Tristan: Finding Hope

Chapter 5

When I reach them, Avery is jerking her arm, trying to get it out of his hold as he slams his hand against the back door and steps outside. I follow a few moments later and by the time I get out there, he’s got her trapped against the wall by the Dumpster and is already yelling at her. I can tell he’s definitely done something to hurt her in the past, by the way she flinches every time he raises his voice. I’m going back and forth with whether to go back inside or step in. Do I want to get into this mess? Can I handle this mess?

“You made it sound worse than it was,” he shouts, getting in her face, veins bulging in his neck. “This is bullshit.”

She hugs her arms around herself. “All I did was tell the truth, you fucking asshole,” she yells back, but her voice cracks.

“You are such a fucking liar,” he says, slamming his hand against the Dumpster and causing her to wince. “A fucking alcoholic just like your mother.”

“I’m nothing like my mother,” she shouts back, getting brave enough to get in his face. “And I’m sober now. And being a drunk is a hell of a lot better than what you are.”

I see him raise his hand and my uncertainty whether to get into this mess vanishes in a heartbeat. I stride forward and shove him back, knowing this is all about to blow up in my face, especially when he ends up bashing his head into the Dumpster.

“Shit,” Avery says, staring in horror at Connor as he works to regain his footing. She pushes me back toward the door without taking her eyes off him. “Tristan, go back inside.”

I gape at her. “You’re seriously trying to protect me right now.”

She gives me another push, this time looking at me, and all I can see is fear in her eyes. “Trust me. It’s for your own good.”

I’m shaking my head, confused as hell, because this guy was just about to beat the crap out of her and she’s trying to protect me instead of herself, when Conner gets to his feet.

“You’re fucking dead, pretty boy,” he says, reaching for his pocket, with this annoying smirk on his face.

What is with all the pretty boy comments tonight?

“Avery, let’s go inside,” I say, taking Avery buy the arm and guiding her behind me. I can sense something bad is about to happen. Whatever he’s about to pull out of his pocket is not going to be a cigarette—that’s for sure. It’s a knife and not a small pocketknife, but a larger, hunting-type knife.

I’ve had a few guns pulled out on me before, knives, brass knuckles; it’s nothing new. Yet it is. Because I’m sober. When I was high, it was easier to ignore the bigger picture. But I can fully see it now—how easily I could die if this guy wanted to kill me.

I instantly step in front of Avery and spread my hands out to the side, protecting her. “Go inside,” I call over my shoulder.

“Just friends, huh?” Conner shakes his head, aggravated, as he moves toward us with the knife out in front of him. “I knew that shit couldn’t be true. You’re too much of a slut to have a friend that’s a guy.”

I hear Avery dialing someone on her cell phone from behind me. The cops I hope.

Seconds later, Conner takes a swing at me and I double back, but he ends up clipping my side. I stagger over my feet as the tip of the knife splits my shirt and grazes the skin. I quickly recover and throw a punch of my own, my fist connecting with his jaw. His eyes redden with anger and I’m not sure if hitting him was a good idea or not.

He lets out this growl and then dives at me with no control over his movements at all, like he would easily kill me and not care, but I jump to the side and he ends up ramming into the building wall behind us. He curses, then turns around, wiping some blood off his split lip. Dead, he mouths.

Avery shouts something and I hear sirens seconds later. Thank fucking God. Conner glances down at the end of the alley and then with no hesitation, he takes off running in the other direction, hoping over the fence at the end. I start to chase him down, when Avery yells, “No, don’t.” Her hand touches my arm. “Let him go.”

I turn around. “Let him go? He just tried to kill me.”

“If you chase him down, then he might finish the job,” she says in a serious voice, her eyes wild with fear, and I can feel her pulse racing in her fingertips.

I settle my breathing before I speak again. “Are you okay?”

She gapes at me. “I’m fine. But what about you?” She lifts up my shirt without even asking first. She examines the cut on my side, her fingers tracing gently around it, but I barely feel a thing, too busy watching her watching me. “It doesn’t look too deep.” Her voice quivers as she pulls down my shirt down. “But you might want to get it checked out, just in case.”

