Twisted Palace

by Erin Watt

  “It was an accident,” Steve croaks.

  “What was an accident?” Dad asks, his voice hollowed by pain. “You trying to kill your own daughter? Or trying to pin a murder charge on my son? How long have you been back? Were you screwing Brooke, too?”

  Steve shakes his head. “It’s not like that, man. She was a disease, though, turning you and Reed against each other.”

  Dad’s arm lashes out, and a lamp crashes into the stone not far from Steve’s head. We all flinch. “We were never against each other. A woman would’ve never come between us.”

  “Brooke would’ve. Dinah, too.” He sneers at the blonde sitting ten feet away. “All these women we’ve been with, Callum—they’re out to destroy us. Hell, including your wife.”

  Ella makes a small, distressed sound. Dad and I both look at her, but she quickly averts her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask roughly.

  She sucks in a breath.

  “Ella,” Steve pleads from the fireplace. “They don’t need to know.”

  She takes another breath.

  “Damn it,” Steve curses, then glances wildly at Detective Cousins. “Get me out of here, will you? It was a flesh wound—I don’t need any medical attention. Just haul me off to jail. You’ve already read me my rights, goddammit.”

  And I know then what Steve is afraid to admit. What Ella must’ve discovered.

  “This is about Mom, isn’t it?” I say in a hoarse voice. I don’t know if I’m asking Ella or Steve or Dad or the cosmic universe. All I know is that the second I mention my mother, Steve’s entire face goes ashen.

  Ella clutches my hand, but she’s still not looking me in the eye. “Steve and your mom had an affair,” she whispers.

  Silence crashes over the room. Even Detective Cousins looks startled, and he didn’t even fucking know my mother.

  “Ella,” Steve begs. “Please…”

  She ignores him, turning her distraught gaze to my father. “Maria wrote him a letter saying that she couldn’t live with the guilt anymore. I found it in the room where Brooke was staying. She tried to hide it.” Her sad eyes shift back to me, then toward my brothers. “It wasn’t your fault.” Her voice catches on the last word.

  Dad stumbles backward, catching himself against the edge of a table.

  The words Ella just said aren’t registering in my brain. They’re just hard consonants, soft vowels. They aren’t understandable. Sawyer and Seb are rooted to the tiled floor. I’m frozen, too, caught up in the horror of what I’m learning.

  Only Easton can move. “You asshole! You asshole!” he screams and rushes at Steve.

  Detective Cousins throws himself between the two of them. The twins rush over and drag East backward. Dad rights himself and stalks forward.

  Every part of me wants to hurl myself at Steve again. Beat the shit out of him for what he did to me, to my mom, to my family. But Ella’s slim hand rests lightly my shoulder, keeping me in check.

  I once joked that she held my leash—and it’s true. I’m a better person when she’s around. More controlled. More worthy. And after all she’s gone through tonight, I don’t want to add to her pain by pummeling her father.

  “How long did this go on?” Dad demands, his angry gaze fixed on his best friend.

  Steve swipes a shaky hand across his mouth. “She came on to me.”

  “How long?” Dad roars.

  Cousins radios for help. “I need some backup in here, stat. I’ve got five Royals and they’re out for blood.”

  Steve’s eyes never leave my father. “It was only once. She took advantage of me.”

  With a choked noise, Dad turns to Ella. “How long?”

  “I don’t know. There was just this letter.” She holds out a crumpled piece of stationary with the lower left corner torn off.

  I immediately recognize it. Mom had a set of personalized paper and envelopes. She said every true lady sent a handwritten thank-you note rather than make a telephone call. And never a text or an email.

  Dad snatches the paper from Ella’s hand and scans the contents. Then, with what looks like enormous effort, he carefully folds it in half and gives it back to Ella. I nudge her arm and she drops the letter in my hand.

  “You deserve to rot in hell,” Dad hisses at Steve, his whole body vibrating with suppressed rage. “I stood by you for so long. Stuck up for you whenever anyone questioned your honor, your loyalty.” He takes a deep, heaving breath. “I can’t stand to look at you.”

