Page 8 of Twisted Truths (The Sunburnt Hearts #4)

Chapter Six

NASH

I t’s like a time warp setting foot in the old gym.

The squeak of sneakers and the relentless thumps of the basketballs hitting the linoleum floors feels oddly comforting, but it’s hard to tamp down the slight pang of disappointment over being so close to my NBA dreams, only to be dragged back here.

My agent called after I landed to check in with me.

The Shamrocks management were sympathetic to the fact I’d lost my family in such a horrific way, but with the season starting in two months, they need me back as soon as possible for training.

If I sign the contract, they’re giving me four weeks to organise the funeral and get back to the States.

Otherwise, they move on to the next player. It’s a business to them.

I totally understand that, and I’m grateful for the opportunity, but I’m also not leaving until we clear my sister’s name—no matter how long it takes. Ziggy wouldn’t let anyone blame me for something I didn’t do if the roles were reversed. I won’t let her down.

As I follow Levi over to the bench, I don’t miss the open stares from the Barrenridge players or the nudged elbows and nods in my direction from the crowd.

The only thing unnerving about all the attention is I don’t know if it’s because of basketball or my family.

This is a small town. By now everyone has heard the rumours.

Thankfully, the ref blows his whistle, and it shifts the attention off me.

The players rush over to their prospective benches, and I’m back under the microscope.

Assistant Coach Petty scowls at me before he’s called over to the scorer’s bench to check the players have all been entered into the electronic scoring system.

“You’re Nash Stone,” a kid with curly hair states, his face going red when a couple of other players groan.

Mutters of “No shit, Cuddy,” “State the bloody obvious,” and “Duh,” float around us.

I slip my hands in my pockets and shift on my feet, suddenly uncomfortable in my own skin, but somehow finding it within me to force a smile and nod at the kid. “The one and the same.”

His eyes glance up to my old Red Backs number twenty-three jersey hanging on the wall—it was retired after I signed my first contract in the States. He swallows before looking back at Levi, who is trying and failing to hide his amusement.

“Right, boys,” my brother says, clapping his hands to get the team’s full attention.

“Let’s show Nash what the current Red Backs are made of.

He’s been where you’re standing. He’s bled Barrenridge red and black.

I know a lot of you have looked up to him for a long time, so prove to him you deserve to wear those jerseys.

Nash didn’t get to the NBA without hard work, determination, and shattering expectations, and that’s the mentality I want you to take into tonight’s game.

” He places his fist in the middle of the group, and the players all follow suit. “Red Backs on three. One, two, three?—”

“Red Backs!” the players shout .

Four boys take a seat on the bench, while the rest step out on to the court.

The game kicks off to loud cheers from the crowd, and to say I’m impressed is an understatement.

The team is a well-oiled machine, and their defensive pressure is unmatched.

Number three steals the ball in our offensive half, dribbling three times before completing a smooth behind-the-back pass to number five, who’s already charging down the court.

The Barrenridge crowd roars as he takes it all the way to the basket, leaping into the air and finishing with a fierce dunk that sends the gym into a frenzy.

The scoreboard lights up, and I can’t help but smile.

Levi’s team isn’t just good, they’re fast, disciplined and fearless. The Timberflat defenders are scrambling, but Barrenridge has taken control of the game.

“Who’s that kid?” I ask Levi when number three locks down Timberflat’s best shooter with tight coverage, forcing yet another turnover.

“Theo Crawley,” Levi answers with a grimace.

“As in?—”

“Tanner’s younger brother,” he finishes. “Yeah.”

I spot my sister’s arsehole ex-boyfriend in the bleachers with a young blonde girl sitting meekly beside him—she can’t be any older than eighteen or nineteen. My fists clench at the smug look on the bastard’s face.

Levi pulls me from my murderous thoughts. “He’s good, though. Despite who his brother is. There’s something in him I haven’t seen for years.”

“Not bad,” I agree, ignoring Theo’s older brother and leaning forward to watch him with a critical eye.

The kid is everywhere—snatching steals, blocking shots, and disrupting Timberflat’s offensive flow at every turn.

It’s not only his speed or his defence; it’s the way he reads the game.

