It was Erin’s turn to laugh. “They’ve seen us in bed together more times than I can count, Morgan. It won’t do them any harm.”
“Oh, right. Course. Sorry.”
Erin lifted her head and kissed her. “Stop saying sorry. I’m glad you’re thinking about them, and what’s best for them. But seeing us in bed together isn’t anything to worry about. Now, figuring out Tristan’s problem…” She shrugged.
“Yeah. I’ll try and talk to him again later. Maybe he’ll talk if we’re alone.”
“Okay.” Erin threw off the covers and climbed out of bed. “I’m going to jump in the shower. I’d say join me, but that’s probably not a good idea with your knee.”
Morgan couldn’t take her eyes off Erin. The rounded curves of her hip and breasts, her long, slender legs, and the soft, flawless skin begged for her touch.
Erin chuckled. “Stop looking at me like that, or we’ll still be in bed when I have to go to work tonight, never mind when the kids get home.” She stepped back to the bed, leaned down, and kissed her.
“Tristan can use a microwave, can’t he?” She caught Erin’s hair in her fist, deepening the kiss. Erin groaned before she pulled away.
“Come on, time to be grownups.” Erin walked into the en suite leaving the door open.
“Being a grownup sucks!”
Erin laughed, climbing into the shower and running her hands over her body.
Morgan groaned and rolled to the edge of the bed. “And you’re a tease.” She grabbed her clothes and hunted for her underwear.
“In the chest of drawers under the window. Top drawer. There’s clean underwear in there,” Erin called, the cascading water almost drowning out her voice.
“Thanks.” She dressed quickly and looked up in time to see Erin leave the bathroom, still naked, drying her hair with a towel. “God, you’re beautiful.”
Erin beamed. “A girl could get used to all these compliments.”
Morgan hugged her, kissed her damp neck, her cheek, and then her mouth. “I’m going to put the kettle on before I can’t stop touching you. Do you want coffee?”
“Please.” Erin pulled her in for a final kiss, then pushed her away, laughing.
Morgan hummed a tune she couldn’t remember the words to as she made the drinks and sat at the kitchen table. She started flipping through a magazine as she waited.
The front door opened and Tristan barged through, and then let it slam closed behind him. His angry stare fixed on her, his lips pursed in a thin line. He dropped his bag on a chair and stalked to the fridge.
“How was school?”
He pulled the fridge open and grabbed a drink without answering her.
Boy, does this feel familiar? “I asked you a question, Tristan.”
He started for the door, but Morgan stood and blocked his path.
“Look, whatever the problem is, ignoring me and stomping around isn’t going to solve it. Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong, and we’ll figure out a way to fix it.” She reached out to put her hand on his shoulder, but he backed away, flinching as he backed right up to the sink. What the fuck? She dropped her hand back to her side. “Tristan, please. Why are you acting like you’re scared of me?”
“Get away from me! I won’t talk to you. I wish you’d never come back!” He tossed the can in the sink, his eyes darting in every direction as he seemed to look for a way out.
“I thought we were past that. I don’t have the answers—”
“I know the answers. I know.”
Oh, fuck. It has to be. He knows about Anna. “Look, Tristan, just say it. Whatever you think it is, just tell me, and we can talk it out. If you know something about before, just tell me.” Seeing fear in his eyes tore at her heart. He’s afraid of me. Why? Why would knowing about Anna make him scared of me? It doesn’t make sense.
Erin’s footsteps sounded down the stairs and in the hallway. Morgan felt her hand at the small of her back, but she didn’t take her eyes off Tristan. Erin slid her hand round and down her arm until their fingers entwined.
Tristan’s gaze dropped when Erin appeared at her side, but Morgan had seen the look in his eye before he tried to hide it. Terror. He was terrified of something, but she had no idea what. He’s afraid of me, and terrified for Erin. What the hell is going on?
He looked at Erin. “You’re touching her.”
Erin frowned. “So?”
“Like you used to touch her. Before she left.”
“I say again. So?”
“Does that mean she’s back?” He flicked his eyes in Morgan’s direction, before stepping closer to Erin. “With you?”
“Yes. We love each other.”
“No.” Tristan’s voice cracked as he shouted, panic clinging to every syllable. “She can’t. You can’t take her back. You don’t have to.” He grabbed hold of Erin’s free hand and tried to pull her away from Morgan. “I don’t want her to hurt you. I know now. We can make Maddie understand why she can’t see us ever again.”
“Tristan, stop. What are you talking about? She’s your mum.” Erin gripped his hand, but she wouldn’t be pulled away from Morgan. “We’re a family. She loves us.”
“I don’t care.” He turned and faced Morgan. “I know the truth about you. I know what you did. I won’t let you hurt her.”
“Tristan, please tell me what you’re talking about.” Morgan felt everything crumbling around her.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph. He threw it at her. “I know what you did.”
Morgan steeled herself. Erin hadn’t seen the picture of her and Anna. She wished they didn’t have to see this now, not after all they had shared earlier. She didn’t want anything to ruin it. She glanced at Erin, but her eyes were locked on the picture in her hand. She could see Erin bracing herself and she took a deep breath and met Morgan’s gaze. She nodded, clearly expecting to see Morgan in another woman’s arms. Morgan wanted to scream, wishing she had any other option than hurting Erin, but she couldn’t see any other option at this point.
