Clean Slate

by Andrea Bramhall

  “And I don’t want to talk to you.” He slammed the can onto the table as he pushed his chair back. The table wobbled and the can tipped over, spewing its contents all over the wooden surface.

  “Tough. Now sit down, and tell me where you’ve been.”

  He stared at her, defiance burned in his eyes, and his arms folded across his chest. They stood staring at each other, even as the door opened and soft voices whispered in the hallway. Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs. Morgan felt Erin’s hand at the small of her back, offering comfort, strength, a united front.

  He glared at them both before dropping back onto his chair. Erin got a cloth and wiped up the mess. Morgan sat opposite him, her leg jumping with nervous energy.

  “So where have you been all day?” Morgan tried again, watching him as he sulked.

  “None of your business,” Tristan mumbled, his chin barely moving from his chest.

  “Tristan, enough!” Erin tossed the cloth into the sink and turned back to them. “Your mum asked you a question. Now answer her.”

  Tristan stared at Erin, eyes blazing with righteous anger. “I don’t want to talk to her.”

  “Why not? I thought we’d gotten past this. I thought you were coming to grips with everything.”

  “It’s got nothing—it’s not about that.”

  “Then what?”

  He looked away from Erin and glared at Morgan. His lips were pulled into a tight line, his jaw set, and the obstinate set of his shoulders so intractable that Morgan couldn’t see any way forward. What have I done?

  “Go to your room, Tristan. You can stay there until you’re ready to talk to us.” Erin pointed to the stairs. “No basketball, no TV, no phone, and no computer.”

  His eyes widened, and he looked as if he was ready to surrender, then he glanced at Morgan again, squared his shoulders, and stalked out of the room.

  “I don’t understand, what did I do?” Morgan wanted to cry. She felt as though all the progress she’d made with Tristan was crumbling.

  “I haven’t a clue. What did he say?”

  “Just that he didn’t want to talk to me. Then you came in.”

  “I’ll go and talk to him. See if he’ll tell me what’s going on. Are you okay?” Erin touched her shoulder, rubbing small circles with her fingers.

  “I don’t know. Are you?”

  Erin nodded. “Yes. He’ll be okay, you know. He’ll probably calm down and apologize before the night’s out.”

  “Yeah.”

  Erin squeezed her shoulder before she left.

  I hope you’re right.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  The ticking clock marked the passage of time, one second after the other, with its impudent click and thud echoing off the walls. Morgan’s denim clad leg bounced. The three of them sat side by side outside the headmaster’s office, Erin in the middle, Tristan still refusing to talk to her. She plucked at the sleeves of her leather jacket, then glanced to her left, her gaze fixed on Erin’s crossed legs where her pale gray skirt rode up her thigh. The slender expanse of flesh hypnotized her, and the energy dissipated. She imagined running her fingers over the smooth skin and watching goose bumps erupt beneath her fingertips. She licked her lips, her eyes never wavering.

  “Stop staring.”

  Erin’s voice was close to her ear and low enough so only she could hear. She knew she was blushing as she looked up and met Erin’s amused smile.

  “Sorry.” She grimaced, embarrassed to be caught, and let her head drop to her chest, unconsciously mirroring the posture Tristan had adopted the minute they sat down. He’d refused to talk to Erin at all the night before, so they’d left him alone.

  “Hey.” Erin scratched lightly at the side of her leg until she raised her head again. “I don’t really mind, as long as you don’t drool.” Her lips parted in a slow, sexy smile that made Morgan’s heart beat a little faster. The soft baby blue silk blouse made her eyes stand out as she winked.

  “Mr. Parish will see you now.” The secretary inclined her head toward the door, barely flicking her eyes away from the computer screen in front of her.

  Mr. Parish was a short man, much younger than Morgan had expected, around his early forties, with sandy colored hair, green eyes, and a small paunch. He held his hand out to shake both of theirs before pointing to a seating area away from his desk.

  “Mss. Masters, it’s good to see you both again. I wish it were under different circumstances, but I’m sure we can get this sorted out.”

