Chapter 28

28

NINA

As I pace back and forth in my childhood bedroom, my breath coming in short gasps, it feels like there’s a blade sunk in my chest. Or a thousand tiny shards piercing my heart. The pain that radiates from the wound is overwhelming, it threatens to pull me under and choke me. I can’t believe I let this happen. That I let him do this to me.

I hear the crunch of tires on snow and rush to the window, peeking out from behind the floral curtains. A black town car is parked at the edge of the driveway. I watch as Tristan hands his luggage to the driver, pausing before getting in. His deep blue eyes drift up to my window, and I swear they lock with mine even though I’m mostly hidden.

The devastation etched on his handsome face mirrors the anguish threatening to tear me apart from the inside out. For a split second, I’m tempted to throw open the window and call out to him, to beg him not to go. But I can’t move, can’t breathe. Tristan tears his gaze away and ducks into the backseat. The door slams with an ominous thud.

As the car pulls onto the main road, carrying Tristan back to his life in New York, a strangled sob escapes my throat. I clamp a hand over my mouth, but it’s too late. The floodgates have opened and hot tears stream down my cheeks. My knees buckle and I sink to the floor, curling into a ball as unbearable heartbreak consumes me.

How could I be so stupid? So na?ve? I swore I’d never let Tristan Montgomery hurt me again, but somehow, he wormed his way under my defenses and into my heart. And now he’s gone, leaving me alone to pick up the pieces.

I don’t know how long I lie there crying, but when the tears finally subside, a numb emptiness settles over me. Pushing myself up, I wipe my face with the hem of my T-shirt. I have to pull myself together before my parents get back and start asking questions I’m not ready to answer.

But even as I straighten my spine and square my shoulders, I know it won’t be that easy. Tristan may be gone, but the memories of our time together will haunt me no matter how far I run. I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same again.

The chiming of cutlery against ceramic is the only sound breaking the tense silence as we sit around the dining room table. Mom’s eyes dart between Dylan and me, her brow furrowed with concern. Dad clears his throat awkwardly, searching for something to say.

“So, did Tristan have a work emergency?” he asks, forcing a jovial tone.

Dylan just grunts, piercing his steak with a murderous stab. I keep my gaze fixed on my plate, pushing my food around without really eating.

Mom sets down her fork, her patience wearing thin. “Alright, enough. What is going on with you two?”

“Nothing,” Dylan and I mutter in unison, glaring at each other from across the table.

Inside, my emotions churn like a tornado. The pain of Tristan’s departure mixes with anger at Dylan’s interference. How dare my brother meddle in my life like this? I’m an adult, perfectly capable of making my own decisions, even if they lead to heartbreak.

As lunch drags on, the weight of my shattered heart grows heavier by the minute. I can’t take this suffocating atmosphere anymore. And I sure as hell can’t be under the same roof as my brother right now.

Abruptly, I push back my chair and stand. “I’m sorry, but I have to go back to New York. Today .”

Dad’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “But the holidays aren’t over, sweetie. Is everything okay at work?”

I open my mouth to reply, but Dylan cuts me off. “Are you running after him?” he demands, his voice dripping with accusation.

My temper flares, white-hot and explosive. “That’s none of your damn business!”

“The hell it isn’t!” Dylan shouts back, rising to his feet. “He’s my best friend, Nina. You’ve already potentially ruined our friendship. Haven’t you had enough?”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you,” I scoff. “You’re the one who drove him away with your overprotective big brother crap!”

Our voices rise as we hurl angry words back and forth with a level of vitriol only the people we love the most can bring out in us. Mom and Dad’s shocked expressions don’t even register as I let loose all the hurt and frustration of the past few hours.

By the time I storm out of the kitchen, my chest heaving and my eyes stinging with more tears, there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind about why Tristan is gone and why Dylan and I are furious with each other.

