Crash into Me (Heart of Stone #1)(54)
Author: K.M. Scott

                                                                         Tristan

I’m looking forward to it. Did he mean my choices, my answer to his question, or Tony’s pizza? Jesus. This man was going to drive me mad. Even his letters said little and created more questions in my mind.

There was no point in worrying all day. I knew what I wanted to say. Had to say if I wanted him to know how I truly felt about him. I just had to muster up the courage to say the words.

By four o’ clock, I was a nervous wreck. The woman who stared back at me from the mirror in the morning with her bravado had dissolved into a panicky mess. Needing to talk to Jordan but too impatient to wait for email, I snuck up to the attic, evading Rogers’ careful eye, and called her for a strong shot of courage.

Every step I took across the attic floor seemed to make the floor creak like it was screaming beneath my feet. If only I hadn’t hidden the phone all the way in the corner next to that scary sewing mannequin. I finally reached it and crouched down behind a stack of boxes, just in case my footsteps had been as loud as I thought.

The phone felt heavier in my hand than before, and I quickly dialed Jordan’s number, pushing my index finger around in the rotary dialer circle eleven times, all the time questioning how anyone called for help and got it in time before push button phones and 911.

"Hello?"

"Jordan," I whispered into the black receiver. "It’s me. I need your help."

"Nina, what’s up? Are you okay? How’s your head? And can I tell you how great this suite is? That man of yours knows how to live!"

"Jordan!" I whispered as loudly as I could and still be whispering.

"Okay. Sorry. What’s up?"

"I need to talk to you about something. Something I need to do with Tristan."

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a long moment. "Nina, what’s wrong?"

"He asked me what I wanted after my contract is over. I don’t want to make a mistake like I did by saying I love you too early."

"I don’t understand. What do you want?"

I said nothing, scared even to say it to her, my best friend. Opening my mouth, I tried, but nothing came out. Finally, I just said, "I don’t know."

"Oh, honey. You know."

"You’re not helping."

"I know, but I can’t help with this one. Think about what you’d tell me if I asked you what I should say to Justin if he asked what I wanted with him."

"I’d like to think I’d be more helpful," I pouted.

"What are you afraid of, Nina?" she asked, cutting straight to the center of the issue. "And don’t tell me you don’t know."

I let the phone sag onto my shoulder and covered my face with my hands. "I’m afraid that I’m going to let him know exactly how I feel and how much I want to be with him forever and he’s going to react just like Cal did."

And there it was. Like a huge cloud of doubt hanging over my head right there in the attic ready to suffocate me.

"Cal was an asshole, Nina. He was a liar and a player and an immature fuckup. You were too good for him from the moment you were born. That he broke up with you after you told him how you felt about him isn’t a reflection on you, sweetie. He’d been lying for months. You were just too sweet to see that."

"But what if I’m just not seeing the same thing here?"

"Tristan isn’t Cal. I promise you that. I’m not even sure they’re both the same species. Tristan has been nothing but incredible, so until he shows you otherwise, I say give him a chance."

"What if he doesn’t want as much as I do, Jordan?" I squeaked out.

"Then he’s a fool and not the man I think he is. Give him a chance, sweetie. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised."

I wanted to. I really did. But my past and all that hurt felt like it was pressing down on my chest, threatening to crush me.

"Nina, do you remember all those days you stayed in your room crying over Cal and swearing you would never let yourself fall for anyone again? I think if you let this guy go, you’re going to be like that forever. I don’t want to see you get all hardened over. You’re too good a person to be that."

Tears rolled down my cheeks at Jordan’s words and the thought of losing Tristan because of my fears from the past. Wiping my face, I sniffled. "I know. I’m just so afraid it’s too good to be true."

"You’re forgetting my mantra. Remember? Good things happen to good people, and you’re the best of the good ones, Nina."

"Okay. Thanks, Jordan."

"Your welcome, sweetie. And don’t forget whatever happens, you got this."

I hung up the phone and inhaled a deep breath. I got this. Getting up, I walked as quietly as possible across the attic, but I stopped as I passed the trunk with the picture of Tristan and his family. It was silly, but something in me wanted to look at him as a child again. Crouching down, I opened the trunk while I kept my eye on the stairs, just in case Rogers had heard something.

I took out the family portrait and studied the childhood face of the man I loved. He looked so innocent. I wanted to see more—wanted to see what he was truly like as a child— so I sifted through the papers and books to a pile of smaller pictures I hadn’t noticed the last time. Together, they catalogued Tristan and his brother’s youth and as the pictures clearly showed, the vast differences between the two boys.

Identical in appearance, they were like night and day. All smiles, Tristan seemed to always be so full of life, while his brother stood sullen in the few pictures of him. Tristan was obviously the more athletic, appearing in picture after picture holding trophies, each one bigger than the one before. In the background of one picture his brother stood watching from behind the bleachers as Tristan once again received laurels. Taylor wore the expression I’d seen often in the past weeks on Tristan, a face that told whoever bothered to pay attention that the one wearing it felt the most acute sense of unhappiness. Some pictures showed his mother’s pride in her winning son, but none included Tristan’s father, except the formal portrait I’d studied earlier. As the boys aged, fewer showed Taylor at all.

I searched the bottom of the trunk to find more images of his brother, but there were none. All I found were papers that appeared to be lists of names and legal documents. Suddenly, a feeling of guilt came over me. It wasn’t right that I was snooping up in that attic, even if it was for a silly romantic reason.