Every time Timberflat tries to run a set play, Theo’s one step ahead, cutting off passing lanes or getting his hand on the ball at just the right moment.

“Impressive,” I mutter under my breath, more to myself than to Levi.

Levi chuckles, glancing over at me. “Told you. The kid’s got a future.”

I nod, continuing to watch Theo move across the court with precision, anticipating every play. He’s almost winning the game off his own back.

Timberflat’s best shooter tries again to get off a shot, only to be met by Theo’s outstretched arm.

He knocks the ball loose, and within seconds, he’s on the fast break, pushing down the court with a controlled pace, scanning for his teammates.

His eyes dart between options, and without hesitation, he dishes a perfect no-look pass to Cuddy—the curly-haired kid—who takes it straight to the hoop for an easy two points.

Levi rotates the team through the bench, but when Theo comes off for a break just before half time, it’s clear he’s the glue that holds the team together. Each of them steps up when he’s on the court. Each of them, that is, except Assistant Coach Petty’s brother.

Eric Petty has skill, that’s not in doubt, but like his brother, he doesn’t have the height, and it’s hard for him to dominate the way the taller players do.

His agility and pace help him move the ball down the court when it’s in his hands, but when the game slows down and the defence tightens, his stature becomes a disadvantage.

In the last five minutes while he’s on, Timberflat claw their way back into the game.

The first half ends with Barrenridge up by fifteen, and the players file off the court, their faces flush with excitement. They’ve brought a good game, but it’s still too close to celebrate .

Listening to Levi motivate the boys, I realise coaching is his calling. He has a way of commanding their attention and respect the same way Coach Durran did back when we were playing. I’m in awe of the way he speaks to them, with each boy hanging off his every word.

When the buzzer sounds for the start of the second half, my phone rings, flashing with a Sydney number.

“Hello?” I plug my other ear to hear over the roar of the crowd.

The voice on the other side of the line comes across muffled.

“Hang on a sec.” I motion to Levi that I’m heading outside to take the call. He waves me off, and I take the side door out to the parking lot. “Hello?”

“Is this Nash Stone?” A gruff male voice comes down the line.

An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach. “Who’s asking?”

There’s a pause. “This is Hayden Grimshaw. I’m a Private Investigator from Sydney’s North Shore. I was hired to reach out to you regarding the suspicious deaths of Zara Stone, and Daniela, Paul, and Rylan Hughes.”

A shiver runs down my spine. “Hired by who?”

“That’s confidential, I’m afraid.”

“You expect me to trust you when you won’t tell me who hired you to look into the death of my family?”

“All I can say is this person wants the murderer found as much as you do.”

“Why?”

“Mr Stone?—”

“Nash,” I grate out. Mr Stone is my father, not me.

“Nash, we’re on the same side. Allow me to help you find out who murdered your family.”

A derisive snort escapes me. “You want me to believe you’re on my side when some mysterious benefactor is paying you to help me? The police think it’s an open and shut case. Why does whoever’s paying you think any different? What do they know?”

“They have a vested interest in the truth.”

“Whatever. I’m not giving you shit until you give me more information. How do I know it’s not the murderer trying to cover his tracks?”

There’s another long pause. “Check your email. I’ll be in touch.”

The line goes dead, and I mutter a curse as I open my emails. Ignoring the two unopened ones from my agent, I click on the one from Hayden Grimshaw. There’s no message, only a link to a folder. Frowning, I download it, praying I’m not opening myself up to spyware.

When it finally loads, my heart leaps into my throat. There are surveillance photos taken from within the commune, date stamped two weeks before my family was murdered.

In the photos, Zara is deep in conversation with Gabriel Solomon.

My fingers grip my phone so hard I’m afraid it will snap.

My determination to bring down the manipulative arsehole intensifies, but when I zoom in on a photo, I’m surprised to see the adoration in my sister’s eyes as she gazes at him, a genuine smile playing on her lips.

Swallowing my disgust at how easily this fucker brainwashed Zara, I pan across to his face, only to find a mirrored expression in his gaze. He looks like he actually cares about her as he brushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

I’m not fooled.

He preyed on her, and made her believe whatever bullshit he spins to draw women in.

It makes me sick.

