Maybe around the time I finally admitted everything about my past. We weren’t there yet, but I’d told her about Tristin, which was a big step for me.
As we were heading toward the door, a familiar, breathy voice caught my notice. Not because I knew her—well, I knew of her—but because of who she was talking about.
Tristin.
“Can you believe he would consider even showing his face on campus again after drugging that girl? I don’t care what the dean’s office says. There’s no way he’s innocent. His daddy must have cut a huge check to the university...again.”
I stopped in my tracks and clenched my fists around the straps of my backpack. Nothing good had ever come from eavesdropping. But the breathy-voiced, gossiping girl who sat behind me in Western Civ was clearly showing off for her audience. She wanted to be heard, and maybe it was time she paid the consequence.
Spinning on my heel, I stalked up to her table, where five other Harbor U students were gathered with the spiteful blonde. The girl’s eyes widened when she saw me, but she smartly kept her mouth shut.
I towered over her and spoke, keeping my voice low and even. “You know, the first time I heard you gossiping about Tristin, I let it go.” Technically not true, since I’d made a few snide comments. But close enough. “This time, not so much.”
She swallowed hard. “Oh? What are you going to do? Lace my coffee with GHB?”
“No.” I smiled sweetly, hoping it looked as creepy as it felt. “I’m going to see that your privileges for The Grind are taken away.”
I didn’t know if Mac, my boss, would even go for it. But I knew the threat of it alone would hurt. This girl came to the coffee shop every single day after class, just like Petra and I did. If I managed to get her banned, I had no doubt she’d still gossip elsewhere. But at least she wouldn’t be able to do so in my haven.
Her pretty face turned an unsightly shade of red. “You can’t do that.”
“No?” I shrugged. “I guess we’ll see.”
Chapter Four
Thea
My anger with the breathy-voiced girl stayed with me, morphing into anger at Tristin and then myself. For defending him and so much more.
Because, at the end of the day, I had no one but myself to blame for the melancholy following me around like Eeyore’s storm cloud. Tristin had acted like an asshole, but that was nothing new. Asshole had been his default personality setting since the moment we reconnected almost a month ago. Just because we’d shared moments of camaraderie in that month didn’t mean I could expect him to change.
I’d made assumptions about him...about us. And I’d had no right to. He’d never claimed to be someone who wouldn’t continue pushing me away.
So, yeah. This was all on me.
I waved at Petra as she turned around in the driveway after dropping me off at the house. Now that Tristin was no longer in the picture, I was back to begging rides off of her and Gerard. Or riding my bike.
I was halfway to the front door when the sound of an angry male voice drifted to me. My feet started moving before I could consider what was possessing me to follow the voice to the side of the house. It seemed that I couldn’t help myself.
Peeking my head around the corner, I found Vincent and Hayle standing on the deck, facing off. That wasn’t a combination I would have expected. Then again, I was pretty sure the Sharpe patriarch had the ability to get anyone riled up.
Though Hayle was slightly taller than his father, Vincent appeared to be looking down his nose at his son while he spoke. “You’re supposed to be the smart one. What were you thinking, getting involved in one of Leo’s harebrained schemes?”
“There was nothing harebrained about it. We got the confession from Mark. Isn’t that the important part?”
“Not if it was going to lead to yet another scandal. This family can’t handle any more bad press.”
Hayle nonchalantly leaned back against the railing, but his tone betrayed his frustration. “Since when do you care about what other people think?”
“I’ve always cared. Why else do you think Tristin got such a harsh sentence?”
I pressed my hand to my mouth to cover my gasp.
What. The. Fuck.
“What are you saying?” Hayle asked, sounding as shocked as I felt.
Vincent laughed, though the sound was hollow. “Guess you’re not so smart, after all. Think about it, Hayle. I always hire the best lawyers money can buy. Tristin should have gotten off with a slap on the wrist and community service.”
“Except, you didn’t want him to get off with a slap on the wrist.” Hayle shook his head, like he couldn’t believe it. “Why?”
“Because optics are everything in this world. If people thought Tristin got the spoiled rich kid treatment, they would have blamed our family—and my business—for it. His punishment needed to be just severe enough to seem fair.”
“Oh my god. I can’t believe this. You actually paid off the judge to give Tristin more time?”
“Not more. The perfect amount.”
Like a villainous fucking Goldilocks. Not too little time or too much. Just right.
Not for the first time, I wanted to punch the man.
“Does Tristin know?”
Vincent laughed again, but this time, I would have sworn there was actual humor in it. “Of course, he knows. He figured it out at the damn sentencing hearing. Why do you think he hates me so much?”
Holy shit.
Holy.
Shit.
“That’s sick, Dad.”
“No. It’s savvy. Tristin did his part for this family by sacrificing himself for Leo, and I made sure the sacrifice wasn’t in vain.” Vincent took a step toward his son, his stance just shy of menacing. “You think you have what it takes to be the next me?”
Hayle straightened. “You know I do.”
“Then you’re going to have to toughen the hell up. I have to make the hard decisions and not look back. Which means you will too.”
He squeezed Hayle’s shoulder in what had to be the closest thing to a fatherly gesture I’d seen from him since returning to Moss Harbor. If only it wasn’t paired with a whole lot of batshit crazy. “I don’t think you can do it, but I’d be happy to watch you prove me wrong.”
With those parting words, Vincent strode to the sliding glass doors and disappeared inside the house. A few seconds later, Hayle lifted a chair and pitched it off the deck. It slammed into the ground below, the wood splintering, but he didn’t seem to care. He stomped down the stairs and headed toward the woods.
I didn’t even think about it—I ran after him. “Hayle, wait.”
He stopped but didn’t turn around. “What do you want, Thea?”
“We should talk about what just happened.”
Turning around, he asked, “How much did you hear?”
The defeat in his dark brown eyes made me want to make light of the situation. Well, relatively. “Enough to know Vincent isn’t winning any Father of the Year awards anytime soon.”
He snorted. “That’s an understatement.”
“At least you know now.”
“Know what?”