20. Chapter Twenty Tristan
Chapter Twenty: Tristan
T he door to the nursery slammed open, and I barreled in, my heart hammering like a fist against my ribcage. What hit me first was the chaos—a twisted ballet of violence that had no place amid the soft pastel walls and the gentle murmur of a lullaby escaping from an abandoned mobile.
At least Adriana and the babies weren’t here. If they got away, they might be okay.
"Tristan!" Kieran's voice cut through the grunts and shuffles, but I barely registered it.
Amber, with her reddish-blonde hair sticking to her sweat-drenched forehead, was a whirlwind of desperate fury. Her arm snaked out, a flash of steel in her grip. She wasn't as strong as Kieran—no, she couldn't match his lean muscle that coiled and uncoiled with a viper's lethal grace—but that damn knife evened the odds too much for my liking.
"Let go of me, you bastard!" Amber spat, teeth bared as she tried to maneuver the blade towards Kieran's side.
"Tristan, help!" Kieran managed to twist away, avoiding a stab that would've ended things then and there.
I didn't think. My body moved on instinct, propelled by the fierce need to protect what was mine. Blood roared in my ears as I crossed the room in two long strides, grabbing Amber's wrist in a vice grip. It hurt so fucking much.
Her knife clattered to the floor, the sound absurdly loud in the sudden stillness of the nursery.
"Gotcha," I growled, my fingers digging into her flesh as she struggled against me. Her eyes, wide and wild, met mine for a split second before Kieran's fist connected with her jaw.
"Sorry, Amber," Kieran muttered, though his eyes told me he wasn't sorry at all.
The fight left her in a sudden whoosh, her body going limp in my arms. We were a tangle of limbs, gasping for breath, the aftermath of adrenaline leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. The nursery, once a haven of innocence, now looked like a battlefield, toys strewn about as silent witnesses to the carnage we'd wrought.
“You okay, man?” Kieran asked, turning to me as I tried to stop myself from collapsing.
I nodded, though my arms trembled from the exertion. The wheelchair suddenly felt miles away. Sweat beaded on my forehead as nausea roiled in my gut. I'd pushed myself too far.
"Help me back," I managed to grit out.
Kieran's eyes widened in understanding. He quickly grabbed my arms, supporting my weight as he guided me back to the chair. I sank into it gratefully, my legs useless beneath me.
"Shit, Tristan. I forgot-"
"It's fine," I cut him off, not wanting to dwell on my limitations. Not now. Not when there was still so much to deal with.
My gaze fell on David's body, crumpled where I'd dropped him by the door. The sight of him, lifeless and broken, sent a fresh wave of nausea through me. I swallowed hard, tasting bile.
“You look like you’re about to pass out.”
I couldn't deny it. The room was spinning, and I felt clammy all over. "Just... give me a minute," I managed to say.
I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. The room still spun, but I forced myself to focus. There was work to be done.
"We need to clean this up," I said, opening my eyes to survey the damage.
Kieran nodded, his face grim. "I'll take care of Amber. You sure you're okay?"
I waved him off, not trusting myself to speak. The truth was, I felt far from okay. My body ached, my head pounded, and the weight of what we'd just done pressed down on me like a physical thing.
“You knew,” I said. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You knew someone was going to try to kill us.”
Kieran sighed, rubbing his temple as he shut his eyes tightly. “Yeah,” he said. “We need to talk.”
***
There was something so familiar, practically domestic, about cleaning a scene with my little brother. Kieran asked me where the linen closet was, and together, we wrapped both Amber and David’s body in black sheets.
As we worked, my stomach churned. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving me shaky and nauseous. I focused on breathing steadily, trying to push through the weakness.
"We need to move them," I said, gesturing to the wrapped bodies.
Kieran nodded grimly. "I'll take care of it. You shouldn't strain yourself more."
“Our neighbors might have heard the scuffle. They’re going to call the police. I won’t be able to help as much as usual, but I will help. This isn’t a one-man job.”
