42. Slade
SLADE
My heart hasn’t stopped trying to break out of my chest since Jude passed out in my arms. Something about her voice on the call made me know I had to get back to her straight away. But I wasn’t quick enough, Mel said she’d already left for my father’s place when I got back.
I mop her forehead with a cool cloth and adjust the couch pillow beneath her knees, so her legs are raised above her heart.
Her eyes flutter open after what can’t have been more than thirty seconds, but I swear waiting for her to come around has felt longer than the past three years.
“Hey,” I coo softly as her focus returns and she tries to sit up.
I help her, repositioning cushions to support her as she leans back into the couch.
I kneel by her feet and cup her face. Her father’s words from the restaurant swim in my head.
She faints in enclosed spaces. It must have been brought on by stress this time.
This is my fault. She’s been worrying about me too much.
“Don’t scare me like that, New York City,” I whisper.
She searches my eyes, and her shoulders soften, but then she glances around, remembering where she is.
Her expression hardens. “I want to leave.”
“You need to stay,” my father rasps. “And you need to tell us what you meant.”
Jude’s eyes widen as she looks at him over my shoulder. “What wasn’t clear enough? You know what you did.”
The grit in her voice when she’s only just awoken makes me smile inside. She’s a little hellcat determined to fight for me because she loves me. It’s almost more than I can handle, and I drop my head, gripping her thighs with my hands.
“Son?”
I turn, forcing myself to meet my father’s eyes.
“Until three days ago, you were dead,” he says quietly.
I swallow. Is this when he tells me he wishes I never came back? Because if it weren’t for Jude I wouldn’t have.
“We thought you were dead. We saw you die in that fire. I …”
Halliday rushes to his side and grabs his hand as he pinches the bridge of his nose and drags in a breath.
His voice wavers. “We buried you. It was the worst goddamn day of my life. Of all our lives.”
I snap my head around. Everyone in the room is either crying or looks like they’re about to.
“It was awful.” Sinclair sobs.
My brother stares at me, his arms folded. “It was hell on earth.”
“We never thought you had anything to do with what happened. It was a goddamn accident. One that’s tortured us all,” my father says, watching me closely.
Blood rushes in my ears and I look at Jude. She’s staring at everyone, her forehead creased with deep lines, her eyes swollen.
Is she hearing what I’m hearing?
“We never thought you killed your mother, Son.”
I look at my father again, at the raw, broken pain in his eyes.
“Jesus Christ. None of us ever thought that. Not for one second,” he says, looking like he’s struggling to hold back tears.
A throat clears.
“I did.”
We look at Uncle Mal.
He clears his throat again like talking is a challenge. “I didn’t want to think it, but... Elaina… the way she was just left with… oh God,” he chokes out.
The room is engulfed in a silence so thick that I can’t breathe.
My lungs burn.
Uncle Mal looks at me, his lips moving, but I have to force myself to concentrate to make out what he’s saying.
“I heard you arguing. I’ve never heard you so angry.
Then I saw you run away from the yacht. My sister was…
” His lips shake before he presses them together and drags in a breath through his nose.
“I went onboard, and she was gone.” He drops his head and his torso crumples as sobs wrack his body.
“She was gone. I never thought for a second you could have… but she was there… on the steps to the cabin… lying face down, and…” He heaves like he’s about to be sick, but nothing comes up.
“I went to fetch her medicine, I…” I splutter.
Mom looked me in the eyes. She told me it would be okay when I left her. I was too late.
My body sags, everything draining from me.
I was too late.
“I didn’t know,” Uncle Mal whispers. “I didn’t understand that’s what you were doing until after. But it was too late.”
“What did you do, Mal?” Trudy gasps, staring at him and covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh, Mal. What did you do?”
He looks at his wife before turning to me with bloodshot eyes.
“I thought you’d done it in anger, lost control. I know you wouldn’t have meant to. You’re my nephew. I’ve known you since you were born.” He sobs. “You’re my family too, and you had your life ahead of you. I knew it would have been an accident.”
“What did you do, Mal?” This time, it’s my father who asks, his voice booming across the room.
“I started a fire so no one would know.”
“Jesus Christ,” my father chokes out.
“You did fucking what?” Sullivan snaps.
“Our family… we deal with things. We look out for one another. It’s. What. We. Do.” My uncle drives home each word with a jab of his finger toward the ground. “It’s what Beauforts do.”
