Disclaimer: I don't own anything
Sorry again with the delay, everything is really hectic at the moment, and I had the hardest time writing this chapter. I have no idea why…So enough babble, more story.
Just as a side note, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to a remarkable man whom I was fortunate enough to have as a teacher my freshman year of high school. He is the man who encouraged me to pursue writing, and he gave me the idea of using the phrase Carpe Diem as a motto for life, and that motto was put to the test when he miraculously survived the tsunami that hit the coast of Southeast Asia last year. I thank God for the captain whose quick thinking saved his life and the lives of twenty others. Miracles do exist. If you want the full story, just leave me a message in a review or something…
On that note…Onward!
Chapter 14
Because You Already Forgave Me, Part II
Tristan glanced upward, regarding his appearance in the mirror. His eyes were shadowed by the dark, hollow circles beneath his eyes, and his hair stuck even more haphazardly upward in its perpetually tousled state. His stomach felt empty as though the bottom had fallen out, and his heart weighed heavily on his breast, about to plummet to settle in the depths of his gut. He allowed his hands to drift to his collar, attempting to knot the tie dangling from his neck, but his fingers shook, fumbling with the tie as he found himself unable to perform the simple task and the strip of silk tumbled from his grasp.
"Here, let me help you with that…"
Tristan relaxed slightly as Rory appeared at his side, her gentle hands expertly arranging the stubborn accessory as her brilliant eyes searched his.
"How are you holding up?"
Tristan let out a breath, shaking his head, "I denno, Ror. I don't know if I can do this…" Tristan twisted his hands, negligently running his hands through his hair.
"I…" He swallowed hard, shoving his hands into his pockets, "I don't know if I'm strong enough…"
Rory paused as she tightened his tie around his neck, smoothing the collar of his shirt down. He was dressed in all black: black tux, black dress shirt, black tie, and the dark look on his face coupled with the dim luster to his normally lively eyes completed his matching emotional disposition. Straightening his tie, she ran her hands up and down his biceps in an attempt to soothe him.
"You are, Tristan. You can do this. You're here, aren't you? That's the first step."
Tristan didn't answer, his brow furrowed in contemplation. Dropping his head down, he breathed out a deep, shuddering lungful of air, "This is not gonna be easy…"
Rory smiled, chuckling slightly, "If it was, maybe you didn't care about him as much as you thought you did."
"Should I be feeling this lost?"
Rory glanced up into the deep blue spheres of his eyes, at the moment conveying a profound shine of desperation and vulnerability, "I don't know, Tris." She admitted, "I've never lost someone that close to me." Stretching up, she pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, one hand sliding down to tangle in his, squeezing reassuringly.
"But, no matter what, I'm here. I'm here for you."
Tristan's lips quirked upward in a grateful smile, the sheen in his hollow eyes communicating volumes to the girl before him more than his words ever could, "Thanks, Ror…"
- - -
Riley sank down into the mattress of the bed in his room in Janlan Dugrey's extensive penthouse. Bracing his elbows on his knees, he absently rubbed the back of his neck. As the sleeve of his dress shirt rode up, Riley's eyes settled on the name inked around his wrist. His thoughts drifted to a similar time a little less than ten years ago, the emotions coursing through his body akin to those he felt all those years ago, and the memories came rushing back.
Riley sauntered through the doors of the Beaumont family estate, the adrenaline rushing through his system as he managed to outfox Officer Donahue yet again. Bounding down the foyer steps to the living room, Riley halted as he spotted his father and stepmother, Anne, situated on the couch, Christian Beaumont's face contorted into a grim and somber expression.
Riley cocked an eyebrow, regarding his father with a suspicious light. Christian Beaumont only put on that expression when the advertisement agency, Beaumont and Boggs started by the elder Callum Beaumont, lost money, "Uh, what's going on, Dad? The stocks take a tumble again? We're not gonna be middle-class citizens, are we?"
Christian's face soured as he shifted his eyes to his son, "Riley, we have some bad news. Your Uncle Chase is…" Christian's voice broke as he struggled to compose himself, and Riley's brow furrowed at the uncharacteristic flow of emotion from his father. Christian drew in a shuddering breath, "He's dead, son."
Riley wavered on his feet, his mouth dropping open, his throat constricting painfully. The world spun, flinging the young boy into the eye of the swirling waters, and Riley remained unmoving, struck dumb by his father's admission.
"Riley? Riley? Did you hear me?"
Riley heard him, alright. All too well. The impact of his father's words sucker-punched him in the gut, and he could feel his breath leave his throat as though the wind had been knocked out of him. Riley shook his head, his voice abandoning him, and his face crumpled with the restrained emotion.
"No, no, Dad. You're lying. Uncle Chase isn't dead. He would never leave me! He isn't like you!" Backing out the front door, Riley did the only thing that entered his mind. He ran.
His shoes pounded against the cement, each step taking him away from his reality. His legs churning with exertion, he traveled further from the cold, emotionless mansion of his father's house, away from the admission he had just heard. He ran until the scenery transitioned from suburban housing to the peaceful calm of the outskirts of the town. He figured if he ran far enough, he would out run the realization beginning to creep into his consciousness. He willed himself to keep going, to keep moving, but exhaustion set in. Allowing his feet to stop, Riley found himself at the bank of a large lake, encompassed by picturesque scenery. It was there that he allowed all the pent-up emotions to surge forth.
Throwing his head back, Riley screamed up to the heavens, cursing the being who tore the only person he cared about from his life. He flung expletives up to the endless expanse of sky, condemning the God who held the power to rupture the only source of stability that existed in his world. He yelled and hollered until he was hoarse, his vocal chords strained with the exertion of his rage. Breathing hard, his energy exhausted, Riley fell to his knees, sobbing into his hands, his head lolling forward onto his chest. Slowly, he lifted a tear-stained face, his eyes shining with more tears yet to be shed, crying out in a small voice, tinny like a child's, to the God above.
"Why? Why did you do this? Why have you taken him from me?"
But there was no answer, and Riley felt there never would be. The only response was the gentle rustling of the tall trees surrounding the lake. Surrounded by the serene calm of his current ambiance, Riley mourned the death of the only person who cared, the only person who gave a damn.
Riley jumped when he felt a pair of arms slip around his back, and he turned his eyes to meet Alex's. Slumping down, he relaxed in the circle of her embrace, leaning back against her as she pressed a kiss to his temple.
"It's gonna be okay, Riley. Just hang in there."
Riley nodded, maneuvering her onto his lap as his arms twined around her waist. Laying his head against her breast, he allowed his eyes to flutter shut as they rocked, the movement soothing him for a moment while her fingers gently sifting through his hair.
"I hate this, Ali." He mumbled, snuggling deeper into her hold, "I hate referring to him in the past tense…"
Alex stayed silent, unable to provide a response to his statement, not knowing what to say. As she held him, her gaze drifted over his head to his chestnut locks.
"Whaddya know," Alex mused, trying to alleviate the tension radiating from his tall frame, "Your hair's actually not falling all over your forehead."
Riley's eyes flicked upward to his brown locks, combed neatly away from his face. Morosely, he shrugged, "I thought I should look presentable."
"If Brandon never cared if your hair was its normal unruly mess, what makes you think now's any different?"
Riley pondered her question a moment before his mouth tightened in a slight smile. Reaching up, he ruffled the carefully-arranged strands, allowing them to sweep across his forehead in their normal fashion. A corner of his mouth quirking upward, Riley raised his eyes to Alex.