I shake my head as I flick through the photos of the two of them, wondering why Grimshaw thought this would gain my trust, but then I spot something I almost missed in my anger.

Someone’s standing in the background of each photo, their arms crossed over their body as they hover amongst the trees, watching Zara and Gabriel.

Their features are grainy and hard to make out from the distance of the camera and the black hood obscuring their face, but I’m almost certain it’s a woman.

What the hell? Who is she?

And how did Grimshaw get these photos from inside the commune?

I try to call him back, but it goes to voicemail three times. On the third, I leave a simple message. “I’m listening.”

My mind is a chaotic mess as I head back inside the gym, glancing up to see it’s halfway through the last quarter. Theo Crawley takes a shot from the three-point line, and the crowd goes wild when he sinks it. I grudgingly admit the kid has unbelievable talent.

Levi glances at me when I take a seat on the end of the bench, but the game is still too close for him to lose focus now. He calls out instructions to his players, directing them with the same level of passion he had when he played.

My gut twists as I recall the shit Tom and I put him through until he quit the team.

Fuck, I was such an arrogant punk back then.

I can’t focus on the game as the time ticks down in the last, my thoughts still stuck on the phone call with the private investigator. Who the hell has the kind of money it would cost to hire him, but doesn’t want me to know who they are?

The gym erupts as the final buzzer sounds, and Barrenridge wins by seven points. The players surround each other, whooping and cheering.

Theo accepts the back slaps and sweaty hugs from his teammates with a quiet, crooked smile before escaping to the bench and wiping his face down with a towel.

I watch him brush off my brother’s praise with a small shrug.

He’s the kind of player you get maybe once a decade, if you’re lucky, but the kid doesn’t only have talent, he has something rarer than that.

Humility. He doesn’t strut around like he’s the hero the town clearly thinks he is—they’re all chanting his name, as if he alone carried the team to victory.

Back in my day, I’d be lapping it up, puffing my chest out and basking in all the praise. I was good, yeah, but I also needed everyone to know I was good. The attention was like air to me.

Theo simply shrugs and keeps moving. He lets his game speak for itself and walks away before the echoes of the cheers even die down.

I smile to myself, a little embarrassed by the version of me that still lives in the rafters of this gym. The old me might have broken records and made a lot of noise, but this kid? He makes a bigger impact.

A commotion catches my attention, and a growl escapes my throat when I see Tanner Crawley practically dragging the young blonde down the steps of the bleachers. She stumbles, wincing when she hits her shin on the edge of a seat, but he doesn’t stop.

Before I can even think about what I’m doing, I storm across the gym, beelining for the abusive fucker.

When I reach them, I fist his shirt with two hands and get up in his face. “Is this how you used to treat Zara?” I hiss.

Tanner’s lips twist up in a cruel smile. “Prove it.”

“You arrogant fuck,” I shout in his face. “If I find out you hurt her, I’ll fucking kill you.”

The girl behind him whimpers.

The crowd has stopped to watch us, but I don’t give a shit.

Tanner laughs in my face, unbothered by my threat .

I see red, my body vibrating with anger. I don’t even think about the consequences when I release a fist from his shirt and rear back to punch him.

Levi reaches me first, grabbing my arm and wrestling me away.

“He’s not worth it,” he murmurs in my ear, shoving me towards the locker room.

I can’t resist a final shot, calling over my shoulder, “Watch your back, Crawley. I’m dead serious.”

Levi sighs as he corrals me away from the whispers and stares of the startled basketball fans. When we reach the hallway that leads to the lockers, I slam my fist into the wall with a shout of anguish. “I’m going to fucking kill that arsehole.”

He shushes me. “Calm down, Nash. Christ, you can’t make threats like that in front of the entire town.”

“Whatever,” I snap, shoving him away from me. “I’m walking home. See you later.”

Levi shakes his head as he watches me stalk away. “If he hurt her, we’ll make him pay,” he calls after me. “But there’s a right way to go about it, Nash. Don’t do anything reckless.”

I wave a hand over my head as I push my way out the back exit. The cool air does nothing to soothe the blazing fire inside me.

After a quick stretch, I take off at a jog, heading in the opposite direction of Levi and Paige’s house. I need some time to cool down.