"Hey," she says. "How was work?"
I shrug. "The usual. Just glad to be home and off my feet." I pop up on a barstool next to her and peek over her shoulder. "What're you working on? That murder mystery idea?"
She nods and turns back to the screen. "Yeah, I'm just trying to figure out the plot holes. There's one that's driving me up the fucking wall. I don't know how to fix it."
"I can help you with those holes," a teasing voice says from behind us. I roll my eyes without turning to give Tristan's comment any credit.
"You're an idiot," Remy mutters under her breath. "Or a child. Sometimes I can't decide which."
He ignores her jabs and instead comes up behind her to slide his arms around her waist. He perches his chin on her shoulder as he looks at her screen.
"I still think you should make the butler do it. No one would ever believe it was him. It's perfect."
This time Remy's the one to roll her eyes, even though I can see a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
"You two are disgustingly smitten," I sigh. I twist off the barstool so I can walk over to the couch and throw myself on the cushions. "Yet you can't even be in the same room without snapping at each other. And it's funny until Tristan inevitably uses an obnoxious innuendo and makes it awkward for everyone."
With zero shame, Tristan gives me an obnoxious wink before peeling himself away from his girlfriend.
"I'm going to take my innuendos back into the bedroom," he quips. "I know when I'm not wanted."
Remy and I share a look of amusement. Sulking Tristan is rare, even if he's sarcastic, but it's always entertaining to see him be anything other than arrogant as hell.
As Remy turns back to her computer, I turn my focus to my phone. I'm lazily browsing social media when the knocking starts.
"Hailey,open the door!"
I wince at the same time that I see Remy frown from her place at the kitchen island. To make matters worse, Tristan walks out of the bedroom with a frown.
"Who's that?" he asks in that no-bullshit voice of his.
I sigh and decide to rip the Band-Aid off in one go. "It's Steve. He's been texting me that he wants to talk. I keep telling him I have nothing to say to him, but he doesn't really seem to be takingnofor an answer."
To emphasize my point, Steve pounds on the door again. "Hailey, I know you're in there. I just want to talk, let me in!"
I jump up from the couch, ready to rush to the door before my two bodyguards can get to it, but Tristan is too quick.
Remy might have beaten him to it if she hadn't stopped to grab a bat out of the coat closet.
Tristan rips the door open to reveal a red-faced, panting Steve. The fact that he can glare at the mountain of muscle in front of him instead of shrinking in fear speaks to how furious he must be.
I look at Steve, waiting for all the guilt, and the fear, and the internalized need to please him to come rushing back. I wait for the moment when I’ll freeze and apologize and tell him I never meant to hurt him, that I know he didn’t mean the things he said and that I’m sure he’ll never do it again. I wait for the feelings that will demolish the progress I’ve made toward my own happiness, that will knock me right back into a world where I’m miserable and a shell of the person I’m meant to be.
They don’t come.
They don’t fucking come.
I feelnothingwhen I look at him.
Nothing but sadness and pity for him. Nothing but love and compassion for the girl that was too young and too eager for his love to realize what a broken little boy he really was.
I’ll never be able to help him; I never even had a chance. Not only does he not realize that there’s a problem to begin with, but it’s also not possible to help someone if they don’t want to be helped. And when his issue becomes detrimental to my happiness and my well-being… it’s time to let him go.
I turn my attention back to the people in the doorway, finally having made my decision. And my heart feeling so much lighter for it.
"You need to leave. Now." There is zero room for discussion in Tristan's cold order.
Steve tries anyway. "I just want to talk to her."