"That arrangement made my forehead look big anyway."
Alex pressed a kiss to his lips, extending her hand out to him, "Are you ready?"
Riley hefted a sigh, sliding on a pair of dark sunglasses to conceal his gray eyes, adjusting the dark pewter, almost black, tie that hung around his neck. "No. But I seriously doubt I'll ever be…" Grasping her hand, he steeled himself as he walked out the door, venturing out to his painful reality, and the event that solidified the harsh authenticity of his predicament. Brandon Knox was dead, and Riley was on his way to the funeral.
- - -
Rory Gilmore hadn't been to many funerals. Thankfully, many of her relatives were young…most at heart…and vibrant with a stubborn refusal to die. But just attending this funeral, honoring a man she knew nothing about besides the particulars, Rory officially swore off attending another for the rest of her existence. She surveyed the gloomy, despondent atmosphere, accented by the sea of black-clad mourners occupying every inch of available space. As the pastor continued on with his sermon, praising Brandon Knox, Rory felt Tristan stiffen as he sat in the pew beside her. Clinging tight to his hand, she squeezed reassuringly, and he relaxed for the moment, comforted by her presence.
Rory remembered the expressions adorning Riley and Tristan's faces as they entered the church. The first vision meeting the eye was an enlarged photograph of Brandon Knox, a wide grin splitting his tan face, his light green eyes dancing playfully. It was a moment captured at the pinnacle of happiness, displaying the effervescent spirit of a man who died so young with so much of his life left to live.
She had hung back, joining Alex as Riley and Tristan made their way to the crush of people gathered to pay their respects to in honor of their departed friend. She had watched as Riley and Tristan floated through the many people as numerous guys approached the pair. Handshakes and deep hugs were exchanged as Riley and Tristan held their old school mates close, whispering words of comfort in ears, the many young men seeking solace and strength from the pair. It was obvious that both Tristan and Riley were regarded as authority figures among the collection of men, and Rory witnessed Tristan's compassion and empathy as he greeted each person that came his way, the strength he no doubt struggled to maintain radiating onto his peers, and she felt an emotion stir within her, one that had lain dormant for a long time. As arms stretched upward, wrapping around torsos, Rory caught a glimpse of the same metal cuff around the wrists of countless members of the congregated people. Rory observed a distinguished, elderly man Rory recognized as the commandant of Amherst from countless journeys through Tristan's yearbooks approaching the duo, clad in a formal military uniform, and as soon as he was in range, Riley and Tristan each crumbled, clinging to the dignified man as he each gripped them solidly in turn, the tears already streaming down the man's weathered, dignified face. Although both had been pillars of strength and valor for their peers, it seemed as the commandant posed as the duo's own pillar as he consoled the distraught pair.
Throughout the first few minutes, Riley and Tristan had both kept their tears in check, stifling the flow behind hard, composed faces. But once they reached an elderly couple, the resemblance to Brandon denoting their relationship as his parents, the stanch façade both Riley and Tristan hid behind shattered immediately as the woman, her face benevolent and kind, drew each of them close, comforting them as only a mother could while they sobbed into her breast. As they pulled away, she cradled their faces between her palms, her own countenance composed as she spoke softly to each in turn, and Rory couldn't help but admire the woman's strength. She felt her heart reach out to the woman as she leaned back against her husband, elder daughter, and youngest son, clasping firmly to each of them, the entire family drawing courage from one another.
It had taken Riley and Tristan a while to muster up enough courage to finally approach the casket where Brandon Knox lay, but when they did, Rory's heart shattered as both Tristan and Riley broke down, their unrestrained sobs permeating sharply against the mournful murmurs around them. Tristan had wilted down, his shoulders slumped and despondent. Tristan's head dropped to his chest as he braced his arms against the casket, one hand covering his eyes as the tears burst forth. In stark contrast, Riley had stiffened, gazing down at Brandon's body in almost disbelief, his eyes haunted and hollow as if he didn't quite understand why they were there. Rory had glanced away, unable to bear watching the pair any longer. With every moment that passed observing the rapid collapse of strength that Riley and Tristan exuded every day to the mess of grief and sorrow hovering over the casket, Rory felt the wound in her heart break open a little wider.
Rory's attention snapped back to reality as Riley's name filtered through her hearing, and she watched as he rose from beside Tristan, pausing for a moment to gather himself, buttoning his jacket and straightening his tie, before making his way to the altar. He had composed himself from his prior breakdown in front of Brandon's casket, but Rory could still see he labored to maintain that equanimity as his steps carried him down the aisle. Halting before the Knox family, Riley laid a hand on Mrs. Knox's shoulder before proceeding on to the podium. As he lay the pages of his eulogy on the stand, Rory felt Tristan's hand grip hers tighter, seeking his own strength from her. Raising her eyes to the wooden dais, Rory waited as Riley prepared himself to speak.
- - -
Riley cleared his throat as he stepped up to the pulpit. Raising his eyes to the gathered of friends and family, he felt the words seize in his throat. Glancing down at the pages of his eulogy, Riley closed his eyes for a moment before setting the papers aside. Lifting the light pewter spheres, reddened and hollow to the congregation, he forced out a reluctant smile.
"Uh…hello, all. My name is Riley Beaumont." His gaze swept over the faces trained on his, listening to each word that flowed from his mouth. Running his hands along the panels of the wooden dais, Riley relaxed his grip on the podium.
"To those of you who don't know me, my profession is that of a writer." Riley swallowed hard, gathering his composure, "I, uh, had my eulogy all written out, and at the time, it sounded right. But standing here now, the words I seemingly put down on paper, thought out to perfection don't seem sufficient enough to convey the sentiments I'm feeling at the moment. I tried to communicate emotions through words that I thought were eloquent and genuine, but truth be told, I can't. I simply can't..." Riley paused, his features contorting into an expression of helpless confusion.
"Brandon and I attended the same military school for completely opposite reasons. Amherst was the last resort for me. It was either attend or go to juvie. Brandon chose to attend, working his way to a scholarship freshman year of high school. I was the first person he met."
Riley shifted on the podium, the tears beginning to spring in his pale gray stare, "I remember being completely taken aback by him the moment he stepped off the bus." Riley wiped the first tear that ventured onto his cheek, "Being in my third year at Amherst, I had grown accustomed to the types of people that came off the bus. Normally, they would trudge down the steps like a dead man walking, hauling their bags to registration with disgruntled resentment, their eyes fixated on the ground as if avoiding looking at the barracks and buildings of Amherst would prolong the shot of reality. But not Brandon." Riley halted the steady stream of tears dripping down his nose to the podium below, clouding his vision, and he didn't bother to wipe them from his face.
"Brandon bounded down the bus steps, the first one off the bus, his face alight with absolute elation. He seemed so amped, so excited to be there." Riley quirked a wistful, melancholy grin.
"When he exited the bus, he…stopped for a moment and looked around, just absorbing everything around him." Riley's eyes began to shine with the dual glow of more unshed tears and fond nostalgia, "And he inhaled deeply, taking in the atmosphere down to the air he was breathing."
Riley's voice trailed off as an expression of desperation flitted across his face, and he took in a deep, shuddering breath, combating the new bout of tears threatening to cascade down his cheeks, "When he came up to me, he stuck out his hand, and as I grabbed it, shaking it firmly, he looked me straight in the eye and said with a completely straight face, 'I wanna be the best here, and I think you're the one that can help me…'" Riley let out a chuckle, shaking his head.
