Lovely Trigger

CHAPTER SIX

FIVE

YEARS

AFTER

THE

ACCIDENT

DANIKA

It was in the summer that I met the mysterious artist.

I’d gotten a memo that the boss had himself a girlfriend and that he was insisting on giving her a gallery showing. This was told to me rather snidely by the New York gallery manager. I knew she’d had her eye on James for herself, but she’d made an advance on him ages ago, and it couldn’t have been clearer that he just wasn’t interested. Still, I thought, as she told me over the phone about the new development, she must have been holding onto some idea that he’d change his mind. She didn’t say it aloud, but she was clearly more upset about the new girlfriend than she was about the fact that James was going to be sponsoring this mystery woman as some kind of an artist.

I was shocked myself about the girlfriend. I’d known James for years and had never thought I’d see the day he committed to any kind of romantic relationship. From what I’d observed, he was never serious about any of the legions of women he was seen with.

Shocked was quickly followed by pleased, as I cared about James as a person, and I figured that if he was doing all of this, he must care for the woman.

Even so, I wasn’t thrilled at the idea, at least not the one that was originally presented to me. A large, lavishly promoted showing, exclusively featuring this woman’s paintings. I knew only the facts as they were presented to me. She worked with acrylics and watercolors, and had an indefinite amount of paintings, and she was without training of any kind.

It was obvious that he was in love with his new girlfriend, but that wouldn’t make our jobs any easier.

And then I saw her paintings.

I was leaning casually against my tall work desk, flipping through my day’s workload.

I was meticulous; so I organized my workload and made to-do lists daily and anything that came directly from the boss, which was rare, went straight to the top.

I opened the portfolio, which contained only photos of the paintings, with absolutely no expectations. One look, and I had to sit down.

Three hours later, I was obsessed.

The color, the depth, the dreamy imagination that each picture contained made my heart beat faster. This was the part of my job that I thrived on. It didn’t happen often, not like this, but when it did, I just lived to put a show like this together.

I felt such a sense of wonder at the untutored skill behind it all. It always astounded me, the crap that came out in the art world, by artists that had impressive credentials, and years of study, and yet the results showed little in the way of skill or depth.

This was the opposite. This woman put her soul on the canvas with a skill and talent that I could scarce believe was untrained.

One phone call with James, after looking at her portfolio, and falling in love with it, and he’d put me in charge of the showing. We were kindred spirits when it came to this sort of thing, and I think my enthusiasm alone could have gotten me the job.

It all made sense to me upon meeting her.

She was so composed, so

reserved. I’d have thought she was cold, if I didn’t have a similar approach to strangers.

Her passion, her animation came out on canvas, it was clear. It was all the expression she needed, as far as I was concerned.

I was promoted. It wasn’t a little promotion.

One day I was quite

satisfied to be the manager of one very successful gallery, and the next I was running seven, placed all over the globe.

It was daunting, but exhilarating. I had to move back to Vegas, though I traveled a lot, so that was some consolation.

It was surreal to be working in the same building as Tristan, but after a few weeks with no sightings, I was fairly confident that we could avoid each other cleanly.

Andrew

was

pleased

with

my

promotion, but not with the fact that I had to relocate for it. Still, he accepted my decision without fighting me.

He wasn’t a fighter.

He came to see me every other weekend in Vegas, often surprising me with various show tickets.

Once, those tickets happened to be for Tristan’s show.

At first, I tried to make excuses and to talk him into getting a refund. He seemed so baffled by that that I changed gears, bit the bullet, and just went.

If I were even a little bit honest with myself, I’d have admitted that I was dying to see the show. Morbid curiosity, I told myself.

We sat three rows back, center stage.

The theatre was colossal, and they were amazing seats. Andrew had to have spent at least five hundred dollars on the tickets.

Five hundred dollars to make me a paranoid mess. We were so close that the entire time I was sure Tristan would see me, would know I’d come.

He never did, thank God, but as soon as it was over, I made sure we got out of there fast, feeling like I’d dodged a bullet.

