“I said my goodbyes to Marc. Believe it or not, I’m at peace with it, and so is he. Don’t compare your fucks to Matteo because Savvy fucked you over. I’m not her, and Matteo’s not a rebound piece of ass.”
He looks pissed, but so am I.
Walking into the suite, I feel a storm brewing inside of me.
The monsters want to come out and play, all at the same time.
Momma Joe’s smile lights up some of the dark corners of my mind that they are lurking in.
“How was your visit with—”
“Momma Joe,” Patrick begins from behind me, “don’t encourage this. She’s going to get hurt.”
Red peeks his head out from one of those corners and taunts me.
I whirl around. “This is my life, Patrick. Mine!”
“Yeah, well, if I saw you holding a gun to your head, I’d do whatever I could to get it out of your hand, Tris! This is the same damn—”
“Enough! My God, you love each other.” For the first time ever, I hear Momma Joe’s voice crack, and it makes yellow, my anxiety, rub her hands together. “Don’t you ever forget that.”
Knowing I have about two minutes before I completely lose it, I hurry to my room in the shared suite while calling to them, “I love you all very much. I know what I want and what I need. Matteo is not up for debate.”
“Tris, he didn’t come after you! That speaks volumes!” Patrick yells as I shut the door behind me.
I hurry over to my bag and dig for my phone charger, tossing aside everything that has ever mattered more than the damn charger, which is everything because the stupid phone is a huge trigger, to get to it.
My chest tightens when I grab the tiny box with the engraved guitar pick that Patrick gave me when he taught me how to play.
Notebooks, so many notebooks, an actual mini photo album with actual pictures of my family so I can avoid the stupid phone when I feel so unattached to them it hurts. What I have done to them, what I have done to Patrick …
“Fucking Pop-Tarts!” I chuck them across the bed and dump my bag.
Shaking it once for good measure, I watch as deteriorating black rose petal, remnants of the curse fall onto the crisp white bedding and …
Static.
“Fuck you, Marc!” I grab the edge of the bedding and shake the blanket in anger, watching as everything goes flying.
“This isn’t normal, Momma Joe,” Patrick hisses from behind me, and I turn as he says, “This isn’t okay. She’s losing her shit, and we can’t just—”
“I already lost my shit, Tricks! Right now, I’m just trying to find my fucking charger, because the damn translation app sucked it dry.”
“Okay, let’s find it,” Momma Joe says, walking over and grabbing what is right in front of me—the charger.
“I need to charge my phone. I need to see if he’s called or messaged. I can’t believe I walked out of there. What was I thinking?” I look over at Patrick. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking the same thing I am now. You’re—”
“Patrick,” Momma Joe whispers.
“Fine.” He nods firmly then walks out the door.
As I hurry to charge my phone, Momma Joe begins cleaning up the mess I made.
“I’ll get it. I’ll do it in just a minute. It’s my mess. I’m sorry.”
“I say this with all the love in my heart. This is not a mess, but yours and Patrick’s relationship could easily become one.”
“He just needs to stay out of this. And why did you tell him where I was? I trusted you … Fuck!” I say as I try to plug my stupid phone charger into the phone while my hands are shaking.
Momma Joe takes the phone. “You do trust me, and I trust you.” She plugs it in then hands it to me as I stare down at the black screen with the image of a battery outlined in red. “You’re tired and obviously hurting.” She pulls back the blanket. “Climb in and rest, bella regazza. Let the phone charge and try to relax.”
I kick off my shoes then climb onto bed as she quickly puts everything back in my bag. The only thing that remains are remnants of the black roses.
“It’s a mess,” I whisper as I look at them. Hell, maybe I’m talking to them. At this point, who the hell knows?
She walks over and pushes my hair back then kisses my cheek, one then the next. “Life can be at times, but it doesn’t stay that way for long.”
“It feels like it has forever.” I pull the covers up to my chin and lay back.
“And it will feel that way until it isn’t anymore.”
I sit up. “Can you go make him understand?”
“Who, dear?”
“Patrick. Can you just, like, tell him this is part of my journey, and I’m sorry, but only if he stays out of it?”
She cocks her head to the side in question.
“I know he’s hurting over that bitch,” I explain.
“Tris Steel,” she tsks me.
“But I’m not sorry if he keeps meddling.”
“Rest. I’ll go check on Patrick.”
I close my eyes and roll to my side, but as soon as she closes the door behind her, I grab my phone and am prompted to enter my passcode. I do just that, tapping out, 4-E-V-E-R-S.
When my phone lights up, I see his name and hit accept immediately.
When his face appears, my chest tightens, but not the kind of tightening that I feel when yellow clouds my vision. This is more a hug kind of tightening, and it’s a soft pale pink.
“You’re okay,” he sighs out.
“Of course, I am. Why—” I stop the question when my phone notification sounds off and see I have several missed calls, as well as several texts, all from him. “Well then.”
“I was concerned,” he says, setting the phone down so that I see the ceiling of wherever he is as he takes off his sweater.
“That’s about five messages above the normal level of concern.”
He picks up the phone and quirks a brow. “Is that so?”
I nod as I sit back against the headboard and nod. “Borderline obsession level. Maybe even stalk—”
“I’m not obsessed, Tris,” he says sternly.
I spit facts, “You will be.”
He fights a smile then sighs loudly as he sits down on a bed that looks an awful lot like mine. “You’re in the same hotel again? See? S—”
“We have similar tastes. It’s not obsession or stalking; it’s—”
“I was going to say serendipitous. The other S-word.”
We say nothing as we look at one another. He looks at me like no one ever has, and God, he sees me. I feel it to my soul. And he keeps looking.
After a few moments, he clears his throat. “I’ve accepted my fate.”
“I suppose fate has a way of making you do that.”
“I can’t marry you, have children with you, love you—”
I hold up one finger. “You can.” A second. “I don’t want children.” And a third. “You already do.”
His brows turn inward. “For a year, I’ve been at peace with my circumstance. I have worked to protect the future of all those I care for. I make it a point to do a holiday with my nieces, and—”