Shame (Ruin #3) (30 page)

Tristan leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Think you could let me step up to the plate next time?”

A big grin tugged at my mouth. “You were too slow.”

He swore. “I can’t believe we’re joking about this.”

“If we don’t joke, I’ll just cry,” I admitted, tears already starting to form. “So let’s joke until reality sets in… or until these drugs wear off.”

“Anything,” Tristan whispered. “Anything for you.” His eyes narrowed. “Is there something else? You look… upset, not that I blame you. Are you in pain? Do you need a nurse?” He started to stand, but I pulled him down.

“No.” I exhaled loudly. “I’m just curious about one thing. Do you really still think you’re capable of doing what he did?”

“No,” Tristan said quickly. “Do we all have darkness within us? Absolutely, but you can’t live in fear. You always have a choice, and I choose to continue to focus on taking medicine that I know will help me with my own struggles. Taylor… not only did he struggle with bi-polar from my father’s side, but his biological mother had severe mental issues. She was eventually hospitalized because she was unsafe to herself and others. But Lisa…” A nervous expression crossed his face as his eyebrows pinched together. “…I do take meds for bi-polar, you should know that. I was never diagnosed with what Taylor had. When my dad mentioned a bad seed, he was just trying to warn me away, trying to make me angry enough to drop it. I’m healthy, I’m fine. My medicine helps keep the highs and lows normal. It’s not like it’s a death sentence or anything, but I know, after everything with Taylor, it probably scares you. I’m… sorry.”

I gripped his hand and squeezed. “You’re sorry for actually taking medicine to help you? If I had cancer, I wouldn’t apologize for getting chemo, would I? If I had the flu and needed to take ibuprofen to help my fever, would you judge me?”

He swallowed. “No.”

“Then why is this any different?”

“Because it’s close to home,” he whispered. “And I couldn’t live with myself if you were afraid of me… because of him.”

“I’m not afraid,” I said boldly. “Not anymore. And not of you. Not now, not ever.”

His head slowly rose as his eyes searched mine. “Promise me… promise me we’ll discuss things if I do something that reminds you of him. I can’t…” His voice cracked. “…I can’t lose you, Lisa.”

“Sorry.” I smiled. “But you’re kind of stuck with me, especially after offering to die and give me your lung and all that.”

He cupped my face and kissed my mouth softly. “You’re so brave.”

“I don’t want to be brave.” Our foreheads touched. “I just want to be in your arms.”

“Done.”

****

Tristan slept in the chair that night. Gabe had threatened to do the same, or worse yet, sleep on the floor, but I kicked him out. I needed time alone, time to breathe, time to be with Tristan.

I wasn’t sure why I was so calm. Maybe it was because everything was out in the open. When I closed my eyes, I still saw Taylor’s face. I still saw the blood. But instead of fear, it was just pity I felt. I felt sorry for him, sorry that he couldn’t live a normal life, sorry that he was sick, because everyone deserves a chance to live.

I truly believed, in that moment, that having a psychological illness was just as bad as being physically ill, maybe worse. When you’re physically ill, people can see what’s wrong; they can help you fix it. When something’s wrong inside the mind, all doctors can do is guess, and people can’t tell if you’re sick. They don’t believe you a lot of times, until they see the outward signs of your sickness. Maybe you’re walking aimlessly on the street talking to yourself, or you hurt someone you love. That type of sickness is harder to define, harder to fix, and scary, because in the end, the sickness is you.

That’s a tough pill to swallow. Knowing that what’s in your head might not be right — but not having any idea how to fix it.

My mind was going into overdrive, thinking about Taylor, what had led to his madness, what had led to his end.

Tristan stirred in the chair, and his head tilted back. I smiled at the sight. He was so beautiful. Moonlight lit up the side of his face, showing off his strong jaw, his perfect profile.

I was done.

Tired of waiting for life.

And I refused to be the type of person that held a grudge like Taylor had, the type of person that let madness consume me, or maybe even bitterness, revenge — they were all a type of poison, a type of sickness that if allowed in your body, would destroy you from the inside out.

“Tristan,” I whispered.

