The Air He Breathes

  “Listen, Liz. I’m just going to be uncool for a second because sometimes being a best friend means being truthful even when your bestie doesn’t want to hear it. It’s sad, really, about Tristan’s family. But how do we know we can trust this guy? What if he made that story up?”

  “What? He didn’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  Because his eyes are haunted the same way mine are.

  “Please don’t worry, Faye.”

  “Honey…” Faye sighed into the phone receiver. For a second I contemplated hanging up on her, something I would’ve never done in the past. “You just got back into town a few weeks ago, and I know you’re hurting. But this Tristan guy, he’s mean. He’s wild. And I think what you need is more stability in your life. Have you thought about talking to a therapist or something?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Because therapists were supposed to help you move on, and I didn’t want to move on. I yearned to go backward. “Look, I gotta get going. We’ll talk later, okay?”

  “Liz—”

  “Bye, Faye. I love you,” I said, and meant it, even though I didn’t like her very much right then.

  “Love you, too.”

  When I hung up, I went to the front window of the house and watched as the darkened skies started rolling in. A rainstorm was building right in front of me. Such a large part of me was excited for the rain too, because the rain meant the grass would grow faster, and that meant broken Tristan would be here again, standing right in front of broken Liz.

  Saturday evening, I couldn’t have been happier sitting and watching Tristan cut the grass. I sat on the front porch with Mama’s heart-shaped tin box of love letters, going through all the words I’d already read millions of times. When Tanner’s car pulled up toward my house, I placed the letters back into the box and shoved them to the corner of the porch. A weird sense of embarrassment washed over me knowing that Tanner was about to see Tristan cutting the grass.

  As his engine turned off and Tanner hopped out of his car, I gave him a tight smile and stood up. “What brings you around here, buddy?” I asked. His eyes instantly locked on Tristan, and he frowned.

  “Just was driving around after work and thought I would see if you and Emma wanted to grab some dinner or something.”

  “We already ordered pizza, and Emma is inside on her second round of watching Frozen.”

  He stepped closer, his frown still remaining. “The grass doesn’t seem like it was that long to begin with from what I can tell.”

  “Tanner,” I warned, my voice low.

  “Please tell me you aren’t paying him cash, Liz. He’s probably using it for drugs or something.”

  “Stop being ridiculous.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Ridiculous? I’m being realistic. We don’t really know anything about this guy, except that he works with Crazy Henson. And I mean, look at him; he has the look of some psychopath or killer, or Hitler or something. It’s creepy.”

  “If you want to stop being a jerk, you can head inside and get some pizza. Otherwise, we should catch up later, Tanner.”

  His head shook back and forth. “I’m going to run inside and say hi to Emma, then I’ll get out of your hair.” He went inside the house with his hands stuffed in his jeans, and I sighed. When he came out, he gave me a wary smile. “There’s something different about you, Liz. I can’t put my finger on it, but you’re acting strange ever since you came back. It’s like I don’t know who you are anymore.”

  Maybe you never did.

  “We’ll chat later, okay?”

  He nodded and walked back to his car. “Hey,” he hollered in Tristan’s direction. Tristan turned and looked his way with narrowed eyes. “You missed a patch to your left.” Tristan blinked once, then went back to what he was doing as Tanner drove off.

  After Tristan finished, he walked over to the porch and gave me a semi-broken smile. “Elizabeth?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can I…” His words stuttered off, and he cleared his throat, scratching at his beard. He stepped up closer to me. I watched the sweat sitting at his hairline began to fall against his forehead and such a big part of me longed to wipe it away.

  “Can you what?” I whispered, staring at his lips longer than I should have.

  He inched closer, making my heart rate increase. I stopped breathing and simply stared at him. My head tilted slightly as his brown eyes seemed to be staring at my mouth, the same way I stared at his.

  “Can I…” he muttered.

  “Can you…” I echoed.

