Page 21

Twenty

Siren’s Song

“ I t’s your twenty-fourth birthday, young man. Get up!”

Tristan turned his eyes away from the clear morning sky to his dad’s voice and saw him walking toward Tristan’s bed with a smile.

“I see the old man is in a good mood today,” he teased.

Dad chuckled, sitting down. “Isn’t he every day?”

Tristan pretended to think. “I don’t know. Is he?”

He sat up, tossed the blanket aside, and spotted a wrapped, flat object of average size on the bed. Tristan looked at his dad. “I know I always say you should stop buying me gifts on my birthday, but I’m officially curious now. Is this a framed photo or something?”

He picked it up and weighed it in his hand.

“I’m sure it’s as light as a feather to you—”

“ Lighter ,” he corrected.

Dad rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Just open it.”

Tristan removed the ribbon, pulled apart the covers, and smiled at the framed photo of him and Dad from one of his sisters’ reception a few weeks ago. He sighed and glanced at his dad. “Thanks, Dad. I love it.”

His dad’s eyes took on the same look he wore on Tristan’s every birthday—one Tristan had grown to realize meant, “Anything for you, Trist. You are all I have left.”

And like that, Tristan was hurled into the pool of his guilt anew.

Dad leaned forward and hugged him, completely unaware of this. “Happy birthday, Trist.”

Tristan hugged him back and closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the sudden surge of emotion.

“There is something else.” Dad withdrew and reached into the pocket of his shorts. As Tristan watched, he pulled out a familiar jewelry box.

His breath hitched. It was Mom’s, the one that contained her engagement ring. Tristan shook his head immediately, averted his gaze, and said, his voice choked up, “No, you should keep it.”

“I want you to have it, Trist.” Dad grabbed his hand and pressed the box into his palm before closing his fingers around it. “I know—I just know your mother would’ve wanted the same. She would want you to give it to your future wife.”

“Dad,” Tristan called him with a strangled laugh. He met his gaze. “We’ve already had this conversation.”

“And that’s why I’m giving you this,” Dad insisted, his eyes serious and gentle at the same time.

“I’m dangerous to be with. You know that. Please don’t tell me we’re having this talk on my birthday,” Tristan groaned, his frustration rising.

“I’ve lived with you these twenty-four years, and nothing’s gone wrong,” Dad reasoned gently. “I know it’s not the same, Trist, but it’s called hope.”

“You really think I have hope in a love life?” Tristan snorted sarcastically. “That I would find a girl who won’t freak out when she learns my secret? Who knows if she’d keep it? What if she gets tired of me eventually—a man who can’t get out of his house without checking the weather reports every now and then? A man she can’t dance in the rain with—I’m sure that’s on every girl’s list of dreams, Dad.”

“Then you would make artificial rain for her somewhere safe for you and dance with her under it,” Dad said firmly. “Because that’s what you do when you love a girl—anything for her that’s possible with you, anything that’d make her happy, anything that’d put a smile on her face.”

Tristan didn’t have to ask what he was implying. His dad had done everything in his power to make his mom happy and make all her wishes come true—anything to see her smile.

Before Tristan had wiped that smile off her face.

Of course, his dad had never once blamed him for the loss of his wife, but Tristan did. Every single day. And he would, till his last breath.

“I just want you to be happy, Tristan—and no, don’t even try to tell me you’re happy,” he added as Tristan tried to interject. “I know you’re not, not in the way you are supposed to be.”

“Are you happy, Dad?”

His dad stared at him for a moment before he sighed and smiled. “Of course, Trist. You are my sole happiness. So, if I could see you truly happy, nothing could rival it. If not for you, do it for me. You’d eventually realize that it was all for you, after all—when you find love.”

“As if finding love is as easy as the sunlight filtering in through my windows.”

“What if there was a sunshade blocking the light from reaching your windows?” Dad looked pleased with his question. “What if you are that shade, blocking the light from reaching your heart?”

