He was visibly agitated as he approached me. He wore his usual jeans and poured on T-shirt. He looked good, of course. Amazing, in fact.
“We need to talk,” he began without preamble.
I looked around, feeling terribly self-conscious. I couldn’t bear the thought that some hint of a rumor could be started about him and me. It was too raw of a wound to have outsiders picking at it.
“My office,” I told him tersely. “You have ten minutes.”
He followed me there, shutting the door behind him.
I moved to the far side of the room and then around my tall project desk, putting it between us.
“I know that Mona came to see you. I want to explain.”
I shut my eyes and shook my head. I couldn’t do this. I needed to stop it before it started. “Don’t, please. You having some sort of a tiff with her is not something I’m willing to become involved in. I frankly could not care less what it is about. None of it concerns me. I am with someone. I am in love with another man.”
Why did those words feel so hollow? Why did they feel like a blatant lie, and why did I feel so dirty saying them?
My eyes were still closed, but I’d have sworn, just by the very change in the air, that I could feel him recoil.
“You say you want to be friends, to catch up. That’s fine. Are you prepared for me to talk about him? It is serious between us. Are you ready to congratulate me when we become engaged? It’s going to happen very soon. Are we friendly enough that I can tell you the details?”
He was silent for so long that I didn’t think he’d answer.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
“Fine. Leave your number. I’ll give you a call sometime. We’ll do coffee. How’s that?” I would have said anything to get him out of there right then.
“It’s good, if you mean it.”
“Well, you’ll just have to wait and see. Your ten minutes is up.”
Finally, I looked at him. He gave me a tiny smile that played havoc on the stupid, traitorous organ in my chest. “You didn’t let me get a word in. I want a do-over.”
I shook my head, letting the tiniest hint of a rueful smile play across my mouth. “Not happening. Now make like a magician and disappear.”
He laughed, and I tried not to let my heart show in my eyes.
I never made a phone call, and I never answered his.
TRISTAN
We met for lunch regularly, but it was rare for me to get a summons up to the big office. I knew the reason for it, though, the second I saw James.
One look at the pained expression on his face and I knew it.
He looked as though he was braced to step into the middle of a situation that must have put him in a bad spot.
I sat down without a word and waited for the ax to fall.
“It’s about Danika,” he told me with a heavy sigh.
I just nodded, though inside the turmoil raged on. Whatever he was about to say, I knew I wouldn’t like it.
“As you know, she’s recently moved back to town, and she’ll be working on site regularly.”
I just nodded. Again. At least this was all coming through James. Somehow, it made it easier. As far as messengers went, close friends were a better case scenario.
“She’s, well, she’s asked me to relay a message to you.”
I flinched, but nodded at him to continue, properly braced.
“The gallery and everything west of Frankie’s is to be considered her territory, everything east, including your theatre, of course, will be yours. I take it you went to see her at work?”
“Yes,” I said, jaw clenched tight.
“Christ, man, what happened between you two? I missed all of the pertinent pieces. I only caught hints of the aftermath. You’ve both been so damned close-mouthed about it all.”
I looked down at my hands. “She doesn’t like for me to talk about it, but we were together. Not for long enough, but as you see, it was life-changing.” I took a deep breath. “We were married.” It felt so good to say that part out aloud, to acknowledge that it had been real.
I could see by his expression that he hadn’t had a clue.
I smiled bitterly. “No one knows. We didn’t even tell Frankie. And Danika doesn’t acknowledge that it ever happened. But we were married. It was just months after I lost Jared. I thought I was doing okay, but I did not deal with his death well.
James nodded, looking sympathetic. He’d sent his condolences at the time, but had steered clear of the funeral. He hadn’t wanted to turn the whole thing into a media circus, as everything in his life tended to be.
“Obviously you know about all of the drugs and the drinking while we recorded that album with Dean. You did pay for the rehab.”
“Worth every penny, to say the least.”
My mouth kicked up in a grin. “We were trying to get pregnant. She was insanely young for it at the time, but there was nothing sane about us. We were crazy about each other. She miscarried our baby, and I was a complete flake about it. After that, well, the losses started piling up until I’m sure she’ll say we lost more than we ever had together. That’s not true. We had more than we ever lost, but either way, I screwed it up. I could blame the drinking and the drugs, but however you cut it, I’m the one that let her slip through my fingers.”
He looked thoughtfully concerned, his fingers steepled in front of him. “I always got the impression that you held yourself responsible for her leg?”
I winced. “I am responsible. She came to see me after the divorce. I can’t remember why she came to my apartment, I was high as a kite and wrecked over the divorce. I have huge chunks of that night missing from my brain, but I do remember yelling at her to get a ride from Dean, who I later found out had drugged her. You know what happened after that.”
“My God,” he uttered softly.
“I’m glad you found Bianca, James. It’s not something you can describe until it hits you, but I see that you’ve found the one, and I’m happy for you.”
He studied me, his eyes pensive, but also pitying. “I’m sorry, Tristan. I didn’t realize this was what you were dealing with. I thought it was some scenario where she was wanted too much from you, and you went on your way. I knew that you loved her, but I thought that you’d let her go by choice.”