Page 76 of Twisted Truths
I let him go, leaning back against the bench, my mind a whirling, chaotic mess, and my stomach in knots.
Since learning about Franklin, basketball hasn’t even crossed my mind, but Gabriel’s right. I have ten days before the Shamrocks are expecting me at training. Ten days to bring down my family’s true murderers and get my nephew back. What the fuck am I going to do if I fail at either of those things?
Hadley doesn’t need my level of fucked up in her life. She’s already lost so much, and I’ve already proven I can’t give her what she needs. I’ve been so hot and cold towards her, even thinking about it gives me whiplash.
I’ll keep her safe until Gabriel returns from Sydney, hopefully with the answers we need to take down his family forever. Then I’ll let him help her start her new life while I take Franklin back to the States with me and figure out how to be a single dad while playing in the NBA.
I can do that.
Ihaveto do that.
It’s the best thing for all of us.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
HADLEY
The back door closes, and a car starts outside, but Nash doesn’t return to the living room, and I’m left once again feeling like an intruder in his family home. The small connection we shared only moments ago has been shattered, but I swallow down my disappointment. He said he needs space, and I have to respect that.
My eyes drift to the rolls of carpet lining the far wall, and a shudder ripples through me as I realise what happened in here. I hurry from the room, feeling sick.
I reach the bathroom and fall to my knees, retching, but nothing comes up. My face is flushed and clammy. I rise, legs shaky, and stagger to the sink, splashing water over my flushed skin. The water calms me a little, and my eyes fall on the shower behind me. I don’t have a change of clothes, but I can at least attempt to feel clean.
After a quick shower, I head back to the sitting room. There’s a bookshelf lining the wall, and while I’ve never been much of a reader, I need a distraction from the man I can hear rustling around at the other end of the house. Scanning thetitles, I avoid the thrillers and true crime novels—I have enough of that in my real life—bypass the romance books, for obvious reasons, and pullAnne of Green Gablesfrom the shelf.
Carrying the book to the sofa, I tuck myself up in the blanket Gabriel used last night and open the well-worn cover. A soft, sad smile curls my lips when I see the words “Zara Stone, 8B”scrawled in the top corner of the title page. I imagine a younger, innocent Zara sitting where I am now, reading her set English text.
With one last brush of my fingers over her name, I turn the page and begin to read. It takes me a while to get into it, but soon the words start to pull me in.
Anne’s wild imagination, and her fierce need to belong wrap around me like a warm hug. I feel that same need, deep within my soul, and I’m captivated by her story, desperate to find out how things work out for her. I smile more than once at her dramatics, which remind me a little of my sister.
Gabriel’s nickname for her was apt—she was a firecracker, and I’m seeing glimpses of the girl I looked up to in this fictional character.
As I read on, the house around me fades, and the ache in my chest quiets a little. For a while, I forget.
Forget the chaos outside these walls.
Forget I’m in a house where unspeakable things happened.
Forget Nash is nearby, still deciding if he can even look at me without seeing betrayal.
It’s simply me, Anne, and a red dirt lane to Green Gables.
I’m almost halfway through the book when my stomach growls loud enough to startle me. I glance at the clock on the wall and realise hours have passed. Late afternoon light filters through the blinds, and the scent of something cooking fills the air. I haven’t eaten since Gabriel found some pasta in the cupboard when we arrived here last night, and while my bodydoesn’t always notice when I’ve skipped meals thanks to my eating disorder when I was younger, I’m suddenly ravenous.
I dog-ear the page to save my spot, and place the book on the coffee table, groaning softly at the stiffness in my body from sitting curled up in the same position for so long. My heart gives a little tug. This is the first time in days I’ve felt remotely at peace. Scratch that, it’s the first time in years. Now I know why Gianna always buried her nose in a book, even though it was forbidden. It was her own form of escape. My chest tightens at the thought of my old roommate. I wonder what she thinks about my exile—and Gabriel’s. In fact, I wonder if she even knows?
It’s not uncommon for Gabriel or his brothers and cousins to take extended periods of leave. We were told they were out spreading word of our cause. Is this what Seraphina and Guardian Solomon have told the congregation in order to save face? So no one will know their own son has turned against them?
These thoughts are still rattling around in my head as I make my way to the kitchen.
Nash has his back to me as he stands over the stove, the sound of sizzling beef masking my footsteps. I watch him for a moment, marvelling at the way he commands the kitchen. He flips the meat, then checks the oven. My mouth waters at the aromas filling the kitchen.
I never learnt how to cook. My mother cooked for me when I was younger, then Dianne, and our meals at the commune were provided for us. I lasted through one dinner shift before they banned me from the kitchen for burning the food. They put me on double soap making duties instead. Now that I have to fend for myself, I’ll have to at least learn the basics.
Nash spots me as he turns to retrieve something from therefrigerator, and his steps falter. “Hey,” he says gruffly. “I was going to call you soon. Dinner’s almost ready.”
A spark of hope flickers inside me. He cooked for me—well, for us—but it feels like a small step towards a peaceful offering.