Tristan’s lips twitched. “Poetic, are we now?”

Dad heaved a dramatic, tired sigh. “If poetry is how you understand things, then of course.”

Tristan rolled his eyes.

“I don’t want you to be alone when I leave this earth one day.”

Tristan’s eyes widened. “Dad—”

“I’m serious, Tristan,” Dad cut him off. “You might think that you have your cousins, your uncles, and aunts… and of course, you’d have them, but there’s only so much they can do to rid the loneliness from your life. What you need is a partner. A family of your own. And I’d love to have a grandchild or two before my time comes.”

“Seriously, Dad—”

“Just think about it.” Dad patted his knee and stood. “I’ve been meaning to have this conversation with you for a long time and decided today was the day.”

“Because I turned twenty-four today?” Tristan arched an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have waited until I was twenty-five or something?”

“You do realize I was engaged when I was your age, right?” Dad asked with a smile. “So, I thought it was time I gave you some encouragement. I’m just saying, bud. What you want to do with your life is fully up to you.”

Tristan dropped his eyes to the small box in his palm.

Dad paused at the doorway and turned back to him. “You better hurry up. Valero’s putting together a special breakfast for you, and the aroma is killing my stomach. I only have so much patience when it comes to food, and you know that.”

Tristan chuckled, feeling light-hearted. “I’ll be down in a bit.”

Dad disappeared down the hallway. Tristan stared at the box again. His heartstrings tightened.

Would his mom really have wanted him to give her ring to his future wife?

He would never know, despite his dad’s confidence. Because if she were here, she’d be wearing this ring, and Tristan would have bought a new one for the girl he loved.

If he ever found love, that was.

Tristan opened the box. The princess-cut diamond ring with silver band sat on a velvety pillow, looking as good as new—his mother didn’t get to wear it for long, after all. He shut the box and took a sharp intake of breath.

He wasn’t going to find love. Not because he didn’t think he would find it. He just couldn’t afford to lose it and end up like his dad.

Whoever the girl meant for him was, she’d be better off without him.

* * *

Tristan’s phone pinged with a text on the table. He turned from the mirror and reached for it.

Alexa:

Guess I gotta cut school today. Terrible stomach ache. I should’ve texted you earlier. Are you getting ready?

Tristan’s fingers fluttered over the screen, seeing her online.

Tristan:

That’s alright, love. How bad is the pain? Want me to take you to the doctor?

Alexa:

Lol, NO! It’s because of my period. The stomach ache is a usual thing. Not my favorite time of the month *irritated emoji*

Oh. Heat rose in his cheeks. He hadn’t thought of that.

Tristan:

I’m so sorry, love. Is there anything I can do for you?

Alexa:

Would it be too selfish if I said I just want YOU? *sly smile emoji*

He laughed.

Tristan:

How can that be selfish? I’m all yours. I’ll be there in a moment.

He slipped the phone into his pocket and teleported downstairs immediately. If Valero wasn’t in the kitchen, he would’ve teleported there instead, but he didn’t want to scare the light out of the poor man, who had no clue about his supernaturalism.

“Morning, Valero!” Tristan greeted the man as he dashed into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

“Morning, my boy! Off to drop dear Alexa, I see.”

“Uh…” Tristan hesitated, groping for an appropriate response. He took each of Alexa’s favorite chocolates into his hands. “Actually, she’s not feeling well. So, I’m off to see her.”

Valero took one look at the chocolate bars in Tristan’s arms, and realization seemed to dawn on his face. “Oh, right. Off you go, then.” Then, in a murmur that probably wasn’t meant for Tristan’s ears, he added, “She’s very lucky to have you.”

Tristan smiled on his way out of the kitchen. After making sure he was alone, he teleported to Alexa’s balcony. As long as his car was locked in the garage, Valero wouldn’t doubt he left.

He knocked on the door.

