by Jen Talty
“I’m going to have to get on the horn with my legal team to see how we can fight back,” his father said as he stood, hands on his hips. “I’m not taking this one standing down.”
“Dad, yes you are, at least until I know what State is going to do. You come out swinging, it will just make it worse.” Tristan stomped into his bedroom, snagged his phone just as his boss, Jared called, for the fifth time in the last three minutes.
“Did you know about this story?” Tristan didn’t bother with a greeting.
“No. I did not. Nor has anyone in State been contacted for a statement. Were you really served?”
“Dinner time, then family things came up. I didn’t think it would turn into a shit storm in four hours.” He scanned his phone and other than messages from buddies coming in over the last ten minutes, nothing from anyone higher up. “This story stinks of Wendell and his petty games. This is the last thing my father needs, not to mention Brooke.”
“Tristan,” his mother snapped, standing in his doorway.
He held up his hand. “Stacey texted saying she’s got a friend at the news station, so she’s going to contact her.”
“That’s a start, but I’m going to have to make an official statement by morning. I’ll be by shortly so we can go over things. Call Jillian too.”
“On it,” Tristan said, rolling his neck.
“Tristan!” His mother stood in front of him.
“Got to go boss, see you shortly.” He tapped his phone. “What?”
“It’s Brooke. She left.”
“Shit,” he muttered. “Did you try to stop her?”
“We tried,” his father said, with a hand on his mother’s shoulder. “But she said she needed to talk to someone by the name of Michelle.”
“That is sooooo not good.” Tristan retrieved his gun from the closet, hooking it to his belt along with his badge.
“Why?” his mother asked.
“Remember me about eighteen months after Tamara died?”
“Yes,” his parents answered grimly.
“She’s not far from hitting that boiling point. She’d been doing better, but really, this could easily send her over the edge.”
His parents stepped to the side like the red sea parting.
He ran outside as a few clouds rolled across the moon. He tried calling Brooke, but she sent him straight to voice mail. So, he texted.
Nothing.
He took off jogging down the street, wondering how she planned on getting Michelle’s attention. He just hoped it wasn’t by tossing bricks over the gate. So far, he sensed frustration, but that tickle of rage was right behind it.
He slowed as he passed her house, seeing her under the street lights in front of the Ramsworth Manor, pacing, phone to her ear, yelling. He couldn’t blame her for being royally pissed off and wanting to confront the source. Hell, he wanted to do the exact same thing, only he knew it was pointless and would cause more problems than it solved.
“Brooke,” he said as he crossed the road. “Stop yelling.”
She held her hand up.
“Michelle, you answered my phone call, which tells me you’re willing to talk, so get your ass out here.”
Tristan raised his finger to his lips, hoping she’d at least quiet down.
All she did was glare at him as she continued to pace, listening to whatever Michelle had to say.
“I don’t want to talk to him,” Brooke said, stopping in her tracks. “Come on Michelle, you said you wanted to start over, so let’s talk.”
“What are you doing?” Tristan asked quietly.
She held up her hand again. “Thank you,” she said as she tapped her phone. “She’s going to come out and talk to me.”
“About what?”
“Everything, I thought I could chat with her and see if she’ll let me know what the hell her husband is up too. But if I see Wendell, no telling what I’ll do”
Headlights flashed from the north end of the street, blinding Tristan momentarily. “I wish you hadn’t stormed out of my house. My parents are worried.”
“I am sorry about that.”
He glanced over her shoulder at the oncoming car, traveling a little too fast for his liking. He took her by the elbow, moving her closer to the gate.
“I know you’re a private man and didn’t want the world to know everything about you, but also, your dad doesn’t deserve this. He’s quite remarkable, being self-made. I really admire him.”
“I’m freaking out here a bit because I thought you went off half-cocked to string Wendell by his balls.” Tristan tapped the butt of his gun.
“I’m not past crushing that man’s nuts, but I also want to warn Michelle of what is to come. She’s pregnant and that changes things. I texted Jillian that I want to go forward with claiming paternity. Mind you, I don’t want their money, but if I can make that lawsuit go away, flip the house, get a job, I can move on.”
“Fuck,” Tristan muttered as Jared’s truck rolled to a stop on the other side of the street. “My boss is here.”
“Go home, you two,” Jared said through the window. “They called 9-1-1 and a local is on the way.”
“Are you serious?” Brooke tossed her arms up in the air.
“Come on.” Tristan grabbed her hand, holding it tight. “Give us a ride to my place?”
“Yeah,” Jared said waving his arm. “Because it’s such a long walk.”
“What was the complaint?” Tristan tried to help Brooke into the back of Jared’s truck, but shrugged his hand off and climbed in.
“Man with a gun and a woman harassing them.” Jared quickly rammed the truck into drive and took the corner a little sharp.
“Did they say it was us?” Brooke asked.
This up and down emotional rollercoaster the Ramsworth’s had her on wasn’t good for dealing with all the anger that still bubbled just under the surface.
“They did, but I wouldn’t worry about it since I’ve been with you most of the time and there was no threat,” Jared said looking in the rear-view mirror.
