Seven years ago, Tristan Knight walked away from the love of his life, Serenity Harris, without a word or a backwards glance. No goodbye. No Dear John letter. No words of apologies or excuses. She'd woken up one morning to an empty bed, her body sor...
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Three months later...
The mother-fucker was thirty minutes late. Tristan was getting ready to say fuck it and leave. But he was on a mission. It had been three months since they'd gotten married. Tristan would've tried to contact him sooner but it honestly took him that long to calm down and refocus. The rage inside of him was not 100% at bay. He still wanted to kill Nyle. But unlike three months before, he now knew that wasn't going to fix anything. That wasn't going to solve the problem. It would only isolate him from Serenity further and turn her completely away from him. He couldn't risk that.
Tristan's left foot shook uncontrollably. He ran his fingers through his hair. His nerves were shot. He'd had five cups of strong coffee in the past thirty minutes and it had done nothing to calm him. It only made his nerves worse. He wanted a cigarette so bad he could literally taste it in his mouth but he'd kicked that silent killer habit a while ago. He wished he could call someone for support but they'd only try to talk him out of what he was doing. Especially his Mother and Ricky. They had been pleading with him for the last few months to move on from Serenity and Nyle; let them live their lives. Forget about her. Tristan wasn't going to do that. Tristan couldn't do that. This thing was far from over. He wasn't going to rest until he had his Serenity back in his arms. He had no doubt he could make that happen. He just needed time. More than that, he needed to see her. If he didn't see her soon, he honestly believed he was going to die from a broken heart.
Tristan glanced up at the long mirror beside the booth he was sitting in and cringed. He hated the way he looked. He looked like shit. His hair was longer than he liked it, he hadn't shaved in weeks, and his eyes were bloodshot red from lack of sleep and too much drinking. He hadn't been eating well and he'd lost an unhealthy amount of weight, at least thirty pounds. He tried to make himself eat but he couldn't hold anything down. Food didn't taste the same to him anymore. He'd vomited before coming to the café.
Tristan looked around the small, intimate café and felt relief swoop his body. The café was a few blocks from his mom's house. It was an older business; mostly senior citizens patronized the establishment but it was unusually empty this morning. And that's what he needed. He wanted to make sure an audience wasn't around in case he and Nyle had a major blowout. He had no doubt in his mind that was coming.
Placing his head in his hands, Tristan slowly breathed in through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. He needed to regulate his breathing. His heart drummed against his neck at a relentless pace. He was going to have a freaking heart attack if he didn't calm down. He couldn't risk that. He needed to stay alive so he could see her again. She was the only thing keeping his heart beating now. If he wasn't so hell-bent on getting her back and 100% sure that he could, he would've killed himself three months ago as soon as he heard the news.
