Beautiful Addictions (30 page)

“Tristan!” Josie shouted.

Alex turned to find Tristan leaning against one of the crates, blood soaking his shirt.
Alex knelt beside him and looked at the wound.

“Who got you?” Alex asked.

“Frank.”

“Are you okay?” Josie shouted.

“‘’Tis but a scratch. A flesh wound,’” Tristan said, giving Josie a reassuring smile.

Alex took his shirt off and wrapped it tightly around Tristan’s biceps.

“That’ll help,” Alex offered.

“Any excuse to take your shirt off, huh, muscles?” Tristan said.

Alex untied Josie from the chair, his large fingers fumbling with the knots. She fell
onto the floor, sobbing over Monica’s body. She fought for each breath, the air feeling
like razor blades to her lungs. She felt undeserving and wondered how she’d ever take
a guilt-free lungful of air again.

Alex helped Tristan stand and together they retrieved Josie. She clung to Tristan,
crying into his chest.

“I hate to break up the reunion, but we gotta get outta here,” Alex said.

A loud smacking sound came from behind them in the dark. The three eyed each other
as Alex pulled his gun and pointed it toward the sound. Another smack. Josie whimpered.
Then came another and another, until the sound of a single person clapping became
recognizable. From the back of the warehouse emerged a man wearing an expensive suit
and matching hat. Shadow covered most of his face, making only his menacing smile
visible.

“That was truly an entertaining show,” he said, his voice amused and heavily accented.

The three onlookers stood motionless, curious as to the identity of this stranger
and worried about what it meant for their survival.

“My name is Gino Gallo. You have done me a great favor here today.”

He snapped his fingers, and Barry appeared behind him. “You saved this man from having
to eliminate his former associates. You should be grateful, Barry. Are you grateful?”

Barry nodded, his eyes on Tristan the whole time.

“Yes, sir.”

“Of course, we did offer a bit of help, eliminating Moloney’s backup for you,” Gallo
said.

“What now?” Alex asked, unfazed by the man’s presence.

“Let me tell you what now,” Gallo said, glaring at the boy who dared to question him.
“You all will leave this place. My men will take care of the bodies and clean up the
mess. Do not fear retaliation. I’m in charge now. I will not allow it. Now go, before
I change my mind.”

Tristan, recognizing a blessing when hearing one, motioned for everyone to go. They
all moved toward the door, but Josie would not budge. Her eyes were glued to Monica’s
lifeless body.

“Josie, we’ve got to go,” Tristan urged.

She nodded and gave in to his pulling.

“Thank you,” Josie whispered to her friend as she was dragged out into the night.

21. Rille

Grooves in the moon’s surface that resemble canals or canyons.

The sound of banging on the front door was almost lost in the cadence of thrashing
rain against the house. When Daniel Fallbrook opened the door, it only took seconds
for him to assess the situation.

“Bitsy! Get my bag!” Daniel yelled from the front porch.

He grabbed Tristan and pulled him inside, sitting him down at the breakfast table.
Bitsy’s casual linens were swept aside as Tristan placed his injured arm on top of
the cool oak. Josie and Alex filled the other two chairs and watched Daniel tend to
his wounded son.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Close range, twenty-two,” Tristan answered.

Daniel removed the T-shirt tourniquet from Tristan’s arm and cut off the sleeve of
his shirt with kitchen scissors. Bitsy raced into the room carrying his medical bag,
her silk gown fluttering behind her like wings.

“Tristan, sweetheart,” she cried. “Are you okay?”

Her trembling hands made the sign of the cross as she hovered over the two most important
men in her life.

“It went clean through,” Daniel answered. “I’ll just clean and suture it. You should
be fine,” Daniel said.

“Oh, thank God,” Bitsy whispered.

It was then that she noticed the other two people in her kitchen. A large, shirtless
man sat at her table. Water dripped down his muscled body in the most distracting
way. Any other time, she would have reminded him of proper manners when it came to
stages of nakedness at her breakfast table. But she figured she could overlook his
indiscretions considering the circumstances. Next to him was a beautiful, sad girl.
Her hair was slick and wet, fat tendrils sticking to the bare skin of her face and
throat. Her arms circled around her body.

