Page 47 of Twisted Truths
Not here.
Not in front of everyone.
Swallowing it all down, I tell myself to keep it together.
Just a little longer.
Mourners approach, offering their condolences, each one wearing the same carefully constructed mask of sympathy.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” they murmur.
“Such a tragedy.”
“Your mother was a lovely woman.”
They say all the right things, their hands brushing mine, but it’s clear in their eyes. The flicker of hesitation.
It’s not for Paul, or Mum, or Rylan.
No. It’s for Zara.
If they mention her, it’s in a vague, hurried breath. A tight smile. A hand on my shoulder followed by an immediate glance away.
I’m only just holding my shit together.
And like he knows, Rowan steps into my vision. Sadie Cooper is by his side, and my eyes widen slightly. I hadn’t realised she was back in town. Last I’d heard, she’d left after finding her best friend, Logan—Rowan’s brother—dead on graduation night. No one talks about that anymore, either.
“I’m so sorry, Nash,” she says, enveloping me in a warm embrace. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
“Thanks,” I mutter as we pull apart. Looking up at the imposing biker standing next to her, I try to convey how much his actions today meant to me. “Thanks for stepping up in there, mate.”
Rowan shakes his head. “Don’t mention it.”
Sadie bites her bottom lip, hesitating before speaking. “I don’t believe it,” she says, glancing briefly at the Ridge Riders’VP before locking eyes with me again. “I don’t believe Zara did it. I hope you find the answers you’re looking for.”
My stomach twists. If the chief of police’s daughter doesn’t buy the story they’re all pushing, then how the hell can her father close the case?
Rowan gently touches her elbow and guides her away, giving me space. But the knot in my chest only tightens.
Before I can dwell any further, there’s a flash of purple in my periphery, and before I can even react, arms are wrapping around my waist.
“Hey, Nash,” comes the soft voice muffled against my chest.
“Hey, Dottie,” I say, awkwardly patting her back.
She’s changed a lot from the shy, goth girl I was dared to kiss during a game of spin the bottle back in year eleven. I glance past her, meeting the eye of an older, tattooed man hovering a few feet away, watching us with quiet protectiveness—her uncle, Damon, who owns the mechanics in town.
“Long time no see.”
She pulls back and looks up at me, her violet eyes rimmed with tears. “I wish it were under different circumstances.”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Me too. Thanks for coming.”
“Of course.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “If you need anything—anything at all—please don’t hesitate to reach out. I remember Zara from high school, and what they’re saying is completely outlandish. It’s utter bullshit, and whatever you need, I’m here for you.”
Her voice cracks on the last word.
I nod, unable to say anything around the lump in my throat.
