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In fact, Trystan cared about very little these days. The only thing that remotely excited him lately were his chats with Bee and Quinny about restructuring his career. Both Quinny and Bee were as enthusiastic about the shift in gears as Trystan was and they were putting a solid plan of action in place as to how he should proceed when it came to choosing future projects.
It was the only positive thing in his life currently, and he had Iris to thank for it.
It was hard to believe that he’d now been apart from Iris for longer than they’d been together. He tried to tell himself it was ridiculous to be so crazy about a woman who clearly wanted nothing to do with him and whom—in all honesty—he’d barely known. Yet, he spent his days constantly thinking about her and his nights longing for her. He was lonely without her.
It was after his press conference as he lay in his huge, empty hotel bed in Madrid, staring at a grainy candid image that a pap had shot of Iris just yesterday, that he finally caved.
She was laughing, out with her mum and a woman Chance didn’t know. They were eating ice cream and she looked so fucking happy that his heart twisted in his chest. He loved that she was happy. He wanted that for her, but he could see that she’d lost weight, that there were dark circles under her eyes. So maybe she wasn’t that happy. Maybe she missed him like he missed her.
And maybe Trystan was a fool who saw things that simply weren’t there.
Icy Iris Ignores Idol! screeched the catchy headline.
He went back into his messenger app and stared at the stream of one-sided messages from him to her. It was just after midnight, which meant it was after eleven in the UK.
Please. Pick up.
He waited and within seconds… two blue ticks.
Trystan sucked in a huge breath, and shoving aside his doubt and better judgment, pressed call.
She answered on the second ring….
“Hello?”
…And all the breath left Trystan’s body in a single harsh exhalation.
“You answered.” He was unable to think of anything else to say in that moment because, honestly, he hadn’t believed she would answer the call… and he was now unable to get his befuddled thoughts into any semblance of order.
“Well, you called,” she pointed out.
“I did. I shouldn’t have. I know that.”
“So why did you?” She was giving him nothing, her voice neutral, unemotional.
“I’m lonely and I can’t sleep. Why did you answer?”
A brief pause before, “I’m lonely and can’t sleep.”
“Iris…” His voice wobbled alarmingly and he sucked in a calming breath. “I miss you. Fuck, I miss you so damned much it actually physically hurts.”
Silence.
“I know I shouldn’t,” he continued in a desperate bid to get it all out before she came to her senses and hung up on him. “I don’t have that right. And by now you’re probably wondering what the fuck you saw in me in the first place, right? And you’ve undoubtedly realized that what you felt for me in that house wasn’t real. Just infatuation brought on by…”
“Proximity?” she finished for him and he frowned, a little disheartened by the fact that she hadn’t denied any of what he’d said.
“Yeah.”
“Are you wondering what you saw in me?” she asked.
“Not at all. In you, I saw forever. I saw us, old and gray, happy and fulfilled. And I loathe myself every day for throwing that away.”
There was a long, lingering silence after his words and he heard her shuddering sigh, but she didn’t respond.
“How have you been?” he asked, desperate to keep her on the line. He closed his eyes as he imagined her curled up on her side in bed, phone pressed to her ear. Hair messy, eyes droopy with exhaustion.
“Better. Thanks to that bonkers interview you did with Mike Holmes.”
