After the Storm

by Katy Ames

  “No!” Tessa was about to jump on the new intruder when smaller hands pulled her back.

  “Tessa! Tessa!” Grace was shouting her name. “Stop. It’s me. It’s Grace. Stop.” Grace managed to halt her just before a leg flew inches from her nose, followed by three bodies crashing to the ground.

  There was a jumble of grunts and curses and slams of fists against faces, but, slowly, the chaos subsided. Mark hauled his cousin off the floor. Max stayed on the ground.

  “What the hell got into you?” Mark glared at Tristan, wiping blood off one eyebrow. “You can’t kill the fucker. No part of this plan involves you going to jail.”

  Max moaned from his prone position and Tristan’s fists tightened, the skin across his knuckles split. Mark stopped him.

  “We need him conscious. We need him talking. You want this to end tonight, right?”

  “Yes. I left the island to end it. It’s the only reason I’m here.”

  “Then it ends. Tonight. But not with him leaving in a body bag and you in the back of a cop car. Agreed?”

  Tristan glared at the man on the floor. Every ounce of hurt and rage was etched on his face. It looked like he wasn’t going to agree.

  “Tristan?” Tessa slipped out of Grace’s grasp and held her hand out. “No more. Please. He’s done enough damage. Don’t let him provoke you into doing more.”

  Tristan blinked, unfocused, sweat blending with the thick, red streak that cut across his cheek. The sigh he released undid him, his limbs loosening, body collapsing to the ground. Tessa dropped down next to him and looped her arms around his neck.

  “Little shit.”

  Everyone turned. Max had pushed himself up and managed to give Tristan a disgusted look, despite the swelling to his jaw and the bruise covering one eye.

  Mark crouched next to him, his expression stone cold. “I realize you like a fight, Uncle. More than anyone else in this room. But you’re outnumbered. So take my advice. Shut the fuck up.”

  Max pressed the cuff of his ridiculously expensive shirt against his busted lip. “Still a nosy fucker, aren’t you?”

  Mark shifted, getting ready to hit Max again, but this time Grace settled him with a hand to his shoulder. “I get it, babe. I really do. In fact, I’d like my turn at the asshole. But that’s not why we’re here.”

  Tessa looked up from against Tristan’s shoulder. “Yeah, why are you here?”

  Mark stood then hauled Max up, dropping him into a nearby chair with a thud. “I got a call. From Tristan’s man. Dean.” He looked at his cousin. “He’s trying to reach you, by the way. Said the voice mailbox on your phone is full.”

  “I turned it off,” Tristan muttered.

  “Yeah. Not the best timing, coz. In addition to the fact that you left without telling anyone or saying where you were going, Dean’s been trying to let you know that Max had left the city. That he was on his way up here to find you.”

  “How did Dean know?” Tessa asked.

  “He’s been tracking Max. For us,” Mark answered.

  “For how long?” Tessa pushed.

  “A while,” Mark said with a shrug. “We needed some information. It was the best way to get it. Anyway, when Dean couldn’t reach you, he called me. We weren’t positive you were here. But once Dean said Max was on his way….” Mark looked between father and son. “It confirmed our hunch. And since Tessa had already left, Grace and I followed as fast as we could.”

  Max sputtered, then clamped his arm to his side. Broken rib, Tessa thought. Gleefully.

  “Shows how smart you lot are.” It was Max’s turn to glare at them. “I followed you. As soon as your plane took off I realized what was going on. Realized Tristan had come back. There was no way you’d fly out so fast, the three of you, if the boy hadn’t decided to go into hiding again. Your grand attempt to rescue Tristan from himself only made my life easier.”

  “Why?” Tristan finally spoke. “Why are you here? What could you possibly want now?”

  “The same thing I’ve always wanted.” Max leaned back in his chair, looking like he hadn’t a care in the world. “Money.”

  The other four stared at him. Grace was the one to break the silence. “But you have money. Tons of it. More than any one person could possibly need. Why could you possibly want more?”

  Max looked at Mark, then Tristan, before slowly smiling at Grace. “Payback.”

