Beautiful Addictions (31 page)

She smiled up at him and ran her fingers over his hair.

“That’s better.”

“I’ll never mention Danielle and her stellar rack again.”

Josie smacked his shoulder as a smirk slid across his face. It pulled the corner of
his mouth higher on the left side. It was a smile that Josie knew well. It was teasing
and joyous and something that she would never grow tired of.

Later that night, when Josie was sleeping in his bed, Tristan snuck out for a smoke.
He sat on the back porch, in the dark, staring out at the trees. Like the last time
he’d been there, Bitsy tiptoed across the porch and took a seat beside him.

“She’s so different. So sad and hurt, but strong,” Bitsy said.

Tristan nodded and exhaled his smoke.

“She’s everything,” he answered.

Tristan felt disconnected from the moment. After everything he’d experienced, he wasn’t
sure if he would be able to go back to this straight life of family dinners and holiday
visits. Not until the sound of his mother crying jarred him from his inner musings.
Finally meeting her glassy eyes, his brick wall fell away and he pulled her into an
embrace.

“You were gone for so long. I didn’t know if we’d ever see you again, but I prayed
every day that you were safe and happy. Were you happy, sweetheart?”

“‘The reason people find it so hard to be happy is that they always see the past better
than it was and the present worse than it is.’”

“Tell me in
your
words, Tristan,” Bitsy begged.

“I was happy for a while. Fiona broke my heart, just like you warned she would. I
don’t think she ever really cared about me. But now I have Josie.”

“And you’ve found your way home.”

Tristan nodded and threw his inked arm around the back of the seat, resting his hand
on her shoulder.

Daniel watched his wife and son’s exchange through the plate-glass window at the back
of the house. Even with the rift between them, he could sense that things were healing.
The way their bodies leaned toward each other gave him a sense of relief. The warm
light cast from the den painted the pair in scattered highlights and soft golden shadows.
He smiled, content in the resurrection of that uniting force known as family.

22. Nadir

On a celestial body, the vertical direction below
the observer’s feet.

“I want your papers turned in by Friday. Make sure to really delve into the underlying
struggle between these two societies and cite your sources, people,” the instructor
announced as the students filed out of the classroom.

Alex slid his pen behind his ear and tucked his notebook beneath his arm. Taking a
look around the room, he still couldn’t believe that he was here. Surrounded by off-white
paint and fluorescent lighting, he found it humorous that he sat among these young,
impressionable kids four days a week. He’d once taken a vow to never set foot inside
another cinder-block institution. This, however, would be his one exception.

It was the love and encouragement of Erin that had pushed him to do better, to be
better. He wanted to be everything she needed and everything she deserved. Not to
mention, for the first time in his adult life, he could be a role model. Her son,
Parker, watched and mimicked his behavior. The boy looked at Alex like he was a superhero,
making him accountable for his actions. Alex loved that Erin didn’t try to change
him; she embraced all of his bad and his good. It had been his idea to pursue a bachelor’s
degree in business management. Hell, he’d been managing some sort of business his
entire life.

When Alex was younger, he had imagined what it would be like living the straight life.
Punching in and out somewhere, paying taxes and collecting social security when he
grew old. Though social acceptance appealed to most, it had never appealed to him.
The thought alone had always felt suffocating. But when you have someone who holds
you accountable, someone who isn’t afraid to question you and desire more from you,
it’s all too easy to amend your aspirations.

In the past year, his relationship with Erin had been slow moving, but for the first
time in his life he was okay with that. He loved her quick temper while she embraced
his childlike personality. The sex was amazing, like nothing he’d ever experienced
before. Erin had taught him to connect on every level, and as far as Alex was concerned,
there was no other way to live. They were equals and opposites all at the same time.
It was strange to have such a positive outlook on his future, to be so unsure yet
unafraid of what was to come. He was free and he was loved, what more could a hoodlum
from Logan Heights ask for?

He thought about Tristan and Josie often, marveling at their ability to survive such
tragedy and tricky circumstance. He wondered where they were and what their lives
were like, but he never wondered if they were together. That was a given.

