“You don’t dance?”
I glance over at Alexandria, my gaze meeting hers. The music is loud and she has to shout to be heard. We’re the only ones standing at one of those high cocktail tables, the little glass votive sitting in the middle casting its flickering light on her face. Her eyes seem wider tonight and I blame the makeup. Everything about her is brighter, more intense, more obvious.
Like her beautiful face. Her pretty smile. Her infectious laugh. That sexy body, those long legs that slay me dead every time I look at them. Now she wants to dance. I can see it in her eyes. Hear it in her voice.
I don’t fucking dance. I never have. I was forced when I won homecoming king my senior year but that lasted all of two minutes if that, before I bailed. And that was a slow dance. I can shuffle my feet, hold onto a girl and not humiliate myself. Fast dancing? Hell no.
Shep’s out there making an ass of himself but what else is new? That guy just flat out doesn’t give a shit. I’ve never seen anyone act more ridiculous in my life, yet somehow he always manages to look cool. Everyone loves Shep. He’s the life of the party. The rest of us are just lucky we got invited.
“You should ask Shep to dance with you,” I tell her as I lean over and kiss her soft cheek. “He’ll do it.” Shep and Gabe are the only ones I’d allow to dance with my girl. The other assholes would risk getting their hands chopped off.
“I don’t want to dance with Shep,” she says softly, those big eyes imploring. “I’d rather dance with you.”
Sighing, I search the dance floor, frowning when I spot Gabe and Lucy out there too. Lucy can shake it. I’m not surprised. Gabe looks awkward, all flailing arms and elbows and I barely contain the laugh that wants to escape.
“I’ve never been a good dancer,” I admit, polishing off my Coke. I’ve remained sober tonight since I’m responsible for getting us home. Shep and Gabe both booked rooms at the hotel where the party is being held and I wish I had done the same. At the time they suggested it, I thought it was a stupid idea. Why, I’m not exactly sure.
Maybe because when it comes to this relationship thing, I have no idea what I’m doing half the time.
“How about during a slow song?” she asks, sounding hopeful. I don’t want to let her down. The last thing I ever want to do is crush her spirit. All she’s asking for is a little dance. I can manage that, right?
“Maybe,” I say and the smile on her face was worth my conceding. “Have you had fun?”
“Yes. A lot more than I thought I would.”
Me too. Considering I hadn’t been around much for the last year, hardly anyone paid me any mind, which was fine with me. I introduced Alexandria to them and not one guy made a rude comment. Not a one.
Well, Shep did but that’s because he’s a dick. He actually wanted to start something. But no one gave him the reaction he was looking for so he gave up. Well, that and Jade made him stop before he took it too far.
Thank God.
“Want to go soon?” I suggest, hoping she’ll say yes.
She tucks her arm around mine and leans her head on my shoulder. “After our dance, I’ll be ready.”
Sighing, I turn my head and press a kiss to her temple. “Just one slow dance, okay? And then we’re out. I want to get you home and all to myself.”
“Okay.” Her voice is as soft as her smile and I reach out to touch her, draw my thumb across her bottom lip. I can’t not touch her—she’s become an addiction I don’t want to shake.
The song ends. A slow one begins and she grabs hold of my arm, dragging me out onto the dance floor. I take her into my arms and she loops hers around my neck, leaning back so she can smile up at me. She looks so pretty, so pleased with herself for convincing me to get out on the dance floor with her. This is nothing short of a miracle so she better enjoy it while she can.
I twirl her around, making her gasp, making her laugh and as we pass by a swaying Shep and Jade, he gapes at me like I’ve grown two heads.
“You’re a great dancer,” Alexandria says breathlessly when we slow down, her hands tightening around my neck. “Did you see the look Shep gave you?”
“He can’t believe I’m dancing,” I tell her.
“So you’re doing this just for me then,” she murmurs, her eyes glowing with happiness.
I stop moving and hold her close in the center of the dance floor. I don’t care who’s watching us. “I do a lot of things just for you.”
She smiles. I bend my head down, about to kiss her when someone taps me on the shoulder.
