Being With You (The Redemption Series) Read online

  Being With You

  Book Two of the Redemption Series

  By Hazel St James

  Copyright © Hazel St James 2013

  Kindle Edition

  Cover Models Justin Coale and Alyssa Graham

  Cover Photography by Sean Gomes

  Special Thanks To:

  Cover Design: Melissa Stevens

  Editor: Michelle Kowalski

  Formatter: Paul Salvette

  Beta Readers: Susan Foulkes and Courtney Wray

  Author Stylist: Lachelle Ingvalson

  Author Photographer: CLP Studio

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events of locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  There are several copyrighted names used in this story. Credit is given to:

  Jeep owned by the Chrysler Group LLC

  Vans Skater Shoes owned by Vans, Inc

  Jack Daniels owned by the Brown Forman Company

  Southern Comfort owned by the Brown Forman Company

  Friends owned by NBC

  NCIS owned by CBS

  Mack Truck owned by Mack Truck, Inc.

  Mr. Clean owned by Procter and Gamble Company

  Dedication

  Oh, where to start this time…

  First and foremost, I wouldn’t be where I am today without my loving and loyal fans. You make my job enjoyable and for that I am forever grateful.

  My kids have become accustomed to the lack of mommy and the mess that is called our house. I hope that you don’t ever feel like I took more away from you than the love I gave back in spades…

  Matt…you complete me. In every sense of the words. How ‘bout that?

  Justin…you can’t begin to imagine what it feels like to know you will always be there for me, no matter what. I would give everything up if I couldn’t do this with you by my side.

  (P.S. The hustle never sleeps, but he sure takes a lot of cat naps….)

  Courtney….once you and I end up on the same land mass, the devil is gonna cuss. Because I don’t know that we could stay out of trouble, even if we tried. And I know there is a bar somewhere where we can dance and drink and tell stupid jokes and laugh about furry boats and not get hit on by sleazy guys that drink our waters……

  My fellas….thanks for all the laughs when I needed them the most.

  To my captain…don’t give up on me, yet. I’m gonna make it, you’ll see….

  This story deals with mental and physical illnesses in its untreated and treated forms. I am not a medical or mental doctor…I make no claims that the information in this book is “medically appropriate,” and/or should be used as a guideline for such. I also am loosely using medical terms dealing with different afflictions of major organs…again, not a medical doctors, and should not be taken as medical advice, diagnosis or a checklist of symptoms.

  Hazel St James

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Special Thanks

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Connect with Hazel on Substance B

  Chapter One

  “Please, Daddy. I’ll be a good boy. Please stay,” the little boy sobbed.

  It was happening again…the nightmare. Tristan was stuck between two different realities as his mind returned to that day. Even in his catatonic state, he knew that he was sleep-speaking the words again and again. “Don’t leave me!”

  “Tristan, I love you. Never forget that.” The last words he ever heard his father say. Slowly replaying in his brain like they were on repeat.

  The slamming of a car door…the gravel crunching underneath the tires…his own whimpers as his grandma held him tight on the front porch.

  Then the slow dripping of the bathroom sink…

  Empty…cold…his mother quietly humming, “Baby mine, don’t you cry.”

  The woman looked up at him, and Tristan saw the tears streaming down her sunken in face, instantly knowing that she was his mother. “Come here, Tristan,” she said in a distant voice as she reached for him. Her hand held his arm and he flailed about wildly trying to get her off him. “Nooooooooo!”

  Tristan sat up in bed, gripping his chest as he panted and screamed against the fear clutching him. It took a few minutes and countless deep breaths before the ache inside started to ease. The last inhale he took deep into his lungs burned and made him gasp; pain lanced down his right arm, and trembles raced across his skin.

  Closing his eyes tight, Tristan tried to calm himself. Just a dream…just a dream…he chanted in his mind over and over. His body was feeling a bit more stable as he tried again to pull a full load of air into his lungs, but it was met with fierce resistance and he sputtered. A dull, throbbing ache started in his neck and rushed to his head, making him clutch his eyes together tighter.

  Fuck…he thought as his panic attack raced out of control. Logical thought was near impossible, especially in the dead of the night, but Tristan had been going on auto pilot these last few weeks and he knew what he needed to do.

  One step in front of the other…His new mantra for his pathetic life was all he had to cling to as he stumbled out of bed and into the adjoining bathroom. The light above the sink would only trigger an automatic migraine, so he used his hands to find the plastic cup by the sink and fill it with water. His spare bottle of anxiety meds was in the cupboard and he choked out a laugh at the mere single tablet that lay inside. His days of only needing one or two pills to pull him back from the brink were long gone…he needed at least three of them to knock himself out again after his full-blown panic attacks of late. Or a full bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

  Tristan tried popping the pill into his mouth, but his shaking hands were fighting against him and the tiny pill went fluttering across the bathroom. “Fuck!” he cursed, unable to do any more than that as he leaned against the doorjamb, still violently shaking.

