Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 48808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
"I'm sorry, princess," he whispers, his voice a gritty scrap of sound in the dark. "Christ, I wish I could take back everything I ever did to make you hate me."
I open my mouth to respond, to tell him that I never hated him…but he's gone before I get the chance. He slips out silently, closing the door behind him.
Does he know that I was awake and listening? Was I supposed to hear?
I don't think I was. But I did anyway.
And now, I don't know what to do about it.
Loving Trystan is simple. I've done it all my life. But letting him love me? Letting down all the walls I built to keep him out and letting him in again? Well, that's fucking terrifying.
If anyone has the power to break me, it's him. He's always had that power. But I'm beginning to realize that I've always had it over him, too. And I'm not entirely sure either of us will survive if we crack.
If we get it wrong, we'll rip each other to shreds. I'm too stubborn, and he's too demanding. I'm quick to judge. He's quick to bark orders. He's a storm. I'm a tornado. And we've always been two tectonic plates slamming into one another with enough force to shake our whole damn world apart.
His family is everything to him, the same way mine is to me. And if we get this wrong, they could break too. My dad will always take my side. If Trystan breaks my heart…my dad won't ever forget that or forgive him. It'll change everything, a lifetime of friendship and family, fracturing apart under the strain we placed on it.
Can I really take that risk?
Do I have a choice?
"Crap," I groan, rolling onto my side and dragging the covers up over my head like that'll silence my thoughts or shut out the world.
It doesn't, though.
Dawn lights the horizon outside the window before I finally, finally manage to doze off, no closer to figuring out what to do about Trystan's late-night visit than I was when the door closed behind him.
All I know for sure is that it changes everything. Every damn thing.
Chapter Five
Chloe
I'm not sure what to expect when I stumble out of bed a little after nine, groggy as hell, with my head pounding. I stall in the shower for as long as possible, trying to buy myself a little time before I have to face Trystan again. But eventually, I run out of hot water. I run out of excuses, too.
I take my sweet time getting dressed—a simple blue sundress and flats. And then, I take even more time twisting my long hair into a French braid. By the time I finally work up the nerve to step out into the hall, I'm anxious as hell.
"Morning, princess," Trystan greets me as soon as I stumble into the kitchen, searching for coffee. He's seated at the table with his laptop in front of him, dressed for the day in sweats and a simple black T-shirt.
Thanos lounges at his side, gnawing on a bone. He glances up at me and huffs as if saying hello. I swear, the dog is more human than most people sometimes.
"Morning," I mutter, heading straight for the coffee pot.
Trystan doesn't mention what happened last night. I don't either. For a long time, neither of us says anything. We just exist in silence as he taps keys on his laptop, his eyes drifting to me again and again.
I'm two seconds from fleeing the room when he stands suddenly, his chair scraping back. His T-shirt rises as he stretches his arms over his head, revealing a strip of golden skin stretched over taut muscle.
My stomach clenches.
"You hungry, baby?" he asks, sauntering across the kitchen toward me.
I blink wide eyes at him. "What?"
His lips curve into a smile. "I asked if you were hungry."
"Oh. Um…" I trail off with a suspicious nod. Why is he being all…smiley and weird?
His hand grazes my side. "Why don't you sit and enjoy your coffee? I'll make you something."
"I can cook."
"It's fine, baby. I want to cook for you."
I take a sip of coffee, staring at him. He's definitely being weird. He's calling me baby. He's still smiling. And he's being less demanding than usual. "Did you have a stroke?"
"What?" He shoots me a look over his shoulder as he pulls open the fridge. "No."
"Did you fall while walking Thanos? Hit your head?" I narrow my eyes on him. "Do you have a fever? Did you find out you have six months to live?"
His chuckle does wicked things to my clit. "No to all of the above, Coco."
Oh, he is definitely being weird.
"You haven't called me that since I was sixteen," I mutter.
"What? Yes, I have." He emerges from the fridge, juggling a carton of eggs, milk, and a pack of bacon.