Could he really live without her?

Allowing her into his life would be a risk, a risk that he wasn't sure he was ready for, but if he didn't risk everything he would lose her. Having her in his life would mean being more careful and never allowing his guard down when she was around. What if she moved in or they got married? He'd have to be careful twenty-four seven about what he said or how he acted so that she didn't catch him talking to Shayne or any spirit that decided to track his ass down.

Granted, it would be a lot of work, but he'd done it before when he’d lived with his family. It had been stressful to keep up the pretense of being normal for his family and, as much as he loved them, it had been a huge weight off his shoulders when he finally moved out on his own and could let his guard down. Could he do it again for Marty?

Yes, he could, he suddenly realized. For her, he would do anything. It would be a lot of work and he wouldn't be allowed to fully relax when she was around, but it would be worth it. If he could have Marty in his life and not have to watch as some other ass**le took his place, he would gladly do whatever it took. He'd work his ass off for the rest of his life to make her happy if she gave him the chance.

"Why are you smiling?" Marty asked as she parked the car.

He couldn't help but smile. Up until this point he'd never allowed himself to hope for anything more with her. Even this weekend when things had gotten out of control, he hadn't truly allowed himself to think that he could have her. He'd always feared that he'd somehow give himself away, but as long as he was careful, really f**king careful, he should be able to pull this off. He'd do anything so that he didn't have to live without her. He wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her and hold her as he told her how much he loved her, how he'd always loved her, but now wasn't the time.

She was angry at him and probably for good reason. He may have been an ass**le over the past couple of weeks. There would probably be groveling involved when he convinced her to give him a chance and he didn't want to do that in a-

"What are we doing here?" he asked, looking around the parking lot only to discover to his horror that they were at a mini mall.

Marty sighed heavily as she grabbed her small black purse and opened her door. "I'm starving and you're buying me dinner."

He looked at his watch and shrugged. They had a good forty-five minutes before he had to go to the meeting and convince the therapist that it would be in his best interest to sign off on his sheet and pretend that he met the new requirements. Hopefully it would only take ten minutes out of his night so that he could focus on Marty, because no matter what, she would be his before this night was over.

"What are you in the mood for?" he asked as he joined her in front of his car. Before she could drop his keys in her purse, he deftly snatched them and pocketed them, pointedly ignoring her adorable murderous glare. She really was rather pretty when she was contemplating manslaughter, he mused as he took her hand into his and led her over to Jason's BBQ Shack without waiting for an answer.             

Not that he really needed one. Marty loved BBQ, always had and probably always would. When they were kids she'd show up at his house within five minutes of the grill being started, ready to dig in. It hadn’t mattered if she’d already eaten, was grounded, playing, or was in the middle of eating with her father, if Marty smelled BBQ she came running. He secretly suspected that his parents made sure to fire up the grill several times a week during good weather just to give Marty and her father an excuse to come over and enjoy a home cooked meal with them.

Hank was a great father and a hell of a man, but he sucked at cooking so he left that particular chore on Marty's shoulders when she was barely big enough to reach the cabinets without that aid of a chair. Of course, his mother sent over casseroles and invited them over for practically every meal, but Hank was a stubborn man and hated charity. He'd accept a few meals a week to give Marty a break and because honestly, her cooking skills had been severely limited when she’d first started out. Still, the man was determined to make a real home for Marty and that meant the two of them eating alone like a family most of the time.

"What are you doing?" Marty asked as she tried to pull her hand away, but he refused to release it. It felt good to hold her hand and now that he'd decided that he wasn't going to let her go, he realized that there was no longer any reason to deny himself what he wanted.

"Holding your hand. What does it look like I'm doing?" he asked as they passed the old-fashioned ice cream shop that he decided they'd hit after they ate to see if Marty still had a weak spot for peanut butter cup sundaes to sweeten her up for the talk that they needed to have later.

"Why?"

"Why wouldn't I hold your hand?" he asked, looking down at her as he reached out and opened the door to the small barbeque restaurant for her.

"Because I hate you?" she asked, trying to pull her hand away.

"Uh huh," he said, letting her hand go and gesturing for her to precede him into the small restaurant.

"Why did you say that like I was kidding?" she asked, pausing to let an elderly couple carrying trays full of food pass them as they made their way to the small dining area.

"Because you were," he said, taking her hand back into his as they moved to step into the mercifully short line.

"No, I assure you that I really do hate you. In fact, I'm kind of hoping that the therapist takes one look at you and recommends shock therapy or perhaps a straitjacket." She pursed her lips up in thought and shrugged. "Then again, I wouldn't be opposed to a lobotomy if he really felt that was necessary."

"That's very generous of you," he drawled absently as he looked past the middle-aged couple in front of them. He watched as an elderly woman with her hair pulled back into a severe bun and was wearing a pair of no-nonsense thick black squared frame eyeglasses, a scowl that looked both permanent and painful, and a off-white nightgown that covered her from mid-neck to the very tops of her feet, berated a man in his mid-thirties with thinning brown hair that watched the cashier with a little too much interest.

"Is this how I raised you?" the woman demanded as she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the man as he shifted, obviously anxious for the family in front of him to finish up with their order and get out of his way.

"I don't understand why you do these things, Francis," the elderly woman snapped as a little boy unknowingly ran through her on his way to the bathroom. "I cannot believe this is how you want to live your life. You're lucky that I'm dead, young man, or I would take you over my knee and give you the spanking that you deserve!"

As Tristan placed his hands on Marty's shoulders and shifted her to the side, he idly wondered just how long the woman had been haunting this man. Obviously she felt that he needed looking after and Tristan couldn't agree more.

"What are you doing?" Marty demanded as she shoved his hands aside and tried to move back in line.

He pressed a quick kiss to her stunned lips before he gave her another gentle push aside, risking bodily harm for getting between her and barbecue food. "Either get the hell out of here, Marty, or duck," he said softly as he unsnapped his holster and placed his hand on the butt of his weapon.