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“Just give us ten minutes. Please, Daddy?” Kim asks.
“Fine,” he hisses. “But this is a waste of time. You shouldn’t even be free. Why they let you out is beyond me.”
Tristan flinches, and my heart breaks as he lowers his gaze, jaw tight. It’s like I can see him shoving his pain into a distant vault so it can torture him later. And it will. I know it will. I’ve seen it over and over, and I’m so freaking sick of it!
“Great,” I say, stalking toward the kitchen.
I don’t like the hostile scowl the older man blasts at Tristan, but at least he mumbles to himself instead of kicking us out.
The others have no choice but to follow as I march through their house. I know the layout well, having spent half my childhood and basically all of my teenage years here. My homelife was a disaster growing up, so Kim’s “white picket fence” became my safe haven. It’s why it hurt so much when this family shattered. It’s also why it’s not an option to let a lie tear them apart any longer.
Once in the kitchen, I drop to a seat at the table and pull Tristan down to the chair beside me. He stares at the decorative placemat, complete with a napkin ring and pristine cloth napkin, meticulously displayed at each place-setting as if a formal dinner party could break out at any second. Everything in view is tidy and coordinated. I’ve always thought their residence could be a movie set or in one of those home magazines.
The perfect house for the perfect family.
Kim sits on my other side, while their parents take the chairs across from us. Ben’s expression is murderous as he glowers at the table.
“What is it you need to tell us?” Yolis asks her daughter.
It’s then that I remember how hard this must be for Kim as well. Tristan’s already faced the worst of the punishment from the tragedy. Kim’s sentence hasn’t even begun, except for her self-imposed guilt. Her gaze drifts to me, and I offer the most encouraging look I can manage.
“It’s about the accident,” she begins quietly.
“No fucking way. No,” Ben hisses, pushing up from his chair.
“We have to talk about it,” Kim fires back.
“I said no! What’s done is done. End of story!”
He turns to leave, and Yolis grabs his arm. “Please, Ben. Just let them talk. It’s been so long since we all—”
“You bet it’s been long!” he roars. “It’s been over four fucking years, because that idiot couldn’t make a good choice if his life depended it! God knows how you even survived prison!”
“Ben!” Yolis cries.
“What?” he spits out, centering his rage on Tristan. “You had your entire future lined up on a silver platter, but that wasn’t good enough for you, was it? No, you had to throw it all away. First for some ridiculous music career, and then, what? Tell me! What was so damn important that you had to destroy so many lives that night? A party? Another chance to drink your life away?”
Tristan only stares at the table.
“Tell me!”
Tristan winces but doesn’t look up.
“What? No answer? You’ve had five fucking years to come up with something!”
“Ben, please,” Yolis says faintly.
“No, Yolanda! This has gone far enough. You all want to talk? Let’s talk. Explain to me how I’m supposed to forgive and forget. I did everything I could to give you the life I never had. Every damn thing! Do you know how much we sacrificed to give you all of this?” He throws his hand around the room in a forceful wave.
“All you had to do was take it! All you had to do was not be immature and selfish. If you’d just gone to college like you were supposed to, if you’d just…” His voice cracks as tears fill his eyes. “Fuck, son! Why couldn’t you just do what you were told for one damn second of your life?!”
His words crumble as he does.
Oh god. Kim was right. He’s not bitter; he’s broken.
“Dad,” Tristan whispers, and Ben turns on him with a venomous look.
“Don’t,” he warns. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want worthless excuses or whining about your time in prison. It was hard? I hope it was brutal if it gave you a wakeup call! You wanted to do things your own way? Well, welcome to the real—”
