Being With You (The Redemption Series) (11 page)

It would be a crime if he had to kill whoever slammed the door to his apartment this early in the morning. It pulled him out of his booze-induced daydream, even if it was only five in the morning and he hadn’t been to sleep yet. He made it to his bedroom and was lying haphazardly across the mattress, but that is as far as he made it before his racing thoughts played through the first time he’d made love to Peyton on the beach.

Tristan settled his fingers just barely underneath the band on her panties, and Peyton whimpered. He moved his hand back and forth from hip bone to hip bone, reveling in the feel of her silky skin. With slow and steady movements, his fingertips played in the nest of curls covering her sex until she squirmed. His fingers easily slid between her folds, and Tristan nearly lost control when he realized how wet and ready she was.

Their eyes were locked on each other when Tristan found her protruding clit and felt her shudder when he flicked it a few times, but she didn’t lose his gaze. Tristan scooted in closer to her and moved his index finger to her channel and easily slipped inside. Peyton cried out, but kept still otherwise when he added another finger and pumped them in and out slowly. Her hips were moving with his thrusts, and he knew she wasn’t going to hold on much longer. His thumb landed firmly on her clit, and he pressed down as he bit her naked shoulder, telling her against her skin, “Come for me, baby.”

Her answer was a staccato whimper and he could feel her core clutching at the intrusion as she panted her release. When her body stopped moving and she relaxed against the blanket, he removed his fingers then brought the silky juice to his mouth. He was content to let her come back down and just rested his head against her body as she calmed.

Another noise from the living room reminded him there was some fucker in his apartment whom he needed to kill. First, he would have to call the cops to let them know someone had broken into his apartment, and then he would beat the bastard over the head with a baseball bat. It would be self-defense…slamming the door to someone’s home when they are right in between passing out from being overly drunk and completely exhausted was a perfectly lawful reason to off somebody.

“Tristan?” a soft voice called out before there was a soft knock on his door. “Are you in there, baby?”

Peyton…

He must have died coming home from the bar…this wasn’t real. His body was lying along the street somewhere, and he was dead from alcohol poisoning, or a gun shot from a mugging, or someone finally took pity on his sorry existence and just offed him.

The knock was a little louder this time, and the door creaked open and someone stepped into his darkened room. “Sweetheart, talk to me. I got a text message that you weren’t doing too good, but my phone was off so I just got it a little while ago. I came as quick as I could.”

The voice was soft and sweet and lilting, and Tristan gasped as he choked out, “You’re here. You’re really here, Peyton.”

She sat down on the bed, and Tristan couldn’t help but wrap his arms around her body and pull her in. There was a muffled sound as she lay down next to him and Tristan could tell she was crying.

“Oh, God, Peyton, don’t cry…I know I’m going to hell for everything I’ve done to you, but just for tonight, let me hold you. I promise I’ll let you go back to your life in the morning and I won’t ever bother you again.”

Tristan snuggled her in close, and could feel that her body was tense in his arms. He kissed the soft skin on her neck and whispered, “Please, I need you, Peyton.”

Her soft hand patted his arm and she told him, “All right. Go to sleep, Tristan. I’ll stay right here with you.”

H
e was in his childhood home. The house smelled awful and was so cold. Dark and cold. There was a single light on in the bedroom, but it was so dim it didn’t reach this far out into the house. He could hear the faintest sounds coming from the bedroom…they sounded like a lullaby. Like someone singing. Tristan knew that voice. Knew who that was. He started walking toward it and could feel the dread creeping across his skin.

He shouldn’t go in there. He was told not to. Supposed to stay outside. He stepped all the way into the room and could see a woman, a tiny wisp of a thing, sitting on the bed, clutching something in her hands, rocking from side to side. She started singing again, but this time Tristan could hear the words. “Baby mine, don’t you cry. Baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart never to part, baby of mine.”

The woman looked up at him, and Tristan saw the tears streaming down her sunken in face, instantly knowing that she was his mother. “Come here, Tristan,” she said in a distant voice as she reached for him. Her hand held his arm and he flailed about wildly trying to get her off him, “Nooooooooo!”

Tristan screamed and pushed the body next to him as hard as he could, using his feet as well as his hands to get away. His nightmare was real, and someone was trying to hold him down.

“Ouch!” she screamed and he opened his eyes to see he wasn’t in his childhood home. It took him a few seconds to adjust to the surroundings, but he knew he was in his bedroom in his apartment.

His head was throbbing like a jackhammer and he winced as he reached for his forehead to rub at the constant pain that had set up shop there. Closing his eyes again, he fell back against the bed and felt a wave of nausea wrack his body. Rolling to the side closest to whomever he’d pushed out of his bed, he grabbed blindly for the garbage can and the contents of last night’s drinking binge spewed from his mouth. He choked and gagged as the smell of his own vomit added to the running list of things that fucking sucked about the last twenty-four hours.

Then it hit him like a ton of bricks. Peyton. The person he’d pushed out of the bed was Peyton. She’d come to him last night when he needed her. She’d stayed with him when he called out to her…emotionally destroyed at the memory of what could have been between them and if she’d moved on with another man. She was the talisman to soothe his soul, but was also part of the reason he’d gone on a bender in the first place. But even though he had nothing to offer her for a future, or any reason to hold her to him, Peyton had still stayed by his side and let him hold her all night long.