I waited until Andrew fell asleep that night, went into the bathroom, and cried for hours. The show had been amazing, but it had hurt so much to see him again, and moreover like that, so beautiful, so compelling.

It brought to mind how much of myself I’d invested in him, knowing that this was the investment, this amazing man I’d seen tonight. He’d been a gamble, with a strong potential for loss and gain. I’d suffered the loss. Tonight I’d been reminded brutally of the promised gain.

I cried because of that. But also, because I was a fool.

I was so very proud of him.

TRISTAN

I spotted James and his new woman just as I finished my stint with the red carpet photographer nonsense.

I grinned at the way James glared at me just for glancing in her direction. The man had it bad.

I moved to them, making as if to embrace Bianca, but James was there, catching me up in a bear hug, lifting me just enough to show me that he was no pushover.

“You lay a finger on her, and I’ll break those magic hands of yours,” he growled into my ear.

I threw my head back and laughed.

That was just what I’d needed to get over some of my tension about seeing Danika again.

I sized him up, more out of habit than anything else. I’d never lost a fight in my life, but I thought James could put up a good struggle before I took him down.

It was an arrogance born out of the simple fact that I was undefeated. He was as tall as I was, but I outweighed him, therefore I could take him. It was a simple formula that had always served me well. Also, there was no way the prep school prince had been in as many fights as I had.

He pulled away, but not before I stole his watch.

He stayed directly between me and his woman. I really couldn’t get enough of this new side of him. He was just too easy to rile.

Bianca gave me a little wave and a smile.

I bowed to her, grinning. She was beautiful and really quite sweet, and I’d seen the change she’d made in James. I approved wholeheartedly.

She was

good for him. Even if she had turned him into a jealous nutcase.

I was going to have some fun with this.

“So no touching,” I observed. “Can I at least see her tattoo? I heard all about it. I heard her back was lovely, just like the rest of her.”

Bianca giggled, and even James grinned, shaking his head.

“Outrageous bastard,” James said under his breath.

They introduced me to a guy named Stephan and his boyfriend, Javier.

I’d heard about Stephan, Bianca’s best friend, and we hit it off right away. I had a feeling he was the type of guy that hit it off with everyone.

He was

charming and came off as very sincere.

It didn’t hurt that he went all fanboy on me right off the bat.

“I bet he lets you hug her,” I told Stephan, smirking at James.

That set James off, and we insulted each other for a few thankfully distracting minutes.

It felt like I was bracing myself for a blow, and my eyes scanned the crowd constantly, searching for a shining black head of hair.

“Bianca only just found out that you’re a singing magician,” James shot at me.

“Well, it pays the bills. Some of us have to have more than one talent. We can’t all get by on looks alone. Are you using a new conditioner or something? I swear your hair is even shinier than usual. I bet it smells like strawberries.

And admit it, those are contact lenses.”

“Please, I know what you get paid just for the magician gig. All your bills were covered before you got the band back together. And I have no idea what conditioner I used. It all just magically appears in the dispenser in my shower.

And if you try to smell my hair, I’ll assume you’re coming onto me.”

Bianca laughed, and James and I shared a smile. This was the real deal for him, and I thought it couldn’t have happened to a better guy, weirdo that he was.

Bianca never seemed bored with the banter, even when she was quiet. On the contrary, she had a look on her face that made me think she was connecting new pieces of a puzzle. James had to be a strange guy to date. I was one of his closest friends, and even I didn’t know much about his past.

James was complaining about how much I was planning to gouge him with my upcoming contract renewal when I glanced at his watch on my wrist. “Are you about done harassing me, pretty boy?”

James cursed, holding out his hand.

“Give me my watch back,” he demanded.

I waved it at him. “It’s almost my birthday. Can’t we just call it even?” He grinned and shook his head. “I don’t like you that much.”

I shrugged and handed it back to him.

My entire body became rigid as I saw an achingly familiar figure moving through the crowd.

I thought I had braced myself.

