Vegas Aces: The Wide Receiver Complete Series

CHAPTER 2 TRISTAN

I don’t know what to do with myself, and so I run.

I run on the treadmill until my legs burn, and it’s still not enough.

I can’t seem to put a stem on the worry filtering through my veins. I’m worried about Tessa. Worried about the baby.

Worried about my dad.

My hamstring seems totally healed, and the weather’s nice enough today that I decide the treadmill isn’t cutting it. I tighten my shoes and head the opposite direction of Main Street, cutting through backyards and cornfields because I don’t want to run past the house on the corner. I don’t want to think about everything it means.

I’m running away from it.

I’m trying to push away the fear. Janet doesn’t seem worried, so I shouldn’t be, either.

Still, I found that little scrap of paper and I don’t know what happened next. Maybe I should show Janet, or maybe I just need to wait it out another day. Maybe I should call Cameron Foster and ask him why a scrap of paper with his name on it was sitting in front of Tessa’s house, or maybe he wouldn’t know anyway.

I just don’t know what to do. I turn to run toward the river, and I keep running almost at a sprint until I find myself walking along the dock and flopping down onto our bench at the scenic overlook.

I should’ve brought some water with me as I gasp for breath after my sprint through the backside of town.

I don’t like that I’m here without Tessa. It feels somehow wrong, like this is our place and being here without her is somehow doing a disservice to her memory.

I hate that I’m worried.

I hate that I can’t get a hold of her. I hate that she’s not picking up her phone. I hate that I think she might be ignoring me.

I really hate my traitorous thoughts that she left me again, that she’s not coming back, that this is all some response to me leaving her here alone while I went off to Vegas to party.

I wish I would’ve gotten a punching bag for my parents’ garage because I feel like I could work out some major angst on that shit right about now.

She’ll be back. In my heart, I want to believe this. I want to believe that it’s just some misunderstanding. Maybe she forgot her phone charger, though I suppose there’d be easier solutions for that than complete radio silence.

But my head keeps telling me she ran away again.

The thought makes me want to fucking tear something in two.

We just got back together. We just confessed our true feelings. We just started letting each other in again.

We just…we just…we just.

None of it matters.

The only tiny shred of hope keeping me from falling completely off the cliff right now is the fact that Janet isn’t worried. She knows where Tessa is. She told me where Tessa is. She’s not suffering from fits of anxiety the way I am, and I was hoping my run would calm down those thoughts, but it hasn’t.

At all.

Especially not when I’m here on our bench. I run a fingertip over the rough edges of the T+T carved into the wooden slat. “Fuck,” I mutter as a little sliver of wood embeds itself in my finger.

So running my finger over rickety old wood was a bad idea. Noted.

As the pain of a sliver darts through my hand, a strange thought pulses in my mind.

I can’t help but think about how I want to use some of what I learned at Coax to punish Tessa for putting me through this once she’s back. Cutting off all contact after she left me all those years ago is a big deal, and I need her to know that. She can’t just disappear on me.

I can’t take it.

I remember Troy Bodine’s punishment for Sapphire when he withheld her pleasure.

Tessa’s on pelvic rest…but I’m not.

There are plenty of creative ways to let her know she shouldn’t do this ever again.

I’m making plans for when she returns. Because this time, she will return, and it won’t take seven years for me to find her again.

I inspect my finger a little more closely as I start to catch my breath, and my gasping turns to softer panting. I see the tiny sliver sticking out and use the nails of my thumb and forefinger to grasp it out, tossing the offending shard to the ground.

And then I hear a voice behind me.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you sitting on that bench all by your lonesome.” I whirl around and see Tiffany Gable standing there.

Great. Just fucking great.

“Everything okay?” she asks.

I stand as I draw in a breath, and then I move toward the wooden railing in front of me and rest my palms on it, locking my elbows straight as I lean on it.

I do this because I know Tiffany, and I know she’ll sit on that bench next to me.

Nobody gets to sit beside me on that fucking bench except Tessa.

Nobody.

“Everything’s fine,” I lie through a clenched jaw.

“Where’s your girl?” I hear the wooden floorboards creek with her footsteps, so I know she’s moving closer to me.

“It’s none of your business,” I mutter, keeping my eyes on the water rather than on her.

“Did she run away again? Did things get too serious for her? Because if she did, you know, I’m… available . Like last time, if you know what I mean.” She moves in beside me but doesn’t touch me. I can picture her winking in an exaggerated way at me, and I move my hands from the railing.

“I know what you mean, and I’m going to have to respectfully decline.” I start to walk away.

“I heard you proposed,” she says to my retreating figure. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

I stop and turn to face her. “I’m sure it’s none of your business.”

She shrugs. “Didn’t you just get divorced like five seconds ago? Don’t you want a chance to…explore your options?” She leans forward a little, and I can see right down her shirt—exactly as she planned, I’m sure.

My eyes don’t flick there. I may be a tit guy, but I only want Tessa’s tits. Definitely not Tiffany’s. I never wanted Tiffany’s, even when I supposedly got to have them.

“Why do you know so much about my life?” I ask instead of answering her questions.

She cackles. “Everybody knows everything about everyone around here.”

I shake my head. “That’s not true. I don’t know what you have been up to, for example.”

She hoists herself up so she’s sitting on the railing, and she leans forward to give me that shot down her shirt again.

I continue to hold strong against looking.

“Ask away,” she says.

I shake my head. “See, that’s the thing. I don’t care.”

I turn to walk away again, and her voice stops me. Again.

“You should care.”

I grunt out a laugh. “Why’s that?”

“You’ll see.” She winks at me, and I just shake my head as I start my run back toward home.

I’ve got enough things to worry about right now.

Tiffany Gable and her ominously veiled threats are not on that list.