Beautiful Addictions (15 page)

“Do you ever think about what would have happened if I’d never moved away?” Josie
asked.

She’d thought about nothing else since she’d learned of their connection. She imagined
a different life, where she could become someone her parents would have been proud
of. She could have been on the honor roll and yearbook staff. She could have gone
to college and studied art. She could have ruled the world with this man by her side.

“I’ve thought about it a lot since the day you left.”

“Tell me,” Josie requested, folding her napkin and laying it on the table.

She let her fingers trace over the ink on his skin, outlining the trunk and limbs
just below his cuffed sleeve. Tristan smiled at the hundreds of memories surrounding
the old oak.

“The night before you moved to New York, you came over for dinner. My mom made your
favorite fudge peanut butter brownies for dessert. My parents tried to make us enjoy
ourselves, but you were a mess and I was really angry. We spent the whole meal sulking.”

Tristan took a cleansing breath and finished his beer. Just the memory of losing her
made his chest ache again.

“After dinner, we went to sit in our tree. You wore my favorite blue shirt and the
jeans with holes in the knees. I remember pretending to play with the hanging threads
just for an excuse to touch you. We sat in silence for a while, ignoring the time
counting down. When it got late, your dad called to say he was coming to pick you
up. My mom yelled for us to come inside, but you wouldn’t budge. You clung to me and
begged me to stay up there with you. You figured if you didn’t come down, you’d be
able to stay in Louisiana.”

“Sounds like my logic,” Josie said sarcastically.

“An hour later, after threats from your dad and a million promises between us, we
climbed down together. That was the last time I saw you.”

Though Josie couldn’t recall the scene like Tristan could, it hurt her all the same.
In a way, she felt lucky that she had none of those memories. She wasn’t sure if she
could have survived all the old hurt and new hurt. It may have killed her long ago.

“Did I cry? I bet I was a crier.”

“No. You didn’t. You were so strong.”

As Tristan paid for dinner, Josie wondered where that strength had gotten her, half
dead and with no memories.

They walked hand in hand through Seaport Village, pausing to window-shop, though neither
one paid much attention to the items. Tristan focused on the way her tiny fingers
wrapped around his, the
click-clack
rhythm of her shoes against the pavement, and their distorted reflection in the shop
windows.

“What does this one represent?” Josie asked, tapping her finger over a watch face
tattooed on the inside of his left wrist.

“My birth, the exact minute I joined the living.”

“What about this one?”

Josie reached up to the side of his neck, running her thumb along the two lines of
script below his ear.

“‘Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt,’” he said. “Vonnegut’s protagonist in
Slaughterhouse-Five
coins the phrase regarding death. Sort of something to look forward to.”

Josie’s eyes searched his own, getting lost in his ability to make her understand
such complicated notions.

“Come on,” he said lightly, tugging on her hand.

He dragged her into a hat shop, where they tried on hats and laughed at each other
until their sides hurt. Tristan stuck an enormous beach hat onto Josie’s head and
tugged on the floppy brim. She smiled and slid a fedora onto him. He pulled it down
over one eye, and they stood in front of the large framed mirror.

“You look hot,” she said, staring at his reflection.

“Sold,” Tristan replied, winking at her.

Josie blushed and placed her hat back on the shelf while Tristan paid for his. She
found it odd that despite all the deviant things she’d done, she’d never felt timid.
Tristan could bring these alien feelings to the surface. He had a way of making her
believe she was worthy of innocence.

When they stepped into Upstart Crow, a coffeehouse and bookstore, Josie could see
how Tristan delighted in being surrounded by the written word. She just knew he could
spend hours scouring every shelf for books. While she didn’t share his passion, she
loved seeing him happy and in his element.

“Don’t worry, I’ll limit myself,” he said, placing a kiss on her cheek.

He pulled her down row after row of books. When something caught his attention, he
would examine the cover as if studying a painting. Then he’d flip to the back and
read whatever review or description was there. Last, he’d fan the pages a few times.
Josie marveled at the ritual and smiled every time he handed her one to buy.

Thirty minutes and four books later, they shared a piece of cheesecake and an iced
mocha in the coffeehouse.

