Page 34 of Twisted Truths (The Sunburnt Hearts #4)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

HADLEY

T he back door closes, and a car starts outside, but Nash doesn’t return to the living room, and I’m left once again feeling like an intruder in his family home.

The small connection we shared only moments ago has been shattered, but I swallow down my disappointment.

He said he needs space, and I have to respect that.

My eyes drift to the rolls of carpet lining the far wall, and a shudder ripples through me as I realise what happened in here. I hurry from the room, feeling sick.

I reach the bathroom and fall to my knees, retching, but nothing comes up.

My face is flushed and clammy. I rise, legs shaky, and stagger to the sink, splashing water over my flushed skin.

The water calms me a little, and my eyes fall on the shower behind me.

I don’t have a change of clothes, but I can at least attempt to feel clean.

After a quick shower, I head back to the sitting room.

There’s a bookshelf lining the wall, and while I’ve never been much of a reader, I need a distraction from the man I can hear rustling around at the other end of the house.

Scanning the titles, I avoid the thrillers and true crime novels—I have enough of that in my real life—bypass the romance books, for obvious reasons, and pull Anne of Green Gables from the shelf.

Carrying the book to the sofa, I tuck myself up in the blanket Gabriel used last night and open the well-worn cover.

A soft, sad smile curls my lips when I see the words “Zara Stone, 8B” scrawled in the top corner of the title page.

I imagine a younger, innocent Zara sitting where I am now, reading her set English text.

With one last brush of my fingers over her name, I turn the page and begin to read. It takes me a while to get into it, but soon the words start to pull me in.

Anne’s wild imagination, and her fierce need to belong wrap around me like a warm hug. I feel that same need, deep within my soul, and I’m captivated by her story, desperate to find out how things work out for her. I smile more than once at her dramatics, which remind me a little of my sister.

Gabriel’s nickname for her was apt—she was a firecracker, and I’m seeing glimpses of the girl I looked up to in this fictional character.

As I read on, the house around me fades, and the ache in my chest quiets a little. For a while, I forget.

Forget the chaos outside these walls.

Forget I’m in a house where unspeakable things happened.

Forget Nash is nearby, still deciding if he can even look at me without seeing betrayal.

It’s simply me, Anne, and a red dirt lane to Green Gables.

I’m almost halfway through the book when my stomach growls loud enough to startle me.

I glance at the clock on the wall and realise hours have passed.

Late afternoon light filters through the blinds, and the scent of something cooking fills the air.

I haven’t eaten since Gabriel found some pasta in the cupboard when we arrived here last night, and while my body doesn’t always notice when I’ve skipped meals thanks to my eating disorder when I was younger, I’m suddenly ravenous.

I dog-ear the page to save my spot, and place the book on the coffee table, groaning softly at the stiffness in my body from sitting curled up in the same position for so long.

My heart gives a little tug. This is the first time in days I’ve felt remotely at peace.

Scratch that, it’s the first time in years.

Now I know why Gianna always buried her nose in a book, even though it was forbidden.

It was her own form of escape. My chest tightens at the thought of my old roommate.

I wonder what she thinks about my exile—and Gabriel’s. In fact, I wonder if she even knows?

It’s not uncommon for Gabriel or his brothers and cousins to take extended periods of leave.

We were told they were out spreading word of our cause.

Is this what Seraphina and Guardian Solomon have told the congregation in order to save face?

So no one will know their own son has turned against them?

These thoughts are still rattling around in my head as I make my way to the kitchen.

Nash has his back to me as he stands over the stove, the sound of sizzling beef masking my footsteps. I watch him for a moment, marvelling at the way he commands the kitchen. He flips the meat, then checks the oven. My mouth waters at the aromas filling the kitchen.

I never learnt how to cook. My mother cooked for me when I was younger, then Dianne, and our meals at the commune were provided for us.

I lasted through one dinner shift before they banned me from the kitchen for burning the food.

They put me on double soap making duties instead.

Now that I have to fend for myself, I’ll have to at least learn the basics.

Nash spots me as he turns to retrieve something from the refrigerator, and his steps falter. “Hey,” he says gruffly. “I was going to call you soon. Dinner’s almost ready.”