“Do come in, oh posh gentleman,” Alexa called out from within in a heavy British accent. “For I am on my bed, and I cannot come to you in my ill state. I apologize for not leaving the door open.”

Tristan stifled a laugh, shaking his head at her playful dramatics. He teleported inside and found her lying on her side, beneath the blankets and still in her PJs, with her hair spilling over the pillow.

“Remind me to make that signboard for you if you’re still up for the idea.”

“That I am,” she replied, her accent back to normal. Then her eyes dropped to the chocolate bars in his arms. They widened. “Oh my gosh, Tristan! Did you just empty your refrigerator for me?”

“Well, I can’t let you eat me.” He flashed her a crooked grin and dumped the chocolates on the bed before leaning over to press a sweet, lingering kiss on her lips.

“Very funny,” she muttered. When he broke away, she lifted her head slightly off the pillow and reclaimed his lips.

Tristan braced his arms on either side of her head and smiled into the kiss before deepening it. Her fingers threaded into the hair at the nape of his neck, and her other hand clenched his shirt, pulling him closer. It took every ounce of his self-restraint not to give in to his wildest desires, trap her body between his and the bed, and kiss her senselessly.

He broke their lip lock and moved his lips across her cheek, trailing feather-soft kisses. “Is my angel feeling any better?”

He felt her smile in his hair. “Much better than I was feeling before.”

He hummed, trailing his lips to her ear, and smiled when she shivered beneath him. “So, your tummy is no longer giving you any trouble?”

“It is,” she breathed. “So stubborn.”

“Just like you, no doubt.” His lips moved back across her cheek and kissed her nose.

“Hey!” She giggled in protest, and Tristan smiled, loving the sound of her laugh so close to his ears. His favorite music.

He straightened and looked down at her. “It still hurts then?” he asked, placing a hand on her waist and rubbing small circles there.

She hummed, her eyes fluttering shut as she relaxed against his touch. A moment later, they peeked open to meet his shyly. “Don’t stop.”

Tristan glanced down at his hand and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “You like it?”

“Well, it feels good, eases the pain.” A smile was fighting to bloom across her face. But it was gone in an instant. She winced, and her hand curled on the blanket.

Tristan’s playfulness left. “Can you lie flat, darling?”

Alexa blinked up at him.

He hesitated. “I could massage your stomach. It might help.”

A small smile flitted across her face. “You’re blushing,” she remarked. “Goodness, my Tristan is blushing!”

He grinned, his face growing hotter. “Not as much as you do.”

“I can’t take it,” she teased, shifting onto her back and stretching out on the bed. “Blushing looks adorable on you.”

“If it pleases you so much, I’ll make sure to blush every day,” Tristan joked, eyes on his hand as it hovered above her stomach for a moment before gently resting on the fabric of her pajama top. He began to rub slow, soothing circles over her abdomen. “Or better, I could borrow your cosmetics.”

“You shameless flirt.” She laughed, the sound a breathless melody.

“Your approval means the world, Lexampkin.”

She took a shuddering breath. “This feels good. So, so good.”

“I’m glad.”

She closed her eyes. And though she looked relaxed, Tristan could hear the pounding of her heart and her labored breaths. He loved how he was affecting her.

He didn’t take his eyes off her, and at some point, the hem of her top shifted, and his fingers brushed her skin instead. He froze and thought his heart skipped a beat.

Alexa sucked in a sharp breath.

“I-I’m sorry,” he muttered, smoothing her top back down. His fingers brushed her abdomen again.

“It’s alright,” she rasped, her hand clasping over his, which rested on her stomach. “You can stop if you—”

“No.” Tristan continued to caress over the fabric. “I love taking care of you.” He smiled to ease the tension in the air. “I’m glad I could make you feel better.”

Alexa’s eyes softened in a way that made him feel undeserving of her. Of her love. Of her seeing him. She stared at him for a moment. “What would I ever do without you, Tristan?”

