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“Thing is, Mike, I’m very familiar with Iris’s writing. Familiar enough with her voice to know that there’s no way in hell Iris wrote any part of that poorly constructed article.”
The audience gasped, but Iris barely heard them over her own rough intake of breath. She hadn’t been sure of his purpose in coming on the show this time, and certainly hadn’t expected such a blunt denunciation of Evan’s statements. It was unexpected but so welcome. Her sense of vindication and relief was overwhelming.
“I should have noticed it immediately,” Trystan continued. “But I’ll freely admit that I was too butt hurt at the notion that I’d been deceived and taken for a fool to think clearly. Too ready to accuse Iris and believe the worst of her when she’d never given me any reason to do so.”
“Well, hold on a second now, Trystan. Evan did admit to writing a lot of the article, right Evan?”
“I did, because Iris…”
“I heard what you said earlier,” Trystan interrupted. “About Iris not being a good writer. And I’ve never heard a bigger load of bollocks in my life. I’ve read her work and Iris is phenomenally talented. Decidedly more so than you are, Miss Brooks. And anybody who has read any part of those leaked excerpts from her journal could tell you that.”
There was a quiet murmur of what sounded like assent from the audience.
“I wrote the article, I admit that, but everything from the journal came from her,” Evan pointed out heatedly, her cheeks flushed an unbecoming shade of puce.
“Iris trusts the people she loves. Without doubt or hesitation. God, I wish she didn’t, because it makes her completely vulnerable when some of those people turn on her. People like you. And me.
“When your story first broke, before she knew about it, I asked her for her laptop. It was password protected. When I pointed that out to her, instead of taking it from me and typing in the password herself, she told me what it was. Blind, unequivocal trust. And at some point, during your years-long friendship, she must have done the same with you, right? If not, you know her well enough to have gleaned her password. Easy enough to get into her cloud with that information.”
Evan’s jaw worked as she considered what to say next, but in the end she shrugged and sat back, folding her arms over her chest defiantly.
“Iris lacks ambition. She was sitting on a goldmine of information after the opportunity of a lifetime fell into her lap, and she refused to do anything with it.”
Trystan’s face contorted as her response confirmed what—up until that point—had been mere speculation on his part.
“You were jealous of her, weren’t you?” Mike Holmes asked astutely, his voice low, non-threatening, as if he was afraid that any hint of condemnation would send her into retreat.
“Do you know who her father was?” Evan countered. “She owed it to him to do—be—better. But she looked down on his work, was ashamed of him. Thought she was so much better than him. And me. When she’s the one who’s an embarrassment?—”
“The real embarrassment is the person who would publicize their friend’s struggles with mental health and anxiety without their explicit consent,” Trystan interrupted her on a low growl. “Iris has been persecuted, mocked, insulted, relentlessly attacked, and bullied online and in person. Her family has lost business and she has received dozens of death threats and has been kicked out of her home. Didn’t you care how that would affect her emotional and mental health? She’d been trapped in her own home for weeks on end. She suffers from cleithrophobia.” His voice broke on the word and he cleared his throat before continuing. “It must have been intolerable for her.”
Iris was silently crying now, dimly aware of Colby’s arm around her shoulder. Chance must have left the room at some point because he pressed a mug of hot tea into her cold hands.
“Iris is the real victim here. A victim of your ambition and greed,” Trystan said. “And my weakness and distrust. And I wish with everything in me that I’d stood by her. That I’d believed in our love enough to overcome my doubt and fear.”
“Look, it wasn’t like that,” Evan screeched in a panic, obviously only now understanding how badly this was going to rebound back on her. “I did it for Iris. That’s why I added her name to…”
“Miss Brooks,” Mike Holmes interrupted her firmly. “I thank you for joining us today, but I’m afraid that’s the end of this segment.”
“No, you must allow me to defend myself. This is slander. A vicious ambush. I demand?—"
The screen went black and when the image reappeared a few seconds later, Evan was gone and only Trystan remained on the couch. Usually, Holmes hosted up to three guests and it was unusual to have only one person on the couch this far into the show.
“Trystan,” Mike Holmes began, his voice almost tentative. “I understand that this is a difficult subject, but would you like to tell us more about your relationship with Iris Hughes?”
“Not particularly,” Trystan said, his voice rough with emotion. “It’s—” He paused, then laughed, the sound devoid of humor. “I was going to say private but I realize how ridiculous that would sound in light of how much of it has already been revealed to the world.
“That horrible Brooks woman took something singular and beautiful and weaponized it. She then aimed that weapon at both Iris and me. I failed Iris. I can’t forgive myself for that. She trusted me when I promised that I would protect her from the public eye and never hurt her.” He stared down at the hands clasped between his spread knees and shook his head, the gesture slow and defeated. “The promise had barely left my mouth before I turned on her and left her vulnerable to the vultures. Who does that?”
“What would you say to her,” Holmes said, his voice almost a whisper. “If she was watching right now?”
Trystan looked directly into the camera, his face so ravaged by grief and despair that the audience actually reacted in what sounded like a collective moan.
“Nothing I say can fix this, Mike. But if you are watching, Iris… I hope—I wish—” he shook his head, looking helpless and vulnerable. “I’m sorry. You deserved better. I know you can’t forgive me. I don’t blame you. I do—and always will—love you, Iris. So so much. And I hope in some way, this helps you claim back the life I stole from you.”
“You want her back, don’t you?” Mike Holmes murmured.
“It doesn’t matter what I want, Mike,” Trystan stated, his voice and face like granite. “What I want is unimportant. I fu—messed—up. I no longer have a say in what happens next. I hope Iris is able to forgive me someday, but if she doesn’t… I’ll understand. I don’t deserve her. I never did. But—” He looked straight at the camera again, his heart in his eyes, his expression both vulnerable and hopeful. “Iris, if you did find it in your heart to give me another chance… I’d work my arse off every damned day of my life to deserve your love.”