“My God in heaven! McKenzi Delaune, is that you?” Bitsy asked.

Josie glanced at Bitsy before her eyes immediately snapped back to Tristan. She didn’t
need to see the woman before her to know what she looked like. Josie knew the curve
of her cheek and the way her smile fell to one side like her son’s. She knew the sweep
of her hair and her Cupid’s bow lips.

“Bless her heart. She looks like she was eaten by gators and shit over a cliff,” Bitsy
muttered.

Daniel and Tristan both looked up, wearing matching expressions of shock.

“Oh, stop looking at me like that! Grandmother Ducote always said ‘shit’ was a lady’s
curse word.”

Josie’s body stiffened as she tried to take a breath. Though her lungs were burning,
her body would not cooperate. Voices were murmurs of whirring sound mixed with the
racing beat of her own pulse. She felt dizzy and weightless, numb and on fire at the
same time. She wished the pounding in her head would stop. She wished that every time
she closed her eyes she didn’t see Monica’s body lying at her feet like some kind
of sacrifice. She wished it had all been a dream.

Finally Josie sucked in a deep breath, its elements giving her body just what it needed.
With its exhale, the air left in a wailing sob, a scream that seemed silent in her
own head. Bitsy embraced Josie. She ran her hands over the girl’s hair and placed
a kiss on her wet head.

“We didn’t know, baby. We didn’t know you were out there all alone,” Bitsy said.

Tristan felt comforted knowing that his mother was looking after Josie. But he wished
his father would hurry so that it could be his arms around her instead of Bitsy’s
frail and shaking limbs.

Daniel finished with Tristan and wrapped the wound with a bandage. Tristan bent his
elbow and flexed his arm as if trying it out for the first time.

“Dad, check on Josie,” Tristan said. “She may be in shock.”

As Daniel took a seat next to Josie, Tristan followed. He knelt in front of her, the
water from his jeans creating a new puddle on the tile floor. Daniel checked her vital
signs and asked her simple questions, which she responded to robotically.

“She’s responsive. Just needs some dry clothes and rest.”

“Where is Monica?” Bitsy asked.

Josie’s eyes snapped closed and she let out another cry.

“She’s gone. She’s dead,” Josie said. “And it’s my fault.”

“No, it’s not. She saved you,” Tristan said.

Tristan slid Josie into his lap and he held her until their breaths became synchronized.
One by one, Alex, Bitsy, and Daniel left the room. Alex said nothing as he passed.
He simply squeezed Tristan’s shoulder, letting the gesture say everything that he
couldn’t.
I’m sorry. I’m here.

Tristan’s legs were numb, his feet prickled with pins. The kitchen cabinet dug into
his back, but he would not let Josie go. When she finally fell asleep, he carried
her to his room and held her through new nightmares.

*   *   *

Two days later, Josie was finally feeling human again. Tristan’s parents had been
very sympathetic and accommodating. Bitsy seemed eager to cook for and entertain her
houseguests. Josie felt cared for and safe in this place. She wanted to carry that
feeling with her always.

Josie made her way down the curved wooden staircase and smiled at what she found there.
Tristan and Alex were embraced in a hug. The two had grown closer through this ordeal
and she was happy for it. They both meant the world to her.

“It’s been proved relationships that begin with a shared traumatic event never last,”
Tristan said, smiling.

“Relationship? I don’t wanna marry you. Not my type,
papito,
” Alex answered, pinching Tristan’s cheek until he was swatted away.

“You sure we can’t take you to the airport, hon?” Bitsy asked.

“Nah, I got a cab,” he said.

Josie cleared the bottom step and slid between the two men.

“Aye,
mami.
What am I gonna do now, huh?”

“You could stay here, you know,” Josie hedged. “Start over.”

As an adult, Alex had always been free to come and go as he pleased, answering only
to his mentors on the streets. The one day that wasn’t his was Sunday. On the Lord’s
Day, his mother insisted that he attend church and visit with his brothers and their
families. In the past, Alex had always loathed those days, feeling trapped by the
traditions and customs of a dying generation. After this experience, he’d learned
the importance of afternoon barbecues and quality time with loved ones. He would never
take them for granted again.