  I only allow myself a quick glance at the letter, and just the sight of my mom’s handwriting makes my heart ache. All this time, I thought I’d driven Mom to her death. Easton blamed himself, too. The twins were torn up for months. We fell apart as a family. We hated Dad, hated ourselves. When Ella arrived unannounced, we hated her, too. We treated her like dirt.

  East and I left her on the side of the road one night and forced her to walk home. We followed her at a distance, because we’re not total assholes, but we’d made her believe she was alone.

  I don’t know, or understand, how she forgave me, how she came to love me.

  As I’m lost in my head, Dad shoves past East, sidesteps Cousins, and punches Steve in the jaw so hard that the sound of the impact echoes from one side of the large living room to the other. This time when Steve wipes a hand across his mouth, blood smears across his face.

  “Enough. He’s in police custody,” Detective Cousins snaps.

  Dad doesn’t look away from Steve. “You bastard. You sleep with my wife, kill a woman, and try to pin it on my son?”

  “Dad,” I say hoarsely. “He’s not worth it.”

  And he’s not. Steve doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is I’m alive. Everyone I care about is alive and unhurt. I’m not going to prison. Ella’s coming home with us, where she belongs. We’re going to survive this, just like we survived our mother’s suicide, our broken family, and our own demons.

  I tuck Ella’s hand securely in mine and say, “Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?” she asks.

  “Home.”

  She’s silent for a moment. “That’s good.”

  “Yeah,” Easton says, coming up on Ella’s other side. “Your room’s a mess.”

  “Because you keep watching football in there,” she mutters as we lead her away. “I expect you to clean it the moment we get back.”

  Easton stops at the penthouse door and looks at her incredulously. “I’m Easton Royal. I don’t clean shit.”

  Dad sighs. The twins snicker. Even the cops look like they’re trying not to laugh.

  I clasp Ella’s hand more firmly in mine and walk out with each of my brothers falling in line. Behind us is the tormented and terrible past. In front of us is our unblemished future.

  I’m not looking back again.

  36

  Reed

  It takes all of forty-eight hours for Halston Grier to get another hearing for me. This time, I’m not even annoyed that Judge Delacorte is assigned to the case. There’s something awesomely ironic about the fact that he’s going to have to rule on the motion to dismiss all the charges against me after he tried to bribe my father.

  “Given your past with this judge, my advice is to look suitably penitent throughout the proceeding,” Grier advises as we wait for Delacorte to appear from his chambers. The hearing was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago, but the judge is sulking in the back, trying to delay the inevitable.

  Grier’s warning is unnecessary. I haven’t smiled much since I got the call from Ella on Saturday night.

  “All rise, the Honorable Judge Delacorte is presiding.”

  “Honorable, my ass,” East mutters loudly behind me.

  Grier is facing forward, but his co-counsel, Sonya Clark, turns to glare at my brother.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Easton making a zipping motion across his lips. Ella is beside him, and she’s sitting strangely close to Dinah. I guess the two of them formed a weird bond the night that Ste
ve confessed to killing Brooke because he’d mistakenly thought she was Dinah.

  I still think Dinah is a snake, but holy shit am I grateful to her. Yes, she blackmailed my brother, but she also saved Ella’s life. If she hadn’t grabbed that gun out of the safe and come to Ella’s aid, things could have ended a lot differently. Thanks to Dinah, Ella is safe and Steve O’Halloran will be behind bars, charged with the crime that everyone thought I committed.

  Every time I think about it, I want to punch something. That bastard was actually going to let me rot in jail for something I didn’t do. I know he’s Ella’s father, but I’ll never be able to forgive him for what he did. I don’t think Ella can, either.

  Grier tugs on my jacket as a reminder to get to my feet. I stand, as ordered, and then wait for the bailiff to give us the okay to sit down.

  With his black robe and gray hair, Judge Delacorte looks the part of an honorable man, but we all know he’s nothing but scum of the earth, burying the crimes of his punk-ass, rapist son.

  Delacorte takes a seat and begins to leaf through the motion papers from the attorneys. All the while, the entire courtroom is on their feet. What a jackass.

