Jordyn stopped by Sunday afternoon to drop off Gryffindor, because Tristyn had offered to take care of the cat when she heard that her sister and brother-in-law were planning to sneak away for a few days to Braden’s house on Ocracoke. She set the cat’s pillow in the corner of the living room, where it had always been when he’d lived there.
“Not a lot of treats,” Jordyn cautioned, turning to her sister. “The vet said...” Her words trailed off. “Tristyn—what’s wrong?”
Tristyn shook her head as she blinked back the tears. “Nothing.”
“Then why does it look as if you’re trying not to cry?”
“Allergies,” she decided.
Jordyn narrowed her gaze. “You don’t have allergies.”
“Allergies can be acquired,” she pointed out.
“What are you allergic to?”
“Cats,” she said.
Jordyn fisted her hands on her hips. “Do I need to go and kick Josh Slater’s butt?”
“No.” Tristyn sighed. “It’s really not his fault.”
“What’s not his fault?” her sister pressed.
She swiped at an errant tear that spilled onto her cheek. “That I fell in love and he didn’t.”
“Oh, honey,” Jordyn said, and enfolded Tristyn in her embrace.
The dam cracked. Tristyn thought she’d done a pretty good job holding it together, but suddenly the tears broke through. Anguished sobs, wrenched from the bottom of her bruised and battered heart, burned her throat as she finally gave in to the storm of emotion that had been building inside her. She didn’t know how long she cried, just that the tears seemed endless. Jordyn didn’t offer any useless platitudes, only strong and familiar comfort.
A short while later, Lauryn showed up with a bottle of Pinot Noir and a box of dark chocolate covered cherries. Somehow, in the midst of the back rubbing and tissue passing, Jordyn had managed to text their other sister.
So Tristyn told them what had happened, because she needed to tell someone. But she felt like an idiot, blubbering to her sisters who had each endured much worse heartache than simply being dumped. In comparison to the death of a fiancé and a cheating husband, watching Josh walk away was nothing.
“Except that it doesn’t sound like it was his choice to walk away,” Lauryn pointed out.
“But he did,” she insisted.
Jordyn shook her head. “Only after he asked you to go to Bristol with him.”
“You can’t get mad at him for being with someone else when you told him you didn’t want to be with him,” Lauryn admonished gently.
“I agree with that, with the added proviso that you have no reason to believe Josh is actually with Paris,” Jordyn said.
Tristyn shoved her iPad toward her sister. “This clinch that’s circulating all over social media looks pretty real to me.”
“I’m not saying that Paris wasn’t there with him. But without knowing the details of how or why, you can’t be mad at Josh.”
“Yes, I can,” she insisted. “This picture was taken six days after he walked out of my house. Six days after he spent the night in my bed, making love with me, he was with someone else.”
“I don’t believe for a minute that Josh was with her,” Jordyn said.
Tristyn dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “I wanted him to fight for me,” she admitted softly. “I wanted to believe our relationship was worth fighting for—that I was worth fighting for.”
“Where is this coming from?” Lauryn asked.
“Brett Taylor,” Jordyn said.
Lauryn looked blank. “Who?”
“You were already married,” Jordyn remembered. “Tristyn was in her second year at Duke, he was in his third. They were going to build houses together in Costa Rica that summer, but at the last minute, he decided to go to Europe instead.”
“But that would have been...what—ten years ago?” Lauryn asked.
Tristyn nodded. “And then there was Kevin Wakefield, the second baseman for the Durham Bulls.”
Lauryn smiled. “Him I remember.”
“Do you also remember that he asked for a trade—to Pawtucket?”
“As I recall, he thought he had a better chance of being called up to Boston than Tampa Bay.”
She nodded again. “But he never considered that the trade would signify the end of our relationship. I wasn’t even a factor in his decision.”
“Because he was an idiot,” Lauryn said gently.
“And Josh went to Bristol without me,” she pointed out to her sisters.