  Tristan shrugged out from Tessa’s grasp and jumped to his feet. He took a menacing step towards his father. “What could you possibly need payback for? What has gone so wrong in your goddamn life that’s made you so determined to fuck it up for everyone else?”

  Max didn’t even bother looking up. “Why, you, Tristan. You’re the reason for this mess. You’re the reason for everything.”

  “You asshole!” Tessa was around Tristan, her hand whipping across Max’s face before she had a chance to think. “Don’t you dare!” she shouted. “Don’t you dare blame him for any of the awful, fucked-up things you’ve done. You were right. He’s nothing like you. Nothing.” Tessa was enraged, oblivious to Tristan trying to drag her away from Max. Her voice just got louder.

  “Tristan’s not cruel. He’s not cold or callous. He doesn’t think it’s his God-given right to hurt people, try to destroy them. He doesn’t steal their livelihoods or blackmail them when he doesn’t get what he wants. He doesn’t send thugs after his family members to hurt them.”

  Tessa yanked free from Tristan’s grasp and got toe to toe with the hateful man, unable to stop the torrent. “You’re so quick to condemn him for not being like Hurst men? You call it his weakness. And you couldn’t be more fucking wrong. All the ways he’s different from you—those are the things that make him strong.” Tessa battled her anger for air, unaware of the tears slipping free.

  “He’s kind, and warm, and compassionate, and loving. So fucking loving, despite having it almost cut out of him as a child. Whatever fucked-up shit you’ve pulled, whatever you did to make Tristan think he wasn’t good enough, that he didn’t deserve to be part of his own family, that his only choice was to live alone, cut off from every form of affection—” Her voice caught, her heart hammering.

  Tessa braced a hand on each arm of the chair and leveled her gaze to Max’s. She was blind to the salty drop that hit his well-tailored pants. “Tristan isn’t perfect. He’s not shiny and new and free of dents or scars. No.” Tessa had to haul in a breath, her lungs burning. “He’s better than perfect. Because those heinous scars you put on his back are proof of how brave he is, how strong. You tried to break him, again and again, with your indifference, your cruelty, and he’s still standing, still fighting. Because, deep down, his capacity for love is so great that he’s managed to survive years of solitude and still come out the other side. He is the best man I’ve ever known. My friend. The man I love. And I will not let you hurt him. Not again. It’s you who are a failure, Mr. Hurst. You, the stupid one. Because you don’t deserve him. But he’s still yours and you can’t even recognize how lucky you are to have Tristan as your son.”

  Tessa didn’t realize she was crying. Not until Tristan pulled her away and kissed her, hard, fast, his fingers catching the tears as he cupped her face. Their heavy breaths tangled. “You are so fucking amazing,” he whispered, covering her mouth again. His love sank deeper with each pass and tug of his lips.

  “I agree,” Max interrupted, completely unfazed. “That was an impassioned speech, Ms. Armstrong. Well done, indeed. But you are missing a critical point.”

  Tessa didn’t break Tristan’s gaze. “Oh, what’s that?”

  “He’s not my son.”

  She froze, Max in her peripheral vision. She heard Grace and Mark gasp behind her. Max was ignoring all of them, his eyes on Tristan.

  Tessa stared at him too, terrified that she was about to see her beautiful, strong, battered man break apart right where he was standing. Terrified that this was the blow that would take him down.

  She had to blink, refocus,
when the complete opposite happened.

  Tristan’s mouth hung open, the first sound a rush of air, then his head fell back and a laugh, loud and rich, started. And kept going. One burst, then another. Another few seconds, and he was howling. Tears streamed down his face and he eventually sat in another chair, residual tremors occasionally shaking his chest.

  “You’re serious?” He looked at Max with such hope Tessa thought he might have lost it. “This isn’t another attempt to fuck me over, right? This is for real?”

  For the first time since Max had stepped into the cabin, he looked uncertain. And just as surprised as everyone else by Tristan’s reaction. “I’m serious,” he finally said.

  The two men considered each other, the sudden and unexpected humor gone. “She told you? Mom told you, point blank, I’m not yours.”

