Page 5 of Secrets of the Past (Secrets of Mustang Island #3)

N icole had thought she’d buried it.

That night.

That chapel.

That boy.

The impossible hope of forever.

She thought it had all been laid to rest in a part of her heart she’d sealed off with steel and silence. But now, the grave had been disturbed.

Robbed actually.

By a man in a navy suit who still knew how to make her heart stutter and her knees weak, even as her brain screamed don’t you dare .

She stepped through the back door of her parents’ house just after sunset. The familiar creak of the hinges greeted her, followed by the scent of simmering onions and warm tortillas. Her mother was at the stove, humming an old love song in Spanish that made Nicole’s skin prickle.

Her father, Francisco, sat in his recliner in the den, eyes fixed on a game show, his worn fishing cap tilted low. A can of beer rested on the side table, unopened.

It was like walking into a time capsule.

Same smells.

Same sounds.

Same tension under the surface.

Only now, her two sisters and younger brother were not here to run interference. Nicole slipped off her heels, sighing as her aching feet touched the cool tile.

Though her parents loved one another deeply, her father’s health had frightened them and brought her home. All her other siblings were married with children. She’d been the obvious one to take care of them.

“You’re late,” her mother said without looking up. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Nicole dropped her briefcase by the hallway table and leaned against the doorway to the kitchen. “Work ran long. Pre-trial motions.”

Her mother glanced at her then, eyes sharp behind her glasses. “That big murder case you mentioned?”

Nicole nodded, brushing a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Yeah. It’s going to be high profile.”

Her mother stirred the onions, then added a scoop of shredded chicken to the pan. “So… what do you want? The man to get off?”

Nicole smiled faintly. “Just letting you know why I’m late.”

She sighed. “I still believe he killed his girlfriend because she was pregnant.”

Silence hung for a moment.

Then, softly, she said, “I saw Tripp today.”

The spatula froze mid-stir.

In the den, the sound of the TV clicked off.

Nicole didn’t move.

Her mother set the spatula down with exaggerated care and turned, her expression unreadable.

“What do you mean?” she asked, too casually. “You saw him where?”

Nicole tilted her head. “He’s the defense attorney. On the Reddick case. His law firm is trying to get this man off of murder one.”

Her mother blinked. “Oh.”

Just oh .

Nicole crossed her arms. “That’s it? He looked mighty handsome.”

“What do you want me to say?” her mother replied, turning back to the stove. “It’s been twenty years. People move on. I keep waiting for you to move on. To find another man to love.”

She’d dated all through college, always measuring each man against Tripp.

Once, she’d even gone so far as to sleep with someone, hoping it might change something inside her, hoping she’d feel different.

But afterward—nothing. Empty. If anything, she’d hated the experience, hated herself for trying to replace what could never be replaced.

“I have moved on,” she said. “It’s just I don’t trust men. They lie.”

In the other room, Francisco shifted in his chair but didn’t say a word. That was his role, always watching, rarely speaking.

“Not all of us,” he said.

“I know, Papa. Momma got the best,” she said.

He spoke even less since he had the debilitating heart attack that had him retiring from fishing. He’d even sold his boat and was collecting disability.

Nicole walked farther into the kitchen, her pulse quickening.

How would her mother react to what Tripp had told her today?

“He said something… strange.”

As a lawyer, she always enjoyed watching the clients’ or witnesses’ faces when she asked them a surprise question. There were telltale signs that were easily recognized if you knew what to look for.

Her mother stirred the chicken as if this were just any other evening, just any other conversation. But Nicole knew better. She’d been a lawyer long enough to recognize a witness dodging a trap. To see the tension in her mother’s shoulders.

“He said,” Nicole continued, “he called me. A lot. After we… after he left.”

Her mother didn’t respond. Didn’t even look up.

Nicole pressed on. “He said he left voicemails. That he never emailed me to end things. That I emailed him .”

Only her mother had access to her email account when she was in school. Only she could have sent that tragic note.

Her mother opened a drawer, pulled out a dish towel, and began wiping down a spotless counter.

Nicole took another step, turning toward her mother. “Did you send that email?”

Her mother’s hand stilled. “What email? I’m a house cleaner. What do I know about emails? My kids were the computer gurus, not your father and me. I know nothing of this email.”

It was true, but she’d also witnessed her mother checking her brothers' and sisters' emails to make sure they were not being trolled. The woman knew more about computers than she was saying.

Nicole wrapped her arms so tightly across her chest, it felt like she was holding herself together.

“You know which email. The one that broke me.” The one that gutted her so completely, she could barely get out of bed, drowning in a darkness she wasn’t sure she’d ever escape.

And the worst part? He’d walked away as if her devastation had been nothing more than collateral damage.

Or at least, she had believed that until today. And even now, she wasn’t quite certain what to think.

“I don’t.” Her mother’s voice was soft, slippery. “I don’t remember any emails. That was a long time ago.”

Nicole’s throat tightened. “I remember it.”

Thirteen words. Cold. Final. Not a trace of the boy she’d married.

