TRISTAN FELT LIKE AN outside observer, watching the train wreck of a conversation fall apart. He was trying, but Victoria sure as fuck wasn’t making things easy. He was tempted to let her walk out the door, and go throw her tantrum somewhere else.

That would make it harder to have this conversation again next time, though. The iron grip around his heart also insisted he didn’t want her to walk out the door, especially angry, and it was related to more than the subject on the table.

He was ignoring that impulse. The sex was incredible, but he didn’t lose his mind over getting laid.

He waited until she emerged from the bedroom, in her clothes from the night before. “Wait, please?” He forced himself to sound contrite.

She brushed past him and headed for the door.

“Victoria.” He made sure to use her full name. He wasn’t leaving any room for misunderstanding.

She didn’t look at him, but she paused. “What?”

“Let me drop you off at your car. Please.” He’d avoid bulldozing through the conversation if that was her fear.

“Why?”

“I don’t want to do this. Just like I told you last night.”

“That was about sex.” She turned to face him.

He hid a wince at the hurt and confusion splashed across her face. “It was, but it was more. I don’t want to keep clashing like this.”

“So what do we do?”

Yield. Both of them. That was a hard thing to consider. “Strip away the disagreement, and think about what I said earlier. You think about it. I’ll think about it. And I promise to hear you out when we talk it through. I’m not going to steamroll you into something you don’t want.”

“I can do that.”

In the car, tension lingered in the air, but it wasn’t as oppressive as before.

“I’m sorry about overreacting.” Victoria’s soft words started him.

He could do reasonable conversation. “I get it. You’re trying to protect ou—” not ours, she wouldn’t like that “yo—” not yours, he didn’t like that, “a baby. It makes sense you’d be cautious about the future.”

He caught a hint of a smile on her face out of the corner of his eye.

“Ouyua. Is that Greek?” she asked.

“It might be.”

Silence descended between them again. The crunch of tires on frozen snow provided the background noise.

“I never meant to hurt him,” Victoria said. “Mischa, that is. I know you hate me for what I did, but it wasn’t as though I walked into that relationship thinking I’m going to destroy this man.”

Tristan could have guessed most of that, but one thing she said dug deep, leaving an empty pit in his chest. “I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you.”

“Dislike then.” She fiddled with the cuffs on her coat. “That’s not my point. I spent a lot of time during my recovery doubting myself. I still do sometimes, though for the most part it’s better. I don’t question every decision these days. The last couple of months that’s changed, because there’s another life involved. I can’t afford to become a fuck-up again.”

He loathed that she thought that, and that he might have had a hand in putting her there. “You went through a rough patch a few years ago, but you climbed out. You’re not a fuck-up.”

“You didn’t always feel that way.”

Because he’d repeated the lie for so long, he almost forgot what a cruel thing it was to say. “I’m sorry about that.”

“You did what you thought was best for Mischa.”

“I did it for both of you.” Fuck, that sounded weak. At the time he told himself it was true, and almost believed it. Until he said it.

He pulled into the ski resort lot, parked next to Victoria’s car, then turned to face her. She was frowning.

“You told me I was destroying his life by being in it.” Her voice cracked. She dragged in a breath. “That everyone would be happier if I never spoke to him again.”

Hearing the words tossed back at him ached. Imagine what it did to her. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“We covered that. I want to know how you thought it was best for both of us.”

Tristan could put a twist on his response. Point out that she was better now, so it had worked. But that meant compounding a mistake he should have made right already. “Did I say I’m sorry?”

The creases in her brow deepened. “A couple of times.”

“The relationship ate at both of you. Anyone on the outside could see it. Mischa wasn’t the only one suffering, but he wouldn’t listen to me. I knew...” spit it out. “I knew if I said the right—wrong—thing to you, if I made you think it was all your fault, you’d cut ties.”

Her gasp, nearly a sob, cut through him like the sharpest knife, and the twist of anguish on her face was salt in the wound.

“It was stupid,” Tristan said. “It was cruel, and I wish I’d never done it. Even then I hated saying those things to you.”

“But it’s taken you three years to fill me in.” The edge in her voice didn’t cover the hurt and disbelief.

“You moved on. You healed. I hoped you’d shrugged it off.” A list of shitty excuses.

“I didn’t shrug it off. But I suppose I should thank you, rather than being wounded. Even if you didn’t hate me, I did after that. That self-loathing drove me to become something better. Someone who didn’t deserve that.”

“I never meant—”

“You’re sorry. I get it. You don’t get a pass for this one.” She shoved open the door and stepped into the snow.