  “Do you think…”

  “Do I think…”

  He looked into my eyes. My heartbeats somehow slowed yet sped up all at once. “Do you think I could use your shower? My hot water is out.”

  A small, low breath passed through my lips and I nodded. “Yes. A shower. Yeah, of course.” He smiled and thanked me. “You can borrow some of Steven’s clothes, so you don’t have to run over to your place.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to.” I nodded. “I want to.” We headed inside and I grabbed a plain white T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants from my bedroom for Tristan. Then I picked up some washcloths and towels for him to use. “Here you go. There’s shampoo and soap in the shower already. I’m sorry but most of it smells girly.”

  He chuckled. “Better than my current smell.”

  I hadn’t heard him laugh before. It was such a welcomed sound. "Okay, well, anything you need can be found under the sink, too. I’ll be around.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Anytime,” I said, and I meant it.

  He began chewing on the inside of his cheek and nodded once before closing himself into the bathroom. A sigh left me as I disappeared to go put Emma to bed to keep myself busy until Tristan was done in the shower.

  Walking down the hallway toward the bathroom, I paused when I reached the open door. Tristan was standing in front of the bathroom sink wearing only the sweatpants I’d given him.

  Tristan ran his hands through his long, wet hair that he tossed into a man bun on his head. He brought a razorblade to his upper lip, making me twitch. “You’re shaving?”

  He stopped his movement and glanced my way once before he made his mustache cease to exist. He then trimmed his beard to the point that it was almost invisible.

  “You shaved.” I sighed, staring at a man who looked so different than mere minutes before. His lips looked fuller, his eyes brighter.

  He broke his stare away from me and went back to studying his now nude face in the mirror. “I didn’t want to look like a serial killer, or worse—Hitler.”

  My stomach dropped. “You overheard Tanner.”

  He didn’t reply.

  “You didn’t look like Hitler,” I said softly, making him turn and notice that I was gawking at his every move. Trying my best to gather my scattered thoughts, I kept speaking. “His comment didn’t even really make sense because you know Hitler had the”—I placed my finger under my nose—“little mustache and you had the”—I moved my hands all around my chin—“lumberjack type beard. Tanner, he was just being…I don’t know…protective of me in a weird way. He’s like my big brother. But he was wrong to say those things. And out of line.”

  His face was stone as his gaze searched mine. He had such solid bone structure that made it almost impossible to look away from him. Tristan lifted the shirt from the countertop and slid it over his body before he walked past me, brushing against my shoulder. “Thanks again,” he said.

  “Again, anytime.”

  “Is it hard? Seeing me wearing his clothes?”

  “Yes. But at the same time, it just makes me want to hug you, because it would kind of be like hugging him.”

  “That’s weird.” He smiled, playfully.

  “I’m weird.”

  I didn’t expect it, but when his arms wrapped around me, I slowly melted into him. What was shocking was how far away from
sadness I felt in that moment. There was something about the way he softly massaged my back and gently rested his chin on my head that brought me a level of peace I hadn’t seen in some time. I felt selfish, holding on to him tighter, because I wasn’t ready to release the feeling of not being alone. Within those few minutes of Tristan holding me, my mind stopped reminding me how lonely I was. Within those few quiet moments, I found the comfort I’d been missing.

  I hadn’t even noticed I was crying until I felt his thumbs rubbing beneath my eyes, wiping the tears away. We were closer together, my hands twisted against the T-shirt, his hands pulling me closer to his body. When his lips separated, my own parted, and we breathed against one another. As his eyes closed, mine faded shut, and we stayed quiet together. I wasn’t certain whose lips touched whose first, but we kept them pressed together. We weren’t kissing, but merely holding our mouths together, sending breaths into one another’s lungs, holding each other up from falling into our own obscurity.

  Tristan breathed in while I breathed out.

  I thought about kissing him.

  “My hot water isn’t out,” he said softly.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  I thought about kissing him again.