Practically growling, I turn to find my old friend Marc standing in front of me. We joined the fraternity together our freshman year. Used to party with him all the time though we eventually grew apart. Hard to make a friendship stick when all you have in common is that you both like to drink beer. “Hey, Marc—”
“Alex McIntosh? Holy shit, is that really you?” Marc’s not even looking at me. He’s grinning at Alexandria like he just found a long lost friend.
She blinks at him, panic racing across her face, her smile shaky. “Umm…”
“Don’t tell me you don’t remember me because I’ll call you a liar right now to your fucking beautiful face.” Marc reaches for her, pulling her into a bear hug, his hands sprawled across her back, way too close to her ass for my comfort. “I haven’t seen you since high school! Damn, girl you’ve grown up.”
He releases her before I have to step in between them, the lucky bastard. Marc’s staring at her but her gaze keeps shooting to me, like she wants me to say something. I don’t even know what to think. I’m still stuck on the last name. She told me it was Asher. But Marc said McIntosh.
What the hell?
“You two know each other?” I ask her.
Alexandria sends me a pleading look. “We went to high school together.”
“Oh sure, tell Prescott that as if we’re just acquaintances. Like we hardly know each other. We dated when I was a senior and she was a junior for like, what? The entirety of the football season?” The grin on Marc’s face says it all. “Had some fun behind the bleachers and all that shit. You know how it is.” The asshole actually winks at me.
Yeah. I know. He’s fucked her. And now Marc thinks we’re members of the same club or something stupid like that.
“It was nothing serious,” she tells me, like that’s supposed to somehow make it better.
“When is it ever serious, Alex? I remember you going through lots of boyfriends back then.” Marc guffaws like he told a hilarious joke.
I clench my hands into fists. Damn it, I want to rip his fucking face off.
“We should go…” she starts, turning toward me when Marc pipes up again.
“How are your parents anyway? I heard they got in a lot of trouble, what with those charges brought against them and all.”
I go completely still. Charges? Her parents?
“Wait a minute.” Marc snaps his fingers, then points one at Alexandria. “They were found guilty, right? Got sentenced with prison time.” He shakes his head, his voice full of mock sympathy. “That totally sucks.”
Alexandria’s trembling as she steps closer to me. “Take me out of here,” she whispers. “Please.”
“Not enjoying your little reunion with the ex?” I ask, my voice sharp. So sharp she flinches, like I physically cut her.
Damn it, I can’t help it. This Marc prick seems to know more about her than I ever will. And he’s had sex with her. I know he has, the asshole motherfucker. If I could get away with beating his face in, I so would.
Does that make me a jealous asshole? You better believe it does. And I’m cool with it. More than cool because I’d like to take out his punk ass. Just the thought of him having his hands on Alexandria…
I can’t stand it.
“Can’t believe I haven’t seen you around campus. We should get together sometime. Would love to play catch up. Nice dress, by the way.” He touches her again. Actually puts his arm around her waist and that’s when I see red.
That’s when I lose it.
“Tristan, no!” I scream when he shoves Marc away from me so hard Marc falls onto the floor. I lurch forward to help him up but someone else holds me back as we’re suddenly surrounded.
I glance over my shoulder to find that it’s Shep holding me back, his expression determined as he shakes his head. “Stay right here,” he tells me, his voice low and deadly serious. “You don’t need to get in the middle of that mess.”
Jade rushes over to join us. “We don’t want you to get hurt,” she tells me, her hand going to my arm. I nod, shrugging out of Shep’s hold though I don’t move away from him. Instead I wait, panic making my stomach churn.
Shep and Jade don’t want me to get hurt, but I’m hurting already, watching as three guys, including Gabe, hold Tristan back so he doesn’t unleash on Marc, who’s on his feet again. His face is red, the sneer on his face ugly, his eyes glazed over with anger. I recognize that look, even though it’s been a long time since I’ve seen it. Marc had a bit of a temper when we were teens. Guess some things don’t change.
“Why the hell did you do that, asshole?” he roars.
Marc’s also drunk. I remember him always being all about the party, always looking to get high, drunk, whatever. We did go out like he said, messed around a few times even, but like I pointed out, it was nothing serious. There was never anything serious between Marc and I.