  “She didn’t. But she didn’t have to. I heard her discussing it.”

  “With?”

  “With your real father.”

  Tristan went absolutely still, seeing nothing but the man across from him. “When did you find out?”

  “You know when.”

  “That night. In your office.”

  Max nodded. “I walked in on them. They didn’t expect me back so soon.”

  Tristan frowned, confused. “Mom never went in your office. Why would she be there, why would she bring him there? Anyone there, for that matter. That doesn’t make sense. You’re sure you didn’t misunderstand?”

  “I’m sure.” Max didn’t hesitate. “She didn’t bring him there. She didn’t need to. He was waiting for me. We’d set a time to meet. He must have arrived early and, then, so did I.”

  “Who, Max?”

  Max’s eyes flicked to Mark before returning to Tristan. “Andrew.”

  “No!” Mark lunged forward but stopped when both Max and Tristan held up their hands.

  “Wait, Mark,” Tristan said. “Not yet.” He turned back to Max. “Explain. Now.”

  “You sure you don’t have anything to drink in this shit hole?” Everyone waited in silence as Tristan disappeared through a door and returned a few minutes later with a foggy glass half filled with amber liquid. No ice.

  “I’d apologize for not serving you something up to your standards, but honestly I don’t give a fuck.”

  Max answered by taking a sip. He winced, then downed half the glass in a few more swallows. Fortified, he looked at Tristan. “Andrew Donovan is your father. There’s no doubt about it. I checked.”

  “You checked?”

  “Yes. DNA comparison. I needed to be sure.”

  “And he knew?”

  “Yes.” Another sip. “I think he knew from the beginning.” Mark swore at that, and Grace grabbed his hand.

  Tessa hovered behind Tristan’s chair. She wanted to touch him, to tell him she was there, that she’d help him get through this, however this ended up. But he was closed off, emotionless. Going through his questions with precision.

  “He didn’t say anything.”

  “Tamsin didn’t want him to.”

  “Did my mom know?” Mark cut in. “Did Amelia know?”

  “No.” Max shook his head but didn’t look away from Tristan. “Amelia didn’t know. Doesn’t know. As far as I’m aware. Unless Andrew said something before he died.”

  “Jesus,” Mark whispered, finally claiming the small sofa between the chairs. Grace immediately sat next to him.

  “What were they saying? The night you walked in on them in your office?”

  Max took another long swig, but Tessa wasn’t positive the drink was the reason he winced. “Andrew wanted to come clean. To you, at least. He thought you were old enough to know. Maybe not understand, not at first. But that you deserved to hear it so you could at least start to process it.”

  “Why then? After sixteen years, why then?”

  “He was worried you’d suspect. The older you got, the more you started to look like him. There was no way of telling, but I think Andrew thought you might realize that something didn’t add up.”

  “But Mom said no.”

  “Tamsin said it wasn’t the right time. That they should wait. That you were still young. That you wouldn’t understand. That she didn’t want to add one more thing for you to worry about, on top of school, and soccer, and Mark leaving for college. So Tamsin said no.”

  “And you heard all of this?”

  “Yes,” Max answered. “I was surprised when I heard your mother’s voice in my office. She never went in there. She never came to talk to me….” He looked away, a troubled look surfacing before he pushed it back down with another drink. “I was surprised. I waited. I listened.”

  “And they confirmed it.”

  Max lifted a shoulder, the casual gesture at odds with the weight of the conversation. “It was pointless not to. I’d heard enough. Tamsin sent Andrew away. She wanted to deal with it on her own.”

  “That’s why she didn’t fight.” Tristan slumped in his chair. “When I came in, you were yelling, saying the ugliest fucking things. And she didn’t fight back. She just took it.”

  “Because they were true.”

  “They were not!” Tristan was on the edge of his chair but held himself back. “The names you called her, the things you said. Regardless of what had happened, what they’d done, she didn’t deserve any of that. And definitely not the fucking glass.”

