Forbidden Games

80 days

Eighty days.

Harry, wherever you are, hang on.

"Happy birthday, sweetie," Betty Sue whispers, handing me a mug of her magic herbal tea. "July! What a beautiful month you chose to be born!"

"Not this year, Grandma."

"What do you mean, 'not this year'? And what do you mean, 'grandma'??"

She's revolted and her pinched lips make me smile – but I still can't manage laughter. I get up painfully from the couch, which is covered in furry critters, and head to the table where she's sitting. I choose a cushy chair and nod so she knows she can begin her sermon. In the meantime, Pork Chop has taken my spot on the couch.

"Liv, honey, you have to act. Harry isn't here anymore, but your life is only beginning . . ."

"You say that like he's dead!"

"Tact is not my thing, you know that," she sighs. "I pray every day that the little guy will be reunited with his mom, his brother, his family and his home. But in the meantime . . ."

"In the meantime, we're still looking! We still believe!"

"Liv, wake up! Nineteen is the age when everything is possible! You should be exploring the world instead of . . ."

"Instead of what?"

"Liv . . ."

"What are you saying? That I should give up on Harry? Leave . . . Tristan?" I say, raising my voice as I feel a bitter taste fill my mouth.

The verbal war has ended. Betty Sue taps her fingers over her mug and looks off into space, unable to answer. She eventually mutters:

"Don't forget about yourself, Liv. That's what I'm trying to say. Stop feeling guilty. You're going to lose any vibrancy you have left."

A tear rolls down my cheek. The first tear in more than 10 days. I couldn't even cry for a while. My body had emptied itself.

Eighty days.

"Sometimes you have to leave so you can come back and start anew," my favorite hippie says sadly.

Realizing she's upset me, she gives me a compassionate look, then rubs the head of the huge mastiff that's drooling on her lap. I get up, grab my bag and walk out of her happy little home.

The happiness of others is sickening to me these days.

There's another birthday we didn't celebrate this summer – Harry's in June. He would have been four. None of us could relax or stop crying that day. The idea of celebrating the birthday of a little boy who may never blow out another candle was just too horrific.

In peoples' minds, Harry will be three forever.

There aren't any more tabloid reporters or paparazzi outside our house. That's at least one good thing. A few weeks ago a fire destroyed a big mansion nearby, killing the family that lived there. Harry's disappearance has been out of the headlines since that happened. I park my little SUV in the drive and lazily climb out. I look up to the second floor and see Tristan, shirtless at his window. He stares into my eyes – intense and unreadable. I smile shyly, but I have no idea if he smiles back. He holds his mug of coffee to his lips and I begin to salivate.

And it's not because I feel like coffee . . .

I lock my car and then look up again. I'm disappointed. He's gone. I sigh and walk inside, not thinking anything else about it. I'm sick of over-analyzing every little thing. I've gotten used to him slipping between my fingers now. His need for solitude is still apparent, even 80 days later. Our moments of tenderness and understanding are still just as strong, even stronger, maybe. But they are fewer and farther between. It's like he won't let himself love me all the time.

And I can't blame him for that.

On the counter I see "Happy birthday, Green Olive" written in M&Ms over a heart that's more square than curved. I don't mind the imperfections. I smile like a little kid when I see it. I imagine the time my dad must have spent calculating the ideal distance between each piece of candy as he aligned the top ones and the bottom ones rolled all over the place.

"So you just spend the night wherever you please now do you, Sawyer?"

In a panic, I throw a dish towel over the colored candies so that Tristan doesn't see them. I turn around and see he's just gotten out of the shower, his hair and neck are still wet. He smells so good. God.

"I was at Betty Sue's," I say, backing up against the counter as he rests his elbows on it.

"I know," he smiles mischievously. "And I saw your dad's message. I ate part of the heart, that's why it looks weird."

He seems surprised by his own nonchalant attitude. He stands up suddenly and nervously runs his hand through his hair, then says softly:

"Happy birthday, Liv Sawyer. Nineteen . . ."

"Now we're even," I sigh.