He ignores everyone and keeps his eyes on mine.
“I thought you’d gone. Then I saw you… running back to the yacht.
I didn’t know why you were going back, only that I must have been wrong.
Why would you come back if it had been you?
But it was too late… I couldn’t get to you fast enough.
You were onboard and… then it exploded. All this time you’ve been gone, I knew it was because I killed you.
Everyone fell apart, we were all a fucking mess. And I knew why. It was my fault.”
Aunt Trudy sobs beside him.
“When you appeared in New York again, everyone was shocked. They thought you’d disappeared on purpose.
Used the fire as an opportunity to pretend you were dead so you could leave without questions.
No one knew why you’d done it. They thought maybe you didn’t want the responsibility of joining the family business.
You’ve always been the free one, the adventurous one.
The Risk Taker. I knew they couldn’t get their head around why you’d do it, because it didn’t make sense.
The Slade we thought we’d lost would never do that to his family.
I knew I had to tell everyone the truth about that day.
I just… I’ve been making arrangements. I needed things in place first.”
“What arrangements?” Aunt Trudy’s face pales. “No… no…”
“My will.” Mal nods. “I knew what I’d done, Trude. How could I ever look any of you in the eye again when I can’t even look at myself?”
She breaks into heavier sobs, and my brother drops his head, cursing under his breath.
“You didn’t blame me?” I whisper.
Jude places her hand on my chest, providing me with the steadying anchor I desperately need as my eyes track around the room, taking in my family one by one.
“Never,” my father says.
“How could you ever think that?” Sullivan scoffs. “Fuck’s sake, Brother. You’re my goddamn twin. I know you better than myself. Like you’d ever do that.”
“There was peanut oil onboard. I didn’t know that’s what it was. I threw it at the wall. I was so mad at her. Some splashed on her.”
“None of the crew should have made that mistake, they knew about Elaina’s allergy…
goddamn it…” My father scrubs a hand around his jaw, his eyes pained before his shoulders fall in realization.
“We had a new crew member that day. Young guy. He was only helping for a few days, asked for cash in hand. No one saw him after. They assumed he’d moved on, but if he hadn’t been briefed fully then… ”
“You think it was him they found?” Sullivan asks.
“But they identified Slade.” Sinclair sniffs. “How could they have done that if it wasn’t him?”
My uncle continues, “The medical examiner… said Slade likely died from catastrophic injuries caused by the explosion. That’s all I needed to know.
I didn’t want to hear more about how he had suffered as a result of my actions.
I paid her to push it through fast. I didn’t want what was left of him to be cut apart on some metal lab table.
“I knew you had nothing to do with what happened to Elaina the second I saw you running back onboard carrying something. But I didn’t know what had really happened.
Not until… Oh God,” he chokes. “She said Elaina died from blunt force trauma to her skull and was likely conscious at the time judging by the high level of epinephrine in her system.”
“What are you saying?” I search his eyes. “Wait. Mom was… she was inside the cabin when I left her. Not on the steps.”
Tears well in his eyes. “She didn’t die of anaphylaxis. She found a spare EpiPen and injected herself with it. She was trying to get off the boat, fell, and hit her head. There was blood everywhere. So much blood.”
“She was trying to tell you she was okay,” Jude breathes. “Slade?” She cradles my face and turns me toward her. “She was coming to tell you she was okay. None of it was your fault. Please tell me you see that now?”
Tears run down her beautiful face as she looks at me the way she’s always looked at me.
Like I’m a good man she can actually love.
I drop my head, and she presses her lips against my forehead and just holds me.
“None of this was your fault,” she says, stroking my cheeks. “It was never your fault.”
“Did you pay the marina to lose the CCTV?” Denver asks.
I turn as my uncle shakes his head. “Ade did. I told him what I’d done. He was worried I’d be seen starting the fire.”
“Ade!” Sullivan snaps. “That’s why that fucker keeps asking for a better deal than the one he’s got? Has he been holding this over you?”
“It’s not his fault,” my uncle replies, defending his friend, the man I remember from Botswana who takes care of the diamond exports for us.
“He was looking out for me. I told him why I did it. What I thought had happened before I saw Slade return. He said it wasn’t my fault.
But I knew it was. I thought I’d killed you,” he says, looking at me.