"I remember being so taken aback by that statement, but looking back on it, it just seemed like such a thing he would say. That was the type of person Brandon was. He put so much trust in people, so much faith that the human spirit was innately and inherently good." Riley raised his eyes, blazing with an anger and frustration that seemed to spur on the last and final dredges of his passion. Through the days prior to the funeral, Riley had experienced every emotion on the emotional spectrum that stretched him to the brink of emotional exhaustion. His final standby was to lash out in anger, "It doesn't quite seem fair that Brandon Knox should be taken away from us. Not when they aren't enough people like him. He touched many lives in his existence. The world was lucky to have Brandon for the amount of time it did." Riley's head dropped down as he took in a final shallow breath in, the tears weighing down his tongue. When he lofted his head back up, Riley's eyes expressed such a poignant grief, such a meaningful sorrow that every person in the congregation felt a fresh batch of tears worm their way up throats.
"It's too bad that time was so short."
- - -
When he was younger, Tristan wanted nothing more than to dig a hole through the center of the earth. His younger self had heard that if you dug far enough, you would end up in China, and the thought of being as far away from his parents and nearer to the nanny that had left him greatly enticed his four year-old mind. Putting his theory to the test, Tristan had gotten as far as a good two feet before his mother had found him knee-deep in her chrysanthemums and promptly freaked out. Needless to say, the consequential tongue-lashing she had given him as well as the added bathing was more than sufficient enough to curtail his desire to continue his quest to China…but in his young and innocent mind, he still dreamed.
But gazing down at the deep, cavernous hole that would serve as Brandon Knox's final resting place, Tristan's childhood dream of a tunnel through to the east rapidly diminished into an abyss of nothingness. The casket was closed, draped with the star-spangled banner of the United States in remembrance of the man who had given his life for his country, and his fellow Marines stood at attention among the mourners. Tristan watched as the pastor closed his eyes, making the sign of the cross over the flag-swathed casket, and Tristan felt himself yanked back in time to the nature-ensconced gardens of Amherst Military Academy.
Tristan groaned heavily, peeling his soaked t-shirt away from his body that had already begun to firm with the daily assault of Amherst's requisite physical training regime. He had only been there about five days, and already, the rigorous physical curriculum was starting to kick his ass. Staggering to his bunk, he fell backwards, plumping down onto the pillows, completely exhausted. He groaned, throwing his arms over his eyes. Laying there for a moment, Tristan exhaled deeply. Allowing his arm to flop down onto the mattress, he yelped as a pair of light green eyes stared down on him, and he bolted upward.
"Christ, Knox! Hasn't anyone told you that kind of stuff is only permissible in movies? What the hell are you trying to do?"
Brandon Knox shook his head, an amused smirk gracing the corners of his face, "Easy, Pretty Boy. I was just checking to see if oxygen still flowed through your prone form. God knows we can't have another dead one on our hands. Nasty paper work…"
Tristan glowered at the boy who had welcomed him so readily, "Do you have a purpose for this slightly obscene leering, or do you just take a sick pleasure in annoying the shit outta me?"
Knox chuckled, "I'm leaning heavily towards the latter just to bust your chops…" At Tristan's pointed look, Brandon cocked an eyebrow, "Does a guy really need a reason to check up on his comrade?"
Tristan rolled his eyes, "Considering it's you asking that question and not someone like Fordham or Beaumont, I'll bite. Yes."
"Ouch, Dugrey. That burned." Hesitating for a moment, Brandon shook his head, "Listen, don't take it so personally with Beau, man."
Tristan snorted, "Please, the guy could double as a dog with the way he barks."
"Why do you think this class is the most disciplined?" Brandon challenged, meeting Tristan's eyes, "The most efficient companies function under the best leaders, and we found an undisputed one with Riley." Brandon reached up to tap the side of his head, "Think about it, huh? As much as you didn't want to, how many times have you actually done what he's said?"
Tristan digested that fact. Brandon was right, no matter how disgruntled the command made him, he had always followed Riley's orders, never questioning the taller boy.
Brandon sighed, "Look, man, in his own way, he's only trying to make you better. For some strange reason, he likes you. He kinda sees you as a project. You know, someone who has potential."
Tristan scoffed, "If I had a nickel for ever time someone stated I had 'potential,' I'd have enough money to last me a good lifetime." Tristan gave an irritated toss of his head, "Look where potential landed me. In this shithole."
"It could be worse…" Brandon reasoned, and Tristan frowned. At his counterpart's dubious look, Brandon paused, "I came from a family of poor farmers who immigrated to America. Imagining juggling school, a sport, and two jobs just to help the family get by. I got lucky. Amherst's lacrosse scout spotted me during a game and offered me a scholarship. I can only hope that in the future, I earn a stable enough income to pay it all back." Brandon gesticulated in an attempt to convey his sentiments.
"If you screw up here, you have Daddy's billion dollar bank account to regress to. I have nothing." Brandon shrugged.
"Look, man. You can do whatever you want here. It's your prerogative. But think of it this way: do you really wanna be known as some rich punk who doesn't have anything to his name besides Daddy's money or do you want to make your name your own? If you really wanna change, or whatever, you might wanna actually try. It may not seem like it, but Beau is actually trying to help you. We all are. Just think about it, TJ…"
Tristan paused at the moniker. As a Dugrey, you were to be referred to by your complete name as given upon birth. Nicknames and abbreviations were out of the question. Proper and elegant socialites would never stoop to a level of a commoner by using a shortened form of their given name. Although his sister had a tendency to dub him "Tris," it was always the complete "Tristan" among his parents and grandparents, and Tristan could recount the many times he caught his dad flinching when referred to as "Greg." So, naturally, he smirked.
"TJ, huh?" Tristan shrugged, "I can deal with that…" He paused, "You know, I always thought of a nickname as kind of a term of endearment among family. Sort of like an equalizer, something privy to only a certain few…" Tristan's mouth tightened in a wistful smile.
"I never really had a nickname with my family…"
Brandon smirked, "Look, dude, let me give you a little heads up. Here, at Amherst, you're family. Your company is your family. We're your brothers around here. No conditions needed, no prerequisites necessary. You're one of us. Just give it time." Brandon rose, slapping Tristan on his shoulder, ignoring the grunt of pain the movement elicited. Chuckling, Brandon shook his head.
"Don't worry, you'll get used to it. And when you do," Brandon smirked, "Hessler'll redefine pain all over again."
Brandon retreated through the barracks door, "See you around, TJ."
Tristan lay back, thinking over Brandon's words. TJ, eh? Tristan smiled. Hell, beat 'Pretty Boy.'
Tristan breathed in, remembering the time. That was the first time Tristan had ever felt like he was accepted. As soon as Brandon had made his nickname known, the rest of his company had taken the moniker as a sign that the new blue-blood was accepted as one of them, and they treated him so. Riley was still apt to bark and order, but Tristan had come to understand it was simply his own way of acceptance until Riley had actually confronted him, saying straight up he believed Tristan had the potential to change. Tristan closed his eyes; Brandon was such a vibrant life in many of his classmate's lives. To lose him was like extinguishing a part of them all.
