Page 45 of Twisted Truths (The Sunburnt Hearts #4)
Chapter Thirty-Four
HADLEY
N ash was quiet when he came home from visiting his half-brother last night. He told us what Levi said about Tanner Crawley’s attackers being the men from the betting ring, but I could see Gabriel wasn’t completely convinced. He’s still fixated on his parents having something to do with it.
By the time we all went to bed, we were all on information and emotional overload. Nash didn’t initiate anything, but he held me close, and I was relieved when he made it through the night without any nightmares.
He’s spent today in his stepfather’s office, sorting through paperwork and making sure everything is organised for when the house goes on the market. I’ve left him to it, not wanting to get in the way.
One thing I’ve learned about him is when he needs to unravel, he does it alone. He withdraws, letting the weight of everything press down until he figures out his next move.
Gabriel has spent the day on the phone with the private investigator to see if he can get more information on what happened to Tanner Crawley, and to his uncle. He’s trying to get as much information as he can about the Circle’s plans for Franklin.
Left to my own devices, I drift through the house, looking for some way to be useful.
I’d only half packed up the sitting room the other day, so I decide to continue with that.
As I’m sorting things, I come across a shoebox of old DVDs.
There’s a stack of discs labelled Barrenridge Redbacks with different years scrawled on them, which I know is the name of Nash’s high school team from the yearbooks I found in Zara’s bedroom.
Curious, I select an earlier one and place it in the DVD player.
Settling onto the couch, I press play and smile when a younger Zara—no older than twelve or thirteen—fills the screen, decked out in the school’s red and black.
She rolls her eyes and holds her hand up to block her face, saying in a droll tone, “It’s recording. Point that thing away from me.”
Nash and Zara’s mum laughs from her seat next to her daughter, holding a squirming toddler in her lap. “Go Nash!” she cheers, and the camera pans down to the court as the players run out.
My heart catches in my throat as I spot Nash wearing number twenty-three. He’s with his teammates, running up to the backboard and making shot after shot. I don’t exactly know the technical terms, but whatever they’re doing, it looks effortless.
The video cuts to the game, and Nash is bouncing the ball down the court using his arm to block an opposition player from stealing the ball. He wears a cocky grin, and I marvel at how he looks like the Nash I know, yet somehow different at the same time.
He passes the ball off to a teammate before getting it back again and taking a really long shot, which swooshes clean through the basket.
A couple of his teammates erupt around him, slapping his back and shouting, but Nash just throws his arms up, grinning like he knew it was going in the whole time.
He turns to the crowd, egging them on with a raise of his hands, soaking in the roar like he was born for it.
A little cocky. A lot confident. Every bit the star of the team.
Two of his teammates catch my eye, standing off to the side, watching the spectacle. One I’ve never seen before, but number three is a younger version of the guy I saw with Nash at the funeral. His half-brother, Levi. He shakes his head with a scowl before switching into defence. Interesting.
Another cut in the video, and Nash is lining up for what I think is called a penalty shot with the other players lined up on either side of the square watching him. He nails both shots easily; with the second one, he wasn’t even looking at the basketball ring.
Another cut, and he’s stealing the ball from the opposition and racing away down the other end of the court.
He has two opposition players on him, but he still makes the basket.
Nash laughs and holds his hand low to the ground in a signal that they’re too small to defend him.
The opposing players shake their heads and jog back down the court.
The video cuts to another game, then another, and it’s much the same—Nash dominating while his family cheer him on.
It’s easy to see how good Nash is. Even at a young age, you can tell he was born to play.
I find a disc from the year he graduated high school and press play.
The screen flickers, and then he’s there—older, taller, more polished.
His jersey clings to him with sweat, the number twenty-three bold across his back.
There’s more of an intensity to his game at this age, a seriousness in his expression and less of the cockiness.
He’s still as impressive, creating play after play, and showing everyone exactly why he was the best on the team.
It’s clear why he got a college scholarship in the US.
I watch game after game, admiring the talent and dedication he shows throughout. His family is there to support him at every game. Rylan is older now, maybe six, and it brings tears to my eyes watching him cheer for his big brother.
Another game starts, and this one holds more importance. The gym is packed, the energy practically crackling through the screen. The players of both teams line up opposite each other, while the national anthem is sung. Nash stands stoic with one arm around his coach and one arm around his teammate.
