Page 155 of Through the Water

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Killian

“What would he say to her, if he was going to speak truly? He didn’t know. Talking was like throwing a baseball. You couldn’t plan it out beforehand. You just had to let go and see what happened. You had to throw out words you knew no one would catch. You had to send your words out where they weren’t yours anymore. It felt better to talk with a ball in your hand, it felt better to let the ball do the talking. But the world, the non baseball world, the world of love and sex and jobs and friends, was made of words.”

-Chad Harbach, The Art of Fielding

“Drink this.” My father handed me a bottle of water before sitting down beside me on the stiff leather sofa. I’d spent the better part of the afternoon wondering why the FBI hadn’t sprung for more comfortable furniture. Given what they must have dropped on the lavish hotel suite, surely, they could have afforded it.

“Thanks,” I muttered as I unscrewed the lid and took a sip. One of the elevators chimed. I glanced over, only to see more men in dark suits. They were starting to look identical.

An evergreen garland with red bows was draped across the archway of the federal building, while brightly lit trees surrounded us in the lobby, giving off a soft golden glow. Everywhere I turned, there were reminders of the upcoming holidays, but I wasn’t feeling the Christmas spirit.

Maybe it was because we’d been here every day for the past week. Since the arrests, they’d been interviewing Ari extensively, compiling evidence to build their case against her father.

Or perhaps my lack of seasonal cheer had more to do with the fact that our faces were being broadcast on every goddamned television in the building.

Even the sports networks had gotten in on the action, covering the dropped charges against me and interviewing legal experts on whether or not I had a case to sue for defamation.

I didn’t really see the point as I wasn’t hurting for cash, and the Hurricane’s front office had released an official statement after my exoneration, claiming they stood behind me. Besides, a lawsuit was a drop in the bucket compared to the laundry list of charges Tristan was facing. He was going to be spending the rest of his life locked up. Maybe if God answered his prayers, Brad could be his cellmate.

That wasn’t to say I hadn’t considered going after the cult leaders, but my way didn’t involve lawyers. All I needed was a baseball bat and a soundproof room.

Not for me, but her.

They’d abused Ari for years. I had no qualms breaking their bodies apart for it.

I moved to the edge of the leather sofa and cracked my knuckles, unable to sit through more non-stop coverage of the famous pastor’s fall from grace. Because they weren’t flooding the screens with that bastard’s face.

It was my girlfriend’s body—photographed from a million different angles at the press conference. Late-night talk show hosts had wasted no time in using the images as comedic material. One had spent over five minutes discussing Ari’s lingerie choices and a possible future career in modeling, while another had photoshopped a badge on her bra strap and captioned it: Eagle Lake Church: SVU.

The tabloids had run an image of Tristan approaching her from behind with the headline, Preacher’s Kids Gone Wild.

As if she was a joke.

A punchline.

The rage brewing inside me was close to bubbling over. I’d thought that discovering Ari’s bruises and knowing I hadn’t been there to stop it was the most helpless feeling in the world. But it was this. Watching them eviscerate her, instead of focusing on the man responsible for destroying countless lives.

“How are you holding up?”

I tilted my head toward my father. It was a relief to not have to fake a smile or put on an act. “I’m miserable. I just want it to be over so we can move on with our lives.”

He gestured toward the televisions with a heavy sigh. “They’ve made Ari their scapegoat, and with your name attached to hers, it’s only going to get worse.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck if they run a hundred stories about me.” I clenched my jaw, trying to muster the will power to keep it together. “I’m not leaving her to do this on her own.”

“Despite what Theo thinks, you’re right where you need to be.” My father picked at the cuff of his shirt before meeting my eyes. “It’s just—Christ—have you been online lately, Killian? These so-called followers are some real wack jobs.”

I pressed my fingertips to my heated eyelids with a muttered curse. “I’ve seen it, but they’re not going to get anywhere near her. We’ve got Noah now.” I nodded toward the intimidating bodyguard seated across the lobby. “They’ve beefed up our security. Now, we just wait for another scandal to break so we can go back to normal.”

A small part of me considered the possibility that things might never be normal again, but I wouldn’t give voice to the fear.

He sighed and shook his head, watching the screens with barely concealed disgust. “I don’t think it’s that simple. Tristan was involved with the same people who control the media. Have you noticed how they’re not reporting on the senators who bought underaged girls or the women still unaccounted for? These are fanatics who just lost their savior and want someone to blame.”

My jaw tightened, and I squeezed the water bottle, wanting to launch it at the wall. And yet, I knew it wouldn’t change a damn thing.

When I remained silent, he continued, “You think it’s bad now, just wait until the trial in a year—”

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