Hazel St. James - Fighting For You (Redemption#1)[ (9 page)

None of his newfound enthusiasm meant that he was overly excited that Chris had hired someone to take care of him, but that was another matter altogether. It was damn conniving to bait and switch Peyton like that so that she felt obligated to care for him, but it was damn brilliant. Fucked up, but brilliant. Tristan was planning to talk with Chris about it the first chance he got; he’d been
so
sure that Chris was an asshat, but he got the impression from Peyton that he was anything but.

Tristan also decided quickly that Peyton was a serious pain in the ass to shop with. Tristan was more than capable of picking out food, but she would many times just smile and put back what he’d picked out and replace it with something similar. Most of the time it was a simple substitution for cost reasons; since Tristan didn’t pay much attention to that shit anyway, he didn’t make a fuss. But there were a few times she frowned at something he put in the cart, and then later he would find that at some point, she had removed it and replaced it with something completely different. Like the bag of chips she grimaced at, and in its place was a bag of lightly salted pretzels.

She was a sneaky little thing, but tried to not let on to what she was doing; she just wasn’t in your face about anything and was fine with whatever you suggested. He noticed that she didn’t take exception to everything he chose, just the things that he never said a whole lot about. For instance, he put Ben and Jerry’s ice cream in the cart after exclaiming that was his favorite kind. She smiled and shrugged, never even gave it a second glance; and it was still in the cart when they got to the checkout.

Peyton had already taken Tristan to the bank and the pharmacy, so he quickly paid for the huge cartload and they headed back to his apartment. The drive back wouldn’t take very long, but Tristan wanted to find out more about Peyton; see if she was comfortable enough now to open up a bit about herself.

“Did you grow up here in Colorado, or are you a transplant?”

Peyton was humming along to a song on the radio and casually answered as she bobbed her head to the beat of the song, “Born and raised. All my twenty-one years. You?”

Tristan winced, unprepared for the question to be turned around on him. He quickly answered, “I grew up near here,” and moved on to safer territory, “do you have to work again tonight?”

“Nope, night off. Going to help you unload your groceries and then I’m off for a night of relaxation,” Peyton sighed and let her shoulders fall. “I haven’t had a night to myself in a very long time.”

Tristan just nodded a few times. He gave her a few seconds to appear nonchalant before he asked the next question. “Anyone going to keep you company tonight?”

Peyton smiled, but didn’t move her eyes off the road, “No, I’m single, and I live by myself.”

“Ahh,” was his only reply. His brain was working frantically, trying to think of something else to say to her, trying to think of a way to get her to spend more time with him so that he could get to know her better, but he was running low on options.

Finally, it clicked and he asked, “You wouldn’t wanna help me with a project tomorrow, would you?”

They were pulling into the driveway next to Morgan’s place, and Peyton parked the car before she answered. “That depends, Tristan. I need to know your motivation. I didn’t peg you as a guy that asked for help, so for you to be asking me to do this, you must have a really good reason.”

Damn it. Square on the head. Perceptive little thing.

Tristan put up his walls before he answered, not wanting to give in and show any weakness. He reached across the seat and brushed her loose hair back from her face, making her tense up. Tristan put his hand up quickly to show that he didn’t mean any harm. “Hey, Peyton, I know you think I’m a psycho, but I would never hurt a woman, not on purpose. Are you scared of me?”

Peyton unbuckled her seat belt and turned to face him. “You’re not
psycho
, Tristan. Fuck, I hate that word…that was my dad’s favorite word,” she mumbled the ending. “And no, I’m not scared of you. I was hired to help you get back on your feet. I need to keep some professional distance between us if that’s gonna work.”

“Work for who? You? Certainly not me. You’re the first girl in years that sees right through my shit and hasn’t run away.” At first, Tristan was angry, but as he gazed at her sweet face, his anger melted.

“To be honest, Peyton, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you left my apartment last night. You are the first girl that has ever turned me inside out like this. I usually don’t get torn up over girls.” Every one of his last words were said as he leaned closer to her in the driver’s seat, and she closed her eyes and leaned into him.

They were slowly inching towards each other when she finally hesitantly said, “I’m not going to sleep with you, Tristan.”

“So noted. I’m going to kiss you now,” Tristan told her and she just nodded her head. The first brush of his lips across hers was electric and the sensation traveled right over his skin, leaving goose bumps behind. He leaned back in for another kiss, and she responded by tipping her head to the side so he could get closer. With their lips still connected, Tristan adjusted himself in his seat so that he could cup her face in his hands.

Peyton whimpered softly when he nibbled on the corners of her mouth, and she parted her lips just enough, and he took control and delved inside with his tongue. He released her mouth and moved to place kisses along her jawline, dragging his lips across her skin on the way back to her ear. He pulled her ear lobe into his mouth and she moaned from somewhere deep inside. Her body sagged forward and he knew that she was willing to go further, but would likely regret a heat of the moment decision. This girl brought out every protective bit of his insides, and he needed to be with her, no matter what ground rules she laid out. For the first time in his life, Tristan was content to just kiss and hold a woman and walk away without sex.

