Chapter 8 Keaton
An ominous creak stutters from the hinges like a warning as I step out the front door. I’m instantly smacked in the face with a strong gust of salty air. There’s no avoiding it with the stormy winter weather blowing through. Spring can’t come soon enough.
Squinting my eyes against the mist hanging in the air, I immediately scan the surroundings, every nerve in my body tingling. There’s another one of those camera fucks out here, I know it.
With how many I’ve run off, I can’t believe we never had a single one last time we were at the house. Although back then Tristan was doing all their hard work of making her life miserable. Now, her fuck of an uncle is laser focused on wanting to eliminate her in any way possible.
Which includes slipping her address to the paparazzi. It’s the only explanation of why they’re here. I want to think I can protect Raina from them, but I’m only one person.
Maybe I should hire a security team to watch the house…
I move forward, my shoes scuffing along the sand on the driveway before I step onto the lawn.
With a glance at the gray clouds covering the sky, I can’t help but long for the sun.
Especially when I can’t shake the feeling that someone lurks right beyond my sight.
My fingers tighten into a fist, my fingers almost aching to reach for my sticks.
That would be dangerous right now though; there’s no guarantee I wouldn’t use them to stab an eye out instead of breaking one.
I’m so sick of them invading Raina’s privacy.
She deserves to recover at home without worrying about who might be staring into her windows.
I round the corner, and there he is—a figure crouched by the back stairs, a long-lens camera poised to take a picture at a moment’s notice. He might as well be holding a weapon. My heart stops at the thought, and I freeze for just a second, absorbing the panic that it brings me.
There’s no doubt about it; Raina owns my heart. I fucking love that woman, and I’d do anything to protect her.
Not on my watch, I think to myself, moving forward with purpose. Each step is deliberate, my feet barely leaving a mark in the sand. I know this ground well; it’s Raina’s sanctuary, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone invade it.
He doesn’t see me yet, too focused on whatever moment he’s waiting to capture.
Tension coils in my gut, tightening with each heartbeat.
What does he want? A glimpse into our lives?
A stolen memory to sell to the highest bidder?
Some moment he can spin to look like Raina is doing drugs again? I won’t give him that power.
As I approach, I spot the garden hose where I left it the last time I had to chase off a photographer. I reach for it, my fingers curling around the cold metal nozzle. It fits comfortably in my grip—nothing like my drumsticks, but those won’t do in this situation.
Drawing my phone out of my pocket, I send a quick text to the group chat, and wait for someone to turn the water on. Honestly, I should start recording this. I bet Raina would get a kick out of it. Maybe I’ll get the first laugh out of her this week.
With the haptic vibration of a responding text, I finally announce my presence. I twist the nozzle of the hose, feeling the cool metal bite into my palm. The rush of water erupts with a fierce hiss, shooting out in a frigid arch. Time slows for a heartbeat as I aim it squarely at the intruder.
The freezing spray hits him full force, and his startled gasp is drowned by the water, but his expression is everything. If I’m honest, it brings a small shred of enjoyment.
He stumbles backward, eyes wide as he drops the camera, its expensive lens clattering against the wooden stairs. Panic etches across his face, a mix of shock and fury flickering in his gaze.
“Are you insane?!” he yells, desperately trying to shield his equipment. But the water keeps coming, relentless, washing away any semblance of bravado.
“Get lost,” I order, my tone hardening like steel. No hesitation, no second chances. I take another step closer, continuing to hose him down, making sure he’s drenched for his trek to whatever vehicle he came in.
With a final sputter, he cradles his camera to his chest and turns on his heel, muttering curses under his breath as he retreats, soaked to the skin.
His footsteps kick up sand as he hurries away, stumbling over the uneven terrain.
I can’t help but watch, every muscle tense as he disappears behind the corner of the house.
The shadows swallow him, leaving only an echo of his presence.
I twist the nozzle on the hose and drop it at my feet for the inevitable next time I need it.
I’ll have to remember to turn the water on before I check the property in the future.
Right as I take the first step leading to the house, the sound of footsteps draws my attention.
It’s a familiar cadence, yet it carries an urgency that pricks at my instincts.
My body instantly coils like a spring, prepared for whatever might come next.
“Keaton!” The voice slices through the tension, smooth yet laced with something deeper. I don’t need to look back to know it’s Tristan. His steps are hesitant, but there’s determination behind them, an unspoken demand for my attention.
My thoughts flash to a night not long ago where we got in a fight over the way he spoke to Raina, making me even more wary of what’s to come. He hasn’t explained his disappearance yet…
I grunt in response, not bothering to voice a word. Not for him. Not when he thought it was okay to treat us the way he did.
“Can we talk?”
About fucking time.
His request hangs in the air, thick with everything that’s been left unvoiced between us. I slowly turn to face him, seeing the way his brows knit together, a storm brewing behind his blue eyes.
“Now?” I ask. I want to press forward, to challenge him, but there’s a vulnerability in his stance that pulls at something deep within me.
“Yeah, now.” He swallows hard, the intensity of his emotions flickering right below the surface. “It’s important.”
The world narrows, the sound of the ocean fading into the background as I weigh my options.
I could brush it off—tell him I’m busy, that I’ve got things to secure.
It would be easy to make him work for it.
Raina isn’t the only one he hurt when he left without a word.
But the truth is, I can feel the gravity of his request.
With a sharp nod of agreement, I hold my hand out for him to lead the way. I don’t want to do it out here where another paparazzo might listen in. Whatever Tristan has to say needs to stay between us.