“You didn’t, Mal. But someone else still died in that fire,” my father says.
“I know. Jesus, I know.” My uncle holds his head and weeps.
My aunt watches him through tears, her face crumbling.
“You’ve never been the same since that day. I thought it was the grief.”
“Grief and guilt. I’m sorry, Trude.”
She puts an arm around him, turning her face into his shoulder and crying with him.
“You’ve spent all these years staying away because you thought we blamed you?” My father’s voice cuts through the whooshing blood in my ears.
Jude catches my eye and nods her encouragement.
I turn to him, my voice hoarse. “I blamed myself too.”
“Jesus.” His chest caves, and he plants his hands on his hips like he’s struggling to stand. “Why would… why didn’t you just come to us, Son? We’re your family.”
“Because Beauforts always stick together,” Sullivan rasps. “Right?”
I hold my brother’s eyes. “Right.”
His expression clouds and he shakes his head, blinking rapidly toward the ceiling.
“What are you talking about?” Sinclair cries.
“You said it at the press conference, Dad,” Sullivan says, his eyes intent on mine again. “Remember when we were kids, you’d—”
“Say it to remind us to have one another’s backs,” Sinclair says, gasping. “You thought it was a message?”
“He thought it was a goodbye,” Sullivan says.
My father stares straight at me. “You thought we were covering up for you? Son… my God.”
My throat’s so thick it’s hard to form words. “I thought you were trying to save me. From whatever would have happened. I thought I was the reason Mom died.”
Halliday’s crying softly as she wraps her arms around my father. “He knew you’d try to save him, Sterling. And you did. Just not like that.”
His face crumples at her words, but he keeps his eyes on mine.
“What does that mean?” Jude whispers.
Halliday looks at my father and he nods gently. He clenches his jaw as she unbuttons the cuff of his shirt and slowly peels the sleeve up.
Scars run all the way up his arms and continue out of sight.
Burns.
“I tried to save you, Son. But I couldn’t,” my father whispers.
We all fall into silence as the enormity of truth hangs in the air around us.
Three years.
Lost lives.
Broken souls.
Lies. Love. Grief. Guilt.
Such a mess, made by people who love one another.
Family.
“We’re all fixers,” Uncle Mal says eventually, his voice weak.
“Doing things for one another that we think are right.
Sinclair hired Halliday for your father.
To bring him love. And he assigned Denver to Sinclair, knowing that the right circumstances would open her eyes.
And he sent a private jet to bring Tate home from the tour she never wanted to be on.
“And Sullivan… he gave a record label rent-free prime real estate so their offices could open in the city where Tate would be happy working. Sorry, Sullivan,” he adds as Tate turns to my brother with a look of surprise.
“Temporary discount, that’s all,” Sullivan grumbles, but his mouth softens to a hint of a smile as Tate slides her arms around his waist and leans into his side.
“The point is,” Uncle Mal continues, “we fix things. Because we’re family. We’re the Beauforts. I’m just sorry that I let you all down, and instead of fixing things that day, I broke us.” His voice cracks. “I goddamn broke us.”
Everyone’s eyes are on me. Waiting to see what I’ll do.
I squeeze Jude’s hand, and she squeezes mine back.
“You’re okay. I’m here,” she whispers.
“I know,” I whisper back, loving her even more in this moment.
Standing, I make my way to my uncle.
“Uncle Mal?” I say.
He stands and faces me with the eyes of a man at rock bottom who’s lost faith that up even exists anymore.
I understand that better than anyone in this room.
I understand what it’s like to blame yourself for losing someone.
For causing a death. And despite that burden being lifted from me after all these years, Uncle Mal’s never will be.
A man died in that fire, whoever he was.
And I know what that will do to him if he’s left to deal with it alone.
Because until Jude, I was alone.
I glance at her, and she nods, tears coating her cheeks as she understands what I’m about to do.
Because she knows me.
I’m a man she can actually love.
I blink hard and my throat thickens and throbs as I step forward.
I wrap my arms around my uncle and I hold him.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
“It’ll be okay,” I tell him in his ear. “I’ve got you. We’ve all got you.”
That’s when I feel them.
Hands.
My father’s, brother’s, sister’s.
One by one, all appearing beside us and reaching out to hold one another up.
And finally, I let my tears fall.