Tristan persuaded Josie to ride the carousel with him, so they parked themselves on
the bench surrounded by parading animals. The golden lights and mirrors reflected
the couple, and Tristan couldn’t help but think about what a sight they were. As the
ride began to move, he pulled her in closer with his arm around her shoulders.

“Did you know carousels were first used as combat training devices by the Turkish?
There’s proof of their existence all the way back to 500 A.D.”

Josie smiled at his fact reciting, loving all the useless information.

“Really? Tell me more,” she teased.

Tristan rolled his eyes and placed a soft kiss below her ear. They watched as children
bobbed up and down on their horses and tigers. The organ music lulled them into a
state of ease as they spun, like two lovers rotating around their own axis.

When the ride was over, he led her to the water, where they stood beneath one of the
lamps dotting the bay. One by one, the shop windows went dark. The day finished with
Closed signs and locked doors. Tristan leaned against the rail, his back to the water,
and pulled Josie in against him. He tilted his chin down and captured her lips. Josie
moaned into his mouth as his hands slid down to her lower back. She could feel his
racing pulse against her body, his warmth and heat surrounding her. She wanted more.
She always wanted more.

Tristan spun them and held Josie against the rail, trapping her with his arms on each
side. His body pressed into her back as she sighed and looked out over the water.
The lights from Coronado shone from the island, bouncing off the water like rippling
ribbons. The sky hosted a blanket of stars and the waxing moon shone just for them.
Josie closed her eyes, wanting to memorize every bit of this moment. She just knew
it would never get better than this.

*   *   *

Rob met Monica at her apartment. They’d made plans to stay in and watch a movie. She
had no need for formal dates and grand gestures. They’d just skip over the usual dating
rituals and get right to the heart of it, time alone and lots of it.

This feeling that engulfed them and held them to each other was powerful. Monica found
it easy to be herself around Rob, though for so long she wasn’t sure who that was.
She was so consumed with work and the children that she didn’t know what things made
her whole.

He leaned against her doorframe, his dirty blond hair hanging in his eyes. His casual
stance was pure confidence. The way his baby blues lit up when Monica was near made
her want to run away with him and disappear into the night. Rob stepped aside and
let her unlock the door while he peppered kisses on her neck from behind. Her attention
faltered as she fumbled with her keys. When she finally unlocked the door, he pulled
the giant bag from her shoulder and set it down inside.

“Damn, babe. What do you have in there? A dead body?” Rob asked.

“No, not today. Today it’s just clothes and accessories. All the essentials for a
perfect date. Well, not my date, of course. Josie’s date. She’s a friend. Well, kind
of a friend. She met this new guy, only he’s not new. She knew him before. Well, before
some crazy shit went down. I was just helping her get ready.”

“Don’t even ask me to recap that,” Rob said, grinning.

Monica felt just a little reprieve from the suffocating guilt usually associated with
Josie Banks. She’d done a good deed today. She’d been so excited when Josie called
asking for assistance. Anything she could do to make amends with this girl, she would.
If there was something Monica had practice with, it was dating. She’d been on so many
in the last decade she’d lost count. While not all of them had been miserable failures,
none of them had felt right. Not like Rob. He felt perfect and final, like the end
of her searching.

“Can you believe I had to go shopping today because someone stole almost all of my
underwear yesterday?” Monica yelled from her bedroom.

“What?”

“Yeah, I brought a load of laundry down to the basement but forgot my quarters for
the machine. So I left it. Ran up here to get the money. By the time I got back down
there, the entire basket was gone. Oh! I was so pissed off. I mean, who would want
dirty laundry?”

“You have some weird neighbors,” Rob answered, troubled by the missing laundry.

“No shit,” Monica said absently, flipping through her mail.

“What movie did you get?”

“Some horror movie where everyone gets hacked up and no one gets out alive,” she answered.
“I’m sure all the standard rules apply. Never say ‘I’ll be right back.’ Don’t go check
out that strange noise.” Monica entered the living room and smirked at him. “And never,
ever have sex. That’s a sure way to get yourself dead.”

