Page 83 of The Awful Truth

Then a horrible thought popped into her head. She was free.

There would be no custody battle. No danger of him spilling her secret to the world to exact his revenge. No fighting to get Grace the help she needed. No one to undermine her with their son. There would also be no more tender moments. No husband who would smile at her and give her extravagant gifts and tell her how lucky he was to get to be with her. Travis was gone, along with the last wisps of hope that he could become a better man. It was all too much. Too complicated for her to comprehend. She would have to sift through her feelings and thoughts about him in the months to come.

But for now, she needed to get home so she could hold her babies and smell the tops of their heads and feel their warm bodies pressed against her. They would probably all sleep in her bed with her for weeks to come. They’d argue about who gets to snuggle right next to her, and they’d keep her up half the night, moving and stealing the covers and breathing too loud. But she’d take comfort in them being there, all the same.

Eventually, they’d return to their own rooms, one by one. And she’d have to get used to having their massive bed to herself. She closed her suitcase, then took a moment to stare at his clothes hanging in the closet, waiting for him to return. But he wasn’t going to do that. She would leave them there and ask Indira or Oliver to donate them. Because right now the only thing that mattered was taking care of those who Travis had left behind. Herself included.

8:04 P.M.

TED

Ted sat in a cell at the local police station, wearing a cheap forest-green sweat suit—the kind you’d find in a discount bin at Dollar General. They’d also given him a pair of tighty-whities that he hoped were new. He supposed he should be grateful to not be shivering away in his swim trunks in the air-conditioned building. Instead, he was focused on how tight the tighty-whities were on his balls.

But that thought was only there to distract him from the fact that he had just ruined what had been a very charmed life. He killed Travis Bishop. A media titan. One of the most powerful men in the world. Carelessly, without thinking. He’d taken the life of a father and husband. Not a good one, but still. Mercy and her children would be traumatized. And so would Quinn and Xavier.

Because Antonia wasn’t about to hide the truth for him. She knew what he was about to do. She saw it in his eyes. And he’d seen her terror, seen her begging silently, her hair floating above her, twirling as she shook her head and tried to shout. And he did it anyway. She would see to it that he went down for it, even though it would cause their children irreparable damage. She would make him the monster, when really it was she who had caused him to go insane with desperation. Everything she was planning, everything she said the night before. She was going to erase him from everything he’d accomplished—his career, the books, the show, his family. And he would be left with nothing. He’d have plenty of money when all was said and done, but his reputation would be not just tarnished, it would be a moldy, rotting, smelly corpse.

He hadn’t planned it. He was just out there in the water, pretending to hunt with Travis while his mind scrambled for a way out of his predicament. And then he saw her, swimming there under the water, chasing that sea turtle. She looked so peaceful. So content. When he was in turmoil.

She was already over it. Over him. Moving on as if none of it had even happened, or if it had, it didn’t matter. She had ruined it all. The dream. The success. Him finding a way to be with Charlotte. She had used her manipulation tactics to turn Charlotte on him in one tiny conversation. She was the dangerous one. The evil villain. Not him. She was going to use Charlotte to get what she wanted—vengeance. And leave him with nothing but shame and total humiliation.

And there she was swimming peacefully, without a care in the world. Without a thought to what she was doing to her husband. Something inside of him snapped. A voice that said, It can all be over. In just one quick shot. You’ll have everything you want.

And so, he had listened to that voice without questioning it. He raised the spear gun and tracked her, waiting for her to pause long enough for him to get a clean shot. It had to be perfect. There would be no second chances. It was her own fault, really. Thinking she could take him on like that and make him the fool. She thought she was so goddamn smart. He’d show her who was the smart one. The one with the power.

But then, Travis got in the way.

If only he had jumped one second later. Or two feet to the left. Even two inches and Travis would probably be alive right now. But that’s not what happened. And now his awful bitch of a wife was still alive, and he knew she’d be trying to pin attempted murder on him.

He hadn’t been interviewed yet and he hadn’t been given his one phone call, although maybe that wasn’t a thing here. If he was allowed to call someone, who should it be? Quinn or Xavier, so he could cry and beg them to believe him that it was an accident? Antonia, so he could tell her that the heat and the pressure and the lack of sleep and all the drinking that week had created the perfect storm? I was completely out of my mind, babe. Seriously. I was in a dissociative state. I don’t remember a thing after I got in the water. Only that I was distraught. Overcome with fear and grief because I was about to lose you and the kids and everything we built.

Oh, who was he kidding? She wasn’t going to buy any of that.

Because none of it was true.

8:37 P.M.

MERCY

As soon as Mercy had settled herself into her seat, Diana, the flight attendant, tucked a blanket around Mercy’s shoulders. Diana was roughly Mercy’s age and had always been a source of comfort to Mercy—not only professional and competent, but always quick with a smile, and fully capable of charming Travis into a better mood when needed.

“Can I get you anything before takeoff, Mrs. Bishop?”

“No, I just need to get home,” she answered, her stomach churning. The police had said they’d do what they could to keep everything under wraps, but they also told her they had no control over the coast guard or yacht staff, so there was a chance the story might get leaked.

Diana turned to the only other passenger on the flight, Antonia, who was sitting on one of the leather chairs across from Mercy, staring out the window. “How about you, Dr. Dawson?”

“Maybe a blanket as well when you have a chance. I’m a little cold.”

Mercy suddenly realized that they didn’t have to leave the temperature at the cool sixty-seven degrees that her husband preferred anymore. “Wait, Diana, please turn up the heat. We’ll keep it at seventy-one from now on.”

Diana offered her a hint of a proud smile. “Of course.”

As soon as she left, Mercy reached out and put her hand on Antonia’s knee. “How are you holding up?”

Her face crumpled, then she took a deep breath. “I can’t believe you’re asking me how I am right now.” She lifted her hand to her head and sighed. “I’m actually amazed you’re giving me a ride.” Dropping her voice to a whisper, she added, “After what my husband did.”

“It’s not your fault. You’re as much a victim as anyone. In fact, I think what you’re going through is easily as bad. Besides, we’re two moms trying to rush home to hold our babies before the world finds out.”