“You told him to go,” Jordyn reminded her.
“Because I wanted him to say that he didn’t want to go without me. And if I didn’t want to go, he would stay with me. I wanted him to want me more than he wanted to be in Bristol.”
“That’s not really fair, Tris. You know that he feels obligated, as an owner of the team, to represent GSR.”
She swiped at the tears that spilled onto her cheeks. “I know,” she admitted. “But the fact that he went out to celebrate with Paris proves that I never mattered to him any more than any other woman he’s ever been with.”
She wasn’t the type to wallow—at least not for very long. Talking to her sisters, along with the wine and the chocolate, helped her put things into perspective a little.
She’d given her heart to the wrong man and it had ended up in pieces. Now she had to put those pieces back together—and she had to do it before Monday morning, when she would be back behind her desk at GSR. Because she was determined not to let anyone—especially Josh—see that she was hurting.
* * *
Ren D’Alesio was having the season of his career, and Josh was thrilled to be a part of it. The only thing that dampened his enthusiasm when he watched his driver take the checkered flag at Bristol was that Tristyn wasn’t there to witness the victory. But that had been her choice, and he wasn’t going to skip the celebration just to sit around his hotel room and wish she was there.
So he went out with the team. In the past couple years, Ren had steadily moved up the ranks, showing not just skill but smarts in his racing, and the other drivers—and the media—had begun to pay attention. As a result, there were reporters shoving microphones in his face and photographers snapping pictures everywhere he went—especially on race day. Josh had never craved the spotlight and was happy to hover in the background when fans or media asked for photos. So he didn’t see the picture that was circulating on social media until the next day, when his sister sent him a copy attached to an email with “WTF” in the subject line.
WTF, indeed.
He didn’t know what to say to Tristyn when he saw her in the office Monday morning. He wanted to explain, but she’d made it clear that whatever they’d shared was over and done. As it turned out, she was on the phone when he walked by her desk and she never even glanced in his direction. It wasn’t until he returned from lunch that she called him over.
“What’s up?” he asked, attempting to match her easy tone.
“Phone messages,” she said, handing him a pile of pink slips. “Apparently your voice mail is full.”
“I turned off my ringer during my meeting with Daniel and Archie this morning,” he said, using the nickname of Calvin Archer, the owner of Archer Glass. “I guess I forgot to turn it back on.” He glanced at the message on top, and winced inwardly when he saw Paris Smythe’s name and number in Tristyn’s familiar handwriting.
“You should call her,” she said, finally looking up at him.
“Why?”
“Because you’re not the kind of guy who doesn’t call.”
“I didn’t spend the weekend with her in Bristol,” he said, wanting to be clear about that.
“It’s none of my business if you did or didn’t,” Tristyn said.
“I didn’t,” he said again, holding her gaze.
She nodded. “You should call her, anyway.”
“Tristyn—”
“I saw Rafe last night.”
She blurted the words out before he could say anything else, and the impact of her statement made him feel as if he’d been kicked in the chest. When he’d managed to draw air into his lungs, he asked, “Is this your way of telling me that you’ve moved on and I should, too?”
She nodded.
He took the messages and retreated to his office.
* * *
It was just his luck that Tristyn’s sister Jordyn was at the restaurant when Josh stopped by later that afternoon. “Is Rafe working tonight?”
“Yes,” she admitted warily. “Why?”
“I need to talk to him.”
“Why?” she asked again.
“Because I’m in love with your sister.”
Her lips curved into a smile so reminiscent of Tristyn’s, it actually made his heart ache. And the possibility that he might never again be the focus of Tristyn’s smile was one that he refused to consider. Whatever it took, he was going to win her back.
“We were beginning to think you would never figure it out,” Jordyn said to him now.
“We?” he asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“Me and Lauryn. And Kenna,” she admitted.
He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Now I’m asking—what does any of this have to do with Rafe?”
