ENZO
TRISTAN.
THAT WAS the name that slipped past his lips. The one he should never have known. My gaze dropped to the photo clutched in his hand, his fingers white-knuckled around it like he thought it could shield him.
I lifted a hand and he flinched. His heartbeat thundered so loud I could hear it, every uneven breath, every stutter of his pulse giving him away.
Slowly, I brushed my fingers against his and pried the picture free. He let go, and I rolled out of the bed without another word.
I circled to the other side, his eyes tracking me the whole way. Like prey watching a predator, waiting for the strike.
Maybe I wanted to strike. Maybe I hated more that he had dug into a place I’d buried so f*****g deep.
I opened the drawer and shoved the photo inside, but Tristan’s face caug