As I head for the stairs, Mom’s voice drifts after me, admonishing Dylan for his unreasonable behavior. But I barely hear her over the echoes of Tristan’s last words ringing in my ears— Take a hint, Gremlin. This is over.

I slam my bedroom door shut, the old wood rattling in its frame as I lean back against it, desperately trying to steady myself. The familiar surroundings of my teenage years do little to comfort me as I slide down to the floor, burying my face in my hands.

How did everything go so wrong, so fast? One moment, Tristan and I were massaging shampoo on each other in the shower, about to have sex, and the next, it had all burst up like a soap bubble.

I push myself up from the floor, forcing my limbs to work as I start packing. A sudden knock at the door startles me out of my thoughts. I freeze, my heart jolting in my chest. Could it be Tristan, coming back to talk things out? But no, he’s long gone, probably halfway to New York already.

“Nina?” My mother’s gentle voice filters through the door. “Can I come in, sweetheart?”

I hesitate, torn between the desire for solitude and the need for comfort. With a heavy sigh, I cross the room and open the door, revealing Mom’s concerned face.

“Oh, honey,” she murmurs, taking in my tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes. “Come here.”

She pulls me into a tight embrace, and I cling to her like a lifeline as sobs rack my body. For a long moment, we simply stand there, my mother’s soothing words washing over me as I let the pain and heartache pour out.

When my tears finally subside, Mom pulls back, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. “Now,” she says, her tone gentle but firm, “tell me everything.”

When I’m done telling her about the whirlwind the past few days have been, she pats my leg gently. “I’m sure going to have words with your brother. But if Tristan feels the same way you do, he’ll come back to you.”

“I don’t know, Mom, the things he said to me before he left. I’m not even sure I want him back.”

“Oh, huff. Nothing said in the heat of an argument counts.” She squeezes my leg. “I’m sure you said mean stuff to him, too.”

“No wonder no one ever fucking loved you. You’re a bastard, and I hate you!”

The words I spat at him echo in my head, and I feel ashamed that I’d sink that low.

I shake my head. “We were just too mean, Mom.”

“Oh, please, if I had to remember all the vicious things your father and I yell at each other in a fight.”

I look at her sideways. “But you never fight.”

“We argue all the time. And you know my parents didn’t want me to marry him at first?”

I frown at her. “Grandma and Grandpa Willis? Why?”

“They thought his job as a plumber wasn’t sophisticated enough. Little did they know pipes in houses would keep on breaking while precious jobs like my dad’s at the bank could go bust overnight.”

I smirk. “Don’t tell Dylan,” I say, referring to my brother’s career as an investment banker.

“Point is, we haven’t had it easy from the start,” Mom continues.

“But did you ever, even for a tiny second, consider giving up Dad to appease your family?”

My mom sighs—heavily. “Honestly, sweetheart? Yeah. We even broke up at one point.” She fumbles with her arms. “Yet our love for each other was undeniable, irresistible, and we found our way back.”

I chew on my bottom lip, mulling over her words. They’re simple and clichéd, yet they land with the weight of a meteor in the cluttered mess of my thoughts. “Okay, hypothetical scenario,” I begin, needing to navigate this conversation like a minefield. “If Tristan and I are meant to be, what am I supposed to do now?”

Mom gives me a sly smile and squeezes my shoulders in a side hug. “Let him stew for a while. If he wants you, it’s his turn to fight.”

I give my mom a small nod, pretending her words gave me hope even when they haven’t. Because it’s clear to me there is no if. Tristan has given up on us before we even had a chance. If he even cared at all and it wasn’t all just a twisted game to him.

“Are you still going back to New York?” Mom asks.

“Yes, sorry, Mom, I can’t be in the same house as Dylan right now. Not if you want both of your children alive.”

“Alright,” she tuts. “Your brother is as stubborn as a mule, but I’ll talk some sense into him. I promise. Now, finish packing. I want you to leave while there’s still light outside.”

I do as she says, knowing there will be no light for me for a while, only darkness. At least until I have eradicated its prince from my heart.