Tristan leaned forward, not stopping the caress, and pressed his forehead to hers. “You will never have to know, because I’m never leaving you, Lexa.”

“Good.” She smiled. “Because neither am I.”

Flames consumed Tristan’s heart. He would never get used to the contentment that came from simply being in her presence, let alone her declarations of love.

“I love you, angel,” he whispered and lowered his mouth to hers.

* * *

Tristan sat upright on his bed, sweating and panting. He raised his fingers to his lips instinctively and closed his eyes.

He could still feel her lips against his—warm and soft, but firm and purposeful.

A sigh escaped him. How a mere dream could feel so real and lingering was beyond him. Tristan had had experiences like this before, but this was the first one where he was romantically involved with a girl.

His heart pounded. It was silly, but he felt the desires of dream-Tristan coursing through his own body. He couldn’t help but wonder who the girl was. What was her name, and what did she look like?

In the dream, he knew. But now, he couldn’t remember. And it frustrated him more than it should.

The feel of her lingered in his arms. Her voice, her laugh—dang it, even her scent . He remembered it all, but not her face or her name.

Dream-Tristan loved her more than he thought was possible for him to love anyone. She was his sun, his moon, and his galaxy. She was the light of his eyes, the beat of his heart, the gravity of his world, the breath in his lungs, and the song of his soul. If there was no her, there was no life for him.

Who was she?

An even worse thought; was she real? Because it felt— she felt—so dang real.

Tristan rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. He must’ve been tossing his dad’s words around in his head too much. That was why he was dreaming up things that felt too real.

It was only 8:45 am. Tristan usually slept in on Sundays, but today, he felt wide awake after the bizarre dream. He slid out of the bed and went into the bathroom to freshen up. A strange urge rose in him to take his car and drive around the town. After checking the weather reports, Tristan didn’t fight it. An outing would clear his mind.

He grabbed the car key and stopped in front of the dresser. Reluctantly, he unlocked the only drawer he’d kept under lock and took out the jewelry box his dad had given him three days ago. He stared at it for a moment and ended up slipping it into the secured pocket of his jacket.

Dad had work today and he probably left for the early morning service at his church. So Tristan teleported to the kitchen—Valero was off duty on Sundays—and found a note from his dad on the refrigerator saying there was a breakfast smoothie inside.

Tristan didn’t feel like drinking the smoothie. So he headed straight to the garage and drove the car out of the courtyard. In no time, he was in the square of Harmony Hills. Stopping to grab a coffee from the café where he first met his good and only friend, John, he continued driving.

He had gone just beyond the square when suddenly, the car shut down. Tristan pulled the lever and tried to restart it, but the engine remained dead. This was the first time his car had ever broken down.

After several tries, he gave up and got out. He looked around. A white and brick-red-painted building with a wide courtyard surrounded by half walls stood next to him. One look at the billboard, and he realized it was a church—the one he knew John attended.

Perfect.

If John saw him now, he would tease him, saying that it was a sign Tristan should start attending church. Why, he could even hear his friend’s voice in his mind. Thank goodness John wasn’t here; he was visiting his grandparents in Kentucky with his wife.

Tristan moved to the front of the car and hopped off its hood to see if the damage was something he could fix. Over the last two and a half years, he had learned more than a little about cars and their functions. He had to thank John for that.

But before he could do anything, something else caught his attention. He hadn’t been listening, but it reached his ears nonetheless, as though it wanted to be heard by him.

At first, it was just the preacher’s voice being replaced by the notes of music. And then, a female voice started to sing.

Tristan looked toward the church building.

That voice…

It was familiar. So familiar it could’ve been from his recent dream.

But the girl in his dream hadn’t sung. This one, though—it didn’t have to be from a dream to lure him toward the building like a siren lured sailors into the sea.

Without taking his eyes off it, he locked the car and walked into the courtyard.

And he couldn’t help but feel like he had done this before.