“Tristyn told me that she was with him last night,” he finally confided.
“So you came here to—what? Fight for her?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“Against a man who has an impressive assortment of knives capable of chopping, dicing and carving within arm’s reach?”
He answered without hesitation. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her.”
Jordyn touched a hand to his arm. “Then before you go storming into the kitchen and making a fool of yourself, you should know that Tristyn only saw Rafe last night because she was here for dinner.”
He took a moment to absorb the implications of her words. “She wasn’t out on a date with him?”
Jordyn shook her head. “She wasn’t out on a date with him.”
He frowned. “She deliberately misled me.”
“Or maybe you misinterpreted what she said,” she countered.
“No,” he stated. “She deliberately misled me because she wanted me to think that she’d already moved on. And the only reason she’d want me to think that was if it wasn’t true.”
“While I’m not entirely sure I followed all of that, I’d like to make a suggestion,” Jordyn said.
“Okay,” he agreed, the realization that Tristyn still had feelings for him already making his heart lighter.
“Go have this conversation with my sister. Tell her how you feel.”
“I will,” he promised.
But there was one more stop he had to make first.
* * *
Tristyn had just settled on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn in her lap and a glass of Pinot Noir beside her, intending to spend the night binge-watching Game of Thrones, when a knock sounded at the door. She hadn’t been expecting any company and was comfortably dressed in a pair of denim cutoffs and an old Duke T-shirt. She decided to ignore the summons. If it was either or both of her sisters, they had keys they could use. If it was anyone else, she wasn’t in the mood for company.
“Come on, Tris—open up.”
She immediately recognized Josh’s voice. What she didn’t know was why he was here.
“I know you’re in there,” he continued, when she failed to respond. “I can hear the Game of Thrones theme playing.”
Inwardly cursing the single-pane windows as an ineffective sound barrier, she finally, reluctantly, pushed herself off the sofa and went to the door. She opened it with the intention of sending him away, but the words slid back down her throat when her gaze landed on him.
He was wearing a tuxedo.
And holding a corsage box in his hand.
Her heart thudded against her ribs.
Of course, any woman would probably have the same reaction. Josh always looked good, but in black tie, the man was absolutely devastating.
Without waiting for an invitation, he stepped past her and into the foyer.
She finally found her voice to ask, “Why are you here, Josh?”
Instead of answering her question, he opened the plastic box and removed the corsage. “This is for you.”
“I’m a little underdressed for orchids,” she protested, as he took her hand to slide the band onto her wrist.
“You’re beautiful,” he assured her. “Even in cutoff shorts and an old T-shirt—even in granny jammies—you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”
She swallowed around the tightness in her throat. She didn’t know what game he was playing, but she didn’t want to be involved. She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t be with him and continue to pretend that she didn’t love him with her whole heart. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said.
But the protest sounded weak, even to her own ears.
Josh gently squeezed the hand he was still holding. “Yes, I should,” he said. “Because I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
Then he led her into her own living room, where he immediately began to rearrange her furniture—pushing back the sofa and moving aside the coffee table to clear the center of the room.
“What are you doing?” she asked, sincerely baffled.
He didn’t reply until he’d finished his task. “Rewriting history,” he finally said. “Our history. I want to show you how I wish the night of your prom could have ended twelve years ago.”
Then he tapped the screen of his iPhone a few times and the first notes of a familiar Savage Garden tune spilled out of the tiny speaker. He set it on the table and held out his hand. “Will you dance with me?”
She didn’t think she’d made a move, but somehow her hand found its way to his. The way her knees were trembling, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to dance, though. Then his arm, warm and strong, was at her back, drawing her closer, and she let herself relax into his embrace and move with him to the music.
“Do you remember this song?” he asked.
She nodded. “‘Truly Madly Deeply.’”
“It’s the song that was playing the first time we ever danced together,” he reminded her.
“I didn’t think you remembered,” she admitted.