  “Mr. Parish,” Erin said, “How long has Tristan been truanting?”

  He frowned, casting a quick look at Tristan’s sullen pose. “In his first two years at Marple Hall, his attendance has been exemplary. The new school year is less than a week old, but already Tristan has missed two full days.” He flipped open a document file and pulled out an attendance record. “He was in Monday, but this is the first time we’ve seen him since then.”

  Erin turned her head to Tristan. “Why?”

  Tristan shrugged and tried to burrow his chin further into his chest. His tie was askew and his blazer looked as if it had spent the night stuffed in his bag. Morgan wanted to wrap her arms around him and make whatever hurt him disappear. She wanted to recapture the look on his face when he had laughed at her cartwheeling down the ski slope, the gentle look of concern hiding his amusement.

  “Sometimes…” Mr. Parish cleared his throat. “In cases like this, there is something worrying the young person. This is new behavior for Tristan. We would expect that there is a trigger of some sort. Can I ask how you hurt your leg, Ms. Masters?”

  Morgan blinked. “I fell when we went to the indoor ski slope. It wasn’t a particularly bad fall. I’ve just torn the ligament in my knee. I’ll be fine—”

  Tristan snorted.

  They all stared at him.

  “Tristan,” Mr. Parish said, “Do you have something to say?”

  He shrugged.

  The tension and frustration in the room mounted. The air felt brittle, as if one wrong move would shatter it, piercing them with the shrapnel of exploded expectations.

  “I think I can safely say that we all want what’s best for you, Tristan.” Mr. Parish continued, as Morgan and Erin both nodded. “We want to help you, but you have to tell us what the problem is before we can do that. Is it something at school?”

  “No.” Tristan’s voice was little more than a mumble crawling from his chest.

  “At home then?”

  He shrugged.

  It is me. Something I’ve done. Morgan swallowed her mortification., “I was attacked at the beginning of the summer. I suffered a head injury that has left me with amnesia. I’m afraid that I have no recollection of either of the children from before it happened.” She watched Tristan as she spoke, looking for a reaction to confirm the amnesia was the problem. His sullen expression flickered and mutated, before it dissolved into rage.

  “I don’t care about that!”

  “Tristan.” Erin grabbed his arm and turned him toward her. “I thought we’d talked about all this. You said you understood that it wasn’t your mum’s fault, and you could work to get past all this with her. I know it’s hard—”

  “I told you, I don’t care about that. It’s got nothing to do with it. She’s a liar!”

  “A liar? About what?” Erin frowned, her confusion clear. Tristan closed his mouth, pulling his lips into a tight, thin line. He tugged his arm from Erin’s hand and turned as far away from them as he could.

  What the hell does he think I’m lying about? Morgan had been as honest as possible from the second she met them. As painful as those truths had been at times, she had known there was no other way forward if she wanted to be a part of their lives.

  “Tristan, do you think she’s lying about the amnesia? Is that what this is about?” Erin tried again, touching his shoulder gently.

  Is it? Morgan’s mind whirled, spinning, trying to grasp something solid.

  He sat with his
back to them, his shoulders pulled forward.

  “If that’s what you think, then you’re going to have to trust me, Trist. The doctors have seen the brain scans. The damage is there. She isn’t lying about it.” Erin rubbed his shoulder again. “I believe her. So if you can’t trust her yet, trust me, okay?”

  He twisted his shoulders, shaking off her hands.

  That’s it, he doesn’t trust me. Morgan could see it in every line of his body.

  “Tristan, she isn’t lying to you.”

  “Yes, she is.” He turned back to look at her. “We can’t trust her.”

  “Why not?”

  Tristan shrugged and dropped her gaze.

  “You can’t just say something like that and not explain. You have to tell me what you think your mum’s lying about.”

  He sat back in his chair again.

  “Tristan, tell me.” Erin’s voice was getting louder, her mounting frustration more than evident.

  Morgan looked at Mr. Parish. He had his hands clasped on the desk, staring at his hands as Erin continued to try to get Tristan to talk.