  A light flipped on in the hallway outside his room, and a gruff voice called out, “I’ll get the other bottle from your coat. Hold on, big guy.” Gabriel didn’t even need to come in to Tristan’s room to see the state he was in; the man was all too familiar with his nightly ritual and he’d probably been woken up when he was screaming in his sleep like usual.

  Living here with Gabriel wasn’t bad; in fact, it was a great improvement from his loft over his Uncle Morgan’s garage. Not that he had much choice when he left…Morgan didn’t give him many options when Tristan had found his meager belongings in garbage bags in the driveway. But truth be told, he was surprised that they weren’t thrown in a dumpster, or even set on fire somewhe
re.

  He knew the day was coming, because he hadn’t agreed to go back to J-View Plastics and work for Morgan. But coming home from closing down the bar at Gabriel’s Supper Club at one in the morning to find the locks changed and his things out front was a pretty good indication that his employment choice had his uncle a tiny bit pissed off. Not that he cared…not even one iota of remorse played through his thoughts. The man was a fucking asshole who was trying to play gangster in the middle of Colorado, and was on the verge of imploding his own business.

  Morgan must have pissed in the wrong person’s pool so to speak, and was up to his neck in investigations by numerous departments from the state of Colorado. Hence, needing Tristan to come back and help with some of his “private” dealings, but there was no fucking way the man was going to be able to bribe, steal or threaten his way out of this one.

  Either way, it didn’t matter to Tristan…even if he would be making a hondo an hour, there was no amount of money out there to get him back into that disgusting man’s grasp again. Tristan needed a simple and easy-going life; where money was earned through fair, hard work and you knew where you stood from day to day. Slinging drinks and shooting the shit with the regulars at Gabriel’s Supper Club wasn’t a lifelong dream, but it was a good solid job that made him decent money and kept him out of trouble.

  Plus, he was finding Gabriel to be as close to a best friend as Tristan ever had…maybe even more like a father figure in some sense. Especially when Tristan asked if he could crash on his couch for a few days until he found somewhere to live, but instead Gabriel insisted that he move in to the spare bedroom for “however long you need…”

  Tristan’s heart was pounding against his ribcage as he stood there with his thoughts racing back and forth. As fast as he could rationalize one obstacle in his life and tell himself that things were okay, another fucked up part of his world would immediately pop up and his thoughts would scatter about to the winds. His breathing was labored and his head was throbbing as he stood in his bathroom, hoping and praying that just this one time, his panic attack would subside without having to dope himself up. But those thoughts just brought out his fear of being dependent on these fucking medications, and a whole ‘nother set of worries shot through his brain.

  “Here you go, Tristan,” Gabriel brought him out of his disjointed thoughts about his life as he stepped in front of him, holding out his hand with three tiny pills. Without a word, Tristan grabbed them and popped them into his mouth, swallowing them quickly. His body was on autopilot as he grabbed the cup with water sitting on the sink and downed the glass in one swallow, pushing the meds into his guts so they would dissolve double-time.

  Not able to do more than grunt his appreciation, Tristan stumbled back to his bed and sat down on the edge. There was no need to lay back down for a while, he wouldn’t be going back to sleep anytime soon. A normal nightly panic attack took a good fifteen minutes to ease out of; longer if he didn’t act quick enough to stop the flood of repeating thoughts.

  “You got it, Tristan?” Gabriel said around a yawn. “I’ll go in and open the restaurant for the lunch crowd at ten, so you can sleep in.”

  Tristan wasn’t used to such kindness from anyone in his life, but he was becoming accustomed to it with Gabriel. From the first moment they’d met, he’d been overly giving of himself and everything he owned. From the jeep he gave Tristan to the job without so much as a single reference. Even when Tristan would show up for work with only a few hours of sleep under his belt and huge bags under his eyes, Gabriel would find a reason to take over the bar and send Tristan to the small bedroom at the back of his office for a nap. The man was everything a father would be to a son and more. It was too bad that the man didn’t have any children of his own anymore; not even a significant other. Gabriel was a good man who had a whole lot to give to someone more deserving than Tristan.

  “Buddy? You still with me?” Gabriel asked with a tiny shake to Tristan’s shoulder.

  Taking a stuttering breath, he answered with a cracked voice, “Yeah. I’m good now, Gabe. I’ll crash in a bit and be good as new by morning.”

  Tristan hadn’t opened his eyes when replying, leaving just his hearing alert to the tumultuous sigh Gabriel let out before he said, “You’re full of shit, kid, but you know where I stand on the issue. When you’re ready to take that step, just let me know.”