As we move through the house, it becomes clear he’s taking me to the recording studio. We reach the doorway, and I find Nash and Blake are already waiting. The moment we’re shut inside, the silence of the studio envelops us like a thick fog.
“You didn’t invite Darius?” Tristan asks the others, a slight sneer tugging at his lips.
I know the guy is beyond grateful that the man saved Raina’s life, but I can’t help but suspect a deep jealousy hides inside him.
A feeling that the other man could replace him in Raina’s life after everything he’s done.
“He decided to check on Raina,” Blake answers, drawing his phone out of his pocket. “I can text him if you’d like him to be here too.” Blake isn’t fooled by Tristan either.
Our distant best friend runs a hand through his hair and blows out a deep breath. “No. This is probably better. I’m not sure I want to share this with him. I don’t even want to tell you guys because it doesn’t feel like it’s mine to divulge, but I think you need to know.”
Tristan glances sideways, his expression unreadable. There’s a storm brewing behind those blue eyes, a hint of vulnerability and pain that makes my heart race.
“Are you okay?” Nash asks. Concern draws his eyebrows down, a wrinkle forming on his forehead, mirroring the worry turning within my gut.
This is huge. I know it. Something that will rock our world… decimate it completely if the scrunched expression on Tristan’s face is anything to go by.
The sudden complete silence we find ourselves in feels oppressive, like a weight pressing on my chest, demanding attention.
“Tristan,” I say, breaking the quiet. He hesitates, his hands fidgeting at his sides, the tension radiating from him palpable.
“Give me a second,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. He stares at the floor, lost in thought, each passing moment stretching between us like an eternity. I can see the gears turning behind those vivid blue eyes, wrestling with something that threatens to spill over.
“Whatever it is, just—“ Nash says, anxiety flashing in his eyes as his tongue darts out to lick at his lip ring. “Just let it out.”
Tristan’s gaze darts around the room, landing on each of us. When it finds me, I see a flicker of resolve. He nods slightly, then exhales slowly as if releasing a breath he’s been holding for far too long. The tension in his shoulders eases ever so slightly, but the storm beneath is still brewing.
“Before I disappeared,” he finally begins, his voice steadying, “Napalm Delights was talking to me as if I was one of them. I can’t fucking believe they thought they could trust me with the things they were saying. A bunch of downright idiots for confessing what they did… What they did to Raina.”
He seems to freeze, his eyes gazing into the distance like he’s stuck in whatever moment he’s remembering. My heart races, pounding against the confines of my chest. The mention of her name ignites a fierce protectiveness within me. I brace for what’s coming.
“Tell us,” Blake snaps, his nerves as rattled as my own. It sounds like he would drag the words out of Tristan if he could. Waiting for him to get them out is a special kind of torture I don’t think we deserve.
He takes a deep breath, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. My instincts scream at me to prepare for impact. Whatever he learned could shatter the fragile peace we’ve fought to maintain.
“Like I said, this isn’t mine to share. But I think it’s important you know so we can help her through this depression that’s dragging her under,” Tristan says. He runs a hand through his hair before tugging on the short strands in despair.
Finding his resolve, he continues, “Under the orders of her fuckwad of an uncle, the band manipulated her. Cut her off from everyone who cared about her. Changed my number in her phone to one of theirs to isolate her further, manipulate what information she received. Pretended like I didn’t care about her all the while she was needing me… ”
Tristan fists his hands at his sides and takes a deep breath before wincing and grabbing his side.
“They wanted her dependent on them, disoriented. They were playing a sick game, controlling her life. But that was only the start.” Each word he delivers is a bullet piercing the silence.
“I should’ve protected her, but instead, I fell for it like a fool. ”
Nash steps forward, and one glance at him shows how distant his eyes have become. Lost and filled with pain, like he already knows what might be said next. “What else?” he rasps out.
Blake reaches out a hand and squeezes Nash’s shoulder in comfort, but there’s nothing that can ease what we’re about to hear.
“After her uncle was done with her—“ Tristan chokes out, the words seeming to claw their way out of his throat, not wanting to exist in this world. ”—after he got her pregnant, and they fed her an abortion pill like it was simply a tab of Molly… He told them they could have her. All of those tabloids talking about them passing her around. They… They…”
He covers his face with a hand, and a sob rips free of his chest. I feel the ground shift beneath my feet, the revelation hitting me like a gut punch. My mind races to process the implications, the betrayal twisting like a knife inside me, and I wasn’t even the victim of their crimes.
Nash suddenly runs for a trashcan next to the control console, barely making it in time before he loses everything in his stomach.
I might not be far behind him.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice steady, fighting to contain the surge of anger and protectiveness building within. “You left us in the dark.”
“It’s not like I fucking wanted to!” he defends, his hand pressing to his ribs like he’s holding them together. “They beat the shit out of me, left me for fucking dead in the middle of a damn field and then made it impossible for me to get in contact with you.”
“We’ve been at the house for a week!” Blake shouts back, taking a step toward him.
“It wasn’t my story to tell,” Tristan gasps out, stumbling to lean against the wall. “That was only the lead-up anyway to the part you need to know right now.”
He takes a ragged, pain-filled breath, and it suddenly clicks. His ribs are broken. We’ve been so concerned over Raina and her near-death experience, we missed all the signs of our idiot friend’s own flirtation with it.
“What else could there be?” Blake asks, bringing me back to the current bomb sitting in front of us.
“The latest rehab stint wasn’t what it looked like. She tried to kill herself.”