“Tristan…”
I shook my head, cutting off Kieran's protest. "No arguments. We're in this together."
Kieran's jaw clenched, but he nodded. "Fine. But you tell me the second it gets too much."
We worked in silence, maneuvering the bodies out of the nursery. My arms trembled with the effort, but I pushed through. The weight of David's lifeless form pressed against me, a grim reminder of what we'd done.
As we reached the garage, a wave of dizziness hit me. I gripped the arms of my wheelchair, willing the world to stop spinning.
"Tristan?" Kieran's voice sounded distant.
"I'm fine," I muttered, though my voice sounded weak even to my own ears.
Kieran didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue. We loaded the bodies into the trunk of my car, the thud as it closed echoing in the quiet garage.
We loaded the bodies into the trunk of my car, the thud as it closed echoing in the quiet garage.
I slumped back in my wheelchair, exhaustion washing over me in waves. My hands shook as I gripped the armrests, fighting to stay upright. The garage swam before my eyes.
"That's it," Kieran said firmly. "You're done."
I wanted to argue, to insist I could keep going, but the words wouldn't come. My throat felt tight, my tongue too heavy in my mouth. I managed a weak nod.
Kieran's face softened with concern. "Let's get you inside. You need to rest."
“We need to clean the nursery.”
“I’ll clean the nursery. You can drink water while we talk.”
I nodded weakly, too exhausted to argue further. Kieran wheeled me back into the house, the familiar surroundings a stark contrast to the violence we'd just endured. The scent of lasagna still lingered in the air, a cruel reminder of the peaceful afternoon that now felt like a distant memory.
"Water," Kieran said, pressing a cool glass into my trembling hands. "Drink."
I sipped slowly, the liquid soothing my parched throat. As the fog in my mind began to clear, the weight of our situation settled heavily on my shoulders.
"Talk," I demanded, my voice hoarse. "What the hell is going on, Kieran?"
Kieran sighed. He poured himself a glass of water, then drank it almost immediately. Then he poured himself another one. I watched him as he leaned against the kitchen counter, his fingers tapping restlessly on the glass. "It's complicated," he began, his voice low.
"Uncomplicate it," I growled, my patience wearing thin.
“Do you remember when my mum died? Before Catherine convinced Malachy to take me in?”
“Yeah, of course I remember.” I wasn’t sure what this had to do with our current predicament, but Kieran literally never talked about this, so I knew it had to be important. “I was so angry he wouldn’t just take you in right away. I think it was the first time I ever stood up to him.”
Kieran smiled. “Aye, lad, I know,” he said. “And I’ll always be grateful for that.”
I nodded. Waited.
“Well, so you know I went to live with my auntie.”
“Yeah. In Dublin. I remember.”
“And you know I spent every winter with her…”
“Kieran, I lived with you until like, two years ago. Yes, I know you spent half your year in Ireland most of the time. Where is this going?”
“So Bellamy found her,” he said. “When I was growing up. He said he wanted to meet his nephew face-to-face.”
“Wait. What?”
“It was…nice. You know Malachy wasn’t a great role model.”
I tried to process this. It was hard to wrap my head around.
I stared at Kieran, trying to make sense of his words. "So you've been in contact with Bellamy all this time? Our uncle Bellamy? The one who tried to kill Dad? The one who might be my biological Dad?”
Kieran nodded, his expression guarded. "Not the whole time, but...yeah. For years now.
I glared at him, my blood suddenly turning cold. “Why didn’t you tell me? Did he, like, touch you?”
“No! He’s not a priest. No, that was almost exclusively Father Mulcahy.”
I laughed despite myself. “Okay, good to know. But seriously, if there isn’t some reason to keep this to yourself…why not just tell me?”
“Well, at first, I didn’t think it was necessary. But when Dad died, I realized that it wasn’t that Bellamy wasn’t interested in the business—it was that he never thought he could defeat Dad.”
