I shrugged again. “Yeah, he was probably playing me.”
“Definitely. He was definitely playing you.”
I stared at him. “Yeah, he was playing me. Like I said, I’m never going to see him again. What does it matter?”
He tipped his head and matched my stare. His eyes were cold, green pools of disapproval, and I hated that. Tristan was always on my side.
“If you see him again, Lainey, you have to scream and run, understand? No matter how slick he is with his fingers, you have to scream and run. No excuses.”
“Of course I would run,” I told him, telling myself at the same time. “I might have been reckless, but I’m not that insane.”
The way he shook his head showed me he didn’t believe me. In that moment, he thought I was as insane as the rest of the world did. I felt offended all over again, but I didn’t say anything. I deserved this.
I always did.
“Have you told Harriet yet?” he asked.
“No.”
“Hopefully Silas doesn’t tell her before you do.”
“Silas doesn’t tell Harriet anything. He may be her brother, but they have about as much in common as a swan and a boar.”
He smirked at that. “I’m not sure Silas would like the analogy.”
I smirked back, even through my hangover. “He can be a boar.”
“In actions, not in visuals.”
“Still, he can be a boar. An attractive boar, but a boar all the same.”
“True enough.”
He sat down alongside me and took hold of my hand. His fingers were strong. It was the kind of strength I’d enjoyed for years, him sitting next to me as we whispered through our fears and struggles.
I knew what suggestion was coming before he spoke.
“Can you go back to Dr. Karlin again? I think you need it.”
“Therapy makes no difference. It’s never made any difference.”
He squeezed my fingers. “You don’t let it make any difference.” He gestured to the glass in my other hand. “It stands a shit ton more chance of working than gin, or champagne, or coke.”
My defences came up. “I’m not doing as much of any of them as I did.”
I felt his eyes on me. Again, I could feel the disapproval. “That’s not what Harriet said. I saw her at the Aegean last week, and she said Jonesy was telling her just how much you’ve been buying.”
My cheeks burned. “Jonesy shouldn’t be telling Harriet anything. It’s not her business.”
“Even he is worried.”
“He shouldn’t be.”
“I’m worried, Lainey. Really fucking worried.”
He took the drink from my hand.
I groaned. “Quit it, will you? I’m fine.”
I’d always been a liar – I’d needed to be – but even I was pushing it. I was less fine than I’d ever been in my life, and again, that was a high mountain to climb. Or more like a deep swamp to sink to the bottom of.
Sometimes I wished I could find the voice to say what I truly needed to say. I wished I could summon up the words to confess just how broken I was inside and why. Secrets, secrets, shhh, little girl. I wished I could spit it out and live with the consequences rather than reaching the end with the secrets still stabbing me in silence. So, so many secrets . . .
I couldn’t.
I could never tell my secrets.
With that thought, I grabbed the gin back from Tristan and took another swig.
He sighed. “Please go back to Dr. Karlin.”
“Please stop bleating on about it.”
We sat in silence until I tried to change the subject.
“How did it go with the rock superstar? What was his name? Indigo Peacock or something?”
“Blue Hawk.”
I laughed. “Is he one of those indie peace man types?”
He laughed along. “No. He’s one of those not-sure-if-he-really-wants-dick-or-not types.”
“Sounds like you just a few years ago.”
Tristan had taken a whole lot of time to finally accept that he was bisexual. I’d been there through the journey, knowing way earlier than he did that he had a fixation for hot guys as well as women. His parents had been . . . tough. Especially tough on a son who lived his life outside of their trailer park status quo. I still remembered his scars. Scars had been the very first thing we’d had in common.
I loved his smile as he looked at me. “I don’t have years to wait until he works out if he wants to take dick. There are plenty of dicks out there ready and willing.”
“And pussies.”
He leaned his head against my shoulder. “And pussies.”
Once upon a time I’d wished that Tristan could be my one and only. That maybe he’d fall in love with me and I’d fall in love with him, and we could keep it secret. Secret enough that he wouldn’t be destroyed for enjoying my body.
I’d always loved the way he looked. Hair rich and mahogany, cheekbones sculpted just right, even when they were swollen with bruises. When I was a teenager, I really did think he could be the one. My Tristan Fields, forever.