Jordan moved out because she thinks I’m with Varo now and she liked him. I hope this whole plan of yours is worth it. Now it’s just me, Varo, West, and Jensen. Maybe it would be better if you got rid of West and Jensen so the world really could see Varo and me as the loving couple we are. Just a thought.
Chapter Five
Tristan
As I lay in bed awake just staring at the ceiling, I heard the phone vibrate on the night table next to me. It was the one Nina messaged me on. Picking it up, I read her text so full of anger—at me, at the entire situation we found ourselves in—and I couldn’t blame her. That didn’t mean her mention of her and Varo as a loving couple didn’t make my insides churn from jealousy. Just the thought of it made me want to race back to the house and remind her how much I loved her.
Except I couldn’t. Doing that would put her in as much danger as I was in, and the last thing I wanted to do was get her hurt in all this.
Fuck. I hated this. I’d intentionally avoided the whole business thing with my brother and father for this very reason. All this cloak and dagger shit was what they’d always reveled in. I didn’t care. If it weren’t for Nina, I would have handed Karl the damn notebook at the beginning of all this and walked away to live on a secluded island somewhere. The problem was that whatever he was looking for didn’t seem to be in that notebook.
I’d combed through those pages until I knew their contents by heart. How my brother and father were the monsters I’d never imagined they could be. How the Cashen family had paid more than any should for my family’s greed and callousness. Some days, I sat with the tablet in my hands, unable to open the cover because I didn’t want to face the ugliness inside. On those days, I hated the name Stone more than I ever thought possible. I wasn’t like them, no matter what lies I’d told in my life, but the real fear that what they were wasn’t something I could choose but something innate in me terrified me to the bone.
Other days, I did nothing but read those lines over and over, needing for some masochistic reason to be reminded of my family’s crimes and the terrible consequences that had resulted. Not that I would ever forget what they’d done. The memory of Taylor’s treatment of that young girl and her tragic death, along with Judge Cashen’s murder and the killing of all those innocent men, women, and children all for the sake of saving my father from losing some sexual harassment lawsuit would forever be imprinted on my mind and my soul.
I’d be stained by their guilt for the rest of my life.
But what about my mother? Had she known what my father and brother had done? There was no mention of her in any of Joseph Edwards’ notes about Amanda Cashen’s suicide and her father’s murder, but the thought of what she may have known loomed as an unanswered question in my mind every time I thought about what Nina’s father had uncovered.
Sleep wouldn’t come if my mind continued to race with all these thoughts, but I couldn’t stop them. They spun in my brain like some tormented top, slamming into good memories and corrupting even them. Of all my family, my mother had always been an island of kindness in a sea of ruthless behavior, a quiet presence I now understood I never appreciated enough. While my father and brother had worked to rearrange the world to suit their twisted desires, my mother had been the often silent, gentle force behind our family.
Nearly invisible to even me, she’d been an angel among devils who looked on her with distaste and an indulgent son who ignored her in favor of satisfying his hedonistic soul. But as she watched the three men in her life do as they liked with little regard for those they hurt, had she known or even had the tiniest hint of what they truly were?
I slid out of bed and made my way to the living room, lured by Joseph Edwards’ notebook like sailors to the sirens’ calling. Tonight was one of those nights I couldn’t fight the need to read those words once again, filling myself with a loathing for my family and by extension, myself.
My eyes glided over the pages, taking in the words I knew as well as my name. The details never changed, as much as I wished they would. Was it madness to hope that just once that tablet wouldn’t contain the horrible truth of who I came from?
I told myself that I continued to read through every page to find that one detail I’d missed so I’d finally know what Karl was looking for, but that wasn’t the entire truth. I read these notes written by a man my father had murdered because I couldn’t help myself. It was like some kind of penance I felt I needed to pay. Somehow, if I read them just one more time, I’d be able to reconcile who I was with who my father and brother were.