Black Heart Page 3

  “Well, he did save your life,” Dr. Bryne mumbled.

  “I heard that,” Tristan muttered, lips twitching as he gestured impatiently for the doctor to continue. “Move onto something else.”

  “Do you want to talk about your personal life?” At that, Tristan cocked an eyebrow with a silent warning to move onto a different subject, but the doctor simply ignored it. Dr. Bryne sighed with obvious annoyance as he asked, “Are you seeing anyone?”

  “I see plenty of people,” Tristan bit out, not liking where this conversation was heading.

  “I meant, are you seeing anyone romantically?” he further explained with a touch of aggravation lacing his tone.

  “No.”

  “Do you want to talk about that?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t see a problem with that?”

  Tristan’s eyes narrowed on the doctor. “Do you?”

  “Yes,” Dr. Bryne answered without any hesitation.

  “Why?” Tristan asked in a bored tone.

  “I find it very odd that a twenty-nine year old man with your good looks and job has never in his life had a steady girlfriend, don’t you?”

  Tristan sighed heavily. “My mother got to you, didn’t she?”

  Dr. Bryne shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Of course she had. His mother was out to see him married and a daddy as soon as possible. No matter how many times he told her to drop it, the woman just would not give up.

  “Of course not,” Dr. Bryne answered as he shifted his gaze to the left. The man was a bad liar, Tristan noted. It wasn’t surprising. The man couldn’t bluff worth a damn at cards either.

  “Look, Doc, I’ve dated plenty of women. I just don’t like to think of any of them as a girlfriend.”

  “Because it’s a sign of permanency? Do you fear commitment?”

  “Just clingy women, Doc.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I’m not afraid of having a girlfriend. I just haven’t found one that I would enjoy spending any real amount of time with or consider bringing home to meet my parents.” It was complete bullshit, but Dr. Bryne seemed to buy it.

  “Fine, let’s move onto something else.”

  “Let’s.”

  Dr. Bryne took a moment to look through his notes, pretending to look for something to discuss. Tristan sighed inwardly, knowing exactly what the doctor would bring up. The man was like a dog with a bone. “Well, it’s been almost twenty-four years since the incident at your biological grandmother’s house. Let’s talk about how you feel about that.”

  “I feel fine,” he said with little emotion.

  “I don’t think that you do. I think that it really bothers you and instead of coming in here prepared to talk about it, you leave it to me to set the direction of our sessions, hoping that I don’t talk about what’s really bothering you. I think that you can’t accept what happened. You’re hiding,” Dr. Bryne said, picking up the file and taking a pen out of his pocket.

  “Are we really back to this again? Look, let me recap it for you, because I don’t want to sit here for the rest of the hour and go over every little detail with you or go in depth about ‘my feelings’. I was six years old at my grandmother’s house. I had a panic attack over something I can’t even remember and fell down the stairs. I tripped and hit my head against the wall, splitting my head open. I apparently freaked out on the way to the ambulance, probably from my concussion. My biological parents were pricks and decided they no longer wanted me. They signed me over to foster care where I stayed for only a couple of days, because my dad came and took me. He fostered me for two months and then he and my mom adopted me. That’s where I’ve been for the last twenty-four years, happy and healthy.”

  “Are you?” He looked up from his folder to gage Tristan’s reaction.

  “Making me come here is a huge waste of time,” Tristan pointed out, ignoring the doctor’s question since it was just bullshit. He was fine, more than fine no matter what anyone thought.

  “I don’t think it is. You were in a highly traumatic situation, yet you act cool, distant about it,” Dr. Bryne noted, looking thoughtful as he watched Tristan for a reaction.

  Tristan closed his eyes, biting back a few choice words as he reminded himself that he had to play nice if he wanted to get this bullshit over with and return to work.

  "You’re afraid that if you answer me honestly that you’ll realize there are some serious issues that need to be discussed. Tell me about your previous injuries and the bruises they found on your body the last time that you saw your parents. Seventeen fractures, ninety-three stitches, bruised ribs all before the age of six. Does that sound normal to you?”

  “I was an active kid. I don’t know how I got the bruises on my body that day, but no one touched me,” he bit out, hating the fact that the doctor kept bringing this bullshit up. The stubborn man had been trying to analyze him since he was a kid and it was annoying as hell.

  “Don’t you find it odd that for the six years that you spent with your natural parents that you had all of those injuries and when you were adopted by Tom, he was the Paramedic that came to help you that day, correct? After he adopted you, the injuries went down considerably and you don’t find anything strange about that?”

  “Doc, you know that my dad was the paramedic that helped me that day. You guys have been playing poker every week for the past thirty years. I don’t know what to tell you. I told you the truth and you don’t want to hear it. Yeah, my parents were shitty parents, but they never laid a hand on me,” Tristan said in a bored tone, wondering when the man would just move the fuck on.

  “Tristan, how does that make you-” Dr. Bryne started to ask, only to be cut off by the sound of someone knocking on the office door as it was opened. Tristan’s father poked his head inside, still looking pretty much the same as he had that day Tristan met him twenty-four years earlier except for the addition of a few grey hairs and laugh lines. “Sorry, Leonard, but I promised the wife that we’d be home for dinner by six.”