A spark of hope flickers inside me. He cooked for me—well, for us—but it feels like a small step towards a peaceful offering.

“Thank you,” I say quietly. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You could set the table,” he replies, nodding towards what I assume is the cutlery drawer.

I find I’m correct when I pull open the drawer he was indicating. Collecting two steak knives and two forks, I place them opposite one another on the dining table before returning to the kitchen to retrieve two glasses which I fill with water.

He works around me, plating our food and carrying it over. It looks as good as it smells. Two juicy beef steaks cooked in some kind of marinade, paired with roasted potatoes, pumpkin, and carrot.

“This looks amazing,” I tell him as I take my seat opposite.

Nash shrugs. “I found the steaks in the freezer, and Mum’s vegetable garden was her pride and joy. After her flower garden, that is. She had a real green thumb.”

Sadness washes over me, hearing him talk about his mum like that. It’s clear they were close.

“Tell me your favourite memory of her,” I blurt.

He pauses at the request, his fork halfway to his mouth, and I worry that I’ve upset him, but then his expression softens, and his lips tug up slightly as he sets his fork back down.

“There was this one-time—I think I was maybe sixteen—we were out in the back garden. It was just the two of us. I think Zara was at a sleepover, but I’m not sure where Paul and Rylan were.

It was rare to have one-on-one time with Mum. ”

I smile at the faraway look in his eyes, as if he’s back there reliving this memory.

“She had this ridiculous floppy sunhat she always wore when she gardened, even if it wasn’t sunny.

Said it made her feel like one of the English ladies from the British daytime soaps she used to watch.

Anyway, she was trying to teach me how to plant beans, but I kept messing it up.

I either buried them too deep where they wouldn’t get any sunlight, or I was digging holes where I’d already planted.

I got so frustrated that I chucked the whole handful of seeds across the yard. ”

Nash shakes his head with a laugh, but it’s tight around the edges.

“Mum didn’t yell or get mad. She just looked at me, smiled, and said, ‘Well, if we end up with a random beanstalk growing in the backyard, make sure to take your sister with you when you climb it. She’ll be terribly put out if you leave her behind on your adventure’.

It was so ridiculous that I forgot I was annoyed and we both laughed until we couldn’t breathe. ”

My throat thickens, and I blink rapidly, trying to hold back tears.

“She sounds incredible.”

“She was,” he agrees. Nash picks up his cutlery and cuts into his steak. “She would’ve liked you.”

The sentiment comes out of nowhere, and another pesky spark of hope ignites in my belly, but I fight to tamp it down.

There’s no future for us. If I’m lucky, he’ll keep in touch so I can keep tabs on Franklin as he gets older.

My stomach clenches at the thought. I promised Zara I’d keep him safe.

Once we get him away from the Circle’s clutches, that responsibility will no longer be mine. It will be Nash’s.

Unsure of how to respond, I say nothing, and we continue eating in silence. I can’t help but sneak peeks at him throughout the meal. He seems deep in thought, and I’d give anything to know what’s on his mind, but I’m too cowardly to ask, in case I won’t like the answer.

When I was younger, not long after we moved in with Jack and Dianne, I used to ask those incessant questions children always ask, mostly things about Mum and Dad and why they didn’t love us enough.

Why didn’t she leave him? Madeline used to say to me, “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to. ” Those words have stuck with me.

After we finish eating, I offer to wash the dishes, but Nash stays, drying the dishes as I place them in the rack.

We’re almost finished when a car pulls up in the driveway.

It can’t be Gabriel. He wouldn’t have been able to make it to Sydney and back in this time, and we aren’t expecting him back until at least tomorrow.

Nash mutters a curse. “Go hide in your bedroom,” he says urgently, gently shoving me towards the hallway.

My heart races as I hurry to the spare room, not quite closing the door as I hover behind it in the darkness.

The loud knock eases my fear slightly. I doubt anyone would knock if they were here to hurt us. Nash’s footsteps echo back to me as he makes his way to the front door. The muffled sound of two male voices filters back to me and I hold my breath as I try to make out whether it’s friend or foe.