“It’s fine. I’ve had worse,” I tell her. The fear and pain in her eyes tell me so has she. We stand there for a moment, just staring at each other, breathing in and out. I have no idea what the hell is going on, not just between her and me, but with her and that Conner guy. I’m about to ask her, when the cops show up.

We end up answering a few questions and filing a report. Nova and Quinton come out when I text them. I pick up bits and pieces of the conversation between Avery and the cops and put together enough that Conner is her ex-husband and that he just got out of jail for something. I want to ask her a ton of questions and I’m planning on doing so, but I never get the chance. After the police leave, we all get into the Jeep and she drives us back to the motel. Nova asks her a few questions, but Avery is vague and Nova being Nova senses that Avery doesn’t want to talk about it and instantly drops the questioning. I think about staying in the car when we pull up to the motel. I just want to know… well, I’m not sure what I want to know. If she’s okay? If she’s going to be okay? But Quinton ushers me out, despite me giving him a dirty look.

I’m heading back to my motel room when I hear Avery say, “Hey, Tristan, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Yeah,” I call out, hoping I’ll get an explanation. I tell Nova and Quinton that I’ll meet them inside. Then I turn around and jog back to the Jeep. Avery has the window rolled down and she’s not looking at me, but just over my shoulder, in Nova and Quinton’s direction.

“What’s up?” I ask as I reach the Jeep.

She holds up a finger. “Just a second.” She waits until Nova and Quinton disappear into the room, then her eyes land on me. She doesn’t say anything right away, instead reaching down toward her boot and taking something out of it.

My face instantly falls when I see what it is. “Where did you get that?” I ask in a tight voice.

She holds the bag of crystal in her hand and it takes a lot of energy not to rip it from her. “It fell out of your pocket when you were fighting Conner,” she says, staring at it. “I picked it up and tucked it into my boot when the police came. I was going to just dump it down the toilet when I got home, but then I…” She trails off, looking at me.

“But you wanted to see why I had it,” I finish for her.

She nods. “I thought you said you were clean.”

I try to act cool about it, but her disappointed gaze makes me feel guilty for some reason. Obviously this girl’s been through shit and she managed to get sober. I can’t get my dumb ass clean for more than a couple of weeks at a time. “I did, but I never said for how long.”

“How long?” she asks, her eyes searching mine.

“Three weeks,” I say, holding her gaze.

She considers what I said without looking away from me. “What do you want me to do with it?”

“You’re seriously giving me choice?” Is this girl for real?

“It doesn’t really matter if I get rid of it,” she says. “If you don’t want me to, then you’ll just go get some more.”

Those are the words of someone who understands being an addict. It makes me hate her and really fucking like her at the same time. “What if I said I wanted it back?” I ask. “Would you give it to me?”

She thinks about it and nods with reluctance. “If that’s what you wanted.”

I consider what I want. Her, my mind screams. It makes me want to ask her to come back to my room, but I decided to be a nice guy for one night—do something good for a change, even though it just about kills me just thinking about it. But she did just almost get her ass kicked by her ex-husband.

“You can dump it down the toilet when you get home,” I say, even though it’s painful to say it. My pulse accelerates from the words and my palms dampen. It feels like I’m being strangled.

She blows out a breath, relaxing. “If that’s what you want,” she says with a hint of amusement and it makes me smile just a little. She puts the bag back in her boot and reaches for the shifter, about to drive away. I start to leave when she says, “Oh and Tristan.”

I pause and turn to face her. “Yeah.”

She hesitates, considering something for a moment, then ultimately leans out her window and presses her lips to mine. It’s a quick kiss. No tongue, but there’s a lot of emotion behind it. I feel my heart rate quicken for a split second. Then she’s pulling away. “Thanks,” she says, biting her lip. “For stepping in. Not a lot of people would have done that.” She doesn’t saying anything else and doesn’t give me time to respond, driving away into the night, leaving me with a thousand questions running through my head.

And the biggest need to kiss her again.