  Knowing that even Hank wouldn’t bitch about his mother’s request cutting into his therapy session, Tristan got to his feet and headed for the door. He wasn’t surprised when Dr. Bryne didn’t remind him that they still had over twenty minutes left. The man lived in fear of Tristan’s mother and for damn good reason.

  Along with his brother and father, he would happily beat the shit out of anyone that ever made the mistake of making her unhappy.

  “Tristan, why don’t you wait in the hall while I speak with your father for a minute,” Dr. Bryne said, probably hoping that bitching to his father would gain Tristan’s cooperation. It wouldn’t, but Tristan didn’t care enough to complain about it.

  When his father grabbed his good arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze as if he really needed it, Tristan barely resisted the urge to shrug his hold off. “I’ll be right there,” his father said with that overly understanding smile that seemed to be reserved just for him.

  His father was worried about him, but that wasn’t anything new. The man was always worried about him, but at least his father wasn’t as bad as his mother. God, that woman turned worrying into an art form. He was just glad that his father had been able to stop her from tagging along today. She’d only agreed to back off as long his father spoke with the doctor to make sure that he was really okay. If it meant keeping his mother from fretting over him, he’d agree to damn near anything.

  He walked into the small hallway that led to the waiting room. Not really paying attention to anyone as he sat down and grabbed a National Geographic magazine. A few minutes later he looked up and noticed a pretty woman sitting across from him, watching him. She gave him a flirty smile that really didn’t interest him, but he was bored and willing to kill a few minutes while he waited for his father.

  He was about to ask for her name when his father stepped into the room, looking less than pleased. “Pink bunnies, Tristan?”

  Fuck, he really shouldn’t have signed that release form allowing his f
ather to ask questions about his sessions. He looked back at the woman to find her giggling.

  “Old Nam’ flashbacks,” Tristan explained, making her laugh harder and not really caring.

  He stood up to leave when she reached out to stop him. “Wait,” she said, pressing something into his hand. “I’m Jessica and I would love to hear more about the pink bunnies,” she said coyly, giving him an appreciative look as she ran her eyes over his body.

  He gave her a small, barely there nod, quickly forgetting about her as he headed for the exit, wondering if he was about to get another bullshit lecture about taking these mandatory sessions seriously. He followed his father to the old man's black pickup truck and climbed in.

  Once they were on the back roads, his father decided that they needed to talk. “So, I hear that you’re not happy about attending therapy.”

  Tristan shrugged his good shoulder. “You could say that.”

  “That’s the requirement while you’re out on medical. There’s nothing anyone can do about it,” Tom reminded him and Tristan knew that it was pointless to argue, but he did it anyway.

  “Hank could always sign off and let me return to light duty,” Tristan pointed out as he sank back against the seat, raising his knee against the door until the leg of his pants rose up and over the ankle holster attached to his leg, revealing his favorite handgun. He absently reached down and adjusted the holster before returning to his lazy position.

  Tom sighed heavily. “You know Hank’s hands are tied on this one. He needs you back on duty, but you won’t be any good to anyone until that shoulder of yours is healed. You have two more weeks until you can go on light duty. Until then you’re going to have to suck it up and deal with your mother fussing over you and these therapy sessions.”

  At Tristan’s grunt, he continued, “You know it’s your own fault that you’re stuck in therapy.”

  “It’s not my fault the emergency room doctor is a fucking bleeding heart.”

  “I know. I think he overreacted as well.”

  An understatement.

  If Tristan hadn’t decked the man, Tom would have and judging by the expression on Hank’s face at the time, he hadn't been too far behind. Once that recommendation was sent to Concord, Tristan’s fate had been sealed.

  “Can’t believe he complained because I didn't cry over blowing that fucking maggot’s head off. It will be a cold day in hell when I cry over some child molester.”

  “Well, it probably didn’t help when you broke the doctor's nose after he refused to pull his recommendation for therapy,” Tom said dryly.

  Tristan’s lips twitched. “But it felt damn good.”

  Chapter 2

  Twenty minutes later they were pulling up to a large, two-story white colonial house, his first real home. Tristan slowly climbed out of the truck, wincing when the movement pulled at his wound. Before he could make a quiet escape and walk to his own home, two houses down, the front door of his parents’ house was thrown open and a short, yet very determined, woman rushed out. He swore softly as his mother quickly made her way over to him.

  “How’s your shoulder today?” she asked, running an assessing eye over him, probably trying to determine how much babying she needed to dish out.

  “Fine, Mom. I’m going to head home now. I’ll see you later,” he said, quickly giving her a one armed hug and a kiss on her forehead. The one thing he didn’t need right now was his mother fussing over him. He’d had enough of that over the past few weeks to last him a lifetime.

  “That’s fine,” his mother said, giving him a kiss on the cheek and giving in a little too easily, instantly putting him on alert.

  As Tristan pulled away, his gaze automatically shot across the street, looking for a beat up old yellow Volkswagen that belonged to the woman that he forced himself to pretend didn’t exist. It was there in the driveway. His heart sped up before he could force himself to look away.

