“Yeah, now.” He swallows hard, the intensity of his emotions flickering right below the surface. “It’s important.”
The world narrows, the sound of the ocean fading into the background as I weigh my options. I could brush it off—tell him I’m busy, that I’ve got things to secure. It would be easy to make him work for it. Raina isn’t the only one he hurt when he left without a word. But the truth is, I can feel the gravity of his request.
With a sharp nod of agreement, I hold my hand out for him to lead the way. I don’t want to do it out here where another paparazzo might listen in. Whatever Tristan has to say needs to stay between us.
As we move through the house, it becomes clear he’s taking me to the recording studio. We reach the doorway, and I find Nash and Blake are already waiting. The moment we’re shut inside, the silence of the studio envelops us like a thick fog.
“You didn’t invite Darius?” Tristan asks the others, a slight sneer tugging at his lips. I know the guy is beyond grateful that the man saved Raina’s life, but I can’t help but suspect a deep jealousy hides inside him. A feeling that the other man could replace him in Raina’s life after everything he’s done.
“He decided to check on Raina,” Blake answers, drawing his phone out of his pocket. “I can text him if you’d like him to be here too.” Blake isn’t fooled by Tristan either.
Our distant best friend runs a hand through his hair and blows out a deep breath. “No. This is probably better. I’m not sure I want to share this with him. I don’t even want to tell you guys because it doesn’t feel like it’s mine to divulge, but I think you need to know.”
Tristan glances sideways, his expression unreadable. There’s a storm brewing behind those blue eyes, a hint of vulnerability and pain that makes my heart race.
“Are you okay?” Nash asks. Concern draws his eyebrows down, a wrinkle forming on his forehead, mirroring the worry turning within my gut.
This is huge. I know it. Something that will rock our world… decimate it completely if the scrunched expression on Tristan’s face is anything to go by.
The sudden complete silence we find ourselves in feels oppressive, like a weight pressing on my chest, demanding attention.
“Tristan,” I say, breaking the quiet. He hesitates, his hands fidgeting at his sides, the tension radiating from him palpable.
“Give me a second,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. He stares at the floor, lost in thought, each passingmoment stretching between us like an eternity. I can see the gears turning behind those vivid blue eyes, wrestling with something that threatens to spill over.
“Whatever it is, just—“ Nash says, anxiety flashing in his eyes as his tongue darts out to lick at his lip ring. “Just let it out.”
Tristan’s gaze darts around the room, landing on each of us. When it finds me, I see a flicker of resolve. He nods slightly, then exhales slowly as if releasing a breath he’s been holding for far too long. The tension in his shoulders eases ever so slightly, but the storm beneath is still brewing.
“Before I disappeared,” he finally begins, his voice steadying, “Napalm Delights was talking to me as if I was one of them. I can’t fucking believe they thought they could trust me with the things they were saying. A bunch of downright idiots for confessing what they did… What they did to Raina.”
He seems to freeze, his eyes gazing into the distance like he’s stuck in whatever moment he’s remembering. My heart races, pounding against the confines of my chest. The mention of her name ignites a fierce protectiveness within me. I brace for what’s coming.
“Tell us,” Blake snaps, his nerves as rattled as my own. It sounds like he would drag the words out of Tristan if he could. Waiting for him to get them out is a special kind of torture I don’t think we deserve.
He takes a deep breath, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. My instincts scream at me to prepare for impact. Whatever he learned could shatter the fragile peace we’ve fought to maintain.
“Like I said, this isn’t mine to share. But I think it’s important you know so we can help her through this depression that’s dragging her under,” Tristan says. He runs a hand through his hair before tugging on the short strands in despair.
Finding his resolve, he continues, “Under the orders of her fuckwad of an uncle, the band manipulated her. Cut her off from everyone who cared about her. Changed my number in her phone to one of theirs to isolate her further, manipulate what information she received. Pretended like I didn’t care about her all the while she was needing me…”
Tristan fists his hands at his sides and takes a deep breath before wincing and grabbing his side. “They wanted her dependent on them, disoriented. They were playing a sick game, controlling her life. But that was only the start.” Each word he delivers is a bullet piercing the silence. “I should’ve protected her, but instead, I fell for it like a fool.”
Nash steps forward, and one glance at him shows how distant his eyes have become. Lost and filled with pain, like he already knows what might be said next. “What else?” he rasps out.
Blake reaches out a hand and squeezes Nash’s shoulder in comfort, but there’s nothing that can ease what we’re about to hear.
“After her uncle was done with her—“ Tristan chokes out, the words seeming to claw their way out of his throat, not wanting to exist in this world. ”—after he got her pregnant, and they fed her an abortion pill like it was simply a tab of Molly… He told them they could have her. All of those tabloids talking about them passing her around. They… They…”
He covers his face with a hand, and a sob rips free of his chest. I feel the ground shift beneath my feet, the revelation hitting me like a gut punch. My mind races to process the implications, the betrayal twisting like a knife inside me, and I wasn’t even the victim of their crimes.
Nash suddenly runs for a trashcan next to the control console, barely making it in time before he loses everything in his stomach.
I might not be far behind him.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice steady, fighting to contain the surge of anger and protectiveness building within. “You left us in the dark.”
“It’s not like I fucking wanted to!” he defends, his hand pressing to his ribs like he’s holding them together. “They beat the shit out of me, left me for fucking dead in the middle of a damn field and then made it impossible for me to get in contact with you.”
