. —Mel
Lisa
THE BATHROOM DOOR opened and shut. I expected Gabe to slide down on the floor with me, offer his hand, and then hold me while I cried my eyes out.
Instead, it was Tristan.
I wanted nothing more than to grab one of the towels, put it over my face, and sob. I refused to look at him; instead I looked straight ahead at the brassy gold knobs on the cabinet below the sink. I watched the knobs flicker in the crap fluorescent lights. I watched them like they were my only way to stay sane.
Tristan moved in front of me and turned on the water. His body was tight, every muscle strained. His worn jeans hugged his legs; his T-shirt did the same to his stomach. His back flexed as he shut off the water and then turned to face me.
I averted my eyes again; my own breathing was the only sound filling the room. My chest felt so heavy I thought it was going to explode.
He knelt in front of me and touched the hot cloth to my face, slowly wiping away what I’m sure what a mess of mascara and tears. His eyes revealed nothing. He continued examining my face, tilting my chin as he washed. When he was finally through, he placed the cloth on the floor.
I waited for the gauntlet to fall — for him to tell me he couldn’t see me anymore, couldn’t be associated with me, for him to say things like I was a disgusting horrible person.
Instead, he held out his hand and whispered, “Let’s go drive fast.”
Gasping, I jerked my head up so I could see the condemnation in his eyes. He was messing with me, right? But his hand was there right in front of me; all I had to do was take it. Take the hand and hope the body attached to the hand wouldn’t betray me — wouldn’t hurt me — because I was completely broken in that moment, the most vulnerable I’d ever been. And taking his hand wasn’t just a physical act, it was an emotional one. I think he knew that, because he moved it closer until finally he cupped the back of my head and used his other hand to brace my hips.
“All you have to do is say yes.”
“Yes…” My voice was hoarse from crying. “…is a very scary word.”
Tristan caressed my cheek. “But it doesn’t have to be, Lisa.”
With a deep breath, I reached for him and allowed him to help me to my feet. I started walking toward the door, but he held up his hand and shook his head. Deflated, I crossed my arms to close myself off.
“Shower.” Tristan nodded. “It will make you feel better. Take a shower, put on jeans and a sweatshirt, and in the meantime… I’ll wait.”
“Right.” I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth. “For how long?”
Tristan’s eyes never wavered from mine. “As long as you need.”
The door shut silently behind him. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to sob with relief or shame. Possibly both.
Slowly, I turned the tap. Water burst from the showerhead, and steam began to fill the room, choking everything in its wake, making me feel the need to disappear in its fog and never come back. I slipped out of my clothes and let them fall wherever they landed, taking care not to look at myself in the mirror. Knowing that if I did, I’d break. My nakedness reminded me of my vulnerability. I gulped for air. Humidity hit my face as I stepped into the shower and allowed the hot water to cascade over me. It combined with my tears. I wasn’t sure where my crying began and where the water ended. He was right. It made me feel better, not good enough to laugh, but at least good enough to feel the need to get dressed instead of drowning myself. Ten minutes later, I wrapped a towel around my body and pulled open the bathroom door.
Tristan was sitting on the couch talking to Gabe in hushed tones while Wes stood by the window on his cell.
All of their expressions were grim.
I quickly slipped into my room and tossed on a pair of skinny jeans and a black hoodie then brushed on some lip gloss.
By the time I returned to the main living area, both Wes and Gabe were gone.
“They left?” I asked, shivering but not sure why.
Tristan shrugged. “They had some business they needed to take care of. Besides, they aren’t invited.”
I cracked a smile at his haughty attitude.