“That would be lying and I wouldn’t want anyone to do that for me. I’ve put all of you through enough.” Brooke stared out the window.
“It’s not lie,” Jared said. “I was on my way to Tristan’s and saw you march across the street, phone in hand. I shut my lights off and sat at the marina, watching until I heard dispatch looking for a first responder.”
The next fifteen minutes passed in silence as they entered Tristan’s house and sat around the kitchen table waiting for local to show up, which didn’t take as long as he thought and lucky for him, it was a local he’d worked with before.
“Sorry to bother,” the officer said. “We had a call that you and your girlfriend were outside a neighbor’s house threatening and waving a gun around.”
Brooke stood, pushing the chair back, nearly knocking it over.
“Sit down,” Jared said in deep tone.
Tristan glanced over his shoulder, eyeing her, cautiously.
She let out a huff of air before sitting down.
“We were there. I did have my weapon.” Tristan tapped the butt of his gun. “But it remained holstered and Brooke was on the phone with Michelle, who is an old friend of hers, trying to mend broken fences.”
“I need to talk to Brooke,” the officer said. “Mrs. Ramsworth said you threatened her and her unborn child.”
Tristan stepped back into the kitchen, pressing his hand on Brooke’s shoulder.
“I never threatened her,” Brooke said evenly. “I asked her to come outside and talk with me about a news story that broke and inform her of some of the details she doesn’t know about.”
“I watched the entire incident from my vehicle down the street,” Jared said. “An inflammatory story on one of my troopers was misrepresented and we’re just trying to get to the bottom of it.”
“Thanks for your time,” the officer said. “Though I’d recommend you keep your distance from the Ramsworth’s.”
Tristan closed the door, knowing he would not keep his distance, but he would play it smart. His phone buzzed. “Stacey’s friend said the news anchor had been blindsided. The story wasn’t supposed to air until everything had been verified, so now they’re scrambling.”
“That will make it easier to force a retraction,” Jared said. “Can Stacey get her friend to sign an affidavit that the story was pushed through?”
“Stacey is already on it, but the only thing that was falsely reported was my interference and that there was even a new criminal case building.” Tristan knew the system and in his case, he knew it would work for him, but for Brooke? She could end up royally screwed. “The bigger problem is the DA can rescind his offer to clear Brooke’s name even after she completes classes and community service, which is why I suspect Wendell did this in the first place.”
“You mean to tell me I could have to check yes to being convicted?” Brooke said slamming her hand on the table.
“Not necessarily,” Jared said. “I’m sure Jillian can figure all that out. What I want to know is why out Tristan as a millionaire?”
“Makes me look like a liar and makes my integrity suspect. It’s a simple deflection,” Tristan said.
“If they know there is a question of paternity, why make this all public? Seems like they’d buy you off instead,” Jared said.
“We’re all forgetting something here.” Tristan couldn’t begin to understand Wendell’s logic. But it didn’t matter. “Wendell number one is still kicking and he’s the one who gave the necklace to your grandmother in the first place.”
“We have no reason to talk to him,” Jared pointed out.
“But there is no reason why Brooke can’t contact him.” Tristan arched a brow.
“I don’t like the sound of that, but I can’t stop you.” Jared shook his head. “Also, rumors milling about that the old man is losing his mind, so even if you get anything out of him, they will say it’s gibberish from a dying man.”
“I just got a text from Jillian.” Brooke held up her phone. “She thinks because of the news tonight, that tomorrow I should prepare my own suit claiming to be an heir to the Ramsworth’s fortune.”
“You good with doing that? Making this thing even more public? We could go to them quietly,” Tristan said.
“That’s what Jillian is recommending. We go to them first with what we have and if they want to keep pursuing this, I file suit.”
“Not to be a total dick, but I am going to enjoy making those people squirm.” Tristan hated what it could do to Brooke, but if he got to take a few more jabs at Wendell and Brooke got her life back, it would all be worth it in the end.
Chapter 12
Brooke sat at the kitchen table in Tristan’s home, scanning various job opportunities at a few dozen companies, including Highland Pharmaceutical. One in particular stood out as head of regional sales for all of New York. It appealed to her for various reasons, but the one that stuck out the most had been because she could stay close to Tristan.
I’m falling in love with you.
His words still echoed in her brain, sending her heart on a wild rampage. After he’d said the words, all hell broke loose. They’d gone to bed exhausted, both falling asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow. This morning, he left before she awoke, leaving her a note that said he’d be sure to check his phone as often as he could.
They shared a few texts, but the day had been uneventful on her end, with the exception of setting in motion the confrontation about paternity.
Brooke glanced at her phone. It was nearly six in the evening and she figured at this point she wouldn’t hear anything about Jillian’s note to the Ramsworth’s until tomorrow.
A tapping at the door startled Brooke, but she gasped when she saw Michelle standing at Tristan’s front door. “What are you doing here?”
“Let me in, please.” Michelle glanced over her shoulder, holding her middle. “Please. Wendell can’t know I’m here.”