*   *   *

Confined to the shadows of the streets of Prague, Rob Nettles pulled the gun from
his waistband. His pulse thundered in his ears, making it nearly impossible to hear
anything else. The index finger on his right hand twitched against the trigger, and
he cursed his edginess. Bouncing his head off of the brick wall a few times, he fought
to maintain control of his senses, focusing on the pain of the rough brick against
his scalp. He wanted to remain entirely aware of what was about to go down. This was
his destiny, his death.

In the year since he’d lost Monica, Rob had been focused on exterminating this bastard.
He stumbled upon this ring of human trading and child enslavement. He’d heard about
it through some punk rookie when he’d returned to Manhattan. Before Monica, the idea
of this would have displeased him, but he would have sat back and done nothing. Now
things were different. The idea of children being bought and sold and mistreated enraged
him. He took it as a severe dishonor to everything Monica had ever worked for.

For months, Rob had been climbing his way through the organization, feigning indifference
to the suffering of innocents. He endured so many pain-filled nights alone that he
could not survive it any longer. If he thought the world was dark before he met Monica,
it was downright abysmal now that she was gone.

Rob had been planning this suicide mission for a while, his resolve never faltering.
Finally nailing down the leader’s schedule, he waited in the most opportune place
for an ambush. The man would be vulnerable for a few seconds, and with Rob’s accuracy,
a few seconds was all he needed. The only problem was that the man’s guards would
then descend upon him.

Echoing footsteps signaled their approach, and with self-loathing conviction, he stepped
from the shadows and nailed his target before being perforated by their retaliation.
He smiled at this, exhaling long and slow. He welcomed their punishments, each bullet
bringing pain and absolution. He silently begged for forgiveness and pictured his
Button’s smiling face. Rob embraced his death and all that it offered him, peace and
the end of heartache.

*   *   *

“What makes them glow?” Josie asked, leaning against the scratchy bark of the old
tree and trying to follow the fireflies’ glow.

“A type of chemical reaction called bioluminescence. The enzyme luciferase acts on
the luciferin, in the presence of magnesium ions, ATP, and oxygen to produce light,’”
Tristan answered, running his hands over her denim-covered thigh.

Josie rolled her eyes and smiled at him, showing that she loved his superior intellect
just as much as his handsome face. She watched him watching her and no longer feared
judgment or rejection. She loved having his eyes on her, among other things.

“Do you think we’ll ever be too old to climb this tree?” she asked, looking down at
the ground.

“Yeah, one day,” he answered. “But then we’ll come and sit beneath it. We’ll enjoy
the shade and think about the days we spent up here.”

“Hmm, that sounds promising,” she whispered, leaning forward and capturing his lips.

There was no frenzied groping or sexual expectations, only chaste exchanges of love.

“Do you think I’ll ever get my memory back?” Josie asked.

“Well, we’ve tried the reminder effect of reliving memories through stories, and that
didn’t work. In most cases, memories only come back by spontaneous recovery. After
this long, the odds are that your memories may never come back.”

Josie sighed and watched the sun set behind the trees. Fiery gold and orange painted
the sky.

“Are you okay with that?” Tristan asked, concern lacing his voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I accepted that a long time ago. As far as New York goes, I don’t
want to know those details. I’ve got you and your family to fill in the good stuff.”

When Josie’s skin chilled from the night air, they climbed down from the comforting
branches and headed inside. Dinner was amazing, as always. Bitsy had been taking cooking
classes and loved using the two as guinea pigs.

“Where’s Dad?” Tristan asked, shoving another forkful of food into his mouth.

“He’s on call and had to go in for a while. I guess you’ll see him in the morning,”
she said, smiling sweetly.

“So, Tristan, how are classes going?”

“Great,” he answered. “I tested out of the lower-level classes, and with my schedule
I’ll be graduating by this time next year.”

Josie smiled at him, radiating so much pride. She didn’t understand how Tristan had
been led astray by Moloney, how he’d sacrificed so much. Then she reminded herself
that it had been for the love of a girl that he’d done those things and suddenly it
was much easier to comprehend.

