Endless Bonds Copyright © 2016 xXMopelXx All Rights Reserved.

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o my bathroom break took longer than expected.

Finding out that I have my periods fifteen minutes after arriving at the bar didn't help either. Inga – Oliver's sweetheart of a girlfriend who I recently met - and Tara gave me looks of understanding when I excused myself to go shove a tampon up my vagina. I didn't have any so Tara forcefully shoved her clutch at me.

Ten minutes later and I'm at our table. Except now there's someone occupying my seat.

Trent.

My heart pounds. Shit, I didn't know he was coming. Didn't think he would show up.

I've just finished patting his shoulder and he turns to glance at me.

His blue eyes sear me to the spot.

My breath hitches a little, but I struggle to keep my composure.

I'm trying to smile and show that I'm not affected by his presence, but it doesn't work. I'm still affected and he's still as good-looking as ever. I may have a man, but...I was taken, not blind.

I love the dark blue Henley he wears. It molds so perfectly to his sculpted physique and highlights the broadness of those football-honed shoulders and arms. The light grey beanie on his head squashes down the shaggy dark brown hair underneath, causing the ends of his locks to wave out in an endearing manner. The dark stubble lining his precise jawline is a contrast to those blue eyes. He's always been good-looking, but he's always been good at downplaying his good looks.

Looking at him now, I remember seeing him once at eighteen, in a tailored tux, black tie, hair combed, and rebellious stubble and all at my cousin's wedding. Lo and behold, he'd been a sight for my sixteen-year-old self back then. My love stricken heart had hyperventilated upon seeing the best friend I'd been in love with looking so dammed handsome.

Three years down the road and he was still as handsome. More so now that he'd had a certain air of maturity coloring him. He'd gotten taller and filled out more in the best way possible. His face more older, more serious, more attractive. Everything had changed but his eyes. Those baby blues had never changed.

I'm snapped out of my reverie by a clearing throat. It's Inga. She's looking at us expectantly.

Trent's cold scrutiny drains the bloods from my veins until it's turned to ice and I'm frozen to my spot. My lips barely part when he's already made his decision. I think they're a flicker of heat in those blue orbs as the track the length of my body, but he dismisses me quickly.

"Find yourself another place to sit."

My mouth drops open. Along with Tara. But not before I see Trent smirking like the asshole that he's turned into. The asshole that he's convinced he wants to be.

I'm saddened by that thought, but I don't let it show too much. Instead, I focus on the cold callous words he's thrown at me.

I remind myself that he's this way not because I've hurt him, but because others have as well. This is his shield. His mask. His protection. This is how he protects himself from everyone.

I understand because I had my own shield and mask against him, against my friends, and against my step-father. My mask and shield crumbled the second I met the right person – my fiancée Pierre.

Trent just needs to allow the right people in his life to thaw and melt the cold tendrils surrounding him.

Oliver is already pulling a chair for me from the other vacant table, situating me adjacent to himself and Trent.

"Apparently, you've lost your manners somewhere between now and the last two years."

I don't regret my words. No. Not until I see his strong body visibly flinch and his jaw lock as I plop down in my seat. I don't like being a bitch. It doesn't suit me. But something tells me nothing else will work with him. I reach into Trent's space and grab my purse with a saccharine smile.

Tara and Inga stare at us with matching gaping mouths. Oliver's eyes have bulged out of their sockets.

I merely grin bitterly. If this is what he wants, he's going to get it. No more nice and sweet, Cher. I'm not a pushover and I'll never be. I fight my battles with fire against fire, too. I'm going to show him the biggest fire he's ever seen.

Trent's eyes cut to mine as he relaxes in his chair. However, every line and muscle in his body is taut with tension. He's not fooling me. I know this is the only way he'll respond to me. If I try being nice, he's going to ignore me. And I no longer want to be ignored by him. Maybe we can be friends again one day, but I just want him to be civil with me.

I'm here for awhile and I'm not leaving anytime soon.

"You can't lose something you never had," Trent says gravelly.

Don't do this, Trent. You were always such a gentleman. Always such a caring guy. Always such a generous person. Being a bitch doesn't suit me, but being an asshole doesn't suit you either.

I turn to honesty and try to bleed as much sincerity as I can in my tone. "We had friendship. We lost that. Perfect example right there."

"Who's fault is that?" he asks gruffly, his hard gaze fixed on the glass before him. He's not drinking anymore. "The boy who called a thousand times or the girl who never picked up?"

I close my eyes as if I could physically block the pain of his lash, but it's real and true and it lingers in the air even after being delivered. My chest stutters. I don't have words. I walked right into that one.

I don't know what to say. Apologize or move on? Explain myself or let it be?

Inga takes the decision for me. She glances at me with green eyes and a hesitant smile, as if to ask...Can I help fix this? "How was Paris, Cher? You never told me."

I appreciate the effort and I know for now I must let it be. Trent's on his own. You can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped. Heck, if Tara, Oli, Jared and Teagan can't get to him, who says I can? Once upon a time, I knew him. Now I no longer do.

I'm the last face he wants to see now.

"It was great, Inga," I say. "A change of scenery and a breath of fresh air. I met some really incredible people there and I've loved my time in France."

"I'm so jealous," she murmurs and balances her chin on her hand, slyly staring at Oliver. "What do you say, Dorogoy? A trip to Paris next year sound good with you?"

Oliver smiles. "Anything for you, baby."

"I'm tagging along," Tara chimes. "I don't care if I have to be stuffed in your oversized LV suitcase, Inga."