I knew she was going to be there. No one could say I wasn’t warned. Still, it was a straight up brutal punch to the gut when I saw her.

She wasn’t alone.

I was taking harsh, ragged breaths, using all of my efforts just to drag much needed air into my lungs.

I’d known it was going to be hard, but nothing could have prepared me for this.

I spotted her before she approached us, caught her momentary wince as she caught sight of me before she turned slightly away, her shoulders squaring, what’s his name putting his arm around her for a moment before she shrugged him off. Good.

She was with him.

I knew this,

because I kept tabs on her. Always had.

But she didn’t look to be that into him.

She didn’t shoot him even one of those adoring glances that used to slay me on a regular basis.

Thank God for that one small favor.

But even so, he touched her with privilege, and I hated his guts with a deep and enduring passion. I hadn’t been in a fight in what seemed like forever, but I had a sudden and persistent urge to start one with him. It would just be so easy to crush him. He was half my size and asking to be put in his place.

She approached our group, not avoiding me, her limp more pronounced than I’d realized.

Every jerky step made my chest ache.

She wore a dress the color of her eyes.

It caressed her curves distractingly. She was as fit as she’d ever been, limp or no.

“Hello, Danika,” I finally spoke, my voice coming out softer, less confident, than I meant for it to.

The punk she was with hung back, talking to the last group of people they’d been mingling with.

I was immeasurably relieved by this. I hoped to never have to deal with him directly. Nothing good could come of it.

She nodded in my direction, her gaze staying firmly fixed somewhere else, in the distance, anywhere but at me.

“Hello, Tristan.” Her tone was firm and impersonal.

It was hardly unexpected, but still, it stung.

Like a new cut on an old wound. One that had never scarred over, because it had never quite healed.

“It’s great to see you,” I told her. I couldn’t seem to keep the words in.

“You look exquisite, as always.” She smiled tightly. “Sure,” she said.

That punk extricated himself from the couple he’d been talking to and approached her from behind.

He

wrapped an arm around her waist, smiling at her like he was besotted. Of course he was.

The punk didn’t deserve to kiss her f*cking feet.

He was several inches shorter than me and at least fifty pounds lighter. I was guessing I could have choked the life out of him with one hand. I really wanted to test out that theory.

Danika

touched

his

shoulder

familiarly. “Everyone, this is Andrew.”

“Her boyfriend,” the punk added.

She gave Bianca another tight smile, then introduced them.

I kept my eyes fixed on Danika’s face, trying to block out that punk’s hand on her. She didn’t seem to be particularly happy with him, and I knew I was a bastard for being happy about that.

Danika left the group quickly and politely, only shooting me one direct glance at the very end, which only seemed to give her stare more weight when she swung it my way.

I broke out into a cold sweat, but other than that, I thought I held up rather well.

She swept by me on her way past.

Oh God, I could smell her. Just the faintest hint of her perfume mixed with the scent of her.

I made myself blink slowly, count in my head, kept from doing anything crazy, but it was pure, teeth-gritting effort.

I turned to watch them walk away, that punk’s hand still on her.

I needed to get out of there before I followed them and did something supremely stupid. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go punch something now, so that I don’t give in to the urge to punch some one.” I strode away.

I took it out on a punching bag in my home gym, because that’s what grown men did when they had the urge to kill someone with their bare hands, or so my therapist told me.

DANIKA

Putting together Bianca’s showing was a rare treat for me. I got an absolute kick out of every little detail. She’d given me the freedom to make most of the choices without even consulting with her.

I was not a creative soul myself. I was pure right brain, analytical to my core, though I was a great admirer of artists, so a showing like this was the closest I got to a creative outlet, and I relished it.

The exhibition was broken up into rooms, as there were over a hundred paintings in her collection, which was practically unheard of. I organized them by colors, as this was her signature, trying to make each room a true complement of her brilliant eye.

She was thrilled with the results, which made me want to kiss her. The boss’

girlfriend, and somehow she was the easiest artist I’d ever worked with.

