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“You could still write about your stay with?—”
“No. I can’t. I won’t. If he wants privacy, that’s what he’ll be getting from me. That’s what he should have gotten from you.”
He had the grace to look ashamed, and his eyes were downcast as he nodded. When he lifted his gaze again, he had the tiniest of smiles on his lips.
“I was right about you, though,” he said. “You’re good for him. This is the first time in a long time I’ve seen him so passionate about anything. And even though it meant him ripping me a new asshole and firing me, it was worth it just for that. Because, regardless of what you may think of me, Miss Hughes, I love him. He’s one of my best friends, and I’m glad to see some of that spark back in him.”
“Wait, he fired you? But?—”
He smiled again. “Goodbye, Miss Hughes.”
The screen went blank before she could say anything in response to that. She stared at the phone for a long moment before shaking her head and swearing beneath her breath.
She surged to her feet and stalked out of the room in search of Trystan.
She found him in the solarium, hands in the pockets of yet another pair of obscenely butt-hugging gray sweatpants, staring out at the lake.
“You idiot,” she launched into him as soon as she caught sight of him, and he turned to face her in surprise. She marched right up to him and thrust the phone against his chest.
He took it automatically and stared at her in consternation as she planted her hands on her hips and glared up at him.
“You fired your best friend? Why?”
“Why?” he repeated, his voice incredulous. “You’re seriously asking me that?”
“Of course I am. He has your best interests at heart, he cares about you. Yes, he’s an idiot, but that’s no reason to fire him.”
“Iris, you nearly died the other night!”
“I’m well aware of that,” she retorted. “But Mr. Quinn isn’t the reason I was out in that storm.”
“He might not be directly responsible, and ninety-nine-point nine percent of the blame lies on my shoulders. I know that, but that one percent falls on him, and that’s unacceptable to me.”
“Trystan, he’s your friend.”
“And you’re my—” He cut himself off, staring at her in mute frustration, clearly not sure how to end that sentence.
“I’m your nothing,” she finished it for him. “No, that’s not right, I’m your unwanted guest. A complete stranger to you and as such, you had no way of knowing I’d react the way I did.”
“You tried to tell me.”
“To be honest”—and Iris was always honest to a fault. It would be so easy to keep blaming and punishing him, he might even deserve it, but that wasn’t who she was—“It had never been that bad before. Even I didn’t know I’d react like that.”
“But you did react like that, sweetheart. And that’s on me. And on Quinny for sending you here in the first place. He knew I wasn’t myself, knew I was irritable and unreasonable. Before coming here I’d been unfairly ripping into—and snapping and snarling at—everyone around me. He had no reason to believe I’d behave any differently with you. I can’t trust his judgment anymore. Not after Trish and now this.”
She sighed and her gaze roamed over his face, coming to rest on that scar on his jaw. He lifted a self-conscious hand to it and she shook her head, her own hand intercepting his and pulling it away from his face.
“Don’t,” she implored and he stood there, raw dread and insecurity in his eyes, as he allowed her to look at him. After a long moment, she ran trembling fingertips over the raised flesh and he leaned helplessly into her touch. “I knew this was there, I saw it after you trimmed the beard. I didn’t recognize the extent of the damage until you shaved though.”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing convulsively and betraying his apprehension.
“Are you going to have it surgically removed?” she asked and his eyes flickered, before he shook his head.
“Why not?”
“Trish can’t get her life back, why the fuck should I get my face back?”
Iris sucked her lower lip into her mouth and kept her gaze locked onto his before she sighed and took his hand again.