  And with that, Gabriel must have said what he needed to, because the door to Tristan’s room clicked shut and the lights went back out, leaving him in his own private hell on earth.

  When you’re ready to take that step, just let me know…The words replayed over and over in his brain. Tristan knew exactly what Gabriel had meant because they’d had the discussion numerous times in the last few weeks. Ever since Thanksgiving had come and gone, Tristan had all but given up on his therapy appointments with his psychiatrist and was damn near ready to pitch all his medications out the window.

  That was one thing Gabriel wouldn’t back down on, even though he had no right to tell Tristan what to do. They weren’t blood relatives, just employee and employer, but even though it felt like Gabriel was overstepping his boundaries, Tristan knew the man was just worried about him. And there was no way he would be able to function normally without his meds, so he didn’t fight too much on it in the weeks he’d been living here.

  It had only been three weeks since Tristan basically had enough with being under the constant watchful eyes of his girlfriend slash private nurse, Peyton, and lashed out at her, sending her running. Right around Thanksgiving, something inside him snapped. Probably it was getting shipped back and forth between doctors while taking a shitload of meds each day and being carefully monitored by his girlfriend that was all of a sudden more than Tristan could handle. He needed to be free from the restrictions he was under with her, or he felt like his mind was going to explode. She was a great girl, but damned if she made him feel like less than a human being anymore considering he was becoming more and more dependent on her. And it fucking scared him…big time.

  So things had progressed from bad to worse, and Tristan was back to feeling like a complete and utter failure in life. He knew he was going through a depressive slide with his disease, but what he didn’t understand was why. He’d been doing everything the doctors, therapists, Gabriel and even Peyton had asked of him, but the lingering self-doubt and fear were still there. The deep, dark ranks of the anguish still had their way of griping him tightly, leaving all rational thoughts behind. Since nothing seemed to cure him, he was slowly distancing himself from everything that was being shoved down his throat.

  Tristan could feel the tingling in his arms subside and the cramps in his neck muscles start to ease, signaling that his meds were working. The tightness in his chest was slowing loosening like a knot untying, and it was easier to breathe. Finding it hard to focus on a complete thought anymore, Tristan stopped obsessing about everything and anything that popped into his mind, and cleared himself of all thoughts. It didn’t take long for sleep to take him again.

  Chapter Two

  The front door of Gabriel’s Supper Club opened, sending a blast of cold December air through the restaurant. It was well after five o’clock in the evening, and it was already pitch black outside. The unseasonably warm weather Colorado had enjoyed this fall was long gone, and the first few inches of snow were coating the ground.

  Tristan had been working at the quaint supper club for a little over a month now, handling any and all duties Gabriel asked of him with ease, even taking over the leadership role of the staff members. He didn’t consider himself a natural-born leader, but he had a gut instinct on how to handle a lot of the different personalities there. Always leading by example, he made sure everyone worked together to get the most done and offer the best to Gabriel’s decent-size clientele. It was a win-win for everyone, because the happier the customers were, the more times they came in, the more tips everyone earned and the happier the staff was. Plus, it was alleviating so
me of the stress off Gabe’s shoulders, making him less gruff.

  Tristan stood behind the bar and watched as his fellow employee and recently acquired friend, Susy, came stomping inside, passing the bar with her head down and hair shielding her face.

  “Hey, my little lady. Ready for a kick ass crowd tonight?” Tristan asked with enthusiasm. Susy didn’t even stop her determined sprint for the employee area, and the last of his words were said to her back.

  Tristan surprised himself when he and Susy had become friends, considering what a bitch she’d been to him and everyone around him when they first met. But once he realized she wasn’t acting that way on her own accord, that her older sister, Cara, was directing her moody, childish behavior, he’d eased up on her. It wasn’t like they’d spent any time together outside of the restaurant and bar setting, but when they were working together, they made a pretty good team.

  Feeling a bit like he needed to check on her, Tristan walked out of the port hole opening to the bar and peered around the corner wall to see where Susy had gone. He stopped dead in his tracks when he found her standing stock still, her shoulders were shaking violently. She was looking down at the floor, and Tristan couldn’t see her eyes, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was crying.

  “Hey, Susy…don’t cry,” Tristan consoled as the pair stood in the back hallway near Morgan’s offices. “What’s wrong?” As he said the words, he found himself wrapping the petite, dark-blonde woman in his arms. Susy was a gorgeous little creature with soft curves, and Tristan had caught himself on occasion noticing the way she filled out her standard white cotton work shirt and black dress pants. But the most he’d ever done was take a quick glimpse or two, before turning back to his work. He pretended he’d never imagined what she’d look like nearly naked, because that was wrong. Why he didn’t really know, but he had to stop himself from thinking about more, and letting his thoughts turn purely carnal.