Nash is constantly double-teamed in this game, and the scores are tight. I can see his frustration in the tightness of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes, but he continues to play hard, directing his teammates in plays that see them score.
Finally, he gets his big moment. With the scores locked up and only three seconds left on the clock, Nash has the ball at the top of the square, defenders closing in.
He makes his move—spin, step back, release.
It’s like the ball is sailing through the air in slow motion, and I wonder if the crowd felt it in the moment.
The entire gym goes quiet. The ball drops through the net a split second before the buzzer sounds.
The roar of the crowd is so loud, I worry it will blow the speakers of the television.
I get motion sickness as the camera bounces around while Nash’s family jump up and down. When it finally focuses again, it’s zoomed in on Nash being lifted onto two of his teammates’ shoulders. He’s grinning, sweaty, arms raised in triumph as the crowd cheers.
Then something shifts.
He taps his teammates on the shoulders, and they lower him to the ground.
Searching the sidelines, Nash makes a beeline for his coach, an older man with a weathered face and misty eyes.
They don’t say anything, simply sharing a long look before Nash pulls him into a hug.
It’s not flashy. Not showboating. Just real.
When the announcer calls his name for the MVP and championship trophy, he accepts it with a nod, the grin on his face softer now, more grounded. Nash’s eyes search the crowd, and when he finally finds his family, it’s like he’s staring right into the handheld camera.
Thank you , he mouths, and I blink back the tears threatening to fall. He’s not the cocky kid from the earlier games anymore. This is someone who’s earned his victory. Who knows what it cost.
Nash loved his family so much, and it’s clear they felt the same way. The video pans to Nash’s mum, tears staining her cheeks as she smiles proudly at her son. Zara and Rylan are next to her, cheering.
Watching him like this, surrounded by the people he loved most … I feel the weight of everything he’s lost. Freezing the screen on Nash’s face, I let the tears fall, wishing I could change the past for him, but knowing I can’t.
The only thing I can do is help him save his nephew and create a future with the man I’m falling for.
Neither Gabriel nor Nash takes a break for dinner, so after I finish packing up the sitting room, I take food to them both.
Gabriel is in the spare bedroom, which he has now taken over, and he barely looks up from the notebook his uncle gave him.
His eyes are shadowed as he taps a pen absentmindedly against his jaw .
I leave the plate beside him, and he thanks me with a tired smile.
Nash is still in his stepfather’s office, buried in boxes of paperwork. The door’s slightly ajar, and I knock once before entering.
He looks up, and even though he’s clearly exhausted, his face softens when he sees me. His shoulders drop a fraction, the tension bleeding out.
“I brought you dinner,” I say, holding out the bowl of mac and cheese with heated cheeks. “Sorry it’s not exactly a five-star meal, but it’s the only thing I was confident of not burning.”
His lips quirk up in a smile. “Thanks.” He sets a stack of papers to the side, then surprises me by reaching for my hand and tugging me gently. “Come here.”
My feet carry me forward, and he pulls me onto his lap without a word. His arms wrap around my waist, and I melt into his embrace, craving his touch.
For a moment, we sit there, but then Nash breaks the silence. “My head’s spinning trying to make sense of everything.” He rests his chin on my shoulder and expels a long breath. “But I keep coming up with more questions.”
“Anything I can help with?”
“I found Mum’s signature on the documents for refinancing the house, so she had to have known about Levi’s debt. I only wish she’d told me.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “We spoke every other day. Why didn’t she tell me what was going on? I could’ve helped.”
The anguish is clear in his voice, and I want to soothe him. “Maybe she didn’t want to worry you,” I say softly. “She probably thought she was protecting you.”
“Yeah, well, look how that turned out,” he mutters, his jaw tightening. “All these secrets. Levi’s gambling. Zara’s abuse. The pregnancy. All hidden from me like I wasn’t a part of this family anymore.”
There’s a bitter edge to his words that makes my chest ache. I cup his cheek and press my lips to his. Just a soft, lingering touch .
He rests his forehead against mine and murmurs, “Thank you for listening.”
“I’m here for you.”
“I know.” Nash runs his hand down my back gently. “Go to bed. I’ll be there soon.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods, so I leave him to it, bending to give him one last kiss before heading for the door.
I plan on waiting up for him, but by the time I crawl into his bed, the familiar scent of him wrapped in the sheets, my tiredness wins out before my thoughts can catch up.