Tristan sat up quickly and regretted it instantly. The pain in his body was almost unbearable, and he was sure that something more than just a hangover was working against him right now. He’d drank a whole lot more many times before, but the agony spreading across his belly, his back and down his legs was damn near horrific.

Still, in as much pain as he was, he leaned over the bed and looked at the person huddled on the floor, hair all disheveled and rubbing at her backside. It wasn’t his Portuguese spitfire, it was his roommate.

It was all just a dream…

“Susy, are you okay?” Tristan asked between labored breaths. It was hard to suck air into his lungs and his chest felt like it was on fire. After he said the words, he lay back down and clutched his eyes closed to keep the room from spinning.

“I should be asking you that question, Tristan.” There was a rustling in the room, and then the bed dipped as she climbed back in. “Why did I get a text message from Gabriel letting me know that you’d gone off halfcocked, spitting nails and had plans to stop at every bar between the restaurant and here and get completely shit faced?”

Tristan groaned, but answered her honestly. “Because it’s the truth. I called you Peyton last night,” he told her matter of factly.

“Yes,” she quietly answered him.

“Why did you lie to me?” he asked as he continued to lay there, his eyes staunched shut as tight as possible. His body was chilled, and he’d started to shake uncontrollably. Things were going from fucked up to major clusterfuck now as he realized he must have a fever and some illness, along with being hungover.

Susy must have noticed his trembling, because he felt her cool hand resting on his forehead, probably feeling if he had a temperature. “Christ, Tristan. You’re burning up…like your skin is on fire. You probably still have a bladder infection. We need to get you to the emergency room, this time.”

Tristan couldn’t even answer, he was too weak and things were starting to fade in and out. He focused on Susy’s face when she came back in the room; she was frowning as she concentrated on getting him dressed. He reached out to trace a line near her mouth and whispered, “You didn’t answer my question.”

Susy recoiled from his touch, but didn’t leave the bed. She held her hand to her forehead and left it there for a minute, rubbing back and forth as she groaned. “I’m sorry, Tristan. I’m not exactly feeling well this morning myself. What did you ask me?”

Tristan felt like he was in a tunnel now and her words were all garbled together at the end. His body felt like it was floating, and it wasn’t responding to his commands. He wanted to repeat his question to Susy, but his mouth wasn’t working anymore. Then he floated back to sleep.

His throat was dry. He hurt all over. He was in hell.

The beeping of a machine and a soft whir from somewhere were matching the rhythm of the pounding in his head. He must have fallen asleep for a whole day and night again, because he felt disconnected from reality like the last time he’d been out for days. His body was stiff and even the tiniest movement of his hand was hard to manage.

He licked at his cracked lips, but there was hardly any saliva in his mouth and it just made things worse. Working at clearing his throat to get things moving again, he finally managed to make enough noise that someone in the room started speaking. “Hey, Tristan. I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake. Be right back.”

The voice was familiar, but he had no idea who it was. Opening his eyes to verify their identity would be smart, but he didn’t have the strength or the inclination. He just squeaked out, “Water,” before the exertion of even that left him drained.

“I know, honey. I’ll get you some ice chips when I come back.”

It didn’t take long for someone to come back, but this time a male voice spoke. “Welcome back Tristan. How are you feeling this morning?”

Time was completely topsy-turvy right now, and he wasn’t sure if it was still Saturday morning after his drinking spree, or what morning this person was referring to. Time hadn’t really existed for him, leaving just a great big void. There were no snippets of memories or recollections at all. The last thing he remembered was Susy talking to him in his bedroom.

Tristan said the same word again, this time a little clearer, “Water,” and he forced his eyes open.

He was in a hospital room, looking directly at a mid-thirties man in a white coat, who was holding a tablet device as he smiled at him with big, white teeth. He nodded his head at whomever was standing on the other side of his bed, and Tristan could feel a spoon at his lips with something wet and cold waiting on it. He closed his eyes and almost groaned in relief at the feel of the ice chips as they soothed his dry mouth and parched throat. He licked at his lips after his mouth was wet, but the other person admonished him. “Don’t. It will just make it worse. I’ll put some salve on your lips once you’ve gotten a few ice chips down.”

Tristan wasn’t sure he could move enough to see who the other person was, and frankly didn’t care. As long as she continued to feed him the heavenly slices of water, then it could be Medusa herself standing next to him, and he wouldn’t give a fuck.

The doctor asked again how he was feeling, and Tristan tried to focus his eyes again on the man. “I feel like I was run through a meat grinder, honestly. What day is it?”

He tried to adjust himself in the reclining bed, and was happy when his muscles responded and he could move a bit, facing the doctor so he could hear.

The doctor was chicken pecking something on his tablet as he answered, “It’s Sunday, Mr. Hart.” He looked up at Tristan from the screen then grabbed the rolling chair that was between the two beds and sat down.

“You were unconscious for more than twenty-four hours from a severe fever and dehydration caused by kidney infection. We’ve had you on IV antibiotics and fluids for that same amount of time, and you have been responding well to treatment.”