It had been Tristan who wanted to leave.
She stared out the window into the early-evening darkness. She’d spent her entire youth trying to force him to see her—really see her—and he’d spent most of his youth treating her like an annoying younger sister. What was it about him that had called to her from the very first day they met? Dalton was closer in age, but it was always Tristan who fascinated her. His quiet personality hid a fierceness of heart and loyalty she craved. No matter how mad his brothers made him, he was the peacemaker. As chaos reigned around him, he was the calm in a storm that soothed, offering a protection she’d always dreamed about. She’d tumbled into love with him at only eight years old, and he’d been haunting her ever since. How hard she had tried to hide her feelings, especially from Diane, not wanting to cause disapproval or concern with either of Tristan’s parents, since they were so close.
But Diane knew. Had probably always sensed her desperate longing for a man who was destined to hurt her . . .
She sat at the counter, trying to nibble on the warm chocolate chip cookie fresh from the oven. But her stomach tumbled in that sick kind of way, so she settled on sipping iced tea from the yellow sunflower cup.
“You look pretty today,” Diane said with a smile. Her dark, reddish hair was pinned up, and she looked comfortable in jeans and a loose T-shirt. She smelled of sugar, chocolate, and home. “Going somewhere special?”
Sydney tried for a casual tone. “Maybe. It’s Friday night, so some of my friends want to go out.”
“Ah, I forgot. You’re growing up so fast. Any cute boys you have your eye on?”
A blush rose to her cheeks. She shifted on the stool. “Um . . . no, well, maybe. There’s a boy in my science class. He’s smart and helps me with lab work sometimes. He may be at the movies tonight.”
“That’s my girl, going for the brains.”
“Is that what you did?” Sydney teased, trying another bite of the cookie.
Diane laughed, eyes sparkling. “Eventually. But first I started off with the bad boys. They were more fun for my wild soul.” She winked, and Sydney laughed with her.
The bang of the door echoed through the room. She stiffened, trying to breathe normally. Her heart pounded in a wild rhythm. Her inner voice hissed a reminder: Don’t look eager. Be cool.
Tristan was home.
“Mom!”
Diane shook her head and sighed. “In the kitchen, where I always am.”
He came into the kitchen. Sydney’s breath caught, and her belly did a slow tumble. His jeans were snug, emphasizing the muscled length of his thighs, and his black T-shirt stretched across his chest, showing off corded biceps and toasty-golden skin. His hair reminded her of hazelnut, a mix of brown with a hint of red, and always fell in perfect, thick waves over his brow. He smelled of pine, fall leaves, and s’mores. But that was probably just her imagination, because those were some of her favorite things in the whole world.
Sydney tried to act casual yet sophisticated as she waited for him to greet her. She propped up an elbow to tilt her head to the side, making sure her hair fell over her cheek in neat curls. God knows she’d spent hours this morning with the curling iron making sure it didn’t frizz. She’d also been careful with her makeup. Pink lips, blush, mascara, and a touch of liner made her look older. The short denim skirt showed off her bare legs, and her trendy black top was cut to emphasize the swell of her breasts. Even her girlfriends had said how good she looked today. Maybe this time he’d notice?
“Mom, can you make dinner early tonight?”
She kept her position, but he still hadn’t acknowledged her. She forced herself to speak. “Hi, Tris.” Was her tone cool and casual enough? She crossed her legs deliberately so her skirt rode up an inch higher. “How are you?”
“Oh, hey, Syd. Mom? Can you?”
Diane kissed his cheek, which he allowed because he’d learned the alternative was a big bear hug that went on for too many seconds. “Sure. How was school this week?”
“Astronomy test. Science sucks.”
She raised a brow at his language but let it slide. “Maybe Dalton can help you. He’s starting to know more than me ever since he got that telescope.” She slid the cookies from the tray onto a large plate and set it in the middle of the marble table.
“Nah, I’ll manage. Are those chocolate chip?” He snatched a few from the plate and leaned over to eat. Sydney studied him from under lashes that still seemed sticky from too much mascara. Had he even looked at her yet?
She cleared her throat. “Hey, Tristan, a few of us are going to the movies tonight. Wanna come?”
He swiveled his gaze around. Piercing amber eyes glinted with amusement and . . . tolerance. “Huh? No, thanks, I have a date tonight. Going to a concert. But you have fun.”
His indulgent smile flattened her hopes like a deflated float. “Oh, sure. A date, huh? Sounds nice.”
“Hopefully she’s not.”
Diane hit him in the arm, and he laughed, face filled with a mischief Sydney didn’t understand, but she forced herself to laugh with him like she got the joke. She’d seen some of the girls he dated before. They always had shiny straight hair and lithe, athletic bodies. They talked about things like art history and finding artistic expression without societal constrictions and paraded in and out of the house on a regular basis. But none of them stayed more than a week or two, and then Tristan would show up with a new girl.
Sydney hated every single one of them.
Suddenly she felt stupid with her too-short skirt and mascaraed lashes and lame invitation. Tristan was in college. He dated older girls who knew how to talk and dress and flirt. They probably kissed him in the front seat of the car and made out. Maybe even got to second base. She was nothing to him but a family friend who hung around his house too much. Jealousy mixed with misery for a depressing cocktail that slumped her shoulders.
Her self-flagellation was interrupted by a booming voice that made Tristan stiffen as if preparing himself for something unpleasant. “Cookies! Why am I always the last to know around here?” Christian Pierce strode in, his usual gruff face softening into a relaxed grin when he caught sight of her. “Hey, sweetheart.” He gave a whistle as he took in her outfit. “You look gorgeous! Whose heart you gonna break tonight?”
She couldn’t help smiling back, a bit of her confidence lifted. Tristan’s father treated her like she was his daughter. He was sometimes rough with his boys, but to her he remained sweet, making her feel special. “Hopefully no one’s.”