She turned the picture over.
What the hell?
It wasn’t a picture of her and Anna.
It was a picture of her as a teenager, her mother on one side of her, and her father on the other. She looked sullen and brooding. Her father had his hand on Morgan’s shoulder. Her mother was slightly off to the side, her eyes sad, shoulders stooped, a fading bruise around her left eye almost covered with makeup.
“Tristan, what is this?”
“I know what you did.”
Chapter Thirty-six
Erin grabbed the picture from Morgan’s hand, staring at it. “This is your dad?” She flipped the photo over and glanced at Morgan. Her face was white, sweat beaded on her upper lip, and her hands were shaking.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve never seen a picture of him before.”
Morgan turned her head quickly. “You haven’t?”
Erin shook her head. “No.”
“I wonder why.” Sarcasm dripped from every word as Tristan grabbed for the picture, a sneer curling his lips. “That’s mine. It was given to me.”
“Who gave you this?” Erin pulled it out of his reach. “This has never been in this house. Where did you get it?”
“None of your business. Give it to me.” He held out his hand.
“Oh, no. I’m still your mother and you will show me more respect than that, young man. Now sit down and start talking.” Erin pointed at a chair, her chest heaving as she tried to retain control of her escalating anger.
“No. You let her back in here. You don’t care about me. You don’t care about us!”
Each word was an arrow slicing her heart and rending her soul. How could he think that? How could he doubt her love for him? For them both? When she opened her eyes, she could see her own wounded look reflected back at her. Tristan’s sorrow marred his lovely face and festered in his eyes. She had to remind herself that the belligerent teen in front of her was actua
lly her precious little boy. Confused, in pain, and scared, but the child she loved just the same.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that, Tristan, because right now, you’re angry, and people say things when they’re angry that they later regret. When you calm down, you’re going to regret saying that to me. When that happens, I want you to remember that I love you. I love Maddie. You both mean the world to me, and I would never knowingly do anything to hurt either of you.”
She wanted to pull him into her arms, to wipe away the torment that made his shoulders inch toward his ears and body hum with tension. All that stopped her was the certain knowledge that her actions would push him further away from her.
“Will you please sit down so that we can sort this out?”
“I’ve got nothing to say to her.” He glared at Morgan.
Erin flicked her eyes in Morgan’s direction. “Okay, will you talk to me if Morgan goes into the other room?”
She could see Morgan nodding, but she didn’t acknowledge her. The door clicked shut behind her and her hobbling steps could be heard down the hallway.
“Okay, it’s just you and me. Now tell me.”
Tristan wouldn’t meet her eyes. His chin dropped so low it seemed stuck to his chest, and his arms folded across his body as he bit his lower lip.
Erin waited. This was a battle of wills she clearly couldn’t afford to lose.
“Tristan, we can sit here all night. I don’t care. But you will tell me what’s going on. Where did you get this picture?” Erin placed the picture on the table.
Tristan stared at the picture, his leg jumping and twitching under the table.
He’s just like Morgan with that nervous twitch. Still she waited, determined to get the answers she needed to help him. Time dragged. Every tick of the clock felt like an hour passing rather than the tiny second it was.
“Okay, we’ll try a different question. What is it you think she’s done?”
“I don’t think, I know.” His voice was strong and sure, certain in the knowledge he held. His body stopped shaking as his anxiety fled in the face of his truth. “He told me what she did.”
“Who told you what?”
Silence. His leg twitched again.
“What are you so afraid of, Tristan? Morgan? Me? Or this mysterious him?”
Tristan still said nothing.
“If it’s so awful that I need to keep her away from you, then you need to tell me. I can’t protect you if I don’t know what I’m supposed to protect you from.”
“Who protects you, Mum? You can’t let her hurt you.” The words crawled out of his mouth on a pained whimper.
“Tristan, your mum won’t hurt me. We’ve worked out the problems—”
“You don’t have to take her back because you’re scared of her. You’re kinda pretty; you can find someone else.”
“I don’t want anyone else. And I’m not scared of her. I have never been scared of Morgan. Where’s all this coming from?”
His features shifted from anger to failure, from fear to hate, in the blink of an eye. “I should have seen—I should have stopped—” He reached for the picture and ran a finger down the fading bruises of his grandmother’s face. “Colin’s dad hits his mum sometimes. He said she won’t ever tell him the truth either. But he knows.”
Erin was stunned. “Morgan has never hit me. Not once. She hasn’t ever touched you in anger, and she never would. Why are you saying this, Tristan? Is this about Colin? Do you want me to talk to his mum?” Erin knew she was grasping, but none of it made sense. Why was he talking about this while stroking the picture of a dead woman? Why was he suddenly so scared of Morgan?
The realization struck her, and an explosion of images, words, thoughts detonated in her brain. She knew she should have thought of it before, but it just seemed impossible. He’s still in prison, right? He can’t be the cause of all this, can he? She jabbed at the picture.