  “She didn’t deserve it?” Max’s detached demeanor vanished, rage coating the question. “She didn’t fucking deserve it? In your expert opinion, Tristan, what did she deserve? After fucking my friend and business partner for sixteen fucking years and giving birth to his child and pretending it was mine? What did she deserve?”

  “You’re such a fucking hypocrite,” Tristan shouted back. “You sat there, in that very chair, and told me that Hurst men have wives, mistresses, and women they fuck. That having one never stops you from taking another. And I know for a fact just how many women you like to fuck at any given time, Dad. So don’t for one second pretend that you’re the wronged party in this situation. I don’t doubt the blow was harsh. But let’s not pretend that you didn’t deserve it.”

  “You arrogant shit.” Max was out of his chair, ignoring the pain the movement must have caused. His glass rolled away, forgotten. “You think you know me? Think you know anything about the relationship I had with your mother? That I wanted to have? I wanted to be her husband!” Max shouted, color flooding his face. “I wanted to be a father. To our child! I wanted all the things my father told me didn’t exist and I sure as hell never saw, not at home, but I thought maybe I could find with your mother and then she fucked my best friend!”

  Max’s eyes were glassy, sweat breaking out across his forehead. Everyone was still, stunned. It was like he’d just ripped back a curtain at the most fucked-up amusement park on earth, but instead of revealing the magic that made everything work, he’d shown them a hunk of metal, rusted and unusable, but forced to keep moving by a dream that just wouldn’t fucking die.

  “I didn’t know,” Tristan muttered.

  “Of course you didn’t,” Max bit back, harsh. The vulnerability was iced over in a flash. Tristan’s patience vanished.

  “Of course I didn’t,” he mimicked, flying up from his own chair. “Of course I don’t fucking know you. Because you wouldn’t let me. You weren’t around, Max. You were gone all the fucking time. Maybe at work. Maybe God knows where else. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part”—Tristan’s voice roughened—“was that you didn’t even seem to care. Never once did you apologize for missing a game. You never passed up working on a weekend so you could come on a trip with me and Mom. You never hugged, never showed affection. Do you know that I can’t actually remember hearing you say you loved me?”

  Tristan’s chest heaved up and down, and the man who’d been his father wouldn’t look at him.

  “Maybe it was the same for you. Maybe your parents never told you, so you never said it yourself. So you couldn’t say it to me
or Mom. But the thing about that, Max? You could’ve learned. At the very least, you could’ve tried. But you didn’t.” The men were chest to chest, neither backing down. “Mom deserves blame. So does Andrew. But so do you. There is only one person in this whole fucked-up scenario who shouldn’t have gotten any of it. And that’s me.”

  25

  Tristan guessed this was what people meant when they talked about having an out-of-body experience. He felt untethered, his brain divorced from his body, while his feet felt like they were welded to the ground. He was so twisted up, so turned around, so desperate for a drink and a fuck and a good night’s sleep. And out of his mind desperate for Tessa.

  He’d been only half asleep when he’d heard the knock at the door. He’d thought he’d imagined it. No one knew where he was. No one knew what his plan was. No one came to the cabin. And even if they did, they wouldn’t show up at three in the fucking morning.

  His absolute relief at seeing Tessa had vanished, however, when he’d seen the man behind her.

  Max. His father.

  Except…Max wasn’t his father. Andrew Donovan was. And Mark Donovan was his brother.

  Max collapsed back into the chair. Tristan doubted that whatever he’d said had made a dent. Max was too hard, too far gone to accept responsibility for his share of the mess. And what a mess it was.

  Tristan wondered, ever so slightly, if Max had hatched the plot right away. He wanted to believe that there was some small chance that the older man had offered Mark and Jack the funds they’d needed to start D&A because it was good business. Tristan knew emotion wasn’t involved. And definitely not family loyalty, not after what Max had just said. But whatever else Max had become, at one time he’d been a good businessman. Then Tristan remembered the conditions of the investment. The way Max had prevented Mark and Jack from having controlling shares. The way he’d sold them out to a competitor and tried to steal the company away….

  No, Tristan guessed, too exhausted to process it completely. Max had been looking for payback for a long fucking time.