  I looked up into his stormy eyes and saw a bit of life. My heartbeats quickened as I held on to him, not wanting to let go any time soon.

  “I should go,” he said.

  “You should go,” I replied.

  I thought about kissing him some more.

  “Unless you stayed,” I said.

  “Unless I stayed,” he replied.

  “My best friend told me I should use sex to help me move on from losing Steven.” I sighed against his lips. “But I’m not ready to forget. I’m not ready to move on. But I do want this.” I sighed, studying his embrace of me. “I want you to be here with me, because it helps me. It helps me remember what it felt like to be wanted. I just.” I lowered my head, almost embarrassed by my words. “I miss having someone to take care of me.”

  Tristan stepped closer, lowered his voice, and brushed his lips against my ear. “I’ll help. I’ll help you hold onto him. I’ll help you remember. I’ll take care of you.”

  “We’ll use each other to remember them?”

  “Only if you want to.”

  “This sounds like a terrible idea, in the best kind of way.”

  “There’s still this giant part of me that misses Jamie every day. And holding you”—his tongue gently danced across my bottom lip—“helps me remember holding her.”

  “Feeling your heartbeats”—I placed my hand against his chest—“reminds me of his heartbeats.”

  “Running my fingers through your hair”—he tangled his hands through my blonde locks, making me gasp lightly—“helps me remember her.”

  “Feeling your skin against my skin”—I slowly lifted his T-shirt—“reminds me of him.” My head tilted to the left, and I studied his facial structure. The sharp lines of his jaw, the tiny creases in the corners of his eyes. His breaths sawed in and out. Everyone in town was convinced that he ran so much because he was trying to run from his past, but that was far from the truth. He was trying to hold onto it daily. He hadn’t had any plans to become a true runner anytime soon. If he had been, his eyes wouldn’t have looked so pained. “Pretend with me for a little while,” I muttered before slowly brushing my lips across his. “Help me remember him tonight,” I whispered, a bit shy.

  His hips pressed against mine, his eyes dilated. He placed his right hand behind my lower back, forcing me to thrust my body against his. I felt his hardness against my inner thigh and my body slowly began to grind against him. Yes. We moved to the closest wall. His left hand formed a fist and landed against the wall above my head. His brows drew closer and a deep, weighted sigh rolled through him. “We shouldn’t…”

  Yes.

  This time my mouth parted, and I softly bit his bottom lip as my hand rolled against the fabric of his sweats. My thumb circled the tip of his hardness. Yes, yes. He emitted a low growl and tightened his grip on my back. I watched as his tongue slowly slid from his mouth and ran against my neck, making me shiver inside. Do that again.

  His hand trailed up under my dress, his touch landing against my inner thigh, and when he rolled his fingers against my wet panties, my heartbeats soared. Yes, yes, yes…

  I moaned as he pulled the fabric of my panties to the side and slid a finger inside me.

  Our mouths crashed together and he whispered a name, but I wasn’t certain that it was mine; I whispered one back, not positive that it was his. He was taking me all in as he kissed me hard, his tongue exploring every inch of me. He slid another finger deep inside me as his thumb circled my clit. “God, you feel so good…” he growled, feeling my tightness, my wetness…feeling me.

  My hand slid into his boxers, and I began to stroke him up and down, squeezing lightly and listening to his growls of appreciation.

  “Perfect,” he stuttered, his eyes closed, his breaths growing shorter and shorter. “Fucking perfect.”

  It was bad.

  But so, so good.

  As my hand worked faster, his fingers sped up. We both panted together, losing ourselves, finding ourselves, losing our loved ones, finding our loved ones. In the moment, I loved him, because it felt like loving Steven. In the moment I hated him, because it was nothing more than a lie. But I couldn’t stop touching him. I couldn’t stop needing him. I couldn’t stop wanting him.