“Where did you get this, Tristan? Tell me now.”
The angry, belligerent Tristan was gone. The boy before her was resolute but sad. “No, I can’t. I made a promise.”
“And that promise is more important to you than we are? Your mother and me?”
The stubborn set of his mouth softened, obviously questioning the value he placed on his word. “You taught me to always keep my promises.”
Shit. “Yes, I did. But I also taught you to think for yourself. To be kind and to know that your family love you. I thought I taught you to love us in return.”
Tears dripped over his eyelashes, spilling a river down his cheeks.
“Do you still love me?” Erin knew she was pushing, but there had to be an end.
He nodded, the tears falling thick and fast.
“Do you think all this, all these secrets, are the best way to show me that?”
He dropped his head back to his chest, sobs wracking his body as he continued to fight the emotion. Erin wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him to her.
“Tell me, Tristan. Who gave you this?”
“I can’t.” The words were muffled against her chest and thick with tears, but she heard them loud and clear.
“Why not? What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not scared!”
“Then tell me—”
“I’m the man of the house. I’m not scared of anything.” He pushed away from her, quickly breaking her hold and jumping to his feet. The chair clattered to the ground behind him. “I’m not afraid.”
Tristan ran from the room, leaving the picture on the table and avoiding Erin’s hands as she reached for him. His heavy footsteps on the stairs weren’t enough to drown out the pounding of her own heart or the resounding beat of dread bouncing around her brain.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Morgan pushed open the door to the kitchen. Erin had her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she cried. Morgan stood behind her, wrapped her arms around her shoulders, and kissed the top of her head. Erin gripped her hands and turned her head into her neck.
“Did you hear?” Erin’s voice was muffled against her skin.
“Yeah. He thinks I beat you.” Please, God, don’t let that be true. “I know you told him I didn’t, but I need to ask. Did I hurt you?”
“No.” Erin pulled away and looked at her. Her eyes were unwavering, her jaw set in determination, her posture purposeful and steadfast. “You never raised a finger to any of us. When we decided to have children, you were definite that we wouldn’t ever touch them in anger. I teased you once about spanking them if they were showing us up in the street or something. You were so upset you postponed the first IVF treatment.” She tugged on Morgan’s sleeve until she was sitting in the chair Tristan had vacated. “I would never let anyone be with our children, including us, if I didn’t trust them completely.”
“Thank you.” Morgan leaned forward and captured Erin’s lips in a slow, sweet kiss. “I couldn’t hear everything. Who gave him the picture and told him all these lies?”
“He wouldn’t say, but I think it’s your dad.”
Apprehension gripped her. “But he’s in prison.”
“Is he? He sent that letter in June, Morgan. It’s September now. He said he was being paroled.”
“Fuck!” How much more of this could they all take? It was just one thing after another. Every time she felt as though they were finding solid ground, it turned to quicksand beneath her feet. Morgan started to get up, but Erin caught her arm.
“Where are you going?”
“To ask Tristan.”
Erin shook her head. “No, we need more than conjecture. He’s as stubborn as we both are, and he’s scared.” Erin tugged her back into her seat. “Where’s the letter?”
Morgan pulled it from her pocket, and handed it over as Erin cocked her eyebrow in question. “I didn’t know where to put it that was safe, I didn’t want the kids to read it. How much do they know about my dad?”
“Well, I think Tristan knows a whole l
ot more now than what we told him, but basically, we told them that Gran died before they were born, and we never actually mentioned Granddad. They know my dad left when I was a child, so I think they assumed it was along the same sort of lines. You never spoke of him. We never saw pictures, nothing. It was like he didn’t exist for you, so he didn’t for any of us.”
“So, if my dad has spoken to him, or written to him—”
“Tristan will have no idea what to believe, other than we lied to him, and this person is giving him the information that is supposedly the truth.”
Morgan pressed her fingers into the corner of her eyes. “I fucked it up so bad.”
“Now isn’t the time for blame, babe. We both thought that telling the kids would only cause them pain they didn’t need to feel. We both made the mistakes. Now we don’t have time to dwell on it all, because Tristan needs us to fix it.” She pulled Morgan’s hand to her lips and kissed her knuckles. “We need to call the prison and find out.”
“Then what?” Her decision to flee in order to protect them all was becoming more and more understandable by the second. She knew she would never be able to make that same decision again, but she understood it now. She felt like an animal backed into a corner, with two choices, fight or flight. She’d run before. She refused to do it again.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed the number on the visiting order. “Good afternoon, HMP Strangeways.” The voice on the other end of the line was deep, gravelly, and slightly intimidating.
“Hello, I have a visiting order, and I’d like to make an appointment.” Morgan’s hands were shaking as she held the phone to her ear. She remembered her mother telling her that monsters weren’t real when she was a child. That the boogie man didn’t exist. She was wrong. Some boogie men grow with us and just get more frightening.
“What’s the visiting order reference number?”
Morgan read off the number, then the prisoner reference number when prompted.
“Please hold.”
Muzak blared down the line, some panpipe version of a popular song.
“Hello?” The gruff voice returned.
Clean Slate Page 24
