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His fingers absently brushed over his scar. “They told me the shard of glass that caused this missed my carotid by half an inch. But I didn’t know that at the time, of course. I didn’t care about me right then. I was more concerned about Trish and she was—” His face spasmed in grief and horror, and Iris’s hands went up to cup his jaw, her thumb tracing the ridge of his scar. “Trish was groaning, her face and head were…” He shook his head and made a low, despairing sound, as if he were reliving the moment. “I couldn’t help her, my arms felt like lead. I tried to reach for her, to stem the bleeding, but she was gone seconds later. And even then, I didn’t pass out. I wish I had, but I remained conscious, trapped with her corpse until the rescue services arrived. I was told it was under five minutes. It felt like five hours. The first person to arrive was a pap…” Now it was Iris’s turn to moan in horror. “He took pictures while I begged him to call an ambulance. To this day I’m not sure if he was the one who called 911 or not. The rest you know. Trish died. And I lived. But there were times”—his voice was bleak and Iris wanted to stop him from saying what she knew he would say next. Only, her throat had seized up and her eyes were blurry with tears and when he said the inevitable, her horror emerged on a broken sob—“there were times I desperately wished I hadn’t lived. Because having her death on my conscience is eating away at my soul.”
“Trystan, no,” she moaned, her face wet with tears. She leaned toward him and pressed her lips to his for a brief, heartfelt kiss. “Please, don’t say that. You didn’t kill her, her death does not belong on your conscience.”
“I knew she was troubled, Iris, I should have helped her. But all I could think of was getting her the hell away from me. I should have left her alone. I should never have slept with her when she was so broken.”
“You didn’t know. How could you have?”
“I can’t forgive myself for not seeing it until it was too late. I felt like the worst kind of abuser. She was vulnerable and I used her.”
“You had consensual sex, there was no coercion or manipulation involved. Did you make any promises to her when you got together?”
His eyes flickered uncertainly. “What do you mean?”
“I mean did you talk about having a long-term or permanent relationship with her?”
“No, from the very beginning we were clear on it being a promotional stunt. When it got intimate, we both agreed afterwards that it shouldn’t have happened,” he tilted his head as if he was remembering something. “In fact, Trish was the one who instigated the sex. When I protested beforehand that we were making a mistake, she kissed me and said something along the lines of, ‘If only all mistakes could be such harmless fun.’ That’s what she called it, harmless fun.” His lips twisted at the memory. “I came here to try and make sense of it all, get my head straight, think about where I go from here.”
“You didn’t come here to do more than that, did you?” she asked because it needed to be asked, but his look of shock and horror gave her the answer before he could verbalize it.
“No, sweet, of course not. I was angry at myself, the world, at Quinny for coming up with the idea of faking a relationship with her in the first place. And I dreaded anything to do with Cryo Cop. All interviews would center around Trish, the accident, my relationship with her. Her manager wanted me to claim that we were engaged. Can you fucking believe that? Quinny told him to fuck off and threatened to sue him if he leaked the lie. I was grateful for that at least because at the time I just wanted to be left the fuck alone. I still do.”
“And then I came along and disturbed your peace,” Iris murmured, absolutely appalled. It was so much worse than she’d ever believed.
“No, Iris, then you came along and I finally started to feel alive again. And yeah, I’m not gonna lie, it pissed me the hell off. I’d gotten so used to walking around feeling half-dead, that when this wet, bedraggled little dynamo showed up at my door, screaming about wolves and cliffs and dying phone batteries, I was unprepared for the fucking jolt of electricity straight to my heart. You woke me up, and I didn’t like it. And to my eternal shame, I treated you dreadfully as a result. Suddenly I was starting to feel things again. Things like irritation, amusement, curiosity, desire, and fear. And that unsettled me. It fucking terrified me.
“When you ran off into the storm, I knew that I’d failed you as well. Once again, I’d missed the signs… no, this time I’d willfully ignored them. I could have gotten you killed too and that fucking destroys me, Iris. It felt like that night with Trish all over again. Only so much worse because you’re someone I’ve come to care for a great deal in an absurdly short span of time. I know you think I’m making that shit up, or that I’m craving normalcy or whatever the fuck bullshit you said earlier, but it’s more than that, Iris. You make me feel—” He paused as if he were searching for the correct word, then he smiled, a small, beautiful smile and repeated it, this time with a period at the end, “You make me feel.”
She sobbed, and her replying smile was a tearful, trembling mess.
“Trystan,” she whispered. “I’m not Trish Nesbitt, I’m nothing like her. I allowed my phobia to get the better of me, and responded in an irrational manner. I didn’t go out into that storm to kill myself; on the contrary, it was an illogical act of self-preservation. I’m so sorry it triggered memories of that awful night for you.”
“No, sweet, you don’t ever apologize to me for that night. Never, you hear me? It wasn’t your fault.”
“Oh, Trystan,” she murmured, her lips curling into a sweet smile. He leaned forward and then stayed the movement, his mouth a breath away from hers.
He waited and Iris closed the gap, her lips making contact with his in a soft, hungry kiss. His hands tunneled into her hair as he pulled her head closer to feast on her mouth.
When they came up for air again, she was straddling his lap and his lips were suckling at the sensitive skin of her neck.
“Iris, baby,” he groaned against her skin. “I want to fuck you.”
She moaned helplessly and thrust herself against him.
“No,” he whispered, tugging at her hair to pull her head back, exposing more of her neck to his hungry lips. “I want to do much more than that. I want to love you. Will you let me do that, Iris? Will you let me love you?”
“Yes,” she breathed, while his lips explored the sensitive skin of her throat.
“Thank Christ because I fucking ache for you,” he whispered to Iris, who was enthusiastically grinding herself up against his big, thick shaft.
“Show me how much you ache for me, Trystan,” she encouraged and he growled deep in his throat, before getting up and lifting her in the process. It was yet another thrilling show of strength that reminded her of the time he’d picked her up in the shed—what felt like months ago—and she squealed in delight, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and her legs around his waist as he carried her toward his bedroom.
Luna, who’d been sleeping in the kitchen, got up to follow them, but Trystan commanded her to stay, as he very quickly made his way to the bedroom and gently deposited Iris onto his king-sized bed.
“God, the colors you wear are seriously blinding,” he said with a half-laugh, taking in her electric blue long-sleeved T-shirt, which she’d combined with a pair of fluorescent pink leggings and neon yellow leg warmers. “You’re an ‘80s throwback.”
“Keep it up, mate, and you’ll be getting no nookie.” She stretched luxuriously on his bed, parting her thighs slightly in invitation.
He laughed, the sound lighthearted and filled with joy.
