My Best Friend's Dad

Finding Tristan

Elona’s POV

I walked into the lounge and asked Spooky if he had heard anything from Tristan. My heart was pounding in my chest because I was worried about him.

“I haven’t heard from him, I didn’t text him. Is everything okay?” Spooky asked.

I looked down at my phone screen, “Cris is trying to get a hold of Tristan, but he isn’t replying or reading her texts; He isn’t answering her calls either. He hasn’t read my text either. I will call him,” I said as I dialed Tristan’s number and placed the phone against my ear, but his phone went straight to voicemail. “It went to voicemail, I’ll call my Dad.” I then dialed my father, and he answered after two rings.

“Hey, how are things over there?” my Dad answered.

“Dad, have you heard anything from Tristan recently?” I asked.

“No, I haven’t seen him since I’ve been busy, and I’m not home right now. Is everything okay?” he was now concerned.

“I told him about the baby, and he didn’t take it well. I haven’t heard or seen him since then. Cris can’t even get a hold of him,” I let out a shaky breath as I stood in my spot, covering my eyes with my palm.

“He is grieving, and I don’t think he should be alone right now. Um... I will try to get done here and drive back to see where he might be. In the meantime, I think you should check his place. I’m too far away right now.”

“Okay, thanks ,Dad,” before he could say anything, I hung up. Spooky was now standing in front of me.

“What did he say?” he asked with a worried expression.

“He hadn’t heard from Tristan. I’m going to see if he’s at the house. “Please keep Cris posted,” I hurried towards the front door.

“Do you want me to go with you?” he asked.

“No, I think I need to check his house on my own. I will text you,” I said over my shoulder, and I was out the door.

The world around me felt heavier in the dark, as if it were holding its breath, just waiting. I couldn’t stay still any longer. Not when Tristan hadn’t answered a single call or text. Not after what I told him. Not after the baby.

My legs protested as I started to jog. Every muscle in my body screamed from the drills Madame Delance had pushed us through at VFS. My shoulders ached, my calves were tight, and my stomach churned from the emptiness inside it. I hadn’t eaten all day, but it didn’t matter. Worry had replaced hunger. My breath came ragged as I forced my legs to move, one in front of the other, pounding the sidewalk beneath me.

My mind kept playing cruel thoughts on repeat. What if he was angry? What if he never wanted to see me again? What if something happened to him? What if...

By the time I reached Tristan and my Dad’s street, my lungs burned and my hands trembled. His house stood ahead of me like a shadowed monument, still and too quiet. Relief, sharp and quick, punched through my chest when I saw his car parked in the driveway.

He’s home, but something felt wrong. Something felt off. The only light was the porch lamp, casting a lonely glow across the front steps. Every other window stared back at me, dark and lifeless. I slowed, breath catching as I climbed the porch steps one at a time. I knocked once...twice...three times.

“Tristan?” I called out, but there was no answer.

My pulse roared in my ears as I knocked louder, each pound echoing through the silent night. Still nothing. I hesitated, hand trembling as I tried the doorknob. It was open.

The moment I stepped inside, a wave of cold air wrapped around me. The scent of his fragrance still lingered, familiar and comforting, but something beneath it, something metallic and sharp, cut through.

“Tristan?” I called out again, flicking on the lounge lights. My voice sounded too small for the silence pressing against the walls.

I closed the door behind me and moved deeper into the house. My eyes followed the soft glow spilling from down the hall. It came from the study room. I walked toward it, my footsteps muffled on the tiled floors. When I reached the door which was open, my heart stopped.

There he was.

Tristan sat hunched over behind his desk, his elbows on the desk with his head buried in his hands. His usually perfect hair was a disheveled mess, falling over his face. The desk in front of him was a chaos of papers, some crumpled, some stained with watermarks. His laptop glowed dimly. A half-empty glass of Scotch sat beside two bottles, one empty, and one on its way to being empty.

He didn’t hear me at first. He looked like a man drowning in silence.

“Tristan.” My voice broke. His head snapped up, his eyes finding mine. The rawness in his gaze nearly knocked the breath from my lungs. His face was pale, drawn, his eyes bloodshot and shining.

“Elona,” he whispered, his voice cracking like glass under pressure. A sob caught in his throat, and he turned his head away quickly. He was ashamed.

I stepped closer, my heart thudding. “We have all been trying to get a hold of you. Cris is worried. Everyone is. I…” I didn’t know what else to say. “You disappeared.”

He nodded slowly. “My phone probably died. I-I didn’t check.”

“Why?”

He looked around the room, like the answer was somewhere in the shadows. “I needed to forget,” he said. “To drown it out. So I came here. I tried to work. To lose myself in numbers. Budgets. Anything.” His voice trembled. “But it’s still there. The weight of it.”

My eyes swept the room. I stepped around the desk and caught sight of the alcohol again. “And the alcohol?” I asked softly.

Tristan’s jaw tensed. “I thought maybe I could drink the grief away too. That if I drank enough, it wouldn’t feel so… loud.” He looked at me again, and his tears spilled freely now. “But it didn’t work. Nothing works. Because I never got to see ours, Elona. I never got to hear a heartbeat or see your stomach swell with our baby or have an ultrasound image. You didn’t even know in time and I—” He broke. His hands clenched the edge of the desk as if it were the only thing anchoring him to earth. I stepped closer, my heart shattering.

“You blame yourself?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just nodded, slowly. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve protected you. I should’ve known. Everytime I get those flashback moments where things click to me that you were pregnant. That day when we went to camp, that girl, whatever the fuck her name is, pushed you. I watched you fall flat on the ground while I was on the other side of that volleyball net. You weren’t well and that...that led to...you were pregnant at the time. I shouldn’t have allowed you to play that fucking game, I should’ve protected you more from that witch. I’m a failure at protecting the ones I love and these are the consequences thereof. If I find that witch, there will be hell to pay for her pushing you.” He was worked up right now. I don’t blame him.

“You didn’t know because I didn’t either,” I whispered. “And you don’t have to carry this alone. We couldn’t have known, okay? You can’t blame yourself for failing because you didn’t know about something to protect us from, and I don’t think it’s healthy to blame yourself over this or even what happened to Aunt Estelle. Some things are out of our control. Things happen for a reason and I believe we just weren’t ready for a baby, especially me when I never wanted one due to my condition. Please stop blaming yourself. Work through the grief you have. I know it’s not easy. But drinking and burying yourself in work won’t always help. There are other things to try, such as the gym and...” he watched me intently with sadness.

I started to kick my sneakers off, and I lowered my gym shorts. They fell onto the floor around my feet and I took off my top, discarding it on the floor.

“Use me instead.”