He jolted awake. “Are you in pain? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He moved to my bed, his hands caressing my face.

“I love you.”

He closed his eyes, and his shoulders relaxed as he bowed his head and kissed me on the forehead. “I love you too.”

“Dr. Blake.”

“Really?” His voice was hoarse from sleep. “You wake me up just to turn me on? Thanks, Lisa, really, I appreciate that. Not like I’ve had enough shock to my body these last few days.”

“Sleep with me.”

“Okay.” He moved next to me, his muscled body moving to lie down on the bed.

“Not like that.” I was thankful it was night.

His eyes squinted together, and then all of a sudden widened. In an instant, his mouth was on mine, and his shirt was on the floor.

“That was fast.” I laughed against his lips.

“I’ve wanted you since the first day I saw you, and damn if I’m ever going to let someone come between us again.”

I let out a hoarse cry as his tongue plunged into my mouth, his hands sliding up my body, lifting my hospital gown. Pausing, he whispered, “Sorry, I’m being rough, and you did just get shot.”

“Stop talking!” I tugged at his jeans.

With a curse, he jumped off the bed and threw them to the floor then joined me again, totally naked.

“Later…” I arched beneath his touch. “…I’ll stare at your sexy body later, Dr. Blake, but right now, I need you. I need you so bad.”

“I’m right here.” He kissed me hard against the mouth, again and again, slanting at a different angle as if he couldn’t get enough of me.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Tristan!”

“I thought I was Dr. Blake,” he teased, his hands sliding across my hips, and then, I felt him.

My body shuddered with pleasure.

“Ah, so she likes calling me Dr. Blake.” He inched into me.

I clutched his shoulders, digging in with my fingers as his mouth moved to my neck.

“Why are you going so slow?” I whimpered, my body tightening, threatening to explode, wanting to move against him but afraid to do anything.

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“Say my name.”

“Tristan.”

“Wrong name.” He started pulling away.

I gripped his shoulders and moaned, “Dr. Blake,” just as he plunged all the way into me. My head fell back against the pillows as a lone tear ran down my face.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Finally… I found peace. In the arms of someone who looked at me like I was his air. —
Lisa

Tristan

“
Y
OU’RE BEAUTIFUL.”
I could barely speak, but she needed to hear it. “And I love you more…” I moved within her. “…and more…” She gasped. “…with every passing day.” Her body tightened around me. “And I’m never letting you go. For as long as I live, I’m never letting you go.”

“Are you promising me forever?”

I stopped moving, nearly killing myself in the process, and reached up to touch her face. I tasted her with my lips, trailing them down her cheeks, kissing away the tears.

“The broken pieces are the prettiest ones, Lisa. The demons, the proudest scars.”

“Touch me,” she breathed. “Please, I need you, I need you.”

“I love you… I love you.” I stroked slowly, taking my time to feel every part of her, not wanting to rush a perfect moment. “You’re going to marry me, by the way.”

“Tristan,” she hissed.

“Dr. Blake.”

“Dr. Blake…” she moaned, her fingers digging into my shoulders as her body spasmed around me. “I may have to say yes… but you’ll need to ask when I’m not ready to scream your name.”

“In pleasure, I hope.” I grinned, then she jerked me against her, and my own release overtook me.

Gasping, body sated, I waited for her to tense, to possibly regret her actions. Instead, she pulled me closer, kissing my lips softly.

“In pleasure, always in pleasure, Dr. Blake.”

“Say it again, and I may just have a repeat performance.”

At a soft knock on the door, I paused and glanced over my shoulder. A gray-haired nurse waltzed in with a smile pasted on her face. The minute she saw us, she stopped dead in her tracks, gasped, then nearly ran into the door trying to leave.

“I think we just gave her the shock of her life,” I mused.

Lisa tugged me closer. “Well, at least now I can scream, since she’s probably telling everyone on this floor. Dr. Blake…”

I kissed her hard across the mouth. “Louder.”

I was ready for her again. Hell, I wasn’t sure I’d ever not be ready for her.

“You’re sexy…” She ran her fingers through my hair.