He didn’t try and stop her. She had every right to be upset, and because he couldn’t take back what had happened, he didn’t know how to make it right.

He headed back to the cabin, replaying the conversation in his head. There was no doubt it was right to come clean. That didn’t mean he liked the consequences.

Tristan showered and sat in front of his laptop to work. What he did to Victoria was bad enough to begin with, but now he knew her. Felt more for her. Those things he never let himself think about when she was with Mischa—the attraction, the potential—it was all bubbling to the surface.

He cared that she was hurt, he hated that he was the cause, and it wasn’t just about the baby.

A new thought popped into his head, refusing to be shaken loose. Did he do this to back then because he was too stubborn to admit he wanted more with Victoria?

Did it matter? That didn’t change anything.

He pressed his palms into his eyes until stars danced behind the lids, but it didn’t help him sort out the jumble of thoughts. Only one stood out, clear and distinct.

He needed to do something besides just sitting here.

*

VICTORIA FUMED ON THE drive home. It was the only way to keep the tears at bay, and crying meant having to pull over until she could see the road again, which meant being out in the world longer.

She needed to escape. The clawing in her throat itched and ached, until she wanted to scream.

You’re destroying Mischa’s life by being in it. Everyone would be happier if you never spoke to him again.

The voice was Tristan’s, echoing in her head. She’d worked for three years to silence those words. To make sure she wasn’t the person he was talking about or to any more. When he said that back then, it broke her.

The one thing she never shed, through all of it, was her infatuation with Tristan.

And he’d only said it to manipulate her. Tossed out the callousness, because he couldn’t tell his closest friend, Dude. Wake the fuck up.

Instead, Tristan turned things on her. Made her think he felt like all the blame lay on her shoulders. Because he knew she’d internalize it. That it would hurt. That she’d care enough to walk away, when Mischa was too blind to do it himself.

Three years. It devoured her, when Tristan was the one who should have been suffering with the guilt.

She’d never been so grateful to see her apartment building. She hurried inside, unable to face anyone, and lost in her own head.

She hadn’t been the issue with Mischa. She was a scared little girl who wanted a friend, but Tristan thought it was okay to break her, rather than do things the right way.

Her hands shook as she stripped off her coat. She dumped everything by the front door, not able to focus on what was outside of her disbelief.

How dare he do this to her?

But he was right.

No. That wasn’t her thinking that. It was Tristan’s voice. Planted three years ago.

You did need help.

But she didn’t deserve to be shamed or belittled for it.

Would you have gotten out otherwise? You and Mischa fed each other. It was a vicious circle.

If Mischa had told her it was over, yes. She would have left.

Would you have gotten help if it came from him?

“Shut up,” Victoria screamed. She collapsed on the couch, and dropped her forehead into her palms.

The ends justified the means.

“No.” She refused to let her brain assault her. “Just because things turned out okay doesn’t give him the right to do what he did.”

But he’s sorry. And it was so long ago.

Why didn’t she still drink? Not that it mattered. It would be bad for the baby.

“No.” She mentally clawed until she climbed from the circular argument. Tristan didn’t control her thoughts or her guilt or how she lived. No one did except for her.

She didn’t drink because of Tristan or Mischa or Hollywood or anyone else. And she was sober for herself as well. “Fuck them.”

The reminder was salve on a raw, tender wound. It didn’t make things better, but it helped her think again. She settled into the couch cushions and turned on a movie. Something to help her forget what he’d done.

It half worked. The car chases and fight scenes were enough to draw her in, but the lulls, when people talked and plot happened, let her drift back into the hurt.

She was about an hour into the movie when someone knocked.

She paused the film and went to answer. When she opened the door, her stomach dropped into her shoes. Tristan was kneeling in front of her.

“What are you doing?” She was pleased she managed to keep her voice cool.

“Groveling.”

She didn’t want to like the gesture, but it, along with the reminder she controlled her life, lifted more of the cloud. “Stand up. You already apologized.”

“But this is the kind of thing that sorry doesn’t fix.”

He had that right. A response died in her throat. What was she supposed to say?

“I hurt you. I can only guess how much, and not even come close to imagining what you’ve been through.” His voice was kind and sincerity rang in the words.

She opened the door wider. “Come inside. I don’t need the neighbors hearing this.”

“If they do, you can tell them what a jerk I am.”

They were just words. She didn’t want to read more into them than that, but she knew coming from Tristan, a man who valued appearance so much, they held a lot of weight. “Inside,” she repeated.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She closed the door behind him. He stayed in the foyer, watching her, as if waiting for the next cue. It was odd having him here again. Her hand dropped to her stomach at the reminder of the last time he stood in her entryway.

