Kristie Cook - Promise

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Did I scare you?"

"Um, no," I lied.

"I'm sorry. I was a little pissed off."

"Hmm…yeah, a little." I smiled to show him it was okay.

"What were you thinking anyway? You looked like you wanted to hit him or something."

Ha! If he only knew. Now that it was all over, I realized how incredibly stupid I'd been. If I had punched the wife-beater like I wanted to…well, it could have been a catastrophe. Tristan and Owen would have seen what a freak I was and Mom and I would have to move already. But worst of all, I probably made things a lot worse for the woman and her daughter.

"I don't know. It made me so mad to see him hurt them," I said. "I'm just glad you got there when you did."

"Me, too." He looked into my eyes and I saw something unreadable in his. Concern? It was still there when he changed the subject. "So, what was with you today? I tried to catch up with you when the team was done, but you took off like you were escaping. You seemed lost in thought all afternoon."

Of course, he'd noticed. He usually walked me to my car and I hadn't even thought about it. "Yeah, I guess I was…lost in thought. Sorry if I was rude."

When I looked up at him, he seemed to search my eyes for an explanation. I didn't give one. I couldn't tell him about Mom or Carlie and what they both had to say.

He held my eyes as he lifted his hand to my face and stroked a current across my cheek. A shudder tried to work its way down my spine, but I fought it back.

"You'll make it up to me," Tristan said with a smile.

"I can do that," I promised with my own smile.

And with perfect timing, the cottage's front door opened. Mom didn't say anything, but I felt her glare.

"I better go," I muttered.

"See you later, ma lykita ," he said quietly.

I raised an eyebrow. He smiled and shook his head. Mom cleared her throat from the door. I sighed with frustration.

I gave Tristan an apologetic smile and then marched into the house. Neither Mom nor I said a word as I brushed past her into my room and slammed the door shut.

The sun on my face woke me in the morning. I opened the window, breathed in the fresh air and let the morning's coolness clear the nightmares out of my groggy head. In my dreams, I fought with Phil all night long. My body now felt like I actually had. I didn't have time to dally, though, or I'd be late to class. When I stepped out of my room to go shower, I nearly tripped over a small suitcase in the hallway and I immediately panicked. We're leaving? Already?! But I like it here!

"Mom?" I asked shakily. She came into the hallway, pulling her door closed. "What's the suitcase for? Are we leaving already?"

"I'm just going out of town for a couple days," she said. She sounded more relaxed than she had in days or weeks.

Whew . But then I realized what that meant.

"You're leaving me? Alone?" She'd never left me alone overnight.

"I'm…going to a booksellers' convention. My first holiday season's coming. I need to make sure I know everything I should be doing." She spoke quickly and wouldn't look directly at me. She lied, but I didn't know why. "Owen said he can work today and come in at one tomorrow and close up, if you can open the store and stay until then. Of course, we're closed Sunday and I'll be back Sunday night."

"No problem," I mumbled, following her into the kitchen. I wasn't worried about having to work. It was being alone that scared me. What if they find me and I'm all alone? I fought a shudder.

"Thanks, hon." She picked up her travel mug and planted a kiss on my forehead, before turning back toward the hallway. "Call Owen if you need anything—his number's on the fridge."

She stopped and turned back into the kitchen.

"Do me a favor, please? Keep your distance from Tristan at least until I get back? We can talk about it then, okay?"

I plopped into a chair and shrugged. I hadn't planned on seeing him anyway. Except for that one time at the coffee shop, I never saw him on weekends.

"Please? Promise?" She nodded her head slowly, part of her persuasion technique. Next, she would reach out to touch my hand or arm.

I glowered at her, refusing to let her get to me. "No, Mom, I won't promise. It probably won't matter, but I won't make a promise I don't want to keep."

She didn't even try her next move.

"Fine," she snapped. "I'll see you Sunday night."

She marched down the hallway and I heard the suitcase roll over the tile floor, then the front door open. Almost in a whisper, she said, "I love you."

"I love you, too." The door closed and I didn't know if she heard me.

"Stay away from her, Tristan." Mom's harsh order came through my open window.

Tristan's here? I dashed to my room and peeked out the window. He leaned against Mom's car as she dropped her suitcase in the trunk. I stepped to the side so they couldn't see me, which meant I could only listen and not watch.

"She's not ready yet," Mom said.

"You mean you're not ready yet." Tristan's voice was also confident, but not cold like hers.

"That, too."

"It's out of your hands, Sophia."

"We'll see about that." A second of silence.

"You're going to see them, aren't you?"

Mom answered with her own question. "When was the last time you saw your kin?"

"I've never gone back and I never will." Complete sureness in his voice, with that steely undertone, as if he despised his family.

"And you expect me to trust you ?"

Tristan exhaled loudly. "You have to, don't you?"

"Why should I? She's my daughter , for heaven's sake." Oh! She just blew our cover! My breath caught and my hand flew to my mouth, afraid they heard.

"It's time to let go, Sophia. I think she'll be okay."

"You think she'll be okay? I need more than that, Tristan. I need one-hundred-percent surety."

More silence. When Tristan spoke, his voice was low and grim. "You know I can't give you that."

" Exactly ." Her icy tone sent a chill up my spine. I heard her car door slam, then the engine start. A moment after she left, the motorcycle fired up and sped away.

I threw myself on the bed and stared at the ceiling. What the hell just happened? They apparently knew each other, well enough that Tristan knew where Mom was really going and Mom thought she couldn't trust him. And obviously, he hadn't come to see me. What is going on with them?

When I finally glanced at the clock, I groaned. Class started ten minutes ago. Tristan was sitting in women's studies, probably wondering where I was. And I wasn't sure if I cared. I just didn't know what to think of him at the moment. I decided to skip both classes, a first for me. I rolled over on my side, for some reason wanting to cry.

Instead, I took a shower. I stood under the spray of hot water, just letting it flow over me, when the answer became clear. Mom had mentioned his kin—she must have dated his father or brother or other relative.

She had many boyfriends over the years and it always ended badly. She never explained what happened with most of them, whom she seemed to love one day and couldn't get away from fast enough the next. We moved immediately after every break-up. I could only figure she was unable to love a man and let him love her, because they were usually good men, according to my sense. Except for Lenny….

My mind flashed the memory of Mom throwing Lenny across the room, his body hitting the wall with a thud, blood smears on the white paint as his limp form slid to the floor. Two minutes before, he'd tried to kiss me. I was twelve. "Don't worry, he's not dead," she had said once we were in the car, driving to a new city. I shuddered at the memory. He was bad and, if they were related, it would explain her reaction to seeing Tristan. It would also explain his non-reaction when Mom said I was her daughter.