Tristan jerked from his reverie as Rory nudged him gently in the side, and Tristan glanced up to find the pastor motioning him forward. Taking a deep breath to gather himself, Tristan approached the casket. He gazed down at the deep and endless chasm of grime, his eyes shifting back to Brandon's casket in all of its gleaming mahogany glory
"When Brandon went away to war, Beau and I had these silver cuffs made. We swore that we would wear them until he came home safe." Tristan paused, swallowing down the tears rapidly rising through his throat.
"But when he came home, it wasn't quite the result we expected." Tristan choked down a sob, clutching the ornately-carved wooden box tightly. Slowly, he removed his own cuff from his wrist, and opening the lid, he placed the bracelet into the box to rest with its fellows. Tristan glanced at the gathered crowd, his voice breaking with his restrained emotions.
"Brandon Knox will always be alive in our hearts. It's a small consolation to our grief and is hardly comforting as we all wish his spirit to live beyond such a constricting area into a more tangible world. But it's all we've got." Tristan exhaled, his sorrow failing to be expelled from his heart as easily as the air flew from his lungs.
"Brandon personified our senior class motto of carpe diem. He was different, and some can say he was better. He was part of the few of us who had enough courage to defend our country. To forget him would be a crime, and to waste life away like he refused to do would be an insult to his memory. Clichéd maybe, but Brandon would want us to keep living and to every day honor his memory. He will be missed, everyone here will attest to that, but he will never be forgotten." Tristan stepped forward, placing the box atop the casket. Raising two fingers to his lips, he reverently touched the coffin, his fingers brushing against the smooth wood.
"That we will never forget Brandon Knox and all that he stood for."
- - -
The wind gently ruffled the branches of the trees dangling over the cemetery, and as the sounds of vehicles carrying mourners from the gravesite faded away into the air, Rory shifted nervously, watching as Riley and Tristan hovered over Brandon's grave. Simultaneously, the pair squatted down on their haunches, one hand each gripping the ornate tombstone. Their heads bowed, the duo stayed there for a moment, reality seeping into their consciousness. He was gone. He was really gone. Rory suspected they had pushed that thought away, clinging onto the last vestige of hope that Brandon would burst from his mahogany casket, a shit-eating grin on his face, exclaiming in an exuberant holler that they were punk'd like it was some big, elaborate joke. But the punch line never came. Ashton Kutcher never rushed onto the scene, a portly gentleman wielding a camera puffing behind him. This wasn't some intricately-staged prank with a surprise ending. This was reality. This was the real world. And, as of today, the real world continued, reality continued, existing without Brandon Knox. Because, as much as Riley and Tristan longed for the contrary, Brandon Knox was dead. The sentiment was blunt, not bothering to cushion the blow it elicited, but Riley and Tristan knew in the core of their hearts it was true. And with begrudging aversion, they accepted it. Rising, the two best friends shared an embrace before turning to the two girls. Hastily wiping their eyes, Tristan and Riley paused for a moment. Tristan spoke first.
"Let's get outta here."
The two girls waited silently as they meandered down the path of the cemetery, away from the gravestones littering the lush grass. Rory snuck a peek at her two male counterparts, their eyes veiled behind dark sunglasses. She had witnessed every aspect of their characters over the years and had become privy to many of their emotions, but this emotion of utter vulnerability and despair had never revealed itself to her. Riley and Tristan had always exuded confidence and poise, rarely allowing themselves to be ruffled in any manner, and to see them this lost and susceptible slowly split open her heart. Rory observed their postures: shoulders slumped, heads bowed, hands stuffed deep into their pockets. From her glance, Rory found herself noticing remorsefully just how great of an impact this death had on the two men. It was as though they had no idea how to function any longer; the grief had consumed all notions of proper behavior, and as Tristan almost stumbled into a tree gracing the path of the walkway, Rory grasped onto his arm, gently steering him away from any future hazards, her brow furrowed. Far from the lengthy, purposeful strides of Tristan or the Riley's relaxed saunter, the two aimlessly wandered along the rock path towards the adjacent park, unaware of their general direction. Finally, both had given up on walking any further, choosing instead to slump against the nearest tree. They stayed there for a moment, neither one talking, simply basking in the aftermath of the service. Tristan let out a loud sigh, his chest heaving.
"Well, that sucked…"
Riley groaned his concurrence, running both hands through his hair as his head lolled down to his chest. Absently, he reached out, pulling Alex between his legs, "Well put, man. I'm officially swearing off funerals for the remainder of my existence." Laying his chin atop her head, his hands idly tangled with hers, stroking the skin beneath his fingertips.
Tristan nodded, "I don't believe this…this shouldn't be happening. Brandon shouldn't be dead…"
"But he is." Riley finished, scratching his head as he loosened the dark grey tie around his neck, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his matching dress shirt, "Dude, how is this possible? I still can't believe it."
Tristan sighed. Tipping over, he deposited his head in Rory's lap, "I know. I can't either." His eyes fluttered shut as her hand came up to indolently comb through the strands of his hair, ignoring the shockwaves that raced through his spine at her intimate touch, "It's surreal, you know?" Tristan pinched the bridge of his nose as he sighed.
"We knew he was going off to war, but we all just figured he'd come back."
Riley nodded, his thumb running over Alex's knuckles, "Yeah. We always feared he would be injured or something, but killed seemed so far."
"Or maybe you just didn't want to even imagine it." Rory ventured.
Tristan leaned his head back, meeting her eyes, "Huh. That might be it."
The quartet lapsed into a companionable silence for the moment before Tristan spoke again.
"Look, uh, I don't want this to sound bad but…" He hesitated, glancing at Riley. The taller brunette shifted, running a hand through his hair.
"A bunch of us from military school are getting together tonight at this pub and..."
Tristan held up his hands in anticipation to the protests he was sure to receive, "Now, don't think we're trying to blow you off or anything…"
Before he could go any further, Rory stopped him, "Don't worry, Tristan. We get it." She could see in his eyes that both Tristan and Riley needed this night alone. She and Alex had the ability to offer them comfort, but not at the extent the boys from Amherst could. They had known Brandon and who he was and could comfort Riley and Tristan in a way neither she nor Alex could.
Alex nodded her agreement, snuggling back into Riley's chest, "Yeah, you two have fun. We girls can handle ourselves…"
Riley chuckled, planting a solid kiss on her temple, "Yeah. We know that…"
Rory smiled at the interaction between the pair and glanced down at Tristan, his head in his lap. A small smile turned the corner of his mouth as he noticed his baby sister and best friend interact. Rory nudged him gently, drawing his attention.
"You're a good man, Bible Boy…"
Tristan laughed, kissing her hand, "Yeah, well, better Beau than anyone else. I have no qualms beating him up if he hurt Alex."
Rory teasingly cocked an eyebrow, "But you would for any other guy?"
"Hell yeah," Tristan snorted, "Any other guy doesn't know the immense physical pain I'm capable of inducing. Beau does."
Rory sighed, "For the life of me, I will never understand men."
Tristan grinned, "I sure as hell hope not." At Rory's questioning look, his mouth split into a charming smirk, "I'd hate to think about what you'd do with the information you'd be privy to."
Rory's mouth dropped open in an expression of mock incredulity, "Tristan Dugrey, are you insinuating I'd do something so malicious?"
"Yes."
Rory slapped his stomach, wrenching a guttural grunt from his lips, "This coming from the Chilton playboy, himself."
Tristan tossed out a smirk in honor of his former ways, "Hey, but I used my powers for immense amounts of pleasure, not pain…"
Rory returned his smirk, "So you think…"
"Ouch, Gilmore. That cut deep."