"Yeah."

Neither of us says anything. He won't look me in the eye but that doesn't stop me.

"It's stuffy in here, don't you think?" I say out of the blue.

"Come on, let's get some fresh air."

He grabs my hand and leads me to the entry hall. I follow him, butterflies in my stomach at the idea of what awaits. It doesn't matter what it is, as long as I'm with him.

The bad boy glances at me, as if to say, "What could this blond be thinking?" then tosses me my car keys, refusing to tell me where he's taking me. Well, technically, I'm the one driving. For a good half hour we drive along windy roads. I remain calm behind the wheel. He acts as the GPS while I try to follow his hazardous instructions, telling me to turn when it's already too late, to swerve so we don't get stuck in the sand. He seems as lost as I am, until miraculously, we end up at the place he's been aiming for.

"You don't know this place do you?"

He makes me smile in that way only he knows how, and then heads off toward a little lagoon at the end of a sandy path. I watch him climb down the slope with the burning sun shining on the turquoise water. His lean, muscular shape is outlined in the bright light.

I fall in love again, instantly – ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times.

And for a split second, I believe he's happy. Because of this island, but also because of me.

"You think I'm going to come get you, Sawyer?" he yells from down below, taking off his bright red tee-shirt.

I laugh, intoxicated by the heavenly decor coming alive before my eyes and by the man I've never loved more than I do now. Then I rush forward, like a madwoman, my arms outstretched. I run to him. In his white boxer briefs, Tristan grabs me as I lunge at him and pulls me tight to his hard chest, kissing me passionately. Then my feet hit the ground, my tank top and shorts land on the sand and his greedy lips find mine. Breathless and excited, we kiss even more fervently, drunk on this precious love coursing through through our veins.

I pull away from him and try to jump in the water, but he stops me and whispers:

"We're going for it, 1000%, or not at all, Sawyer . . ."

His bright eyes look over my body and I suddenly understand what he's saying. He takes off his underwear and I take off my clothes, and I join him in the water, totally naked, totally free and totally crazy about him. The water is warm and salty. It wraps around me like sweet sleepiness and I relax in my lover's arms for what seems like an eternity.

With his skin against mine, nothing else seems to matter.

"It's been a year, Liv. To the day," he murmurs in that husky voice.

"Hmm?"

"I kissed you for the first time, in front of everyone, pretending I hated it," he almost smiles at the memory. "But I was already doomed, I already loved you then."

"Not as much as I loved you . . ."

My voice breaks under the emotion. And his demons suddenly resurface. In the middle of this turquoise ocean, I feel him pull away. I tighten my hold on his shoulders, kiss the curve of his neck. I want him to stay with me. One more day. One more hour. One more minute. I don't want his mind to keep going to that place that hurts so badly. I want to be the one who helps him overcome the pain. Except that person doesn't exist. Nothing, not even my love, can save him from what's happened to Harry.

"Liv, it's killing me," he says suddenly, his voice blank.

"What?"

I can't help but imagine the worst. I feel like my life is about to change forever. And I'm so afraid of losing him, so afraid he'll slip away, that I think I might run away myself. But his blue eyes – so pure, so touching – make me stay. They make me want to fight for him in one way or another.

"This guilt," he says, his eyes squinting with the pain. "This weight I carry."

"I know . . . But I want to help you, support you, save you. I can try at least, can't I?"

My eyes fill with tears, I can't control it anymore.

"That's the problem. Liv, I feel like I'm betraying him by being with you."

"No!"

I cry out, my heart broken in two. This time I understand that he's made his decision. I can fight all I want, try to defy the stars, the gods . . . the end result will be the same. Tristan is leaving me. But I hold on, because it's a human reflex, a survival instinct.

"Please. Please, don't do this . . ."

"I love you so much, Liv . . ."

I crumple, my body racked with sobs. He places his hand on my face and lifts it slowly, making me look at him. His eyes and cheeks are wet with tears, his face so tense that his dimple appears. My head begins to spin.

"Listen to me, Liv. I need you to understand."

