I was heading out the door to meet a few of them for a drink, when my phone rang. My mother. I almost didn't answer. When I heard her first words, I was damn grateful I had.
ChapterThree
NASH
"Nash, I'm worried about Parker."
"What's wrong with Parker?" Alarm spiked through my chest.
Sounding flustered, my mother went on. "Nothing. Yet. I think. It's just–" Her words spilled out in a rush. "I need you to go to New York. To the Hamptons."
"Why? What's going on?"
"It's... Well..." She drew in a breath. "I want to tell myself I'm making something out of nothing, but you know how your brother can get."
"What did Tyler do?" I asked, already mentally rearranging my schedule to make time for a trip to the Hamptons.
"I don't– Nothing yet, but– He's my son–he's Parker's husband–I'm sure he'd never–."
"Mom? What happened?" I was holding on to my temper by a thin thread.
"Nothing yet," she said for the second time. "And I want to think nothing will, but he's been different since he came back from North Carolina without Parker. Angry, and drinking too much. Entertaining women in the house. In my house! While his wife is away! I told him I wouldn't stand for it, and he laughed at me. I'm ashamed to admit it's why I came to Paris."
"Mom, you should have told me," I admonished gently. I'd been waiting for her to give me a reason to kick him out. It was her house, true, but I didn't like the way he took advantage of her.
"I thought I could handle him, but I don't know how to talk to him when he gets angry. He raises his voice, and I just didn't want to be there. I didn't have to worry about leaving Parker with him, so I went. But now–"
I hated the idea of my mother being afraid in her own home. She wouldn't use those words, but I heard it in her voice.
She was afraid of Tyler. Afraid of her own son.
I'd spent so many years brushing him aside, blowing off my unease over his behavior, but now I couldn't deny it. Hearing the fear in my mother's voice, I couldn't brush it aside anymore.
"Why are you worried about Parker? I thought you said she stayed in North Carolina?"
"I just got off the phone with her and she said she was on her way to the house in the Hamptons to talk to Tyler. I know you're in California, but–"
"I'm in Boston," I interrupted. "I came east for a meeting. I didn't bother to tell you because I knew you were in Paris."
"Then you're close." My mother exhaled a long breath of relief. "Can you get there? He hasn't been alone at the house, and I don't want her to walk into something– I don't want her hurt, and I don't–" My mother's voice was uncertain and rough with pain. Quietly, she admitted, "I don't want her to fight with him without someone there to keep him... To make sure he doesn't... "
A chill raced down my spine. Tyler was spoiled and demanding, selfish and thoughtless, but he wouldn't hurt anyone. He'd never hurt Parker. Would he?
I was already on my way out the door. "Mom, I'll call you back later. I'm on my way."
I hung up and called the investors I was supposed to meet, then made another call and got lucky. The helicopter pilot who'd dropped me off earlier was at the airport and didn't mind taking on a last-minute charter. We were in the air half an hour later and landed on Long Island not two hours after my mother's call. I could only hope I'd get there in time.
The car I'd ordered was waiting for me at the helipad. I'd tried calling the house, but if Tyler was there, he wasn't answering. As the phone rang over and over, I reassured myself. This was probably all for nothing. My mother was overreacting. Tyler was a self-centered asshole narcissist with the temper of a cranky three-year-old, but he wouldn't hurt anyone.
I couldn't shake the sound of my mother's worry. She wasn't a woman who got worked up over little things. She was the last person to think badly of Tyler and she adored Parker. How could things have changed so much that she was afraid for them to be in the same room together?
Mental discipline is not something I struggle with–not usually–but I couldn't shut off the stream of doubts running through my head.
By the time I reached the house and saw the modest rental car by the front door, my heart was in my throat, my gut tight with nerves.
The front door was unlocked. I let myself in, relief washing through me at the silence in the house. One light was on in the entryway, casting a golden glow over the papered walls and dark wood floors. See, everything is fine. Nothing to worry about.
The house was at peace in the quiet evening, just as it should be. The scent of cut flowers and salt drifted in the air, the familiar scent of home–