Rory patted his cheek, "They do say the truth hurts…"
Tristan fell silent as he climbed to his feet, offering his hand out to help Rory up. Yanking Beau up by the collar, interrupting his make out session with Alex, Tristan allowed his gaze to sweep over the tombstones protruding from the dirt a distance away, and his eyes settled on a sparkling-new marker, the dirt surrounding the granite marker newly-dug, the name inscribed on the stone painfully familiar, and the dates denoting the span of life devastatingly short. If only she knew the truth behind her statement…
- - -
Rory closed the door behind Tristan, preceding a shove out the door. As Riley tugged him along the hallway, she could still hear his emphatic inquiries concerning their certainty of him and Riley being gone for the night. Sighing deeply, she repeatedly reassured him before the recognizable thud of Riley clocking Tristan permeated her hearing. Tristan's yelp soon followed as well as Riley's growled threats, and as the sounds of the friends bickering faded down the hall, Rory sighed again, plopping down beside Alex on the couch. Turning her head to the younger blond, Rory propped her feet on the coffee table before her.
"Has anyone ever told you your brother is a stubborn mule?"
Alex snorted, "If they can squeeze it in to the infinite amount of times I constantly remind him."
Rory smiled. As the duo lapsed into comfortable silence, Rory glanced to the younger girl, "So…you and Riley?"
Alex couldn't stop the delighted smile from gracing her features, and she blushed, her head bobbing up and down, "Yeah."
"I'm glad for the both of you."
Alex nodded, "Thanks."
"So I guess Tristan's okay with you guys, too?"
Alex rolled her eyes, "Well, my idiot brother still remembers me as the five year-old who pranced around in a pink tutu, waving a wand, and granting people's wishes…"
Rory laughed, "I was surprised to hear Tristan was opposed to you and Riley. I thought he would be happy that you're moving on…"
Alex shrugged, "I'm not going to lie. It took me a long time to get over Logan, considering he hurt me really badly. I can't really blame Tristan, though. He's always been protective of me, and that protective nature increased tenfold after all that happened." Alex leaned back against the couch cushions.
"I never really expected to fall for Riley, either. He made it pretty clear the only relationship we would have would be strictly platonic in respect to Tristan. But after everything, how well he treated me, how fiercely he protected me, I really couldn't help falling for him, and I guess the same thing happened to him." Alex smiled contentedly.
"Riley was always there…It just fit." Alex's smile took on a sly quality, "Just like you and Tristan."
Rory's eyes snapped up to Alex's, her brow furrowing, "What do you mean by that?"
Alex only smiled wider, shaking her head, "Rory, you and I are considered to be bright people. I know you know what I mean."
Rory shook her head, "I have no idea what Riley's been putting in your head, but there's nothing between me and your brother." Her face took on a sober look.
"Not when he's resisting the urge to hate me."
Alex rolled her eyes, "Rory, you should know by now my brother could never hate you. He cares about you way too much to do such a thing. Yeah, you hurt him, and he was angry, but he never directed his hate to you."
"He should." Rory mused, "I more than deserve it."
"Maybe," Alex admitted, her shoulders lifting in a shrug, "But when you love a person, forgiveness comes much more readily than hate does."
Rory's gaze snapped to Alex's at the mention of love, but before she could question the younger girl, a loud knock sounded. Rory rolled her eyes, hefting herself off of the couch.
"It figures he couldn't even get to the street before coming back."
As Rory flung open the door, ready to chastise Tristan, her mouth flopped open for a completely different reason, and she could only gape at the man on the other side of the door.
"Logan…"
- - -
Riley sat back, propping one dress shoe on his knee as he scratched the skin beneath his dress shirt. His eyes swept over the gathering of four guys, including Tristan, the closest of their many classmates to Brandon Knox. To his left was Michael Ross, a dedicated cadet who graduated a year behind the rest of them. Beside Michael sat Jimmy Strong and Kent Lee. Riley shook his head. Back at Amherst, the trio of Eric Fordham, Jimmy Strong, and Kent Lee had run the administration as well as the battalion staff ragged with the trouble they caused, different from the mischief of Tristan and Riley, but time had disregarded all grudges and the six of them gathered at the pub. Throughout the year, they had been scatted throughout the United States, studying in their respective universities. Michael Ross had just finished his first year at Cornell, Jimmy Strong had come from Washington where he studied at Georgetown, and Kent Lee was ready to graduate early the following year from the University of Pennsylvania. They had been on opposite sides of the country, and the last time the five of them had been in the same vicinity was two years ago at Tristan, Riley, Kent, and Jimmy's graduation. Riley glanced down at the glass of beer before him. It was a shame Brandon's death had to be the thing that brought them back together.
Tristan glanced at Michael Ross, a small smile across his face, "So how was Amherst after we all left?"
Michael shook his head, rolling his eyes, "Boring. After you and Beau graduated, there was absolutely no entertainment value. Face it; everyone loved the latest scam you two pulled." He chuckled, glancing over at Jimmy and Kent.
"Plus, we couldn't hear your latest punishment to Jimmy and KL."
Riley cocked an eyebrow, "You serious, Mike? No pranks, no nothing?"
"Nope." Michael scoffed, "No one had the balls. Even Hessler mentioned it. Grumbled that someone ought to pull something 'cause he was getting bored."
Tristan chuckled, "Hey, you guys remember the time when we swiped that tape of Hessler dancing in leather pants to Madonna?"
Jimmy Strong grinned, "Hell yeah. Knoxy hotwired the school announcements so instead of seeing Todd Coker's simpering, ass-kissing face, we saw Hessler's ass…" Jimmy smirked, "Not too bad for an old guy. You couldn't even see the stick perpetually stuck up it."
Kent Lee nodded, "Yeah, man. That was classic. Me and Fordham were in Hessler's class. Dude turned fifty shades of red. He knew it was you two."
Tristan grinned, "Ah, good times. Speaking of Fordham, where is Eric, anyway?"
Jimmy shook his head sadly, "He couldn't make it…He's all the way in Australia handling something for his PR firm." Leaning back in his chair, he nudged Michael with an elbow.
"Making his millions and basking in Aussie babes…"
Riley shook his head, "Geez, who woulda thought Fordham would be so successful?"
Kent chuckled, "Same person who thought all of us would be friends at the end of high school. We hated each other."
Tristan nodded his affirmation, "Yeah, but look at us now. We're all so close."
"But it doesn't feel the same without Brandon…" Michael softly mused, his eyes shining with unshed tears. Heads slowly lolled down around the table, the sad nostalgia wafting through each and every one of them. Tristan allowed a small smile to spread across his face.
"Hey, do you guys remember when we lost that sectional lacrosse championship against Groton Prep junior year?"
Jimmy snorted, "Do I ever. They had that one huge striker. That dude was not a high school student. He looked like he was out of college…"
Tristan laughed, "Do you remember Knoxy's reaction?"
Riley nodded, "I do…he had none. When the final whistle blew, he just stood there, looking at the scoreboard. He was there for a full three minutes before he turned and walked to the locker room."
Jimmy chuckled, "He didn't speak to anyone as he was packing his stuff up. That was the longest time Brandon ever stayed silent. The only time he spoke about that game was the end of the year sports' banquet."
Kent threw his head back, the laughter ringing through the bar, "I think we all remember that speech."
Jimmy shook his head, "Brandon pretty much let everything out in that one."