He pulled back from her, but didn’t let go of her face. He leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose, then released her and got out of the car. He opened up the backseat door and grabbed all the bags and pulled them out of the car, setting some of them down on the driveway. “So I’ll see you on Monday, then?”

Peyton was looking a little bit stunned sitting there, and she pulled out of her stare when he spoke. “Oh, um, yeah. Monday. Hey, didn’t you want help with a project?”

Tristan thought for a minute about a project that he was going to tell her about, and then he remembered asking her to help him with something before she laid down the law about what their relationship could be. “Oh yeah, I did. I need to check on where most of my old stuff ended up and I thought that maybe you could help me to retrieve what’s left? Plus, I should see what I can do about getting my car back. Might need some help with all that.”

Peyton was grinning from ear to ear now and gave him that gorgeous smile he was damn near ready to take a picture of, so he had it with him all the time. “You bet, sweets. You sure you can handle all those groceries? I could help you put everything away.”

“No, baby. I got it. Thank you, though. See ya tomorrow.”

Tristan was practically walking on sunshine as he went back to the discarded grocery bags on the driveway. He was absolutely elated for the first time in a very long time and had to keep himself from whistling as he carried all of the stuff up to his apartment. He made it through the door and stumbled on the way to the kitchen, barely making it before the handles on the plastic bags started to rip into pieces. He laughed at his luck and thought that maybe things were starting to turn around for him.

Tristan usually was a lucky person, but he decided that maybe what was happening to him was more a product of karma. Peyton was proof positive that karma was real, and that good things come to those who wait.

Even more important, he wanted to believe this positive streak wasn’t the calm before the bi-polar storm.

Chapter Ten

M
orning was slow to come. Tristan was wide awake at five in the morning after a series of nightmares. He wasn’t feeling the greatest right now and knew that it was only going to get worse. He was completely awake, yet unable to close his eyes. For when he did, the demons seemed to appear. It wasn’t just Valerie that he saw in his dreams anymore, they’d evolved, turned into something even more painful. Something that Tristan tried harder than hell to never remember.

He was in a small house. So small that there was just one bedroom and a kitchen and a couch. The house smelled awful and was so cold. Dark and cold. There was a single light on in the bedroom, but it was so dim that it didn’t reach this far out into the house. Tristan felt small…younger. He could hear the faintest sounds coming from the bedroom…they sounded like a lullaby. Like someone singing. Tristan knew that voice. Knew who it was. He started walking towards it and could feel the dread creeping across his skin. He shouldn’t go in there. He was told not to. Supposed to stay outside.

Tristan snapped himself out of the memory, aware that he was in his own apartment. He’d broken out in a cold sweat and was shivering lying in his bed, all the covers on the floor. He tried to take a deep breath, but his lungs protested and he sputtered a few times and coughed. His eyes hurt, his head started to pound, and the pain was spreading across his body, engulfing every one of his limbs.

Tristan knew this was a panic attack, brought on by a memory trigger, since that was normal for him as of late. But this was a new image, a new waking nightmare for him. One that hadn’t been there when he was in the hospital. Everything focused around the severe manic episode he’d had when Valerie was hurt, and that was it.

He’d spoken with his therapist about his night at Club Red and the nightmares surrounding it; they’d even brought in a specialist that was familiar with BDSM relationships to work out those issues. He was told that someday he would make peace with himself, for he was in a manic state and was operating his body under abnormal circumstances. A God-like complex had taken over him, and he’d become obsessed with wielding power. He didn’t mean to hurt her; it was an accident. Tristan could remember a bit of vengeance seeping through him, too, but it was all so faint, and he didn’t know where it came from, or why it was there.

Tristan again tried to pull a deep breath into his lungs, but his shoulders shook as he tried this time, and he wheezed again. His chest felt like it was on fire, his heart was racing like a freight train. Every part of his body hurt…his head felt like it was being squeezed in a vice, and he pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to make it stop.

When he was in the psychiatric center and he would have a panic attack like this, they would give him a half dose of sedative to calm his nerves. His shrink had told him that was dangerous, because it could trigger a simultaneous manic episode, even when he was in the middle of a depressive episode. It was possible for both of them to happen together in some bi-polar patients. So, Tristan decided that he didn’t want to take that chance and had found different ways to divert his attentions.

One method that he found while at the center was writing music; he’d started writing a song during his stay at the center. When he was alone in his room he had worked on it a lot, humming different melodies with it. Once he was assigned a roommate the last week of his stay, he had stopped working on the song, and had spent time actually talking with Joe about life, hopes, dreams, and everything in between. It was good to have someone to talk with like that, someone that understood what it was like to have a brain that didn’t operate within normal parameters.

But he was alone again, and song writing was his only option right now.
There is no reason to drown out this pain, there is no reason to let it slip away…

Peyton came to his mind, and he immediately thought of a new verse.
Just give me…a reason to try, Just give me…your own reason why, Just say that you see me, Without all the pain, Just say that you see me, And that it wasn’t in vain…

The creativity flowed out of him, and his new muse created a whole new part to the song. One that wasn’t tortured and hopeless. Peyton had brought a bit of color back into his world, and with it, she brought…hope.