I had to keep myself from purring.

“…when you’re out of control.”

“You’re sexy,” I nipped her lower lip. “…when you think you have it.”

And then I gently moved within her again and winked.

EPILOGUE

Sometimes the most beautiful things are the ones that pose the most danger, just like the ugliest of the world turn into objects of absolute beauty. The cancer was ugly, but Kiersten turned it to beauty. The death of Gabe’s fiancée was horrendous, but Saylor made the death redeeming, precious. And Lisa… her past was ugly, but look at the beauty of the disaster that struck: Tristan, redemption within their family, and finally, love. I think the world has it wrong when it strives after the beautiful. It should fight for the ugly; it should hope for the damned; it should seek the lost — because in the end, if there weren’t tears, if there wasn’t fighting, then do you really deserve to feel satisfied and happy? —
Wes Michels

Wes

“
G
ABE!”
S
AYLOR YELLED
. “I mean it! Drop the water gun.”

Gabe ran around the pool, aiming for her face like a toddler.

Naturally, it was in my best interest to stop him, considering all the girls were warring against him, but I was too relaxed to care.

I lay back… watched Kiersten, my wife, join forces with the other females, and laughed at all their expressions. I laughed out loud.

It felt good to laugh; it felt good that it was real. My friends made fun of me for always spouting out nonsense and wisdom, but how could I be any different after going through what I had?

Funny, because out of all the people in my life, the one person who understood the most was Lisa. The most unlikely of partners. She sat quietly next to me and whispered, “I like laughing again.”

“It gets easier,” I whispered. “The laughter.”

She smiled and turned to face me. “I know.”

She’d been through hell. The media hadn’t been kind once the story had broken about Taylor and her involvement. We’d tried to protect her as much as we could, but in the end, she’d been made out to be a bully, just like he had been.

Tristan had done his best to defend her; even his father had defended her. But once the storm died down, she’d approached the media with her story. She’d bravely broken her silence. She’d spoken so eloquently that day, explaining the dangers of emotional bullying, how it turned into physical abuse, how she’d been raped. She’d left no stone unturned, and with all our help, had started her own non-profit in honor of online bullying.

“Tristan,” Lisa warned as he made his way around the pool with a squirt gun. “Don’t! Don’t you dare!”

“Do it, do it!” Gabe chanted, while Kiersten and Saylor squirted him in the face with the water guns.

It probably didn’t help that it was a chilling fifty-five degrees outside, hardly pool weather. Then again, the water was heated, so it wasn’t a huge chore to swim.

“I love you.” Tristan nodded. “But it’s time... for revenge.” He squirted her leg. “That was for hiding the label maker.”

Lisa burst out laughing.

He squirted her stomach. “And that was for making labels that had words like breasts on them when labeling chicken.”

“In my defense, it was still accurate.” Lisa laughed harder.

“She’s right.”

“Stay out of this, Michels!” Tristan roared then lunged for Lisa and pulled her into the pool. Her laughter was more than I could have hoped for.

Laughter meant healing.

Healing was more than just being cured of cancer or finding the one who actually saw you for you. It was more than getting over your past, embracing your future. Healing’s waking up every day when you’d rather stay in bed; healing’s when you smile instead of cry; healing’s when you can hold your head high, despite what demons try to pull it down. And life was full of it, full of opportunities to cut and run, rather than stay put and face the storm.

They never teach you that in school. They never teach you that the fish that survive are the ones that swim against the current.

My name is Wes Michels, and I’m a survivor.

Now it’s your turn to live, laugh, and love.

Live… like Kiersten and I chose to do.

Laugh… at all the little things along with way, like Gabe and Saylor did.

Love… like Lisa and Tristan were finally able to do.

Yeah, I chuckled as I watched my friends continue to tease and yell at one another.

Just thank God.

And live.

The End

Author Note:

I start
ed this series as a way to honor my Uncle Jobob. Those of you who have read Ruin know that it was a tribute to him while he fought cancer. I never imagined it would turn into what it’s turned into and I’m so overwhelmed and blessed that readers have attached to the characters as much as I have.