He knew Josie didn’t have any of that back in San Diego. So while he was going to
miss her, he understood her wanting to stay here. This was the only family she had
left.

“Nah, you know this city can’t hold me.”

Josie nodded and threw herself into his arms. Her feet hovered above the floor as
he swayed back and forth before setting her back down to earth.

“Thank you, Alex, for everything. There’s nothing I could ever say that wo—”

“No worries, Jo,” he said, smiling. “Take care,
mocosa.
”

A horn honked outside, and in an instant he was gone.

*   *   *

Josie sat on the end of Tristan’s bed and eyed the designer bag at her feet. It seemed
to stare up at her and demand attention. Inside were clothes, two pairs of shoes,
toiletries, makeup, and this month’s
Elle
magazine—probably purchased at the airport. It was all Josie had left of Monica Templeton.

She didn’t know what to do with the bag, but after ignoring it for days, she couldn’t
take it anymore. Anger erupted from her.

“Why her?” she shouted to the empty room.

She stood and kicked the bag, watching it fly across the room and hit the door.

“She was good,” she said.

She followed its path and kicked it again.

“It’s not fair!” she shouted as she kicked the bag a third time.

This time shoes, the magazine, and a toothbrush came tumbling out of the bag. Josie
dropped to the carpeted floor and sat staring at the items. She wanted to pick them
up and put them away. But the thought of touching them made her nauseated.

“Josie?” Tristan called from the door. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m pissed off,” she said pulling her knees up and placing her chin on top of them.

He appeared in front of her and sat down.

“I know. It’s fine to be angry. It’s the second stage of grief,” he said.

Josie rolled her eyes and focused on the paint on her toenails. Purple. Pump Up the
Jam.

“I know what’ll make you feel better,” Tristan said. He stood and retrieved her journal
from his desk and lay down on his bed. “Come quiz me.”

“That won’t help,” she said.

“Sure it will. Look, I’m a master of distractions. Come on,” Tristan pleaded, patting
the bed beside him.

Josie stood from her spot and lay on a stack of pillows flipping through the pages
of her purple journal. Tristan lay beside her in the opposite direction, his body
pressed against hers at every possible point. He lazily traced patterns up and down
her smooth legs.

“I’m going to give you a hard one this time,” Josie said.

“Babe, they all have the same level of difficulty to me.”

“Fine, page one twenty-two,” she said, smiling up at him from behind the journal.

Tristan laughed and pressed a kiss against her calf.

“There’s a new girl at school. Her name is Danielle Ryan. We met in English class
and instantly became friends,” Tristan recited in a high-pitched voice. “She’s really
pretty and her hair is this gorgeous red color that doesn’t seem natural. I’d never
ask. I found her sitting alone in the cafeteria and invited her to sit with us. Big
mistake! Huge! All she did was smile and flirt with Tristan the whole time. Right
in front of me. By the time I finished my sandwich, the girl was practically planning
their wedding.”

Josie laughed and closed the book.

“I didn’t talk like that, ass.”

“That’s what it sounded like to me,” he said, smiling. “There’s also a doodle in the
margin of a dog wearing a wedding dress on that page.”

“You remember everything,” she said. “That’s amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he countered.

“As amazing as Danielle Ryan?”

Tristan raised his eyes to the ceiling, as if contemplating the answer.

“I guess. I mean, she had really nice hair. And killer boobs.”

Josie threw the journal at him, hitting him in the chest with a thump.

“Ouch! You wound me, woman.”

“That’s nothing compared to what I’m going to do!”

Josie sprang to her knees and tackled Tristan. She was no match for his strength,
but he surrendered. The feel of her body pressed against his sent his imagination
running wild.

“You know I’ll win this. Just give up,” he teased.

“Say you’re sorry.”

“Never. Danielle’s boobs would be hurt and offended if I retracted my statement now.”

Josie leaned down, bringing her lips to his ear. Their chests pressed together, their
hearts beating for each other.

“Do you care more about Danielle Ryan’s tits or being inside me again?”

Tristan sat up quickly, knocking Josie back onto the pillows. He crawled over her
and placed a kiss against her neck.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he whispered against her warm skin.