I’ve changed my mind. This was a mistake. Please don’t contact me again.

Her mother still didn’t look at her. “Emails get lost. Phones get misplaced. Sometimes people say and do things they regret.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Her mother turned then, finally, slowly, her eyes calm but calculating. “Why would I send an email from your account?”

Nicole stared at her. “You tell me.”

A beat passed.

“You’re my daughter, but I don’t get into your email account. That’s your business,” she said.

That was true now, but had it been back then? Why did this feel wrong? Like she wasn’t telling her everything.

Then her mother offered a small, tight smile. “Dinner’s ready. Go tell your father.”

She was being dismissed. And that made her even more suspicious, twisting the betrayal even tighter in her gut. If they had not sent the emails, who had?

Nicole stood there a moment longer, every muscle in her body humming with something between anger and dread.

Her mother turned back to the stove as if the conversation had never happened.

Nicole walked into the den. Her father hadn’t moved.

She leaned against the doorframe and folded her arms. “Did you know he was back?”

“Who?”

He stared at the television, the sound still on mute.

“Tripp Masterson.”

Francisco glanced at her. “No.”

“Did you know he was the defense attorney on my case?”

“No.”

She watched him. “Do you remember what happened? Back then?”

He blinked slowly. “I remember you cried. For days.”

And she had. He’d broken her heart and left a scar that still lingered. It was hard to trust someone when you’d been lied to like she had.

“That’s all?”

His mouth twitched. “I remember I wanted to kill the boy for breaking your heart.”

A typical fatherly response. But did he have something to do with the annulment? It had been delivered to the house by someone from Tripp’s father’s law firm. All she’d had to do was sign.

Nicole let out a dry laugh. “I thought he left me. Just walked away. But now… I don’t know. Something’s not right.”

Francisco didn’t respond. Instead, he stared at the television screen that he’d muted.

Nicole looked back toward the kitchen.

“She’s hiding something.”

Her father took a sip of his beer, which was now open. “She always was better at keeping secrets than I was. Still is.”

Was she keeping secrets from Nicole about Tripp?

“I’m going to find out the truth,” she said.

“What good will that do? Leave the past in the past,” her father said, glancing up from the television, his expression tight and drawn.

Nicole’s chest tightened. “Did you want us to end?”

Francisco didn’t answer right away. Then: “I wanted you to be happy. I didn’t think he could give you that. You’re my beautiful daughter, and I want the best for you. Even after twenty years, I still want the best for you.”

Everyone assumed that they couldn’t be happy. Even her friend Paige had doubted their marriage would last.

Nicole swallowed hard. “Maybe he could’ve made me happy.”

Her father didn’t look at her. “Doubtful. What took him so long to return to the island?”

“Don’t know. But he’s my opponent in court. He’s my enemy until I put his man away,” she said. “And his family is still in control of him. He’s working at his father’s law firm.”

Why she’d been surprised, she didn’t know. But he’d always said he didn’t want to follow in his father’s footsteps. That he wanted his own firm.

Francisco gave her a look. “So was I the day I asked your mother to marry me. Her father threatened to shoot me.”

Nicole shook her head, a bitter smile on her lips. “That’s not the same.”

Francisco raised an eyebrow. “It’s not that different.”

Nicole didn’t answer. She pushed away from the doorframe and walked slowly back to her room.

She sat on the edge of her childhood bed, the same one with the quilt her abuela had made, the same bookshelf full of old paperbacks and forgotten notebooks, and stared at the wall.

Her mother had lied.

Not outright. Not with words. But in that way, women like her mother always did with half-smiles and carefully placed silences.

Tonight, Nicole had set the stage for uncovering the truth.

Her mother might sense she was probing, testing the edges, but soon, subtlety would no longer be enough.

She was done living with shadows. She would find out who had torn them apart, and why, even if it broke her all over again.

And now, for the first time in two decades, Nicole felt the terrible, shifting weight of doubt.

What if Tripp hadn’t separated them?

What if it had been the people who claimed to love them both?

Her heart twisted, unsure of what to believe. Her memory clashed with her logic, her instinct with her resentment.

She reached for her phone, hesitated, then opened her email.

There it was. Still saved. A scar she’d never deleted.

I’ve changed my mind. This was a mistake. Please don’t contact me again.

No greeting. No emotion. No closure. Nothing like the Tripp who had married her and loved her.

No mention of the wedding.

She stared at it for a long time.

Then, for the first time in twenty years, she hit reply. Would he answer? Did he still have the same email address?

She didn’t type anything. Just stared at the blinking cursor.

Quickly, she typed. She needed to make this clear. She had to try.

Someone is lying.

A few minutes later, she got a response.

I know, he wrote. I’m going to find out who. And it wasn’t me. Meet me at Charlie’s for dinner tomorrow night.

No. Time to let the past be the past.

They were on opposite sides of a trial that would determine a man’s life. She would not be meeting with him. And even if she could, she needed time to accept this new reality.

It wasn’t Tripp’s fault their marriage was annulled. But who had done this to them?