I laugh along with the rest of them, until Trent interjects.

"Just don't forget your friends like this one right here did."

My hands fist on the table and Oliver groans. "Trent, man..."

"This one?" I hear myself echo. I look at him with my wounded pride and reproachful eyes. "This one is sitting right here. This one has a name; this one didn't forget her friends."

I hate that he's talking like I'm not here. I hate that he's addressing me in a condescending tone. I hate it all so much, yet I feel like I deserve it.

Trent pushes his beanie off his head and ruffles his already mussed hair with his slender fingers. His eyebrows are touching his hairline. "Really? Then I must be a special one. Forget answering my calls, I didn't even get a postcard from you."

I push my chair back, fighting between staying and leaving. The suppressed sigh escapes me in a rush. "Please, Trenton. Can we not do this over here?"

He chuckles but the sound is low and humourless and slices through me. "Then again, I should be content with the fact that you're still acknowledging me right now after all this time. Poor old Quentin didn't even get that from you. You couldn't even be bothered to show your face when we buried his casket six feet beneath the ground."

A sharp pain crosses me and I hear a painful whimper. It takes me two seconds to realize that it's coming from me and that I'm grasping my middle with so much strength that I'm hurting myself.

His. Fucking. Words. They're meant to hurt me and they do. The wound he's opened cannot be mended because it never had time to heal in the beginning. Quentin's death is still fresh and raw in my mind, even though more than a year has trickled by.

The guilt gripping my chest is so violent that it's wrapped it's claws around my windpipes. Cutting my air. Stopping the words from coming out of my mouth.

Trent's stool scrapes against the wooden flooring as he gets up, slaps a bill on the table and salutes everyone in the most asshole manner. He pivots around and leaves the bar.

Tara looks like she's on the verge of crying. Oliver looks like he wants to beat up Trent for the reminder and Inga is looking torn between comforting them both and staying silence.

"He's hurting but enough is enough," Oliver growls. "Cher, I love you both, but you need to bury your past or else I'll do it for you."

I get up, my body swawing. My mind's spinning from his words and the guilt is not leaving me. Damn it, it won't leave.

It's coiled deeply and tightly within my guts and makes an appearance whenever my dead best friend and my neglect over his death is brought up. It's sickening. I've got to face it. I've got to face my mistakes with Trent.

"I'll catch an Uber back home," I stumble away from our table and ignore their shocked expressions. "I've got a past to bury."

I follow Trent despite the turmoil churning in my stomach.

* * *

Trent hasn't gotten far.

His back flexes and strains with tension beneath the fabric of his taut shirt as he walks towards his SUV.

I run faster behind him, my boots quickly eating up the distance in the parking lot. "Trenton!"

He stops but doesn't turn around.

I roll to an abrupt halt a few inches away from him, panting.

He finally whirls around, eyes sparkling menacingly with sheer anger.

"I've made lots of mistakes in the last few years. Some intentionally and some unintentionally," I continue panting, the tears gathered in my eyes threatening spill down the cheeks. "But I'm trying to make amends now."

He doesn't say a word.

"I've regretted not being able to come down for Quentin's funeral." I stomp my foot in a fit of frustration as I vocalize my thoughts a little loudly, despite the shakiness in my voice. "It haunts me."

He tips his chin up like he's waiting for me to continue. Or finish. So he can leave. As if I'm wasting his time.

"And I regret how I treated you." My shoulders sag in admittance and my eyes prickle. "Most of all I regret how I never answered your calls. How I never replied to your text messages. It's ate me alive for so long."

Trent's eyes flare and his jaw clenches as he steps back. "Cher..."

But he needs to hear it.

"I've made a lot of mistakes, Trent. You may not want to hear the reasons to them and I may not want to give them." I'm breathing heavily at this point. "But I don't deserve to be treated with you treated me back in that bar. the Trent I knew would have never done such a thing. Stop ignoring me. Stop talking to me in a manner that's condescending because that's just rude and it's not you. I. Don't. Deserve. It. I'm here for awhile and we're going to have to start acting civil with one another."

"Are you done?" he demands with finality.

I'm defeated. My anger ebbs away and I'm left in nothing but my broken shell.

"You don't get to come back after two years, a changed person, and expect people to treat you the way you wish to be treated, your highness," he laughs bitterly. "People change and I'm certainly not the same guy you left two years ago. I'm a far cry from the best friend you remember, so stop trying to look for him after you went out of your way to push him out. Stop trying to make small talk for the sake of everyone around us. Stop trying to make small talk for the sake of feeling less guilty for your actions. I don't care about your mistakes, and much less about your reasons. The fact is you don't matter to me and I can't stand you. I can't stand what I see of you now and I hate the fact that I have to for the sake of everyone around us. So if you want me to properly ignore you and be civil, stop putting yourself in my vicinity, because you're not going to like what I have to say about you."

I jerk away from him, as if he's slapped me. "You really are an asshole," I whisper, a tear escaping my cheek.

He barely smirks. "Never claimed otherwise, Cheryl."

I stay rooted to my spot as he backs away, unleashing the full power of those darkened blue orbs. "Oh, and sweetheart?"

I raise my tear-stained gaze to meet his emotionless one, feeling an ounce of satisfaction when remorse darts across his expression for two point five seconds.

"You might want to start with a certain tombstone if you're looking to make amends. God knows he deserves it more than the rest of us do."

Then he's opening the door of his car and slipping inside.

And I'm still trying to ponder over who the bigger asshole is – Me for leaving the way I did, or Trent, for giving me a dose of reality.

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