Tristan grinned, "Yep, how long was that rant?"
Jimmy paused, thinking for a moment, "I denno…I stopped listening about the third minute…"
Riley snorted, "You guys are horrible."
Michael responded with a slight shove to Riley's shoulder, "Look who's talking, Mr. Inspirational."
The four men drifted into silence as the moment of mirth passed, and they regressed back into the grief of the aftermath of Brandon's passing. It was awhile before someone spoke again.
Jimmy glanced down at the half-filled mug of beer before him, idly swirling the golden liquid around the glass, "You know, Knoxy said something weird to me once. It was completely random, and I didn't think about it then, but now…I can't get it out of my head."
Tristan's brow furrowed, "What was it?"
Jimmy furrowed, his brow furrowed as the words he had stored away a long time ago drifted forward, "'A man can be destroyed but never defeated.'"
A series of nods went through the table. "Yeah. He said that to me, too." Michael remarked, "What did he mean by it?"
"It's a quote from Hemingway."
Four heads turned to Riley as he tossed back the last of his beer, "It's in his novel The Old Man and the Sea." Fingering the rim of the empty glass, Riley glared hard into the clear base as if the foam dredges at the bottom would ease his misery.
"In theory, it states that a man can always pick himself up from the hardest of hardships. He can endure his own self-destruction, but as long as he holds onto hope, and any semblance of it, he will never be defeated." Riley lifted his head to gaze at his companions.
"It's all about inner strength…and the will to endure."
- - -
"Logan, what are you doing here?"
Running a hand through the tousled hair made possible by copious amounts of hair product, Logan shrugged sheepishly, stuffing his hands deep into his designer sport coat.
"Uh, I was in the neighborhood, and…"
He trailed off at Rory's reproving glance, and his gaze drifted down towards the ground, "I just…I really needed to talk to you, Ace."
Rory's brow furrowed, "About what?"
"Us."
Rory sighed, her hand braced on the doorway barring Logan from entrance, "I'm pretty sure we covered all the bases when I broke up with you, Logan."
Logan tensed, his eyes searching Rory's, "So that's it? We're over? Just like that."
Rory cocked an amused eyebrow, "Yeah, Logan. Just like that. I'm sure one of your bimbos can attest to the simplicity of it all." Mournfully, she shook her head.
"You screwed up, Logan. You screwed up really bad, and I'm tired of wallowing in the self-pity induced by your father. It was fun while it lasted, but…" Rory shrugged, "I can't take that kind of deception like that."
Logan bristled, "When have I deceived you, Rory? Just because I didn't tell you about one little incident?"
"'One little incident?'" Rory echoed, her tone heavy with incredulity, "You call fathering another woman's baby 'one little incident?'"
"It's. Not. Mine." Logan bit out through clenched teeth.
"Really?" Rory implored, crossing her arms over her chest, "Tell that to the mother."
Logan blanched, "What?"
Stepping back from the doorway, Rory allowed Logan a glimpse inside the suite, the prominent figure of Alex Dugrey curled up on the couch centered in his line of vision. As soon as his dark eyes locked onto the pale blue spheres he once knew so well, Alex stiffened, but held his gaze determinedly. Logan's face eased into an affable smile, one she knew so well.
"Alex, love, long time no see…"
Tensed, Alex met his eyes directly, the resolution heavy in her icy eyes, "I wouldn't quite say that."
Logan's face contorted into a knowing leer, "So, how are the dorms? Are they similar to the ones I had freshmen year? You can note the similarities, right? How many times were you at mine?"
Alex's eyes narrowed, "They're pretty much the same. Of course, you wouldn't know considering your present lodgings. By the way, how's hell this time of year?" Tearing her gaze from the boy who had broken her only a year ago, Alex turned to Rory.
"Rory, I'll be in my room. You can get me when you're finished."
Rory smiled at the soft but confident tone in Alex's voice, and she nodded, "Okay, I'll see you in a few."
As soon as Alex disappeared down the hall, Logan coughed, the sneer falling from his face, "Not very accommodating, is she?"
Rory snorted at his tact, "Can you blame her?"
Logan shrugged, an air of nonchalance surrounding his features, "I would think a year or two would expunge any digressions on my part."
"Not when you rip her heart out and do a Mexican hat dance over it…" Rory countered, leaning against the doorway.
"How did you know I was here, anyway?"
Logan scratched the back of his neck, glancing away sheepishly, "I, uh, called your grandmother, and she mentioned you were in New York."
"You called my grandmother?" Rory shook her head, "Why on earth would you do such a thing?"
"I needed to talk to you." Logan protested as a dark look overcame his face, "But if I knew you were here, cuddling up to Dugrey, I wouldn't have bothered."
Rory's face darkened as well as she straightened, "How dare you, Logan! You think that's what I'm doing? That Tristan swept me away for a romantic weekend?"
"Well, isn't it?"
"NO, YOU IDIOT!" Gathering her composure, Rory glared at her ex-boyfriend, "Just so you know, I'm here supporting Tristan since he attended the funeral of his friend who died fighting in the war." Squaring up to Logan, Rory tilted her head.
"Does that sound like a romantic getaway to you?"
Logan had the grace to look ashamed as he shuffled at the doorway. Open mouth; insert foot, "Look, Ace…"
"I think you're done, Logan." Rory cut him off sharply, "If you want to talk, it can wait until I get back to Hartford. Now's not the time."
"Uh, okay." Logan's voice burst forth tinny and meek, "I'll call you."
Rory didn't respond as she shut the door, and backing up against it, she exhaled deeply, shaking her head in disbelief. That was the man she dated for a good six months, but after seeing him simpering at her doorway, knowing the lies he spewed from his mouth, she wasn't quite certain who was the real Logan. Hauling herself off the entryway, she padded to Alex's room. Bracing herself against the doorway, she gazed down at the younger girl.
"Are you okay?"
Alex paused before nodding, a heavy sigh rocking through her body. Tilting her head, she met Rory's inquisitive eyes, "Is it bad that all I really wanted to do was deck him one?"
Laughing, Rory settled down on the bed beside the younger Dugrey, "No. To be honest, I really wanted to also."
Alex fiddled with the fabric of the bedspread, "I thought it would be hard to see him again, you know? After everything. That was the first time he's really met my eyes, and I remembered looking into his and seeing the world…" Alex barked out a rueful chuckle.
"Funny how things change."
Rory nudged Alex's shoulder gently, bringing the younger Dugrey's eyes to meet hers, "Tristan and Riley would have been proud of you, you know? Holding his eyes and not letting him get to you…Even managing a few comebacks…"
Alex let out a small laugh, "Yeah, well, I guess I stopped pitying myself. Riley helped me with that…" Reverting her eyes, she sighed, "I haven't said all I've wanted to say to Logan, but I think I'm getting there healing-wise."
"That's great."
Alex shook her head ruefully, "You know, there was a time – right after everything happened – that I couldn't even think about him without calling Riley? I thought time would heal everything, but the pain extended to my freshman year." Alex sighed.
"When I ran into him, everything rushed back to the surface. The hurt was just as strong as if it happened the day before." At Rory's inquiring look, Alex nodded her affirmation, "Yeah. Yale's pretty big, but we still managed to find each other…"
"Oh, hey, Alexandra Dugrey…"
Alex froze as the familiar husky tenor of Logan Huntzberger's voice wafted in her direction. It was the same voice that used to whisper words of love into her ear as his mouth drifted from her neck to that spot below her earlobe. It was the same voice that washed over her, tinged with affection. But now, that voice cut through the surrounding people heavy with malice and animosity. It took all her courage to lift her head, gazing into the deep brown eyes of Logan Huntzberger. Approaching her, he cocked his head, his eyes panning over her body.