“Those killers must be advocates for celibacy,” he muttered. “The idiots.”

“Well, we could just skip the movie and hump like bunnies,” she offered.

“Only if you can ensure our safety from psychotic serial killers, darlin’.”

“There are no guarantees,” Monica teased, unbuttoning her blouse as she backed slowly
toward the bedroom.

“Well, ma’am. I’ll take my chances.”

*   *   *

As Tristan drove home, he found himself humming along with the radio despite not knowing
any of the pop songs. If it weren’t so pathetic, he’d laugh at what this girl had
turned him into. Though he still had his edge and always his pistol, he felt his sharp
attitude beginning to retreat. It was a glimpse of the boy he used to be, before he’d
been betrayed and hurt. He felt lighter and hopeful again.

He was in luck, finding a parking spot on his block. Tristan retrieved his gun from
under the seat, secured his car, and lit a cigarette for the short walk.

It had been so hard to leave Josie’s apartment. He’d tried to be a gentleman, but
when she pulled him by the collar and attacked his mouth, he’d lost all control. There,
against her door, he’d ground his hips into hers, introducing every bit of his need.
She rocked against him, and it was all he could do not to take her right there.

Josie had invited him in, begging to continue their evening. He knew what she wanted.
Hell, he wanted it too, but not yet. Not before he could make her believe that she
was worth it. Thankfully, Alex had come home, cutting through their sexual tension
and wishing them good night. Tristan wanted to thank him and kill him at the same
time.

“Fallbrook,” a familiar voice called out as he approached his building.

The sound of that voice made Tristan’s stomach drop and he immediately reached for
his piece. He spun to find Padre parked on a bench outside his building. He was shorter
than Tristan but just as intimidating. Always wearing a stiff button-down shirt and
Dockers, Padre more closely resembled a Wall Street executive than a deadly assassin.
His smile was sinister and sharply interrupted by a maroon scar that carved down the
left side of his face. He was Tristan’s former assistant and a man who’d left the
priesthood to carry out revenge for his murdered brother. He’d never returned.

“Nice hat,” Padre said, grinning.

“Fuck you,” Tristan replied.

They embraced in a one-armed hug and stepped back to a safe distance. In this business,
people who were once your allies didn’t always remain that way.

“Long time, no see,
vato.
”

“I had to get out,” Tristan answered simply.

“Yeah, well, I guess I should be thanking you. I was promoted when you bounced.”

“Congratulations. I’m guessing this isn’t a friendly visit.”

“Moloney sent me to give you a message.”

The air shifted, a serious rope of threat surrounded the men, tying them to each other.

“So get on with it,” Tristan spat, losing his patience.

“He says no one leaves the operation alive, but he’s feeling generous. He’ll let you
live if you find and kill this girl.”

Padre handed him a folded photo with torn edges. Tristan felt nauseous as he looked
into the eyes of a young McKenzi Delaune. Using every bit of strength he possessed,
he kept his face indifferent.

“This girl is dead.”

“Nah, man. Moloney says she’s alive and well. He has it on good authority she’s here
in San Diego. I was just told to deliver that. Of course, there’s another employee
looking for her, but if you find her first, you live.”

“I’m not spending my time chasing ghosts!” Tristan shouted at the man’s retreating
form.

“I’m just the messenger, Fallbrook. Don’t make me come back here.”

Just like that, he was gone. Tristan knew this was not just a scare tactic. Moloney
would never waste time or money on idle threats. The message was loud and clear. If
Tristan didn’t deliver, they’d come back and take payment from his flesh.

It had been three miserable, sleepless hours since Padre left Tristan standing confounded
on the sidewalk. He’d dropped a figurative bomb and disappeared into the aftermath’s
smoke. Now Tristan lay in bed, the old photo of McKenzi still clutched in his fingers.
An innocent, unscathed face stared back at him from the glossy paper. This is the
girl he remembered, the girl he’d grieved for. In all honesty, this girl was dead.
As if featured in one of those campy daytime soap operas, the part of McKenzi Delaune
was now being played by a darker, forbidding Josie Banks.