The Rocker's Muse

“Well, I’m hoping you’ll be my friend.”

“I thought you didn’t have female friends,” I teased.

“You’re my only one.” He winked.

Friends with Tristan? I would take that over erasing him from my life. “Okay, then, friend.” I smiled, feeling my face tingle.

My body was the only one not in denial right now. Sitting across from him, there wasn’t a moment when I wasn’t acutely aware of my unwavering attraction. How I’d missed being in his presence, feasting my eyes on him. His tousled hair, unkempt but perfect. The way his piercing eyes directed all of their attention on me. His big, rough hands adorned with silver jewelry. The allure of his tattoos, too many for me to have memorized, despite so much staring at the magazine image of his naked torso. More than anything, his nearness was a constant reminder of how it had felt when he touched me, explored me with his mouth. It was the only time in my life my body had reached that level of arousal. I would never forget how that felt.

“Just like you used to say I reminded you of home, of your true self…you made me forget who I was, Tristan. You made me forget all the painful memories. I was a new version of myself around you, the bare-bones version of me without all the bad stuff. And in that sense, it was the true me you got to know. Unfortunately, I also lost sight of why I was there and that I had a job to do. That’s why I left when I did, because I was incapable of handling things the way I should’ve.” I started to get choked up. “I didn’t want to leave you. It was the last thing I wanted.”

He reached across the table for my hand. “You’ve had a lot on your shoulders, even before you came to find me. You need to give yourself a break, let it all go. Start fresh. You deserve that.”

I nodded, but there was one problem with heeding his advice. Despite everything that had happened, I didn’t want to let go of the connection Tristan and I had. If I let go of everything—the guilt and the bad stuff—the good memories would have to go, too. And that’s why I’d probably continue holding it all.

He let go of my hand. “When will I see you again after this?”

“I have to work tonight, but I was thinking maybe tomorrow we could visit Jacob’s parents, the Mahoneys.”

Tristan straightened in his seat, seeming on edge. “You think they would want to see me?”

“After you found out the truth, I told them how I’d gone on the tour and found you. And I let them know why you’re in town. They very much want to meet you.”

“Wow. That sounds great, then. Thank you.”

Tristan paid the bill, but we lingered at the table. His phone chimed at one point, prompting him to look down.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

He looked up. “Nazarene.”

Immediately, I regretted asking. It likely came across as jealousy to begin with.

The text was a huge reality check. Both Tristan and I had significant others now. Being with him again felt natural and brought back the best of memories, but any expectations my heart held on to were nothing short of delusional.

I stood from the table. “We’d better get going.”

CHAPTER 28

TRISTAN

The following morning, I was at my rental house doing a third read-through of Jacob’s journals. The first time you read, you always miss something. In order to burn it into my memory, I’d probably never stop reading them.

The toughest part for me was always the section where he wrote about discovering I was his father.

It still doesn’t feel real. Tristan Daltrey is my father? Just last month, I was having a conversation with Jaden about the fact that I didn’t respect the guy as a musician. I said he prioritized fame and fortune over artistic integrity, writing music without substance to appeal to the masses. When I watched him being interviewed, he always struck me as arrogant. I said the only reason Delirious Jones became popular was one song that went viral on social media. So many musicians deserve that esteem more. I feel guilty now for the shitty stuff I said, even if it still might be true.

I just don’t know what to make of this. Cheyenne said it was up to me whether I wanted to contact him. But he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would welcome this kind of news. What if he thinks I’m lying or trying to get money out of him? I’d rather not know him than be rejected.

I feel sick. Why couldn’t my father just be some normal Joe?

Tristan Daltrey? Fuck, man.

I closed the notebook and took a few deep breaths. A knock at the door interrupted my wallowing. I lifted my gaze to find Atticus entering the room.

He took one look at me and narrowed his eyes. “What’s got you down?” he asked.

“My son thought I was an overrated tool…”