  After ten long minutes tick off the clock, the bailiff finally clears his throat. His red face displays his embarrassment. Not his fault his boss is a total dickweed. We all feel bad for him.

  The cough gets Judge Delacorte’s attention. He raises his head, looks us over, then nods. “You may be seated. Does the State have a motion to make?”

  There’s a lot of shuffling as people take their seats. The DA remains standing. It’s got to be tough to do this—admit that they were wrong about all the evidence and nearly steamrolled an innocent kid into prison. “Yes, we do.”

  “And what is it?” Delacorte’s impatience isn’t even thinly disguised. He’s irritated he has to be here, even though this is his job.

  Stoically, the DA announces, “The DA would move to dismiss the charges.”

  “Under what grounds?”

  It’s all laid out in the paperwork in front of Delacorte, but because he hates his life, he’s going to try to make everyone else equally unhappy.

  “The grounds that new evidence suggests that the wrong individual has been charged. We now have another suspect in custody.”

  “And this new evidence is the testimony of the girlfriend of the formerly accused and the estranged wife of the newly accused?”

  “Yes.”

  Delacorte huffs on the bench. “And the DA’s office deems this credible?” He clearly doesn’t want to let me off the hook.

  I shoot a semi-worried glance toward Grier, who gives a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. Okay then. If Grier is unflustered, then I’m not getting my boxers in a bunch.

  “We do. We have a recording of Mr. O’Halloran confessing to the crime. The statements of the victims are corroborated by the initial physical evidence at the scene, as well as post-incident statements heard by Detective Cousins, Detective Schmidt, and Officer Tomas wherein Mr. O’Halloran admitted that he’d mistaken the identity of the deceased for his wife.”

  “Are you absolutely certain you have the right person this time? The last time I was here, you swore that Mr. Royal was the perpetrator of this violent crime. In fact, we had a sentencing hearing scheduled due to the fact that he was going to plead guilty. Were you wrong then or now?” Delacorte says sarcastically.

  The lawyer’s cheeks grow red. “We were wrong then,” he says, and despite his embarrassment, his voice is firm.

  It’s so obvious that Judge Delacorte doesn’t want to rule in my favor. He wants me to rot. Unfortunately for him, he’s going to bed tonight with bitter failure in his mouth.

  He picks up his gavel. “Motion sustained,” he snaps. “Anything else, counsel?”

  “Yes, one more thing.” The prosecutor turns and whispers something to his co-counsel.

  Grier begins to pack up his things.

  “Are we done here?” I ask.

  Grier nods. “Yes. Congratulations. You’re officially free of all of this.”

  I take my first full breath since walking into the courthouse. “Thanks.” I shake his hand, even though the real person I should be thanking is behind me. Grier, on the other hand, believed I should plead guilty in spite of my innocence.

  East reaches over the small railing, but his high-five halts in mid-air at the next words out of the prosecutor’s mouth.

  “We’d like to bring charges against Steven George O’Halloran.”

  I suck in a breath as Steve exits a side room, accompanied by a uniformed guard. Steve enters the courtroom and walks to the defense table, but his expressionless gaze doesn’t once stray in my direction. Or his daughter’s.

  “Read them off, counselor,” Judge Delacorte says in a bored tone, as if this is an everyday occurrence. I guess it is for him, but it’s not for us.

  Not for Ella.

  I glance over my shoulder to find that her face is a mixture of horror and awful sadness. So I murmur to East, “Get her out of here.”

  My brother nods, obviously agreeing that Ella doesn’t need to hear all these charges read out against her father. “Come on, Ella, let’s go. We’re done here,” he says in a low voice.

  But Ella refuses to leave. She grabs Dinah’s hand, of all people. And Dinah, the gold-digger, the blackmailer, grips my girl’s hand in return. The two of them lean against each other as the prosecutor reads from the indictment.

  “Steven George O’Halloran, hereinafter known as defendant, in the county of Bayview and the state of North Carolina, did knowingly commit murder in the second degree which resulted in the death of Brooke Anna Davidson.”