I barely slept the last two days before the big event, working tirelessly to make sure that every detail was perfect. I met a jittery Bianca at the door with utter confidence that there was nothing on my end that wouldn’t run like clockwork.

I’d thought of everything, and though I was anxious, as any big event made me, I wasn’t a wreck. That is until Frankie and her girlfriend walked through the door, each on one of Tristan’s arms.

I felt blind-sided, and for one brief crazy moment, I thought I’d lose it. What it was I wasn’t sure.

My temper, my composure, my mind, take your pick.

Luckily, the moment passed quickly, and I got by mostly ignoring him, though he tried constantly to catch my eye.

I determined that I wouldn’t let a night I’d been looking forward to be ruined by him.

The paintings started selling within minutes of the opening of the doors. It was thrilling.

I rushed up to Bianca after every sale, making sure she knew that the night was an unequivocal success. She seemed more than a little in shock by it all.

I had my eye on one particular piece. It was a small watercolor of desert roses.

It was so crisp, the colors so vibrant it almost came across like a photo at first glance.

I coveted it, and the first few interested buyers had to make a bid. I was hoping to outbid them myself, but within a few hours, I knew it was lost to me. It was just too far out of my price range.

It was around that time that I made a hasty trip to the restroom to touch up my makeup.

I vaguely made out a set of slender ankles that I recognized under one of the stalls when the door opened behind me.

My eyes widened in outraged shock when I realized that Tristan had followed

me

into

the women’s

restroom. I’d made short work of his two attempts to talk to me throughout the evening, but this, this was out of line.

“Now you’re following me?” I asked him, willing my voice not to quaver.

It didn’t help matters that he looked amazing in a crisp tux that had to be custom made to fit those arms of his.

“If that’s the only way you’ll talk to me, then yes,” he told me, just as though he had the right.

“We have nothing to talk abo—“ I began.

“I still think about you every single day, ” he ground out harshly. “Let’s talk about that.”

That had me shaking, head to toe, in pure affront, pure outrage. The nerve of him, to move on from me, to move so beyond me and then torment me with this. I knew what this was, it was guilt on his part, and I was livid as I realized this. “Oh, please. Take your guilt and get the f*ck away from me, Tristan. I want nothing to do with it.”

“The guilt isn’t what I was talking about,” he said, his lying voice so convincing that I almost believed it.

“It’s you I think about. Always you.” I snorted. “Please! You stopped trying to call me years ago. I haven’t heard a word from you since right after rehab when you went on your repentance tour.” He looked taken aback, but he recovered quickly enough, spouting more nonsense. “I didn’t trust myself, Danika. I needed my sobriety. I’m nothing without it, and you were a lovely trigger for me. That look in your eyes, after all that I’d done…The way you looked at me like I was scum and knowing that I deserved all of your antipathy. I knew that if you looked at me like that again, I’d hit rock bottom, and this time I wouldn’t come back from it.”

“I’m with someone, Tristan,” I told him, my tone hard with resolve.

“And if you weren’t? Would you be willing to talk to me—to spend time with me, if you weren’t with someone?” I snapped. “ No! Bad things happen when we get together, Tristan. You and I are nothing but trouble. Time hasn’t changed that. Please, just stay away from me.”

He moved to me, quick as a flash, his hands cupping my shoulders. “Danika, I’m so sorry. I’ll never stop missing you. You were my best friend. Can you ever forgive me for what I did?” My trembling hands reached up and pulled his from me. “I forgave you a long time ago, Tristan,” I asserted, even as I took a step back, out of touching distance. “But I will never forget.

Please keep your distance.”

I

practically ran out the door.

I made a point of seeking out Bianca soon after, since I knew she’d overheard our confrontation in the bathroom. I cared what she thought, and I didn’t want to come across like a royal bitch, so I felt I owed her an explanation.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that little exchange in the bathroom,” I told her solemnly.

She looked uncomfortable but her eyes were sympathetic. “I am so sorry about that.”

I waved that off. “It was hardly your fault. You were just using the restroom.