His voice is low and deep, as if it was coming straight from the depths of his soul. It's the first time Tristan has ever begged me for anything. So I clench my teeth, ignoring the tears that are blinding me, and I wait for the verdict to come crashing down.

"I love you so much . . . You could make me so happy I would end up forgetting him," he says, a hoarse sob catching in his throat. "And I can't do that . . . I can't forget my brother."

He stops for a second and breathes in deeply. A tear runs over his lips.

"You and me, Liv, we're almost too much."

He stops again. His voice is barely audible. My heart is in pieces.

"Harry has no one. I owe him that, at least. To never give up . . ."

The words get lost in my mind. I stand there silent, as if I've been knocked out. But deep inside, I understand. And I respect his decision. I've never hurt so badly in all my life, but it's nothing compared to Harry's fate. So I give in and agree.

"Okay. If that's what you want."

I give up on him – the most wonderful thing that's ever happened in my life. I give up so he can find a way to heal, to forgive himself. With me he'll never get there, and I finally realize it. I nod so he knows I understand. I'm right there with him. I'm not angry. Just incredibly sad. There's an endless hole in my chest.

We get out of the water, holding hands. I put on my tank top and shorts, and climb back up to the car like a robot. Tristan joins me and we drive home in silence. Just a few glances, full of love and . . . resignation. My tears keep falling as I drive, rolling down my cheeks and my chin. At least the sobbing has stopped.

The doors of the SUV slam behind us. I climb the steps up to the house and turn back quickly to face him. One last kiss. Just one. His eyes stare at my parted lips and I grab his neck, pulling him close. His lips meet mine, as if their union were the most natural thing in the world. And much to my surprise, I'm the first to pull away. I end our embrace, give him one last look full of all the emotions I feel rushing through me and I walk through the door, never looking back.

It's over.

I met my soul mate at 18. And I lost him at 19.

***

"Green Olive, get up. You haven't seen the light of day in two days!"

My dad has just opened the shutters in my room and I burn in the light like a vampire in the sun. I complain and groan, pressing my head into my pillow, soaked with tears. I try to disappear back into sleep. Craig pulls my blanket off the bed and sits next to me.

"Liv Sawyer! Talk to me!"

"There's nothing to say," I mutter, my face to the wall.

And behind the wall? No one . . . Tristan has left the house . . .

"We've figured out a solution for you and Tristan."

His words, spoken so softly, cut through me like a knife. My heart breaks again.

"Sienna and I have decided to stop pretending. We took care of everything. It's done."

"You're getting a divorce?"

"Yeah. Don't tell me you're surprised."

I sit up on the bed and run a hand through my tangled hair, making a face. The anvil that just fell on my head makes me want to scream. But only on the inside. I don't have enough strength to scream out loud.

"We're going back to France, sweetie," he whispers, probably thinking it's good news.

"When?" I ask, my voice automatic.

My heart stops, my blood freezes and my mind is blank. I'm dizzy. I've given up trying to understand. Now I just try to follow along.

"Tonight. Betty Sue is coming to see you. We'll get your things ready together and go back to our little nest."

"Do . . . Do . . ." I say, trying to find my words. "Do you think we'll come back here to live someday?"

"That's your choice, honey."

He kisses my cheek and looks me over, patting my back as if to say, "time for a hot shower and a mini makeover!"

Tristan. Betty Sue. Bonnie. Harry. The list of people I'm going to miss isn't so long after all. Especially since right now, it's limited to a single name.

T_ _ _ _ _ _

***

I didn't see him before I left. I went to his room when Betty Sue was loudly blowing her nose, running after my dad who was loading the suitcases. I touched the walls with my fingertips and looked at everything. I felt my heart stop as I breathed in his scent. So I left quickly because the pain was greater than my determination. I took just one souvenir of him, in addition to all the memories I'll keep in my heart forever.

His Led Zeppelin tee-shirt smells so amazing and I hold it to my heart as the plane takes off.

Tristan Quinn, I swear, no one will ever take your place.

THE END