“That’s great, sweetie. And you, Josie?”

“I’m good. I’m doing a mural for this bank downtown. It’s weird to be doing legit
painting in the middle of the day. Art classes are a breeze, but the general ed classes
are fucking killing me.”

Josie slapped her hand over her mouth before mumbling an apology to Bitsy.

Bitsy nodded and they all went back to their dinner. When the food was finished and
the dishes washed, the three of them sat in the den around the television.

“You two don’t visit enough,” Bitsy announced during a commercial break.

“Ma, not again,” Tristan begged.

Josie giggled as Bitsy hit her son with the glare that only mothers possessed.

“Don’t ‘Ma’ me, Tristan. I know school keeps you busy, but I expect at least one visit
every month. You only live across the river. You could call more too.”

“Okay, okay,” he relented. “You heard from Dad?”

“Yes, he won’t be home until around midnight,” she answered.

Bitsy looked around, as if searching for onlookers, before rising from her chair.
She sauntered toward the two, a devilish grin on her face.

“Can I tell you two a secret?” she whispered.

The pair looked on in curiosity as Bitsy began to unbutton her jeans.

“Mom! What the hell are you doing?” Tristan exclaimed, mortified by the thought of
his mother undressing before him.

“Oh, calm down, Tristan. I just want to show you this.”

Bitsy inched down her jeans to reveal a small red heart tattoo on her left hip. There
was a white banner across the heart proudly displaying the name Daniel.

“Holy shit!” Tristan yelled.

“That is awesome!” Josie replied, inching forward to get a better look. “Damn, you’re
legit now!”

Bitsy laughed and refastened her jeans before settling back down into her chair, more
than satisfied. Tristan sat motionless, just staring wordlessly at the space where
his mother had been.

“Tristan? What the hell?” Josie asked, nudging his shoulder.

“Uh, what?” he asked, finally snapping out of his daze.

“Just don’t say anything to your father, he hasn’t seen it yet.”

Tristan nodded, still reeling from seeing ink on his mother’s skin. He wanted to pinch
himself to make sure this wasn’t a dream. Bitsy Ducote Fallbrook, daughter of Mr.
and Mrs. Samuel Ducote III, winner of Miss Teen Louisiana and debutante of high-society
clubs, had a tattoo.

“It looks like it’s almost healed. How did you keep it from him?” Josie asked.

“Well, I’ve made excuse after excuse why we couldn’t have sex. Usually, we have quite
a healthy sexual—”

“Oh my God!” Tristan yelled, covering his ears and running from the room.

The two women burst into a fit of giggles over Tristan’s theatrics. They laughed until
sharp pains jabbed at their ribs and then laughed some more.

A few hours later, Tristan tucked himself into bed beside Josie’s small warm body.
The room was still unchanged since his high school years, though the scenery had improved
greatly. The thin strap of her shirt had fallen down her shoulder and he praised the
garment for framing her skin so beautifully.

Josie sighed contentedly and buried her face into his chest. She inhaled him as her
fingers slid around his waist and up his arm. She lingered on the small scar on his
biceps, pressing down on it before moving on. The feel of his bare skin beneath her
hands made her hum in appreciation. Josie couldn’t imagine existing in any place other
than his arms.

“It’s so bizarre to have you here in this bed,” he said softly against her hair.

“You say that every time.”

“I mean it every time.”

Josie traced the curve of his forearm with her fingernail, before turning her face
up to kiss his chin. She slid her leg up and over his hip.

“Have you ever had sex in this bed?”

Tristan laughed. “No.”

A scheming smirk graced her pink lips as her hand continued its southward journey.
She placed a kiss below his ear, her hot breath fanning over his skin.

“Do you want to?” she purred. “It could be a first we could share. One that I would
remember.”

Every reason that Tristan had concocted as to why this was a bad idea evaded him,
and before either of them had a grasp on the situation, he had Josie’s body pinned
beneath him.