  “Why won’t you talk to me? I don’t understand.”

  He looked out the window.

  Erin blew out a frustrated breath and cast her eyes to the ceiling. Morgan reached for her hand, offering her support.

  Mr. Parish said, “Tristan should work out of my office today. We have a zero tolerance policy here, and until he’s caught up with his work, I’m putting him on academic suspension, especially since we don’t know the reason behind his truancy. Once he’s up to speed he can rejoin his classmates. Break and lunchtime will be held in detention for the next week. Do you understand, Tristan?”

  Tristan didn’t move.

  Oh, Tristan, what have I done? Morgan finally looked away, her heart breaking as Mr. Parish lifted his hand toward the door and led them out of the room. Morgan hobbled behind him, Erin following.

  Erin turned as soon as the door closed behind them. “Mr. Parish, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

  “Please, Ms. Masters, there’s no need. Clearly, this has been very difficult for you all, and Tristan is having a hard time adjusting. It’s not unusual for boys his age to find it difficult to talk to his parents, especially when they have a lot to deal with too. I plan to keep him in my office for his academic suspension. I’m hoping if he stays with me today, he might open up a bit. Maybe once he starts talking we can get to the bottom of all this and help him.”

  “What can we do?” Morgan’s voice sounded strange in her own ears, like she was listening to it underwater.

  “Let him talk when he’s ready. I don’t think pushing him right now will do any good. He’s a good boy. He’s trying to deal with something that’s difficult for us as adults to deal with. As a teenager, trying to understand that your mum doesn’t remember you must be incredibly difficult.”

  “No, that’s not it.” It didn’t feel right. Morgan knew it was difficult; she knew they had all struggled with her memory loss. But she knew they had been making progress. She knew Tristan was working toward rebuilding their relationship. This huge step backward didn’t make sense without some other influence. “There’s something else going on with Tristan.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Something is making him not trust me. Even though the amnesia was difficult and painful, he still trusted me. Something’s happened to change that.” She could see that he was skeptical. The pinched look on his face convinced her of that.

  “Perhaps, but until he talks to us, we won’t know either way. Let’s just hope he opens up quickly.” Mr. Parish shook their hands and went back to his office.

  Morgan nodded, shook his hand, and followed Erin out to the car. She glanced up at the headmaster’s office window and saw Tristan staring at them. His gaze was fixed on Erin, a worried look on his face. When he looked at Morgan, the venom in his eyes took her breath away.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  The silence in the car was oppressive. Like a boa constrictor, confusion tightened around Morgan, devouring her. She paid no attention to the streets they passed through, and their arrival home startled her. She followed Erin inside, stumbled into the front room and onto the sofa, propped her crutches next to her, and closed her eyes for a moment.

  “Are you okay?” Erin finally broke the silence.

  “Bit dizzy. It’ll pass.”

  “Good, but I meant about Tristan.”

  She peeled open one eye and looked up at Erin. “I don’t understand what happened. I thought we were getting there.” She shook her head. “No, I know we were making progress. He was really trying. There has to be something that’s changed.”

  Erin sat beside her. “Maybe…” Her voice drifted away as she twisted her ring around her finger.

  “Maybe what?” Morgan reached for her hand, enjoying the warmth against her palm.

  “Do you think he could have found out about her?”

  “About who?”

  Erin sighed heavily. “Her. Anna Davidson.”

  Morgan stared at her. It made sense. Would he assume that she had been having an affair, as Erin had? Would he assume that this was the reason for her leaving and his anger was about that, rather than the amnesia? In his place, she wouldn’t know whether to trust her either. If it was true, one question remained. “But how could he have found out?”

  Erin shrugged. “Maybe he overheard something with the police. I don’t know. I can’t remember what they said when they were here. Maybe he overheard us talking.”

  Erin squeezed her fingers before she turned her hand over and entwined their fingers. A wave of relief coursed through Morgan. She’d been so afraid that Erin would pull away from her at the mention of Anna’s name.