  “Will the defendant step forward?”

  I move out of the way and watch in stupefied amazement as Grier pulls out another file. Holy hell. He wasn’t packing up. He was putting my case away and preparing to defend Steve.

  Steve buttons his jacket as he approaches the bench. He looks confident and composed, but he still refuses to meet my eyes.

  “How do you plead?” Delacorte asks.

  “Not guilty,” Steve says in a loud, clear voice.

  My hand curls into a fist. Not guilty, my ass. I want to end him. I want to drive his face into the wood table until it’s a bloody, unrecognizable mess. I want—

  A hand clasps my wrist. I look up and stare at Ella’s lovely, unhappy face and realize what I was on the verge of doing. Closing my eyes, I lean my forehead against hers. “You ready to go home?”

  “I am.”

  I take her hand and then we leave the courtroom—and Steve—behind us, my family filing out after us. Outside, a few reporters rush at us, but the Royal boys are big and intimidating. We form a protective circle around Ella and keep the vultures away as we exit the courthouse.

  Dad meets us by his Mercedes. “You’re going to come home with us, Ella.”

  “For good?” she asks warily.

  He smiles. “For good. Grier is filing guardianship papers as we speak.” The smile fades quickly, though. “We’re using Steve’s current legal troubles as grounds for an emergency ruling.”

  I don’t miss the sorrow swimming in my father’s eyes. Steve’s betrayal hurt all of us, but it hurt Dad the most. Steve is—was—his best friend, but the asshole was willing to let me go to prison for a crime that Steve committed.

  And he…

  My throat tightens as I remember the other betrayal.

  Steve had an affair with my mom.

  I want to throw up just thinking about it, and I almost wish none of us had read the letter. But a part of me is glad we did. For so long, I blamed myself for Mom’s death, wondering if my fighting and my recklessness was what drove her to suicide. East thought it was his pill addiction that sent her over the edge.

  At least now we know the truth. Mom killed herself because of guilt over her affair with Dad’s best friend. And she thought Dad was cheating on her, too. Steve had led her to believe that.

  Fu
cking Steve. I hope I never again have to lay eyes on that man in my life.

  “Ella!”

  The bastard’s ears must’ve been burning because he suddenly appears on the courthouse steps.

  “Oh shit,” East mutters.

  The twins echo his curse with more colorful ones of their own. I entertain the idea of throwing Ella over my shoulder, diving into the car, and speeding away. But I hesitate too long because Steve’s already making his way across the parking lot.

  Dad takes a menacing step forward, placing himself between Ella and Steve. “You should go,” he commands.

  “No. I want to talk to my daughter.” Steve leans around Dad, pleading with Ella. “Ella, listen to me. I was drugged up the other night. I think Dinah must’ve put something in my drink. You know I’d never hurt you. And I didn’t hurt Brooke, either. You misunderstood everything I said that night.”

  Pain flickers across her face. “Really? That’s the story we’re going with?”

  “You have to trust me.”

  “Trust you? Are you kidding me? You killed Brooke and tried to pin it on Reed! I don’t know who you are, and I don’t want to know.”

  She wrenches the car door open and climbs inside. The slamming door puts all of us in motion. The twins and Easton get into Sawyer’s Rover, while I join Ella in Dad’s car.

  Dad remains with Steve, but their angry voices are muffled behind the closed windows of the Mercedes. I don’t even give a shit what they’re saying. I trust Dad to tell Steve to go to hell, where he deserves to burn for eternity.

  Ella peers at me with sad eyes as I gently put an arm around her. “You guys were rough on me when I first arrived,” she starts.

  I wince at this. “I know.”

  “But you all came around, and I…I had a family for the first time.” Tears drip down her face. Her hands are clenched in her lap, white around the knuckles.

  I cover them with my palm and feel the warm tears fall on the back of my hand.

  “When Steve arrived, I gave him a hard time, but secretly I thought it was kind of cool that he was so excited to be a dad. His rules were ridiculous, but the girls at school said it was normal, and sometimes it made me feel like he really cared.”