Crash Into Me(56)

"I don't know what I want, but I do know I hate feeling like this. If he can't be proud of being with me among people he socializes with, then we shouldn't be together. Maybe if I stop being his whatever I am, he'll see that."

"I don't know, Nina. I think you need to be very careful. I think there's something you don't know and if you do this, you could lose him."

"I'm not sure I have anything to lose, Jordan."

We sat silently for a long moment before she said, "Just take care of yourself, okay? And call me whenever you need me."

"Okay. I will. Oh, and don't call this number again, though. I'm not sure I'll be around to hear it."

"I won't. Just be careful and don't do anything without thinking it through first. Promise me you'll at least do that."

"I promise. I'll talk to you soon."

I hung up the phone and closed my eyes to calm the nervous energy that was already taking over my emotions. The mere thought of ending things with Tristan made my body shake, but I had to take a stand. I couldn't live like this, hoping that what he felt in private would someday be how he'd act in public.

Armed with a plan, I left the attic without looking for more details about Tristan and his family. My mind was intent on keeping strong and focused on what I could do about this. I may not have been able to control what he did, but I was able to control how I reacted.



I awoke from a good night's sleep ready to tackle my problems and the world. Stretching my arms above my head, I focused my eyes and there on the table near the window stood the biggest bouquet of roses I'd ever seen in my life. There had to be fifty long stem roses in the tall glass vase if there was one. Deep red, they looked like they were made of velvet, and their sweet fragrance filled the room.

They were beautiful and screamed of guilt. A tiny flicker of satisfaction ignited inside me at the thought that Tristan had felt bad about not taking me with him. Smiling to myself, I saw a note tacked to the large red bow around the roses. As always, he'd chosen to say what he needed to in a letter. It was very Tristan.

Rolling out of bed, I padded over to the gorgeous gift he'd left me—with a tiny nagging question in my mind of when he'd put them there—and buried my nose in the flowers. They smelled heavenly. I gently touched one of those blood red petals and felt its silky smoothness between my thumb and forefinger. As with everything else Tristan did, they were extraordinary.

The note was folded and in an envelope. I pulled it out and held it up to see a short message that left me speechless.

Dear Nina,

A great job deserves a great reward. Keep up the terrific work!

Love,

Tristan



I felt like a balloon whose knot had been untied. All the good feelings I'd had about the roses and how things stood with Tristan left my body in a huge whoosh until I felt totally empty. This gift was merely an attaboy, a pat on the back for a job well done.

Disgusted, I wrapped my hand around the thick bunch of stems and yanked the entire bouquet out of the vase, spraying everything including myself with water. Thorns stuck into my palm, making the whole thing even worse. There was no garbage can in my room, so I marched the dripping flowers down the hall to the kitchen and threw them away, feeling as if I had struck some kind of blow for women everywhere.

And then as I rejoiced in my newfound strength I turned around and saw Tristan standing there looking hurt, of all things. Those deep brown eyes stared past me at the garbage can with all those flowers sticking out and then at me. I wanted to say something, but no words came to my brain. What had seemed such a triumph now turned into a weird sense of guilt that poked at my gut.