“He could never defeat Dad.”
“Yeah, I know that. He knows that.”
Kieran took a deep breath before continuing. "But with Dad gone, Bellamy saw an opportunity. He started reaching out more, asking questions about you and the family business."
My stomach churned. "And you told him?"
"No," Kieran said firmly. "I didn't tell him anything important. But I listened. And I realized he was planning something big."
“Which is?”
“He was planning to kill you, Tristan. And when I realized what he was doing…I knew he was already in their ear. You know, the lads? Yeah, he’d been planning to turn them against Malachy for a while.”
“But they were my friends,” I said. “I considered them brothers.”
“They loved you, Tristan,” he replied. “But…you know how it is. Once Malachy died, and with you on the run with Adriana…”
I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. "So they turned on me that easily?"
Kieran's eyes were full of sympathy. "It wasn't easy for them, Tristan. But Bellamy's been working on this for years. He knew exactly what buttons to push."
I clenched my fists, anger and betrayal burning through me. "And you knew about this? All this time?"
“I knew when he first went to Boston. I knew he wanted to take over. I knew he would do the power play where he said you weren’t Malachy’s biological son,” he said. “That’s why I planted the stupid box. It was fucking dumb. A terrible gambit. But I just wanted you to be prepared when he said that.”
I felt like the room was spinning again, but this time it wasn't from physical exertion. The weight of Kieran's words pressed down on me, each revelation another blow.
"Jesus Christ, Kieran," I muttered, rubbing my temples. "So you've been playing both sides this whole time?"
Kieran's face hardened. "No. Never. I've always been on your side, Tristan. Everything I've done has been to protect you."
"By keeping me in the dark? By letting me walk into this blind?"
“Everything changed after Malachy died,” Kieran said. “Honestly, I was always a little upset he never even considered me to be heir. But…I should have told you.”
“Kieran,” I said. “Look at me. You don’t want this.”
He didn’t answer that. “Do you have anything stronger than water?”
“There’s beer in the fridge.”
Kieran grabbed two beers from the fridge, popping the caps off and handing one to me. I took a long swig, the cold liquid a welcome distraction from the turmoil in my mind.
"You're right," Kieran said after a moment. "I don't want this. Never have. But I want you safe, Tristan. That's all I've ever wanted."
I studied my brother's face, seeing the weight of years of secrets etched in the lines around his eyes.
“I wish you’d never gotten between me and Malachy when we were kids.”
“Don’t be stupid. I would take Dad’s wrath any day for you,” I said.
Kieran’s expression softened. “Didn’t you tell your teachers you were in some sort of fight club? You had black eyes so often. Always meant for me.”
“You can’t put all the blame on Dad, lad,” I said, wheeling myself close to him. “You were always a nightmare.”
"Aye, that I was," Kieran chuckled softly, a hint of his usual mischief returning to his eyes. "Still am, I suppose."
I couldn't help but smile, despite the gravity of our situation. "Some things never change."
“They bought the fight club thing?” Kieran asked after a beat.
“Definitely not. But who was going to call CPS on Malachy Callahan?”
We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of our shared history hanging between us. I took another swig of beer, letting the cold liquid numb the ache in my chest.
"So what now?" I asked, breaking the silence. "Bellamy's still out there, and he's not going to stop coming for us."
“Well, the way I see it, you have two choices.”
I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. He just took another swig of his beer instead.
I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Alright, I'll bite. What are my two choices?"
Kieran set his beer down, his expression turning serious. "Option one: You run. I tell him I came to see you and, in the scuffle, all four of you had been killed. You run, go to Europe. Bellamy rules over Boston. I become de facto heir. Just like our uncle has always planned.”
“The Orsinis?”
“Adriana’s parents and sister will know the truth.”
I shook my head immediately. "No. I'm not running. What's option two?"
Kieran looked right at me. “You go home, Tristan. And you take back your throne.”