He implied we’d been going at it like bunnies from the first moment we met in high school, the prick, the smug look on his face making me want to slap him. I have no doubt Tristan picked up on that.
“You touched her,” Tristan says, nodding in my direction. “You have no right to touch my girl.”
My heart warms at the way he calls me my girl but this has turned into such an ugly scene. I want to leave, just escape and forget this entire night ever happened.
“She was my girl first, dick.” Marc laughs and Tristan lunges for him once more, the other guys holding him back, telling him to calm his shit down.
All I can do is stand there and watch this unfold like I’m some sort of extra on a movie set, not being used but somehow deemed necessary.
“Marc, stop,” I start but Tristan glares at me, his nostrils flaring, his mouth drawn into a tight line.
“You two should go,” Gabe says firmly, his hand on Tristan’s shoulder as he steers him my way. “Unless you don’t want to go home with him?” Gabe asks me, his expression one of genuine concern.
I throw my arms up, irritated by his line of questioning. What, like I’m supposed to be afraid of him now? “Of course, I want to go home with him.”
“Let’s go then.” Tristan shrugs off Gabe’s hand and steps closer to me, his eyes blazing with anger. Disappointment. And a myriad of other emotions I can’t even being to identify. “You ready, Alexandria?”
Nodding, I let him take my arm and escort me out of the room, his grip tight, his expression completely shut off. All that remains is his usual emotionless mask, the one he’s so damn good at wearing.
We don’t say goodbye to anyone and so many of them stare at us as we walk past I’m embarrassed. What a way to end the evening. I feel like I ruined everything. Like stupid idiotic Marc ruined so much too. Why isn’t he getting kicked out? Not that I want to stay but everyone automatically assumes Tristan’s the bad guy in this situation.
He is the one who pushed Marc to the ground…
But he did that for me. And no one has ever done anything like that for me before.
We exit the hotel without a word said to each other and as we stomp out into the dark night, I take a deep breath, telling myself not to cry. This situation is not worth my tears. We’ll clear this up. He’s not angry with me. He’s angry with Marc for talking so much shit about me.
By the time we’re both in the car I’m shaking, I’m so nervous. Tristan still hasn’t said anything. He hasn’t even looked my way, started the car, nothing. He just sits in the driver’s seat, staring at the steering wheel, his chest rising and falling rapidly the only indication that he’s actually alive.
“McIntosh,” he finally says, slowly turning his head so he’s looking right at me. “Your last name is McIntosh?”
I stare at him, my mouth dry as I scramble for the right words to say. I should’ve told him sooner but it wasn’t important. Not to me, in any case. Alex McIntosh is the old me. I’m not that girl anymore. “It used to be.”
His mouth screws up into this disgusted little pout, like he just ate something particularly foul. “Used to be? What the fuck does that even mean, Alexandria?
I flinch when he yells, the sound extra loud in the small confines of his car. But he’s still not making a move to leave so I guess we’re having this conversation here.
“I changed my last name. My parents were arrested near the end of my senior year of high school on embezzlement charges. They ran their own investment company and they were charged with stealing millions from their clients. They handled a lot of big accounts involving huge money, and they were really good at it too. Until, I guess, my father got way too greedy and started stealing it,” I explain, my voice, my heart bitter. I’m still not over what they did. I don’t think I ever will be. “Then Mom joined in on the mix and the both of them eventually got caught.”
“So they’re in prison,” he says, his voice flat, emotionless as he stares off into space, his gaze on the windshield.
“Yes,” I admit softly. I wish he would look at me. So he could see how sincere I am. “After our family name got dragged through the courts and the media, once I realized that we lost everything and there was no turning back, I changed my name and moved away. I wanted a new life, a new start. And I’d never get it there. Everyone knew my family’s shame, my shame.”
He looks at me. “Including Marc.”
I nod. “Including Marc.”
Tristan blows out a frustrated breath. There’s no other way to describe it. I can feel his anger, his irritation. And there’s nothing I can do to fix this. “It fucking killed me that he knew those details about you, that he said them so casually, like they were no big deal, while I’m dying to find out anything and everything about you. You never tell me shit.”
I say nothing because he’s right. I bend my head and study my shaking hands, which are clutched together and resting in my lap.
