Page 89

The fireworks come to an end, and holy shit, I’m engaged to be married.

Again.

This engagement is real, though. It’s meaningful and it’s with the person I’m meant to be with. It’s not a drunken mistake or a fear of being alone or a twisted way of getting what I think I need from the wrong person.

It’s my Tessa.

We both stand at the conclusion of the fireworks, and she leans into my chest as the lights wrapped around the trees down the boulevard turn back on.

It’s over. People are starting to file toward the exits, the crafters are cleaning up their tables, and the vendors are breaking down their displays.

I slide my arms around her. “Great work today. This event has been incredible.”

She looks up at me, her eyes twinkling in the lights. “Because we did it together, Tristan,” she says softly. “Remember when we were partners on projects in school? With your technical sense and my creative side, we aced every single one of them. Separate, we’re just fragments of who we’re meant to be, but together, we’re T and T.”

“We’re dynamite,” I whisper, leaning down to brush my lips across hers.

“Get a room!” a familiar voice calls beside us, and I laugh as I break apart, smiling at my buddies.

“Where are you staying?” I ask Travis, who just yelled at us.

“Some hotel in the Quad Cities. Ellie booked for all of us,” he says. Cory, Patrick, Luke, and Ellie are huddled together on the sidewalk across the street.

“Where’s Austin?”

“Still talking to that hot piece of ass—”

I cut him off with a glare and a slight incline of my head toward Tessa.

“I mean, still talking with that lovely lady from your town,” he finishes.

“Lovely lady?” Tessa asks.

I sigh. “Tiff.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Oh no.”

“What?” Travis asks.

Tessa shakes her head. “Not a great choice.”

“Why not?” he asks.

“She’s…a lot. She’s always been after Tristan, and she’s basically the town gossip, so anything she does with Austin will be all over the internet by morning.”

“I tried to warn him, but he ignored me.” I shrug. “Live and learn, right?”

“And fix your mistakes,” Tessa finishes, and I laugh as the others cross the street to join us.

“Is there anywhere to go around here?” Cory asks. “Maybe pick up some P?”

“Some P?” Tessa asks.

“Don’t ask,” I say, rolling my eyes. Then I lean in and whisper, “Pussy.”

Her eyes widen a little. “You’re in Fallon Ridge. You’re not going to find much in these parts.”

I shrug. “The dirty girls hang at the tavern. The wholesome ones hang at the Pizza Joint.”

Tessa smacks me in the chest, but it’s the truth.

“Which way to the tavern?” Cory asks, and everyone laughs as I point it out to him.

Everyone heads in that direction for a drink before heading out of town, and Tessa and I head in separate directions to help break everything down. The high school football players are busy folding chairs and breaking down tables, and the clean-up crew is already doing their thing.

I start collecting the signs we had custom made for this event. Maybe I can just store them in my parents’ garage if we decide to do this again next year. I glance over at the cash booth and wonder how long it’ll be before we learn the final totals when I feel an evil presence behind me.

I expect to find some feral cat, but when I turn around, it’s just my ex-wife. “What do you want?” I ask, and my voice sounds tired even to my own ears.

“I know it’s not your baby she’s carrying,” she says, putting her hands on her hips. “I know who it really belongs to.”

“I’m tired of your games, Savannah. What do you want?”

She folds her arms across her chest. “Hm, let’s see. What do I want to keep this information quiet?” She taps her chin as if she’s deep in thought. “You, Tristan. I want you .”

“So I give myself to you, and you keep quiet?” I ask.

She nods.

“Really, Savannah? Resorting to blackmail again ?”

“It’s not blackmail. It’s just a persuasion tactic. I just want to be with you,” she says, and her eyes are soft as she begs for an ounce of my attention. I almost feel bad for her, but then I remember how she’s made my life a living hell for two years.

“Why? You know I don’t love you.”

“This isn’t about love .” She says the word with disdain, and I know she’s got daddy issues or whatever, but I’m not sure I realized how far she’d fallen off the edge. This isn’t any way to live life—not when I’ve experienced how it should be with Tessa. “How I feel about you, how you feel about me…it doesn’t really matter. I hate that I’ve had two failed marriages, and I hate most of all that you were one of them. We were good together once upon a time, baby, and I just want to get there with you again.”

“I can’t keep doing this with you.” I blow out a frustrated breath. “I asked Tessa to marry me. She’s carrying my baby, and we own a house together, and that’s it. She’s my happily ever after. Cut the blackmail bullshit and get out of my life.”

I turn to walk away, but her words stop me cold. “You sure you don’t want to know the other things I’ve learned about your little girlfriend? Or what I know about you and a girl named Tiffany?”

I spin around to face her. “Fuck you, Savannah. I don’t know why you get off on making me miserable, but it stops. Now. You utter one word of anybody’s history to anyone and I’ll have my lawyer throw you in jail so fast your fucking head will spin.”

She laughs an evil cackle that draws goosebumps down my arms. “Nobody’s going to throw me in jail for anything, sweet Tristan. There’s nothing illegal about sharing my discoveries with anybody.” She wiggles her fingers as she walks away. “Ta-ta for now.”

I have no idea what I just unleashed, but I’m definitely worried about the potential consequences.

I’m standing in place, staring after her and debating whether I should chase after her and find some way to get her to stop this nonsense when my phone vibrates in my pocket.

I sigh. It doesn’t matter, anyway. I have a better chance of stopping a moving freight train than stopping Savannah Dalton-Higgins-Buck when she’s on a mission.

I glance at the text that just came through.

Ben Olson: Heard your divorce is finalized. Making good on my promise to throw you a bash. I’ve got a two-day rager planned the weekend before minicamp—the only weekend Caesar’s pool had two days open before camp. Friday and Saturday, see you then.

He doesn’t ask if that date works, but it doesn’t matter if it works. If Ben Olson is planning you a party, you fucking clear your schedule so you can attend.

I search across Main Street for Tessa. As long as she can come with me, I don’t see how that’ll be a problem. It might be a nice surprise vacation to get away for a couple days after all the planning that went into this event.

I text him back.

Me: I’ll be there. Thanks, man.

Now to convince Tessa to come with me.