Backdraft - The Secret Life of Trystan Scott #2 by H.M. Ward

CHAPTER 1

    ~TRYSTAN~

    There was nothing but sorrow and music
keeping Trystan glued together. Mari was everything to him. He
couldn’t think about the void in his life or how it would be
without her. Trystan’s fingers slid along the neck of the guitar as
he strummed, playing the song that brought him solace. When his
world cracked apart the song always rose to the front of his
mind.
    The weight within him felt like it was too
much to bear, crushing his bones while he still breathed. Nothing
changed. Life continued down the same hellish path, beating him in
every way possible. Maybe it’d be different if he gave up, but he
wouldn’t. That was Trystan’s problem—he didn’t stay down. It was
like that with his father. It didn’t matter how many times his
father’s hand flew, he got back up. It was the same with his life.
It didn’t matter how many bad hands he was dealt, he always got
back up.
    A numb tingling filled his body again as he
played softly. There was no peace. No refuge. He was alone. There’d
always been an ember of hope burning within him, but when Mari said
she didn’t like him, it felt like someone ripped his lungs out. The
ember died, shriveling within his chest, leaving a dull ache in its
place. Mari’s words left him mute, unable to respond. It was the
one time he didn’t get up again. He couldn’t.
    Trystan sat silently on the stool, softly
playing the guitar in his lap, and felt the familiar sense of loss
fill him. When his voice finally came, he sang without realizing
it. Barely whispering, Trystan’s mouth formed the words that
spilled from his heart. The lament, the song—Mari’s song—it helped
purge him. It gave him a false sense of control, which was
something Trystan desperately needed.
    In the moments when Trystan was weakest, it
was like there was nothing else—no air touching his skin or filling
his lungs. There was no stool, no music stand. He was just a voice,
a heartbeat, and a breath of song. That was why he failed to hear
the door, failed to hear her footfalls inching closer and
closer.
    By the time Mari was standing in front of him
it was too late. She saw him. She heard him. She knew who he was
and what he’d been hiding. Her slender fingers touched her lips as
she said, “You’re Day Jones.”
    Trystan’s guitar slipped from his lap and
slid to his side as he stood. Shock and fear twisted his stomach
into a knot. His throat was too tight to speak. Instead of
attempting an explanation, he stared at her with his pulse pounding
in his ears. Mari stood there, looking at him with her jaw dangling
open. She stared into his eyes, unblinking, waiting for him to
speak.
    A thousand thoughts flew through Trystan’s
mind, but he asked, “Why’d you come back?”
    The shock melted off of Mari’s face. She
stood a few paces away from him. Uncertainty filled her eyes. It
was like she’d never seen him before, like she never noticed the
guy fighting so hard to survive that he’d do anything.
    Her pink lips pressed together. The scent of
strawberries filled his head as he remembered kissing those lips
not so long ago. Mari’s eyes darted away from his. She made a few
false starts, before saying, “I was going to tell you something,
but I think you might have something to tell me instead.”
    Trystan stared, his body tense. The grip on
the neck of his guitar tightened, but he didn’t put it down. The
faint golden light doused Mari softly, highlighting the gentle
curves of her face. He couldn’t stop looking at her.
    Taking a deep breath, he replied, “There’s
nothing to tell.”
    Mari stepped forward with an incredulous look
on her face, “Are you seriously going to deny it?”
    “No, there’s just nothing to tell.” Trystan’s
heart felt like it was going to explode.
    The fame that Day Jones achieved wasn’t
something he wanted. He knew what would happen if he revealed
himself—reporters would start digging into his personal life. It
would expose everything his