As a young girl, Michelle had been shy and quiet. Mousey. At first, Brooke hadn’t particularly liked Michelle, but it bothered Brooke that the other girls picked on her because of her shyness. Brooke had befriended Michelle and found out there had been a lot more to the girl than what appeared on the outside.
However today, Brooke stared at that same young, scared little girl she’d meet all those years ago. “Fine, come in.” Brooke waved her hand.
Michelle stepped through the door, quickly shutting it behind her, pulling down the blind.
“What’s going on?” Brooke asked.
“I don’t have much time. Wendell thinks I went for a walk.”
“Much time for what?” Brooke leaned back in her chair and folded her arms.
“They got the request for paternity and the entire family is flipping out.” Michelle stood next to the door, constantly peeking out the window. “I think my husband’s grandmother has always suspected her husband had an affair and produced a child, but I don’t think they expected it could be your father.”
“Not like it’s something I suspected…or wanted.” Brooke waved to the chair next to her. “I didn’t want to go public with this entire fiasco. All I want is for the lawsuits to go away and to be left alone.” Tension filled the air like a thick fog on a dark and creepy night.
“Grandmama doesn’t like to be strong armed into anything and she’s still holding on to the idea that your grandmother stole the necklace.” Michelle sat at the opposite end of the table, one hand on her swollen belly, the other twirling her earring.
“I have proof she didn’t, and once a paternity test is completed, she won’t be able to deny it anymore.” Brooke sensed an overall sadness filling the dense air.
“You need to stop. Wendell and his father are going to destroy you and your boyfriend if you don’t.”
“I didn’t start this mess.” Brooke leaned back folding her arms, doing her best not to go ‘ballistic’ on the woman who used to be her best friend. “But I’m not going to let them destroy Tristan. And their stunt last night, manipulating the news like that? What the hell do they have against Tristan’s father anyway?”
Michelle glanced over her shoulder. “Wendell went nuts when he found out about Tristan. Figured he was the reason some deal with Albert Reid went south.”
Brooke wasn’t going to touch that one with a ten-foot pole. “Why are you here?”
“To ask you, for my sake, to let this go.” Michelle looked everywhere but directly at Brooke.
“I told you, I’d be more than happy to when they drop all the lawsuits.”
Michelle shook her head. “That’s not going to happen. They know you don’t have the money to fight them and they can drag this on forever.” Michelle looked into Brooke’s eyes for a long moment, then dropped her gaze to the floor. “They have the pictures.”
Brooke narrowed her eyes. “You are a piece of work.”
“I didn’t know Wendell still had them.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better? You gave them to him in the first place. We were best friends. The only thing I ever did to you was point out that your husband is a cheating drunk.”
“Wendell’s changed.” Michelle bobbed her head up and down. “The DUI forced his hand and then when I got pregnant, he really committed.”
“So, you admit he’s a cheater.” Brooke chomped down on her lip. Her words had been harsher than she expected. Then again, the truth always hurt.
“Wendell isn’t perfect, but I love him.” She patted her belly. “Being a parent changes people.”
Not Wendell, Brooke thought.
“He’s been sober now for three months.”
“Well, good for him,” Brooke said, trying to be somewhat supportive, but failing miserably. “You don’t look happy.”
“You don’t know me anymore.” Michelle stiffened, squaring her shoulders. “You tossed our friendship out the window.”
“No. I didn’t.” Brooke leaned in, st
aring at Michelle. Dark circles formed under her sad eyes. Her arms, covered with a light sweater, wrapped tightly around her middle.
The temperature had hit eighty-six in the late afternoon, and the humidity had been at an all-time high.
“Does he hurt you?” Brooke reached out, her hand hovering over Michelle’s arm.
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
“You’re wearing a sweater in the middle of summer.” Gently, Brooke rested her hand on Michelle’s arm.
Michelle jerked it away and that’s when Brooke saw the bruise on Michelle’s neck and shoulder, just near the top of her sweater.
Brooke swallowed a sob. “Oh sweetie,” she said softly. “How long has this been going on?”
“You’re crazy and have it in for my husband and his family.” Michelle jerked back the chair and stood. “And now that you think you could be a Ramsworth, you’re just trying to get your hands on their money.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Brooke took a tentative step forward. “Let me help you. No one deserves to be hit.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Tires squealed in the driveway, drawing Brooke’s attention to the four-door black sedan that came to a screeching halt.
“Oh no,” Michelle whispered. “That’s Wendell.”
“Go to the front bedroom. He’ll never know you’re here.” Brooke grabbed Michelle by the arm, tugging at her, but she wouldn’t move.
She just stood there frozen, staring into space with wide eyes.
“Go,” Brooke pleaded. “I’ll handle him.”
But it was too late as he came barreling through the front door. “Get in the car, Michelle,” Wendell barked.
Brooke stepped between him and his wife. “She’s not going anywhere with you and I’m calling the police.” Brooke yanked her cell phone from her back pocket, but he slapped her hand, sending the phone to the floor.
“Don’t make me repeat myself, Michelle.” Wendell shoved Brooke to the side, her back hitting the corner of the counter.