  “So what do we do? Try to explain to him what happened?”

  Erin laughed softly, as she haphazardly stroked the back of Morgan’s knuckles. “How? You don’t know what happened to explain.”

  “Well, no, but we can tell him what the police told us.”

  Erin kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet underneath her, leaning against Morgan’s shoulder. “I’m not sure that will help. We’re only guessing after all. If we’re wrong, and he doesn’t know about her, do you really want to tell him, and make things even worse?”

  “Oh, God, no. This is a minefield.” Erin’s hair tickled her cheek and the scent of apples and honey was a tantalizing distraction.

  Erin turned her head until she could look into her eyes. “This is a family.”

  Morgan turned her head and whispered, “Our family?” Their lips were millimeters apart, so close they were breathing the same air.

  “Yes, it is.”

  The first touch of their lips was as soft as a whisper, a fleeting promise with the heat of passion simmering beneath the surface. Erin twisted into a better position and slid her fingers into Morgan’s hair.

  “You need a haircut.”

  “Do I?”

  “Mmm.” She tugged Morgan’s head closer, nipping at her bottom lip before flicking her tongue to soothe any hurt she may have caused. Morgan couldn’t have stopped herself from moaning even if she’d wanted to.

  Morgan rested her hand at Erin’s waist, but the need to explore, to touch, was too great. She let her hands wander, seemingly of their own accord, and examine the long plane of Erin’s back, the curve of her neck, and the tiny curls at the base of her skull. Their mouths came together again in a fiery kiss. Their tongues danced, teased, and retreated as Morgan panted and desire saturated her blood.

  Erin’s fingers scratched at her scalp, her breasts pressed against her side, her tight nipples straining through the thin silk blouse. She loved it. Morgan wanted to touch them, to reach out and run her thumb over the raised bump, hoping she’d hear Erin moan as she did so. Her own insecurity stopped her from trying.

  She eased away from Erin’s mouth, but missed the taste and feel of her so quickly, she had to go back for more. T
iny kisses, gentle touches, like the wings of a butterfly caressed her lips.

  Erin smiled without opening her eyes. “I’ve missed you.”

  Morgan wanted to be able to say the same in return, but it wasn’t true. What she felt was different.

  Erin put her fingers over her lips. “I know. I just wanted you to know that.” She leaned in and kissed her again, deep and possessive.

  Morgan’s insides had turned molten; her blood was a raging fire of desire flowing like lava through her veins. Erin’s lips skimmed her jaw and down her throat, and Morgan slid her hand down to her backside.

  Erin murmured against her neck. “There’s some other stuff we need to think about.”

  “Now? You want to talk now?” She felt Erin nod against her throat. “Then I need to be able to think.” She dragged her hand off Erin’s arse and eased her body away. “Okay, what do you want to talk about?”

  “Well, what you want to do.”

  “You mean for a job?” Seriously? “You want to talk about jobs now?” Morgan took a deep breath and willed her pulse to slow down. How can she think about jobs? I feel like I’m ready to explode.

  Erin’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes were dark, her desire evident. “Yes. Do you want to talk to the university about retraining to teach? They’ll probably need to talk to you first, since it’s unusual circumstances.”

  “I actually wanted to see if I could make a go at being an artist. I sort of made this promise to myself.”

  Erin untangled herself and moved to the far end of the sofa, shifting until her feet were resting in Morgan’s lap. “What was this promise about then?”

  Morgan frowned, feeling bereft of the comforting, maddening weight of Erin leaning against her. “Why have you gone over there?”

  Erin’s smile was slow and devastatingly sexy. Her blouse was rumpled, and pulled tight over her breasts. Her nipples were clearly visible beneath the thin material. “Because we really do need to talk about some things, and all I want to do is make love to you.”

  The words struck her with the force of a bullet to the chest. Instantly, she was exhilarated and petrified and her fear of not remembering how to please Erin perfectly balanced with her desire to try. “You do?” Her voice was a squeak that she barely recognized. I sound like a teenage boy!