"Hmm…if it isn't my lovely ex-lover. How's the bun in the ole oven?"
Alex stiffened at his spiteful snarl, knowing he was unaware of the current state of his child, and her eyes drifted down to the ground. Logan smirked, turning to his cronies flanked on either side of him.
"I honestly can't believe the gall of this girl, fellows. Insisting the bastard child's mine and even asking for some financial assistance…" Logan shook his head disgustedly.
"The nerve…"
Catching the look streaking along Alex's face, one of Logan's friends shifted uncomfortably, tapping the blonde on the shoulder, "Hey, c'mon now, mate. That's enough. You've had your fun. Just leave her alone now, eh?"
Logan responded with a toss of his head, "You know what, Finn, you're right. Lexi, here probably has some other millionaire she has to hit up for money." Playfully, he leaned in, chucking her chin.
"Just going down the list, huh, Lexi?" Smirking, he turned, departing with a flirty waggle of his fingers, "See you around, babe."
Alex watched his departure, her hurt seizing all ability to move. As the trio of guys departed, the dark-haired guy who spoke up for her glanced over his shoulder, his face conveying his apologies, and closing her eyes, she wished she could vanish from the spot. How she managed to stumble back into her dorm room, Alex had no idea. Whipping out her cell phone, she dialed the familiar numbers. After a few rings, Riley's voice floated over the phone, and taking a deep breath, she relayed her story, fighting to hold back the tears. Immediately, Riley's voice transitioned from a light-hearted timbre to a low growl.
"He what? No, no. Don't do anything. Just stay where you are, I'll be right over. Everything's gonna be okay. I'll be there in five minutes."
Alex sank down onto her bed, burying her face in her hands. She had hoped she wouldn't run into him, considering how big Yale was. Nothing would defer her from attending her dream school, she had been sure of that. But at this moment, the only thing she was sure of was that the wound left from Logan Huntzberger was still very, very fresh, and she had no idea how she was going to survive freshman year knowing she could run into him at any given time…
Rory blanched, unable to believe the words that had come out of Logan's mouth that day, "He really said that?"
"Yeah. And it hurt." Alex wiped a tear that had ventured onto her cheek, "You know, there are a lot of guys like Logan Huntzberger, but there aren't many like Beau or Tristan. It took me awhile to see that, but I know one thing." Alex allowed her gaze to drift up to meet Rory's directly.
"Guys like that are hard to find. And now that I found mine, I'm not gonna let him go."
Rory averted her eyes, the wheels turning in her head, processing Alex's statement. Her hand drifted up to the silver ring hanging from the chain on her neck. She had almost forgotten it was there. Threading a finger through the band, she contemplated Alex's words, thinking about a certain blonde-haired socialite and the feelings beginning to bloom again beneath the surface of her heart.
- - -
As a kind waitress approached their table, informing the group of guys it was closing time, Tristan sighed heavily, gulping back the last vestiges of his beer. Hauling himself to his feet, blinking rapidly to clear his vision, hoping the two faces of Beau would unify into one, Tristan grabbed his suit jacket, shoving his arms through the sleeves. Glancing around the small, intimate pub, he wished nothing more than to stay in the humble surroundings, reminiscing with his friends, recalling times where everything made sense and Brandon was alive. Because Tristan knew the moment he ventured over the threshold of the pub, reality would strike his breast, deep within his heart, reminding him Brandon Knox was dead.
Around him, his four companions had already begun their farewells, exchanging manly embraces, slurred send-offs, and firm handshakes, promising to keep in touch. As the final man, Michael Ross, departed, Tristan and Riley stumbled out to the front of the pub, plopping down on the curb, grasping their final bottles of beer.
Riley exhaled heavily, stifling a burp as he rubbed a hand over his eyes, "Is it bad to say I enjoyed that?"
Tristan languidly allowed his head to shift back and forth, the movement staggering him for the moment, "No. I don't think so." He raked his fingers through his ruffled hair, "It was nice reminiscing about the good times. You know, all the stuff we did with Brandon. Still kinda hurt though…"
Riley glanced up at the sky, taking in the stars dotting the endless night abyss, "I'm glad we did this."
Tristan nodded, smiling tightly, "Yeah. Me, too. It was…closure. He's dead, but we're always gonna remember him."
Riley chuckled, "Yep." Glancing down at the expanse of skin revealed as he stretched out his arms, Riley gestured to his wrist, where his uncle's name was inscribed, "I gotta add another line to this tattoo…"
Tristan sighed, "Yeah, same here."
"He was awesome, wasn't he?" Riley murmured, storing the fond memories of their departed friend and comrade in the back of his mind.
"Yep," Tristan affirmed, allowing a smile to spread across his face, "There's no one like Knoxy."
The two friends lofted their beer bottles to the night chasm twinkling overhead, their voices uniting in a strident dedication.
"TO KNOXY!"
Tilting their heads back, both downed the alcohol. In their inebriated states, both men lost their balance on the curb, toppling backwards to land spread-eagle on the sidewalk, the bottles sliding from their grasps. The night air screamed silence before a solitary belch cut through the air, followed by the giggles in a timbre only a thoroughly intoxicated male could attain.
- - -
Curled up on the couch of the entertainment room, both girls jolted upright as a loud crash echoed through the condo followed by muffled laughter and the dull thump of fist on flesh. As the sounds of scuffle grew louder, they met up at in the hallway, Alex wielding a tennis racket and Rory brandishing a golf club. Flicking on the lights to the living room, both girls lowered their weapons as they caught Tristan and Riley situated on the floor, Tristan holding Riley's head in a headlock as they tussled on the floor. Alex voiced the question hanging in the air.
"What the hell is going on?"
At the exposure to the harsh light, both men winced, releasing each other as they scrambled to shield their eyes from the light. From his sprawled position, Riley grunted, waving wildly, his pewter spheres squinched shut.
"Ugh! Dude! Turn them off!"
Tristan groaned his concurrence, "Seriously! Light and intoxication do not mix. Please!"
Sighing heavily, Rory reached out, dimming the lights as she and Alex gazed down at the two males. Shaking her head, Rory dropped the golf club, reaching down to haul Tristan to his feet, the scene before her painfully familiar.
"They're drunk."
Alex cocked an eyebrow, "You would expect anything else?"
Rory rolled her eyes, "No, but luckily, they're not smashed enough to pass out." Hitching her head to the hallway, Rory began to half carry, half drag a stumbling Tristan in the direction of the bathroom.
"Dump them in the shower and turn the water on cold."
Alex quirked a smirk, "You sound like you've done this before…"
"I have." Rory grumbled, halting for a moment as Tristan regained his footing, "A certain Aussie friend of mine has a habit of drunkenness."
"Finn?" Alex whispered, meeting Rory directly in the eyes.
"Yeah, Finn…" Returning her attention to the task at hand, Rory lugged Tristan into the bathroom adjacent to his bedroom. Closing the door, she slid the suit jacket from his broad shoulders, letting the coat fall to the floor. Removing the tie from his neck, she unbuttoned his dress shirt, yanking it from his pants. As her palms slid up his torso, taking his white undershirt up and over his head, she took a moment to take in his sculpted chest and abs, allowing her gaze to linger on his chiseled pectoral muscles and defined six-pack. Yanking her eyes from the sight before her, Rory continued on her task, her fingers undoing the belt at his waist, and she jumped as his hands drifted up, catching her hands at the wrist.
