Her breath caught in her throat and she froze, because she didn’t have the faintest idea what had brought this on. What had made him wake so late at night and look so heavy. She nodded though, because the tone of his voice told her it was important. Because the tone of his voice told her that how she answered meant a whole lot to him.
“How have I ever made you look like a fool?” he asked then. He wasn’t angry, and he wasn’t emotional, but there was something in his voice that was somewhere in between.
She pulled in a breath, then looked down to her hands and shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He turned completely around, his face now illuminated by the moonlight coming in from the window. “You said it in the car. On the side of the road. You said not to make you look like a fool again. What did you mean?”
She hesitated, but he grabbed hold of her hands, forcing her to look up at him before letting go. “If we’re going to do this, I don’t want anything between us.”
Her throat was so tight she could barely swallow, but she knew he was right. She had to talk to him, to get everything out in the open. Because if their past wasn’t put out there, they had no shot at a future.
She met his eyes, forcing herself to look at him even though it terrified her. “After the cabin,” she said, playing with the edge of the sheet between her fingers, suddenly feeling all the emotions of a broken sixteen-year-old girl come crashing to her shoulders. “I saw you with a girl at the pool table. I thought you saw me, but—”
He suddenly closed his eyes, then made a noise, deep in the back of his throat, cutting her off. His head fell back to his shoulders, and he made a sound that could have been a laugh, or a cough. “That,” he whispered. “That.” But this time it was with a hint of amusement. He was quiet a moment, then he lifted his head to look at her, his blue eyes brilliant even in the faint light of night, as he stared straight into her soul. “I’m a jealous man, Samantha,” he finally stated, as though that simple sentence was all that was needed.
She reached for his face, trying to understand what he meant, but he continued.
“I wanted to make you jealous too.”
She shook her head, not comprehending why he would do that, but then she replayed the night over in her head and she remembered. She covered her mouth with a hand and her throat went dry. “You saw Steven kiss me, didn’t you?” He didn’t respond, but the look in his eye told her that was exactly what happened. “Oh, my God.”
“Samantha…” But he said it in a way that dismissed their past. He said it in a way that said it didn’t matter.
But it did. “When he kissed me, I was shocked, but I let it happen. Partially because I was young and didn’t know how to push him away. He was my friend. One of my best friends, and I didn’t want to hurt him. And partially because I wanted to know if kissing him felt even half as good as it felt kissing you. It didn’t. It never did—”
He grabbed hold of her face, his eyes penetrating hers, his lips millimeters away. “If he didn’t kiss you like I did, if you didn’t feel with him the way you did with me, why were you still with him when I came back to visit? Why were you still with him six years later?”
Tears rolled down her cheeks, because he was asking the hard questions. Asking the questions she’d asked a thousand times but never let herself answer.
“I don’t know…”
He shook his head, as though saying her answer wasn’t good enough.
“Because…” she continued. “He was my friend! And I didn’t want to hurt him. He was my friend, everything was easy, comfortable, and I didn’t want our relationship to fail. To fail at one more damned thing…” Her words trailed off, and she looked up at him through tear-laced lashes. “It wasn’t until you came back into my life that I realized all I was missing…”
He cupped the side of her face, sending her pulse racing.
“I never thought I could have more. That there was more. Because I’m so scared, Tristan, so scared out of my mind of failing, that I haven’t let myself live.” The words came choking out of her, as if they were clawing up her throat, needing her to confess them. Ragged, with torn up edges, coming from deep within her soul.
Her chin began to quiver, and he pulled her into his lap, hugging her so hard it almost crushed her. He held her so tightly, it was as if there was no end to him or beginning of her. “You deserve everything.”
It wasn’t until he said those words that she realized that’s what it was. That she’d convinced herself that her relationship with Steven was enough. That what she had with him was love. That she’d convinced herself she wasn’t capable of more. Wasn’t worthy of more.
Tristan’s voice was harsh, almost jagged, as he whispered forcefully in her ear. “You deserve everything. Do you hear me?”
She nodded, crying in his arms, sobbing so hard, because for some reason, for the first time in her life, she believed it. She deserved a deep-seated love. The soul crushing kind she always dreamed about. And she deserved friendship at the same time, because she was worthy of all of it. He climbed with her back into bed a while later, where he held her in his arms, stroking her back softly with his fingertips. Eventually she fell asleep, for the first time in her adult life, feeling whole.
Chapter Twenty-three
The next afternoon, Samantha turned toward the window of the Mustang, letting the warm breeze blow over her hair and face. Last night had been an emotional roller coaster. Between finding out about Renee’s parents, and Tristan holding her in bed all night, her body, mind, and soul were completely spent.
Feelings she didn’t even know existed were ripped off her, like layers shed from an onion—things she’d buried so deep she didn’t even know they existed. Yet somehow, Tristan knew they were there—and somehow, she didn’t want to hide them from him any longer.
It was an odd feeling, because in the past any shortcoming would be brushed under the table. She didn’t like others to see her flaws, her failures, her fears—yet it didn’t seem as scary sharing them with Tristan. Maybe because he wasn’t one to strive for perfection. Or maybe because the way he looked at her made her feel like all her imperfections were what he liked most about her.
They’d enjoyed the morning lounging in bed, making love, and eating breakfast brought to them on silver platters: pancakes, fruit, and lots of sticky syrup that she thoroughly enjoyed licking from his fingers.
Even though they didn’t talk about it, the wedding was looming over them, pushing them forward, rushing them through their time together, and by 10:00 a.m. they were packed up, back in the car, and ready for the last leg of their journey.
She looked over at him now, to his handsome face and his hands braced on either side of the steering wheel. His aviator glasses were shading his face, his lips serious, set in a straight line, but he was beautiful. And not just because of his outside. He was beautiful on the inside too.
Last night he’d laid himself out there, letting her see the little boy who lived inside him, hurt and broken by his father who he’d always idolized. Then about his jealous heart, that prevented them from being together all those years ago. But somehow, that was all over now. They’d overcome it.
“We finally made it,” she said softly, though she didn’t mean it just about the trip. It was said about so much more.
He glanced over at her, cracking one of his panty dropping smiles, and tilted his head down toward the GPS. “We should be there in an hour. Are you ready?”
She grinned. “That depends.”
“On what?” he asked flirtatiously.
“On what you’re asking I’m ready for.” She raised her brows. “Because if you’re asking if I’m ready to try on my bridesmaids dress, the answer is no. I sent the measurements three months ago, and I think I’ve eaten more burgers and fries in the last four days than I have in the past year.”
“Well that’s a shame,” he said, with a serious frown. “Because burgers and fries are one of God’s greatest gifts.”