Dylan pulls out her phone, doing a quick Google search and pulling up a picture. She flips her phone in Monroe’s direction, and I swear Roe almost passes out. Her wide eyes look up from the phone, meeting mine. “No!” She looks properly horrified by the thought, and if I thought it wouldn’t get back to Owen, I’d totally let her keep right on believing that her brother’s dick is pierced.
“Monroe,” I admonish. “Do you actually think Owen would get one piercing in his dick, let alone multiple piercings?”
“I don’t know! I’m hoping not, because I’m never going to be able to look him in the eyes again if he does!”
“Rest assured, you can look him straight in the eye with nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, thank God.” She downs her Diet Coke as Dylan, Nora, and I break out in laughter. “You are evil, Tristan. I think I need something stronger to drink.”
Nora is laughing so hard she looks like she’s about to fall out of her seat, and Dylan is leaning half on and half out of her seat as the martinis start to kick in. This is exactly what I need after the incident with the car, and then the break in: a chance to get out and put everything aside and just relax. There’s been so much happening since the moment I stepped in Broward, it’s nice to just sit and breathe, to laugh and tease with my oldest friend, and two girls who I think are going to be just as good friends as Dylan is. I know Stella is safe, fully protected between Owen and Huck, so I don’t have to worry about her, and Lesa isn’t here so I don’t have to worry that I’m stepping on her toes in my relationship with Owen. I just get to be in the moment.
“Tristan says you’re a ballet dancer?” Monroe turns her attention to Dylan once we’ve all managed to compose ourselves again.
“I don’t look like your typical ballet dancer, do I?” Dylan asks with a small smile. “The nose ring, the hair, it doesn’t really scream the elegance and grace associated with ballet.” She shrugs a little, her fingers picking at the stem of the martini glass in front of her. “I’m no longer with the company, so I’m free to do whatever I want.”
“Are you changing to another ballet company?”
“No.” Dylan lifts up the empty glass, catching the bartender’s attention to let them know she wants another. “I’m not dancing anymore.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask why, but I bite it back, waiting to see if either Nora or Monroe ask. Maybe they’ll get more out of her. Thankfully, Nora doesn’t disappoint.
“Why aren’t you dancing anymore?”
Dylan licks her lips, her eyes meeting mine briefly before looking back down to the table. “I was pregnant.”
“Wait, what? You’re pregnant.” I had picked up my drink, but it clatters back to the table. “You can’t be drinking when you’re pregnant!” The waiter comes over with the next martini and I snatch it out of his hand before he can set it in front of her.
Monroe clears her throat. “Tristan. Tristan—” She says my name twice to get my attention. “She said she was pregnant.”
“What?”
Dylan snatches the martini out of my hand. “I lost the baby, Tristan. Give me the fucking drink.” She downs half of it in one quick gulp. “In fact, line them up. I deserve them all.”
“Oh, Dylan.” I reach out to touch her, but she yanks back out of my reach. “Dylan, please.”
“If you touch me, I’ll fucking fall apart, and if I cry anymore, I may just shoot myself. I’d rather drink to many martinis, tell embarrassing stories about you, and not think about the fact that I quit my job and lost my baby all in less than a month. Can we do that?”
I’m so stunned I don’t even know what to say. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I glance helplessly to Monroe who looks like she’s on the verge of tears herself, and then over to Nora who is chewing on her lower lip while watching Dylan. She meets my gaze, and I try to communicate telepathically that I have no idea what the fuck to do or say. That I need help. Nora gives me a little nod, then lifts her hand to the bartender for another round. “I think this time we try the Nerd martini. What does everyone else think? Monroe, you too. We’ll call the boys and tell them to come and get us.”
Dylan wipes under one eye, takes a deep, shuddering breath, and then gives me the feeblest attempt at a smile I’ve ever seen. “Let’s get drunk. Tonight, that’s what I need.”
I reach over and grab her arm, giving it a quick squeeze before leaning back as the waitress comes back to the table. “I want to try the PB&J martini.”
“That just sounds disgusting,” Dylan mutters. “Let’s try it.”
Chapter Seventeen
Owen
I jerk awake when Tristan crawls over me on her way to the bathroom at what I can only assume is an ungodly hour on Thanksgiving morning. She trips on her way out of bed, falling on all fours, before picking herself back up and hurrying into the bathroom. I hear the door slam just seconds before I hear the unmistakable sound of her throwing up. With a grimace, I roll out of bed and pad across the room, pushing open the bathroom door. “You okay?”
“Kill me. Please. It’s the only merciful thing you can do.” Tristan moans from her position in front of the toilet. She has one arm draped across the rim of the toilet, the other one holding her head in her hand. Her curls are a massive mess around her head and shoulders. I’d done my best to get her in pajamas last night when Sebastian had brought her and Dylan home, but she’d been adamant she wasn’t going to wear pants to bed, and who was I disagree? So that fucking amazing body of hers, that I love so much, is only covered in an incredibly thin, blue tank top and a pair of pink, cotton panties.
“I have some water and Tylenol on the nightstand. I’ll go grab them for you.”
Tristan groans in response. Chuckling, I head back into the bedroom; I shake three of the Tylenol out into my hand, grab the water glass, and head back into the bathroom. The only movement Tristan has made is laying her head on the edge of the bathtub.
She partially opens one eye when she hears me come back in the room. “Did you sleep here last night?”
“Only because I was afraid you were going to choke on your own vomit. Here, hold your hand out.” I drop the Tylenol in the palm of her hand before handing her the glass. “You were wasted. I’m honestly amazed you’re forming words at the moment.”
She swallows the pills. “Me too. What about Dylan?”
“Bash camped out on the floor in the guest room.”
Tristan arches an eyebrow. “Really?”
“I wouldn’t read anything into, sweetheart. She was more wasted than you, which is saying something. Ready to brush your teeth?”
“Ugh.” She hands the now half-empty glass of water back at me. “I can handle that on my own. You know the problem with being a mom whose child likes to wake up at the ass crack of dawn? Your body adjusts to that schedule, and sleeping in becomes a thing of the past.”
“Brush your teeth and then crawl back in bed. We don’t have to leave for the farm for a few more hours. I’ll handle Stella this morning.”