  He and I together was a terrible idea. We were both unstable, we were both shattered, and there was no getting around it. He was thunder, I was lightning, and we were seconds away from creating the perfect storm.

  “Mama,” a small voice said behind me. I took a big leap away from Tristan’s body, his fingers falling from me. I smoothed out my dress, flustered. My eyes shot down the hallway toward Emma, who was holding Bubba in her hand, yawning.

  “Hey, baby. What’s going on?” I asked, wiping my hand over my lips. I hurried to her side.

  “I can’t sleep. Can you come lie with Bubba and me?”

  “Of course. I’ll be right there, okay?”

  She nodded and dragged her feet back to her bedroom. When I turned to Tristan, I saw the guilt in his eyes as he readjusted his pants.

  “I should go,” he whispered.

  I nodded. “You should go.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tristan

  We should’ve stopped that night. We should’ve realized how bad an idea it was for us to use each other to remember Steven and Jamie. We were our own ticking time bombs, and we were set to explode.

  But we didn’t care.

  Almost every day, she stopped by and kissed me.

  Almost every day, I kissed her back.

  She told me his favorite color. Green.

  I told her Jamie’s favorite food. Pasta.

  Some nights I climbed out of my bedroom window and straight into hers. Other nights, she crawled into my bed. When I entered her bed, she never turned the sheets down. She hardly allowed me on his side of the bed. I understood that more than anyone could’ve ever known.

  She undressed me and made love to her past.

  I slid into her and made love to my ghosts.

  It wasn’t right, yet somehow it made sense.

  Her soul was scarred, and mine was burned.

  But when we were together, the hurting hurt a little less. When we were together, the past wasn’t as painful to take in. When we were together, I never for a second felt alone.

  There were plenty of days when I was okay. There were a ton of times when the hurt was just hidden inside of me, but not punching me in the gut. But then there were the days of the big memories. Jamie’s birthday was one. It was Jamie’s birthday, and that night I struggled.

  The past demons that were buried deep within my soul were slowly creeping out. Elizabeth showed up to my bedroom. I should’ve pushed her away. I should’ve allowed the darkness to swallow me wh
ole.

  But I can’t leave her alone.

  Occasional flashes of tenderness and care traveled through the two of us as her body rested beneath mine. Her eyes shook me—they always did. Her hair fell against my pillow. “You’re stunning,” I whispered before wrapping my hand around her neck and lifting, allowing her mouth to find my lips.

  That night, she was my ecstasy. My hallucinations.

  I loved the taste of strawberry lip gloss on her lips.

  Her nude body hid under me and my lips explored her neck as she arched her spine.

  “Do you know how beautiful your eyes are?” I asked, sitting up with her pinned beneath me.

  She smiled again. That’s beautiful too. My finger outlined the curvature of her body, taking in every inch of her.

  “They’re just brown,” she replied, combing her fingers through her hair.

  She was wrong. They were more than that, and I noticed them more each night I held her against me. If I looked closely, I could see the few flakes of gold floating around the rims of her eyes.

  “They’re beautiful.” There wasn’t anything about her that wasn’t beautiful.

  My tongue washed against her hard nipple. She shivered. Dependency on my touch dripped from every fiber of her being as she begged me to explore her deepest fears and her sweetest tastes. I slid my hand behind her back and lifted her so we were both sitting up in my dark bedroom. I stared into those beautiful eyes as I spread her legs and positioned her against me. She nodded once, granting me permission to do exactly what she had come over to my place for.

  I grabbed a condom from my nightstand and rolled it on. “How do you want it?” I asked.

  “Huh?”

  My lips rested against hers as I spoke in a whisper, my breaths filling her up inside. “I can be rough. I can be gentle. I can make you scream. I can make you cry. I can fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to move. I can fuck you so slow that you’ll think I’m in love with you. So tell me how you want it. You’re in control.” My finger circled her lower back. I needed her to be in control. I needed her to take charge, because I was losing my grip on reality.