  “That reminds me, sweetie. Marty accidentally locked herself out. I told her that she could study in your old room until Hank came home. Why don’t you go upstairs and say hello? It’s been a while since you saw each other.”

  “I guess I could do that,” he said, telling himself that it was okay, that it wouldn’t kill him to allow himself a moment with her, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed her, craved her and, although he’d never understood it, right now he didn’t want to fight it. Right now he was going to be a selfish bastard and steal a few moments with the woman who deserved better.

  His mother smoothed down the collar of his shirt while he struggled against doing the right thing and walking away. “Well, you both moved on since high school and, by the time she’d started college, you were already finished and starting the academy. Sometimes it’s difficult to keep in touch.”

  “I know, but I should go say hello. Her dad is my boss after all and I haven’t had a chance to say hello to her since I moved back into the neighborhood,” he said, bullshitting them or himself, he really didn’t give a damn.

  “Tell her that dinner will be in two hours when Denny gets here.”

  “Sure thing,” Tristan said as he walked towards the house, slowing his pace on the off chance that he’d change his mind like the thousand other times before and simply walk away from her.

  As he took the front steps two at a time, he realized that something about this time was different.

  There would be no turning away this time.

  *-*-*-*

  Tristan jogged up the stairs, taking them two at a time, but somehow managed to force himself to slow down before he reached his old room. The door was open and he could see Marty sitting on his childhood bed among a pile of books, reading. He stepped into the room and leaned back against the doorframe, content to watch her for a few minutes until even that wasn’t enough, until he needed more than just to watch her from a distance.

  “Hey, Marty,” he said quietly when he knew that he should have just walked away.

  Startled, Marty let out an adorable squeal as she jumped back. Unfortunately the movement caused her to tilt to the side and fall off the bed. Cursing, he shoved away from the doorframe. His long strides quickly ate up the distance. Before she managed to hit the floor, he was there. He scooped her up into his arms, forcing himself to ignore just how good it felt to touch her, and quickly placed her safely back on the bed. Once she was settled in the middle of the small twin bed, he dropped his hands away from her as if the contact burned him, because it did, and stepped away.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled as she pushed her long brown hair out of her face.

  “No problem,” he said gruffly, moving away from the bed, hoping to put more distance between them so that he didn’t do something that he’d truly regret later. He moved to the other side of the room and dropped his large frame onto the oversized chair that his father had stuffed in the room a few years ago to keep it from ending up in a yard sale, hoping that he wouldn’t regret doing this later.

  *-*-*-*

  Marty nervously tapped a pen on her notebook as she frantically searched for something to say to the man that used to be her entire world. “I got locked out,” she blurted, most likely sounding like an idiot.

  He gave her a barely there smile. “I heard.”

  Not knowing what else to do and in no mood to make an ass out of herself, she began collecting her books. “I must be in your way. I’ll go downstairs and sit at the table.”

  She had absolutely no idea how to talk or act around him anymore. It had been years since they’d spent any real time together. Once he’d started college, leaving her behind in high school, they’d quickly become strangers.

  Now the only time she saw him was when she stopped by the police station, he came home to visit his parents, or she drove past his house and he was outside. Even then it was only polite nods and greetings. Well, except for that one time when he’d pulled her over for speeding. She was positive that he’d been amused when he gave her that speeding ticket, but she cou
ldn’t tell with him anymore. He’d always acted like ice. Nothing could penetrate his cool exterior. Earning a true smile or laugh from him was like winning the lottery.

  She inwardly sighed.

  She really missed his laugh.

  She really missed him.

  “No, please stay. You’re not in my way,” he said softly. “Mom wanted me to tell you that dinner will be done in two hours.”

  When she hesitated, he continued. “I also wanted to say hello. It’s been a while since we’ve talked,” he explained as he ran a hand absently over his shoulder. Her eyes followed the movement.

  “I heard about what happened. I’m sorry. That must have been awful,” she said, relieved that she managed to talk about one of the worst nights of her life without crying.

  She knew that he wouldn’t appreciate it, especially since he had no idea that she’d spent the entire night after he’d had emergency surgery holding his hand in ICU, crying and praying that he got another chance. She’d been too afraid to ask for more than Tristan pulling through the night, terrified that it would be asking too much and that she’d lose him, but now…..

  Now she wished that she’d asked for more.

  From the moment that she saw him sitting in Tom and Beth’s living room the day they’d picked him up from foster care, she’d felt connected to him. It wasn’t something she’d ever admitted to anyone, not even to Tristan when they were kids and he was her world. It was so strange, still was, but from that moment when she saw him, she’d felt a deep connection with him. Still did even if they hadn’t really spoken in years. It was strange and horrible at the same time.

  She wished that she didn’t feel this way about him. She hated this draw to him, couldn’t explain it, and most days she fought against the heartache that being separated from him caused. She’d never hated this strange connection to him more than the day that she got the call from her father and was told that Tristan had been shot and might not make it through the night. Hated it because the impending loss felt powerful, too powerful and so damn familiar. It felt like she’d gone through it a hundred times before and one more time would have been one too many.