In seconds, my burner phone’s ringing and Tristan’s name flashes on my screen. I don’t want to talk toanyone, but my fingers decide for me and tap the answer button.
“Hello?”
“Are you okay?” Tristan’s gravely voice grounds me.
He doesn’t ask, ‘What happened?’ or ‘What’s wrong?’ or Mom’s favorite line, ‘What did you do?’ God, I could hug this man for not saying those words to me right now. If he did, my spirit might break.
“I’m not okay.” My voice is weak, and I lean into the weakness. I don’t have the strength to be tough right now. I want to cry, soak in a bubble bath, curl up under a fluffy blanket, and let the grief take over today. I’ve lost my job, my income, and the last shred of respect I may have had for my father.
That’s a lot to lose in one morning.
“What can I do to help?” he asks.
My heart pinches. “I don’t know.” The crack in my voice gives me away before a sob I can’t contain bursts from my throat.
“Do you want me to come over?”
Yes… no… I don’t know.
Every cell in my body tingles at the thought of touching him, of curling up on the couch on someone’s chest and having a good cry while they hold me. Or a hard fuck while they hold me down.
But his masks… I can’t stomach the thought of not looking into his stunning mismatched eyes, like they reveal two different parts of him—the kind man who stayed overnight to find the person leaving me death threats, and the mildly sadistic Pepsi-loving assassin.
“Will you wear a mask?”
His long pause gives me hope until he says, “Yes.”
And just like that, I have my answer. “I’ll be finealone.”
Of course I will. I’ve been alone my entire life. Just because you grew up in a house with parents doesn’t mean you’re not alone. Just because you had friends doesn’t mean they wanted to be around you—more like their parents made them spend time with the fat girl in class so they could get in Dad’s good graces. Just because you had a sister doesn’t mean you loved each other. No, I’m used to being alone.
“I’m not convinced,” Tristan says.
“Am I supposed to convince you I’m fine? I don’t have the mental bandwidth right now.”
“I’m not convinced you want to be alone. How about we negotiate?”
“What are we negotiating?” I have to admit, I’m intrigued.
“I’ll order us dinner. We’ll video call. Talk. Eat. Hell, turn the phone around, and we can watch a movie together.” Then his voice drops. “I don’t like the thought of you being alone tonight.”
Damnit, why is it the unhinged men who always know exactly what to say?
“I like your terms,” I start. “Indian for dinner. I pick the movie.”
Tristan groans. “Fine, but please no horror movies. I’ve seen your Netflix watch list.” He pauses. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Like your full name?” I’d probably have better luck getting my old job back, but if you don’t ask, the answer’s always going to be no.
“Touché. But no. I’m still scared of horror movies. Anything with gore or jump scares.Sawmade me puke, and Chucky gave me nightmares.”
Him? Afraid? The man has invented some creative waysof killing people over the years. “Really?” When he doesn’t say anything, I wonder if maybe he’s embarrassed. And that’s… charming.
“You know,” I say, “I think Chucky scared us all as kids.”
“I was twenty-five.”
A full belly laugh breaks apart the sadness that had enveloped me all day, like that first glimpse of sunshine after a rainstorm.
