Lovely Trigger (Tristan & Danika #3)(8)

This was all particularly unfortunate when she started seeing some motherf*cker in a suit.

He must have worked in the building somewhere, because he started showing up often to take her to lunch.

It took every ounce of self-control, every minute of anger management and therapy I’d participated in, to keep from going up there and wringing his neck the first time I saw him wrap his arm around her waist, but I did it.

I walked away.

She’d smiled at him, looked genuinely happy to have him touch her.

No one deserved happy more than Danika.

Certainly not me.

My recovery had felt solid at the time, all of my twelve steps right where they should have been, but that night I very nearly had a relapse.  With what felt like my last ditch effort, I called my sponsor, and he effectively talked me down.  It wasn’t the first time, or the last, that I knew I owed him my life.

It was a mercy when she moved to L.A., and still I hated it.

I fell back into old patterns.

I started sleeping around.  At first, it felt good.  Abstinence was a bitch, and I’d been damn near a monk for two years.

It took a few months to realize that this was triggering the addict in me.  I began to crave alcohol more than I had since my rehab days.

I went off sex cold turkey again, then tried something in between.

I was in denial at first, for months in fact, that it was a relationship, but those things had a way of sneaking up on you.  I broke up with the poor girl immediately, trying to be as gentle as I could about the whole thing.

It was difficult to sleep with only one woman and not give her the idea that it was something more than friendship, something more than comfort.

I started dating.   Not just sleeping around, but dinner, the whole deal.  It was a new experience for me, and spending a bit of time with a woman before f**king seemed to be a necessary component for me.  The other way, with one-night stands and one clear cut agenda, hadn’t worked.

I became good at it, at seeing a woman for two to three months, and then ending things in a friendly way.  No real emotions were involved in it, but I didn’t feel like I was using anyone, so it seemed to be the best solution for me, all things considered.

Sex with Danika had been mind-blowing for me.  Incredible.  Amazing.  The best.  It had been so good, my need to give her what she needed became so strong that I’d developed another level of kink from the experience.  Still, it was never the same.  Not even close.  Domination felt like a silly game when it wasn’t with Danika and the restraints were a cheap imitation.

What we’d had together; it was beautiful.  Nothing else had ever come close, and a day didn’t go by that I’d forgotten that.

But I couldn’t have that again.  I’d lost the privilege.

And life moved on.

CHAPTER THREE

TRISTAN

I’d barely gotten out of my car before a screaming Jack was jumping into my arms.  Grinning, I lifted him high, then threw him higher, catching him.  He was a fearless little guy, not a bit scared.

He giggled and clutched me around the neck.  “Unca Twistan, I missed you!”

“I missed you too, buddy.  It’s only been a few weeks though.  How did you grow so much in just a few weeks?”

“I ate my bwoccoli, just like you told me to.  I’ll be as tall as you soon.”

I patted his head, carrying him to the single level condo where his smiling mother waited for us in the doorway.

I hugged Dahlia, and she kissed my cheek.  I pulled back as soon as it was politely possible.

I was well aware of how she still felt about me, and I did my best not to encourage her.

She had cut her streaky blonde hair into a pixy cut.  It made her look like a sweet kid, which was how I’d always think of her.  I knew she’d celebrated her twenty-second birthday recently, but to me she looked about sixteen.  She’d been my sister-in-law at one point, my kid sister by extension, and she’d never fill a different role for me.  No matter how much she pressed me, that just wouldn’t change.

We watched Jack play on the slide, climbing over the top like a monkey, not an ounce of fear on his grinning face even when he’d reached the top.  It jarred a memory, of another perpetually smiling blond boy that feared nothing, the man who, now dead, had left behind the very image of himself as a child.

The holidays had always been tough for me.  I’d been the older, bastard boy in the house, and Jared’s dad had never let me forget it.

One Christmas, when I was ten, I’d run off to the neighborhood basketball court in a fit.  Jared’s ass**le dad had been tearing into me again, calling me a punk, and worse, and I’d reached my limit.  Sometimes I thought the only thing that kept me in that house at all was Jared.

I was feeling particularly sorry for myself; the boy without a dad, and I’d even worked myself up into a rare bout of silent tears when I saw the skinny form of Dean running my way like someone was chasing him.

He grinned when he saw me, sprinting straight to me.  The entire left side of his face was red, one eye swollen closed.  It looked like someone had taken a bat to it.

I quickly wiped away my tears.  Dean was the smallest in our group of friends, but he was always the most relentless with the teasing.  If he’d noticed me crying, I doubted I’d ever hear the end of it.