Page 248 of Reckless Obsession

I still have my usual manic episodes. I still have depressive ones. Sometimes everything inside me moves too fast, and sometimes getting out of bed feels like dragging my body through concrete.

But now, I don’t disappear.

Tristan never lets me.

Whenever the static in my head gets loud enough to deafen me, he doesn’t flinch. When I bare my teeth, when I try to push him away or try to vanish into the dark, Tristan meets me head-on. We argue. I shut down; he gets frustrated; we try again. He stays. In the quiet, suffocating hours when I hate myself the most, he sits right beside me in the dark until the light finally finds us again.

Tristan’s thumb strokes over my hip. “Where did you go?”

I meet his eyes, coming back to the present again.

“Nowhere.”

“You got quiet.” His gaze narrows. “That usually means someone’s about to bleed, or you’re planning something crazy.”

“Can’t I just be admiring my future husband?” I say, giving him a sly smile.

He scoffs. “Flattery? From you? Now I’m actually terrified. What did you break?”

“Nothing.” I laugh, then lean down to kiss the hollow beneath his ear and the sharp line of his jaw. “Nothing, I promise.”

Tristan hums, unconvinced, but his hands tighten at my waist. He pulls me close and kisses me again, taking his time with it until my head is spinning and every combative thought in my skull melts into quiet heat.

We’ve always been private about our relationship, but it was never meant to be a secret forever.

For the first year, though, it had to be. We had to be careful and lock our world tight, letting only a few essential people through the perimeter. On my side, it was just my brothers, my parents, my cousins Viktor and Igor, and my friends Lucas and Tyler. From Tristan’s side, the only person who knew a damn thing was his brother, Jamie.

We had our reasons. You don’t just announce to the world that you’re tangled up together in the bloody wake of Jake’s ‘mysterious’ death. The questions, the press, the whispers, the vultures looking for someone to blame or lynch—neither of us needed that circus tearing through our lives while the dust hadn’t even begun to settle.

After a year, we stopped keeping it secret. We didn’t make an announcement; we simply stopped hiding it. Tristan reached for my hand when we went out. I stayed beside him whenever someone walked into a room. We were together, and anyone who noticed could see it. The rest of our lives remained ours.

We are still private but never a secret.

I can still picture the sheer, paralyzed shock plastered across Tristan’s mother’s face the day he told her he and I were together.

Tristan hadn’t minced words. He stood there, broad-shouldered and cold as ice, and told her plainly. Then, with that lethal, level tone that could make a grown man freeze in place, he told her to stop bringing up Jake’s death every damn time she opened her mouth—and made it crystal clear that he didn’t give a fuck about Jake like that, and she knew it better than anyone.

God, I can’t stand that woman, and I’m glad she hasn’t tried to bitch about Jake since.

My fingers trail from the clean lines of Tristan’s fresh cornrows to rest against his shoulder. He breathes in slowly, eyes half-lidded, hands still locked around my waist.

Watching him like this, unguarded and entirely mine, my mind wanders for a second.

To Dante.

We still talk once in a while. Not often, and not the way we used to. There’s nothing romantic between us now, nothing either of us is waiting to return to. Whatever flame or confusion existed back then had burned down to pure ash, leaving behind something far sturdier: mutual respect and genuine care. Dante simply isn’t someone I could ever cut out of my life.

When I was shattered and drowning in one of the most futile, ugly breakdowns I’d ever suffered, Dante was the one who pulled me out of the wreckage. He saw me at my absolute worst and saved my life.

Tristan understands. We’ve talked about it. He knows what Dante means to me, and he knows what he doesn’t.

The last time Dante and I spoke was almost two months ago. He sounded more unsettled than I’d ever heard him. Eventually, he admitted he’d begun developing feelings for one of his son’s friends. According to Dante, the guy also felt the same way and wasn’t making it easy to ignore. He didn’t have to explain why that was complicated. He was worried about his son, about their friendship, and about what might happen if either of them took a step they couldn’t take back.

For once, I didn’t tease him. I listened.

Dante once pushed me to go back to the person I loved, even though doing that meant letting me go. I want him to find someone who chooses him just as wholeheartedly. He’s patient and calm in a way I’ve never managed to be, and he gives more of himself than he asks for in return. He deserves to be loved and cherished. I hope things work out with this guy; if they do, I hope they can find a way through the difficult parts without losing the people who matter to them.

Even if the road is messy and complicated, I genuinely hope he gets his happy ending.