Chapter 1
That was that, I decided. Tristan had simply stormed out of the apartment. Tylar had made some herbal tea for me, tucked me into my very empty bed and assured me everything would be okay. She’d made a bet Tristan would be back in my bed by morning. My BFF was going to lose that bet. That much I was sure of with Tristan. I knew Tylar meant well, but she hadn’t been there to observe Tristan earlier at the club.
I lay awake in our bed replaying what had happened earlier. It was all so fuzzy for me now; it had transpired as if I was an observer watching it happen, piece by piece, frame by frame. It was supposed to have been a beautiful day for Tristan and me. We’d been closer than ever since the news of the impending birth of our baby.
Tristan had always had a sweetness about him; now it was in high gear. My God, it was all he ever talked about, with the exception of our getting married. He was being a stickler on that.
He was vigilant about my diet and health; he insisted I cut my hours at work until at least the second trimester (that was his compromise) as I was prepared to work right up until the time I delivered.
When we made love, which was often, he was even more tender than usual, but still made sure I was satisfied with everything he did.
Today had started out as perfectly as the other ones had been lately. I was cooking something special for Tristan. We were going to have a late supper together when he got home. Then mid-afternoon I’d received that phone call from Ian. He was drunk.
“Hey Giner,” he’d halfway slurred, “Aren’t you going to congratulate my impending fatherhood?”
“Ian? What the hell?”
“Seems like my essence is just fine, love. I shared the good news with your boyfriend. I don’t expect I’ll be hearing any congratulatory remarks from that one when you squeeze my baby out of your womb in a few months.”
“Ian, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about or what the fuck you’ve done, but I swear--”
“Don’t swear, love. It’s not ladylike. I don’t want our baby hearing that kind of talk. Got to run, Giner. Cheers!”
I’d quickly pulled up Tristan’s number on my cell. He didn’t answer. Shit! What the hell had Ian done?
I’d grabbed my keys and coat, instructed Trey when to take my casserole out, and told him to enjoy it with Tylar. He’d looked a bit puzzled. I told him I was going to the club. No need for further explanation.
Once I’d arrived at the club, I immediately went to the office to find Tristan. He wasn’t there; his coat wasn’t hanging on the door. As I started to leave the office, someone tapped on the door. It was Jo Anna, the first-shift bar manager.
“Jo Jo, do you know where Tristan might be?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Gina. Sit down for a moment, will you?”
“I don’t know where Tristan went when he stormed out, but I do know why he left. It was a pretty awful scene in here earlier," Jo Jo said.
“Let me guess,” I interrupted her, “Ian stirred up some shit?”
“That’s putting it mildly,” she replied. “Gina, I feel weird getting into your business like this; I’m uncomfortable repeating what Ian said to Tristan.”
“Please Jo Anna, I’m a big girl. Let it rip.”
“Well, Ian showed up here this afternoon and made it a point to have a few drinks at the upstairs bar before he came down, just as Tristan was stocking the main bar down here. He ordered a drink and Tristan served him. Then Ian started in about the baby you’re expecting and how you and he made love right around the time the baby was conceived, and --”
“Whoa, whoa, hold-up, Jo Jo. How would Ian have known any of this? Tristan and I haven’t exactly made it public knowledge outside of a few of the employees here.”
A look of irritation crossed her face.
“I’m pretty sure it was Johnny Four Fingers,” she’d replied.
“Who?”
“I’m sorry; John Dealy, the new chef Tristan hired a month or so back.”
Then I remembered who she was referring to; the man had lost one of his fingers on his right hand while working at a pizza restaurant during college. Some of the other staff had nicknamed him ‘Johnny Four Fingers.’ Tristan had not been pleased about the nickname.
“So how does John know Ian?”
“Oh they met at the bar one evening after John was off work. You know John gossips worse than any female ever could. Ian bought him a couple of drinks and John spilled everything he knew, including the fact that you and Tristan were expecting and when.”
“Okay, so go on,” I urged her.
“Well, Ian went on about how he had a fertility test conducted because Shelly wanted to make sure he wasn’t sterile, if their relationship was to go any further. Ian handed an envelope to Tristan that was sealed with your condo address on it. He told him it was a piece of mail he’d picked up that day at your condo when he said, you know, that--” she stumbled over her words.
“Yes, yes - go on,” I said, waving my hand at her to skip ahead.
“Tristan opened it, read it, and then tossed it on the bar in front of Ian. I made myself scarce after that. I didn’t hear the rest of their conversation. The next thing I knew, Tristan had left the club.”
I’d thanked Jo Jo for the information. I needed to stay at the club to manage, since Tristan had left. I’d busied myself with helping where needed and relieving the bartenders for breaks; the same things Tristan would have done had he not made a hasty exit.
Tristan returned around midnight. He looked as if he’d been tipping a few back. He’d seen me immediately behind the bar on the main floor.
“What the hell are you doing here, Gina?”
“Gosh Tristan, last time I looked I was half owner. Someone had to be here after you stormed out.”
“I had my reasons,” he’d snapped at me, coming behind the bar. “I want you to go home, Gina. We’ll talk about this later.”
“I’m not going home without you,” I’d argued, “I already know the gist of it anyway. Ian called me earlier.”
That had caused Tristan to raise an eyebrow at me.
“You heard me. If you can’t figure out Ian is just trying to cause problems between us because he wants us apart, since his life is so miserable, then I don’t know what to tell you.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about Ian being miserable, Gina. What I do have an issue with is that you lied to me. I went through this shit with Tara; I won’t go through it again.”
“I haven’t lied to you, Tristan.”
“You have lied by omission; in my book that’s the same thing.”
“Tristan, now is not the time or place for this discussion.”
“You’re right,” he’d snapped, taking my arm and guiding me out from behind the bar. “Jo Anna, can you close up here?”
Jo Anna had come hurrying over when she saw Tristan return. She’d kept a short distance away, but clearly she’d been concerned that Tristan and I could potentially draw the attention of the patrons.
I’d driven us back to the apartment, as it was obvious Tristan had been drinking. We’d argued in the car, and continued arguing at the apartment. Then Tristan had stormed out; Trey had followed closely behind. Tylar and I had both freaked. I knew Trey would not remain pissed at Tylar. Tristan was a different story. Tylar didn’t understand the difference in their temperaments.
Trey had a quicksilver temper; quick to anger, quick to calm. Tristan was more of a slow boil. It took a lot for him to get to the point of being furious; I was fairly certain he was slow at calming once pushed over the threshold. He’d been furious with me.
I buried my face in his pillow; it smelled like Tristan, my Tristan. My tears started flowing again. Why in the hell did shit like this happen to me?
I’d thought Ian and I were happy - until I saw him humping Shelly in the office at the club; his declaration of love for her came to me shortly thereafter.
Now it was Tristan saying those horrible things to me; telling me he couldn’t believe a single word I said. I’d caused him to doubt my love for him. He accused me of being duplicitous. It seemed like there was always someone nearby wanting to piss on my cornflakes.
I finally fell into a troubled sleep. It was a temporary escape, at least, from the harsh reality I’d be forced to deal with now.
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