“I remember every second of that first dance,” he assured her. “Of our first kiss, and the first time we made love.”
He kissed her then—a soft and surprisingly sweet kiss, the kind of kiss that she’d yearned for the night of her prom. But she wasn’t a naive seventeen-year-old girl anymore, and her yearnings weren’t nearly as innocent as they’d been twelve years earlier.
“I didn’t call Paris,” he told her now.
“Why?”
“Because even if you’re okay with me dating other women, I’m not. I don’t want any woman but you.”
Her heart swelled inside her chest, but her brain continued to urge caution.
“For twelve years, every other woman I’ve dated has been a pale substitute for the one woman I really wanted but didn’t believe I’d ever have—you. And I don’t want to spend the next twelve years doing the same thing in a futile effort to get over you, because I know it won’t ever happen.”
“It’s only been two weeks,” she pointed out.
He tipped her chin up so that she could see the truth of his feelings in his eyes. “Two weeks, two months, two years—it doesn’t matter,” he told her. “It’s always been you for me. Only you.”
And those words, spoken from his heart, began to heal the broken pieces of her own.
“It’s always been you for me,” she admitted, as she led him to her bedroom. “Only you.”
He framed her face in his hands and kissed her again.
“I’ve missed you.” He whispered the confession against her lips. “I was going crazy, wondering if I’d ever be here with you like this again. If I’d ever have the chance to hold you, touch you, love you.”
“Love me now,” she suggested.
“I will.” He kissed her once. “I am.” Then again. “I do.”
They quickly dispensed with their clothing, then fell together on top of her bed, a tangle of limbs and needs. Their mouths collided, clung; hands stroked, seduced; bodies merged, mated. The rhythm of their lovemaking was familiar—and somehow different. This time, all the illusions and pretensions had been stripped away by the acknowledgment of their feelings for one another, discarded like the garments that littered the floor. Now they were just a man and a woman, loving one another—and it was all either of them wanted or needed.
“I love you, Tristyn,” he said.
To hear the words now, to know they were true, filled her heart to overflowing. “I love you, too,” she admitted. “I tried not to—but I couldn’t seem to help myself.”
“I’m not sorry about that,” he said. “I think I started to fall for you twelve years ago, but I wasn’t nearly ready to acknowledge the depth of my feelings for you then.” His lips curved in a wry smile. “Who am I kidding? I wasn’t ready to acknowledge the depth of my feelings for you even a few weeks ago. Because I knew that you were the perfect woman for the rest of my life—and I was having too much fun in the moment to think about the rest of my life.
“And then, you were no longer with me in the moment. And I realized that I didn’t want anything else as much as I wanted to be with you. Not just for the moment, but for always.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he assured her. “Over the past few weeks, I realized something else, too.”
“What’s that?”
“I think I’d like to have one or two kids of my own someday—if I could have them with you.”
“I really like the sound of that,” she told him.
“But while I was thinking about what I wanted for our future together, it occurred to me that your family—especially your cousin, my business partner and best friend—might not approve of us making plans to start a family before I put a ring on your finger.”
“Well, I didn’t think we were going to try to make a baby just yet,” she noted.
“Not just yet,” he confirmed, reaching into the pocket of his discarded jacket for the small velvet box. “But still—I’d like to do things in their proper order.”
Then he flipped open the lid to reveal the three-carat, emerald-cut diamond centered on a platinum band set with pavé diamonds.
Tristyn gasped. “Oh, Josh.”
“Daniel said that you’d have to be dazzled to ever agree to marry me.”
And she was dazzled—as much by his revelation as the ring. “You told Daniel you were planning to propose?”
“I needed to make sure my best friend would be my best man,” he told her. “So what do you say, Tristyn Garrett—will you marry me and turn ‘for now’ into ‘forever’?”
She threw her arms around his neck and drew his mouth down to hers. “There isn’t anything I want more.”