“Just enough. You always tell me just enough to string me along but is it really? Just enough?” I lift my head when I feel him staring at me, our gazes locking. “I don’t give a shit if you’re rich or poor, Alexandria.”
“I know.” I bite my lower lip so I don’t break apart. “I’ve kept this in for so long, I didn’t know how to say it out loud. Sometimes I forgot it ever happened. Once I met Kelli, and you and Shep and Jade and…everyone else, you all helped me forget. For once, I have real friends, a real life. I have a job and school and people who actually care about me. I have a purpose, and I never felt like I had one of those before.”
Does he understand? Does he grasp what he’s done for me? What they’ve all done for me? I would still be that shell of a person, lonely and sad and moving through life without them. Instead I’m lucky enough to have them. And for the first time ever, I’m actually living. I need them.
But I need Tristan more.
“Jesus,” he breathes, punching his steering wheel, making me jump. I watch as he punches it again, his fingers curled into a fist, the knuckles reddened. “Is your father’s name Douglas McIntosh?”
My body freezes. How does he know? “Y-yes.”
He turns in his seat so he’s facing me, allowing me to see the horror and sadness etched into his familiar, handsome features. “Your dad had an affair with my mom. Stole all her money and she tried to kill herself over it.”
I gape at him. “What?” His words aren’t computing. I know my parents stole money. I know they took people’s life savings and spent it all, leaving their victims left with nothing. They devastated and destroyed futures. They took with zero intentions of ever giving back.
Their stories, though awful, never touched me on a personal level. I felt bad but there was nothing I could do for them. At the time, I could only concentrate on what my parents’ actions did to me. How it ruined my life. I wasn’t thinking of anyone else. Just myself.
“Your father had an affair with my mom,” he says slowly. “She tried to commit suicide after he left her and took all of her money with him. Took a bunch of pills but she survived.”
I’m horrified. Could it be true? Did my father really do that?
“Thank goodness she’s still alive,” I automatically say, reaching for him but he jerks his arm away from me before I can grab hold. I lean back in my seat, hurt that he won’t let me touch him when that’s all I want to do right now. He grounds me. Makes me feel whole.
I can see him drift away from me, little by little.
“Like you care,” he mutters, turning so he can focus on the steering wheel once again. “She admitted to me later she’d saved up that money on her own so she could leave my dad. They weren’t getting along. Their marriage has been essentially loveless for years. She wanted to escape but your father took everything and ruined her plans. Almost damn near ruined her life.”
My heart feels like it’s cracking in two. I can’t explain my father’s actions. I can’t excuse what he did either. But is his stealing my fault? His affair with Tristan’s mom, did I make that happen? No. And Tristan is looking at me like I did. Like this is all on me. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, not knowing what else to say.
No response. I watch him, study his strong, familiar profile. His jaw is like granite, a muscle working there and I know he’s clenching and unclenching his jaw. He’s so tense. And somehow he believes this is my fault.
I don’t know how to convince him otherwise.
“I’m not the one who stole your mother’s money,” I start and he turns on me, his expression hostile, his eyes blazing with anger.
“Is that how you justify it? That you weren’t the one who took it? Did my mom’s money help pay for anything you’ve got on tonight? Your Chanel purse that probably costs five thousand dollars? Those expensive ass shoes?” He’s yelling and I’m cowering in my seat, taking the brunt of his anger. “My parents almost got a divorce over that shit. Things still aren’t right between them. It fucking tore my family apart.”
“It tore my family apart, too,” I whisper, my throat scratchy and raw.
He barely glances in my direction. “I’m sure it was real tough,” he says sarcastically.
I flinch at his words, anger suffusing me. He can be mad. I’ll allow that. I hid something from him and that wasn’t right. I hid something even bigger that I had no idea existed, and that part can’t be held against me. I refuse to take the blame for something I’m not responsible for. It isn’t fair.
But who’s the fool that said life is fair? Was it me? Because no one has ever told me life is fair. It’s not.
It never is.
“Take me home,” I demand quietly when Tristan still hasn’t said anything.
He starts the car, drives me back to my place, and drops me off, never once saying a word.
So neither did I.