"Knew you were just trying to get me naked, Mary."
Rory paused at his voice, husky and guttural from the alcohol weighing down his tongue, and glancing up into his eyes, startlingly clear as they gazed down at her with an almost unnerving intensity, she found her breaths coming rapidly, matching the brisk tattoo of her heart against her breast.
"Don't flatter yourself, Tris. I'd just rather you don't pass out before your pilgrimage to the porcelain gods."
Tristan's lazy, lopsided grin tilted his mouth as he let out a throaty chuckle, "Well, considering I've been neglecting habitual jaunts, I'm pretty sure the gods won't notice if I forget one more time."
Her eyes narrowing at his quick response, knowing full-well Tristan's in an intoxicated state was never quick on the uptake, Rory regarded her best friend with slight suspicion , "You're not really that drunk, are you?"
Tristan's mouth quirked upward in a smirk as he sifted a hand through his blonde strands, "Drunk enough to know I'll have a massive hangover tomorrow morning, but no. Not wasted enough to be completely oblivious in my inebriated stupor."
"Not wasted enough to lack your wit, either." Rory chided. Gazing up into his icy eyes, Rory paused for a moment, watching the emotions swirl beneath them. Noticing her fingers were still hooked in the waistband of his pants, Rory jerked back to reality, quickly removing them, and stepping back from Tristan and his almost intimidating figure.
"I'll, uh, let you finish up, and I'll bring up some water for you."
Tristan smiled, nodding his head, abruptly stopping before he tumbled into the shower, "Thanks." As her back exited his bathroom, Tristan gazed after her, unsure of the spark he caught flickering behind her brilliant eyes.
- - -
Riley groaned as his head hit the cool mass of his bed. Lying sprawled amongst the sheets, he turned his face into the pillow as Alex slid the covers up to his shoulders. Feeling the warmth surround him, he opened a bleary eye to focus on his girlfriend through the wayward strands of hair venturing onto his forehead, and a small, amorous smile wormed across his face. Reaching out, he grasped her hand in his, intertwining their fingers.
"I love you, Ali."
Alex jerked at the sleepy declaration mumbled into the cushions of Riley's pillow, and her eyes flew to the halo of brunette hair atop the bed. As Riley's torso rose and fell in a slow, gentle rhythm, Alex realized he had fallen asleep, his hand still clutching hers. Dipping her head down, a smile of her own gracing her features, Alex ghosted a kiss to his forehead, brushing his hair from his forehead. Backing away from the bed, Alex gazed down at the man who had righted the wrongs in her life, and she reciprocated his declaration in softly whispered appeal.
"I love you, too, Beau."
- - -
Tristan groaned as he tottered from the bathroom, collapsing on his bed. Gratefully accepting the glass of water from Rory, he downed the liquid before toppling onto the covers.
"Guh, I feel like one of those top spinner thingies. The world keeps rotating around me."
Rory laughed, joining him on the bed, "How much did you have to drink?"
Tristan grinned, "I lost track after five..."
Rory giggled, "Well, no wonder. I'm surprised you could still count after that…I should let you sleep." Lightly knocking his shoulder, Rory turned to clamber off the bed when his touch halted her, and she returned her stare to settle on his cobalt orbs, gently pleading with her.
"Stay." The tip of Tristan's tongue nervously passed over his bottom lip, "Please…"
Rory paused at the childlike quality to his voice, and she nodded her consent, sliding beneath the covers to lie beside him. Snuggling into the crook of his arm, Rory let her eyes drift upward to meet his.
"So what did you guys talk about at the pub?"
Tristan shrugged, his thumb running over the back of his hand, "Stuff…just, y'know, the memories and all that." He sighed, "It was good, you know? Getting all that stuff out. It was kinda…nice."
Tristan chuckled, "Brandon always wanted to meet you. I told you that already." A somber smile spreading across his face, Tristan exhaled, "He called me a dumbass for not chasing after you and forcing you to explain your sudden change in opinion about me…"
Rory blanched, remembering the day he was alluding to and the awful things she had said, "Tris…I – I didn't mean the things I said…I wasn't thinking. I was scared, and Dean…"
Tristan gently clamped a hand over her mouth, effectively halting Rory's flustered rant, "Take a breath, Rory."
Complying, Rory shook her head, her eyes pleading with his, "Tristan, I'm so sorry for everything that happened last summer…"
Tristan's mouth quirked upward in a sad, rueful smile as he shook his head. A deep sigh wracked his body, and his piercing cobalt eyes scanned hers intently. Raising a hand, he gently caressed her soft, porcelain cheek, his fingers tucking a wayward chocolate lock behind her ear. Propping his head up, he gently nudged her nose with his.
"Ah, Mar, there's nothing left for me to forgive." At her searching look, he chuckled, his eyes flicking skyward as though the answer lay in the surrounding air. Returning his gaze to hers, Rory glanced away, fearful of the unbridled affection shining in his eyes, the only part of him that readily portrayed emotion.
"I already forgave you a long time ago." Another low chuckle reached her ears, "My heart forgave you about two seconds after I walked away from you a year ago." Tristan shrugged, "My head prolonged the inevitable to salvage my pride."
"Then why didn't you call me?" Rory implored softly, her hand reaching out to clasp onto his free one.
Tristan's shoulders lifted in another shrug, "Like I said…Pride. Ego. I denno, Ror. You hurt me bad that day. I couldn't bring myself to admit that I forgave you about two steps after you took my heart and drove a six-inch spike through the center." Tristan shook his head, glancing down at their intertwined fingers, "I denno, maybe I was stupid. I couldn't swallow my pride and call you. I had to hear about everything through either Paris or Beau."
"Same here." Rory admitted softly. Dropping her head, she allowed it to swing back and forth, "I'm so sorry, Tristan."
"C'mon, Rory. Weren't you listening before?" Cupping her chin, he brought her eyes, the eyes he loved for their innate curiosity and wide-eyed innocence, "There's nothing left to forgive. I already forgave you." Tristan drew her tightly into his embrace, relishing the sensations that spread through his body and delight he felt as she burrowed down into his chest.
"No more apologies, no more regrets." Tristan pressed a kiss to her hair, "We start moving forward. We can't waste anymore time…" A sobering thought breaking into his consciousness, he whispered the last part of the sentence, unsure whether it was loud enough to reach her ears.
"Not when we don't know how much we have…"
Safe in Tristan's arms, Rory snuggled down into his chest, allowing her eyes to finally drift shut. He was right. They had wasted enough time with that stupid squabble of theirs. Now was the time to seize the day and move forward. No more apologies, no more regrets. Brandon Knox refused to squander away his life, and Rory felt it was time to do the same with hers. Carpe diem.
Whew! Finished! Yay! Anyway, next to come is more time in New York as our characters become closer in more ways than one…Logan is not done quite yet, perhaps one more appearance, and Paris is not done as well. Plus, we will have a bit of rocky waters for one of our couples. Or both, I haven't really decided yet, but I can say that we are starting to wind down…I'm not sure how many chapters are left in this story, but everything is starting to come together. Hopefully, I will get the next chapter within the week. I'm not making promises, though. So until next time…
Roxy