She didn’t like this doubt. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to say it was three years ago, and I know your perspective has changed. All is forgiven.”

“Ha.” She winced at the hurt that leaked into her laugh.

He twisted his mouth. “That’s what I want you to say. It’s not what I expect or deserve.”

“I’ll rephrase my question. What do you hope to accomplish by being here?” She turned away. Exhaustion flowed through her. Sher returned to the living room, not looking to see if he’d follow, and perched on the edge of an easy chair.

He lingered at the edge of the rom. “I’m hoping to convince you to let me make it up to you. To prove I mean it when I say handling things the way I did, every step of the way, was one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made.”

“Have you made a lot of huge mistakes in your life?” She couldn’t picture it. Not from the guy who had everything.

“No others that I’ve ever admitted.”

She wanted to be amused, but it wasn’t a joke. She didn’t doubt him for a second.

“Keep your guard up around me until I earn otherwise.” His arms hung by his side, and his gaze stayed on her. The blue eyes she’d always thought of as ice were warm right now. “But don’t cut me out of your life completely.”

“Is this because of the baby?”

He shook his head. “I meant what I said earlier, about wanting to be involved. When I earn your trust again, I’ll tell you about how much I’ve always wanted to be a family man. But I’m here because of you.”

This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. He was supposed to say all the wrong things, again. Not prostrate himself and be reasonable.

The argument she’d had with herself surged back, and she silenced it. She’d already sorted that out. “What if I say I never want to see you again, and you can’t be involved in my life or the child’s?”

“Don’t do that.” He frowned. The words were more of a plea than a command.

She deserved to offer up a little coldness in return for what she’d been through. “It’s a hypothetical question. Humor me and answer it.”

“I’d try and figure out how to change your mind.”

Because of course he would.

“Hypothetically, you can’t,” she said.

“I’d respect your wishes.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “I’d set up a trust fund for the baby, and leave it up to you to decide if you touched it or not.” He clenched his fist. “And leave you alone.

There were a lot of ways she could respond. She could say a statement like that, surrendering his place in their life, was proof that he didn’t care. That he was only involved out of some sense of obligation, and this was his way out.

She could say she was releasing him from that. Giving him what he wanted.

None of that would be true, though. It would be argument for the sake of spite, and meant to hurt him.

She believed his apology, but it didn’t change the past. Did the ends really justify the means?

“Don’t push me away.” His voice cut into her thoughts.

She couldn’t anyway. “All right.”

“Yeah?” The corner of his mouth tugged up. Damn him and his sexy half-smile.

“You have to prove yourself though.”

“Let me buy you pizza.”

Did he really take this gut-wrenching moment and turn it into an offer for carry-out? There had to be more to it.

She studied him, but couldn’t see it. “What?”

“You missed breakfast, and delivery is fast. Besides, I have to learn how to order pizza someday, right? I’m a grown man. I should know these things.”

Damn him. She didn’t want to feel better. She wanted to wallow in this startling revelation.

But she wasn’t putting it aside. He’d said he didn’t expect her to, and she wasn’t required to. “What about what you said in the grocery store?” she asked. “When you asked if justifying the donuts was one step away from starting to drink again?”

He winced. “Have you ever played a part for so long, the response becomes automatic, even if you don’t mean it?”

“No.” A lie.

He raised his eyebrows. “Then I’m the only one. It’s part of a script I never should have learned, and it’s a horrible habit. I don’t mean it, though. I see how strong you are, and how much you’ve accomplished.”

She didn’t want to care about the words, but the acknowledgement sang to her. “I’m not going to put up with it. I don’t care if it’s a slip of the tongue. I won’t let you sling shit at me, regardless of the reasons.”

“And you shouldn’t.”

“All right.” She questioned her motives for letting him stay, but saying the words felt better than the last couple of hours. “But you have to stay on your side of the room.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you have to stay out here and listen for the door while I take a shower.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Good.” There was a twinge of hurt he didn’t offer to help, but it was easily squashed. She was grateful he was taking this seriously. “Pan pizza, extra cheese, pepperoni and pineapple. And whatever you want.”

He wrinkled his nose. “That sounds disgusting.”

She stared back, unblinking.

“And perfect.” He smiled. “I’m having the same.”

“I’m going to shower.” She kissed him on the cheek, stepping back when she realized what she’d done.

“Go.” He waved her toward the bathroom.

The moment she was out of his site, she traced her fingers over her lips. They tingled with the faint hum of stubble. She’d never seen him not clean-shaven, but he showed up here with a day’s worth of growth on his chin.

If this went badly, she only had herself to blame. At least she’d taken that power from him.