But I saw your shoes under the stall, and I wanted to explain myself. I probably sounded like a cold bitch.”

She held her hand up. “You didn’t. I understand completely.

Sometimes

protecting your heart is the only way to keep your sanity.”

She’d hit that one on the head. I nodded. “Yes, exactly. I won’t get mixed up with him again, and I refuse to lead him on. When I was younger and stupid, I thought that he was the most wonderful and exciting thing in the world. I fell crazy, stupid, jump off a cliff in love with him. It was like being in love with a tornado. It took me years to pick up all of the pieces he’d left me in, but I did it, and I won’t go back.

These days I want stability in my life. I need it.”

She nodded. I patted her on the shoulder, and walked away, satisfied that she understood.

I was literally forced to deal with Tristan again at the end of the evening, as he purchased two of Bianca’s paintings.

Unbelievably,

and

infuriatingly, one of them was the small still-life I’d become obsessed with.

“You have great taste,” I told him as I entered his data into the system. I had other people to do this, but I always handled the really big ticket items myself. It made me nervous to let anyone else do it. My control issues were in full swing.

“I always have.”

I made sure he saw me roll my eyes.

He grinned at me as though I’d just given him a present, which hadn’t been my intent.

“Listen, I’m sorry I came on too strong earlier, but I really think it’s time we start to talk again.”

“I told you, I’m with someone.”

“Yes, I know. I’m not talking about him. I’m talking about us hanging out again. Just as friends. You live in Vegas again; we work in the same building. It would be ridiculous if we didn’t go out for coffee every once in a while. Catch up a bit. That’s all.” I had to work to keep from losing my temper. “You want to catch up? You want to hear how many hours I spent in physical therapy after our breakup?” He visibly winced, but I kept going. “What else would you like to catch up on, exactly? What about Milton having a girlfriend, that you had to know about, but who you didn’t bother to mention when you gave me that crazy warning to stay away from him?”

“Hey now, I had no idea he had a girlfriend—“

“It doesn’t matter.” Though I did feel a tiny stab of relief that he hadn’t known either, and I couldn’t even have said why. “What matters is that the only things we have to catch up on are things I have no desire in the world to talk about. Not ever again. And certainly not with you. Your paintings will arrive at your house within the next few days, following the verification of your credit card, etcetera. Have a good night, Tristan.” I strode away before I said anything else I’d regret later.

When it came to Tristan and I, there were never any winners to be had.

TRISTAN

I went to bed that night angry and upset. So agitated that, even at rest, my heart was pounding hard.

I tossed and turned for hours before I fell into a restless sleep.

I was having my morning coffee when I felt something strange move in my chest.

It felt good, but foreign, and it took me a long time to place it.

What was this feeling? I had to think for a long time to figure it out, but I grasped it after a time.

A freak streak of optimism had just entered my body.

Hope. I felt the tiniest stirring of hope.

But why? She’d been as vehement as ever. She didn’t want anything to do with me. Nothing had changed. But my mind had this one little thing to focus on, this smallest of contact, and so I hadn’t forgotten even one detail.

On the contrary, I’d been memorizing every second of that brief confrontation.

Every last twitch.

Every time she’d blinked, or licked her lips, or swallowed with nervousness.

She’d done such a good job of showing me nothing but indifference for the last few years, I’d had no choice but to believe that was how she genuinely felt, and I’d just f*cking bought it, giving her the space she needed.

She deserved that much. She deserved so much more than I could ever give her, because I’d taken so much from her, and so I’d left her in peace.

But something about last night, perhaps it was the way her hands trembled when she pushed mine away, or the fact that she’d shown me her rare temper with just the slightest bit of prodding.

And the bit where she’d said,

“Please! You stopped trying to call me years ago. I haven’t heard a word from you since right after rehab when you went on your repentance tour.” That bit fascinated me. Had she wanted me to call her? Or was I just reading what I wanted into it?

Whatever it was, something had changed and important pieces of my life were shifting into place.

I knew what I needed to do.