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The second car seemed like a needless extravagance, but Iris guessed it was there to provided additional security.
Chance took the front passenger seat, and raised the soundproof divider between Iris, Trystan and Luna, and himself and the driver. Iris sat beside Trystan feeling tense and out of sorts, especially when he immediately picked up his phone and started tapping rapidly at the screen. The phone rang a few seconds after he’d sent the text.
“I’m sorry, baby, I have to take this.” Trystan slanted her an apologetic look before thumbing the green answer button and lifting the device to his ear. He kept a comforting hand on her knee as he spoke to—she soon deduced—Hunter Quinn.
Not entirely sure what to do with herself now that she’d been left to her own devices, Iris belatedly checked her own phone. Only to find that there was a ridiculous number of missed calls and texts waiting for her.
She checked the messages first. Her parents, brother, flatmates, Evan, and so many others had sent her texts. Some of them messages from people she hadn’t spoken to, or heard from, in years.
What the hell?
She checked her mother’s messages first.
Don’t come round the house. It’s chaos here. I don’t know how this happened, but the press has been saying the most ridiculous things, Iris. Call me as soon as you get this.
What was going on? This was?—
“What?” Trystan suddenly exploded, his entire body tensing as an intimidating glower settled on his face. His eyes darted toward her, and pinned her to the spot. He spoke again, his lips thin, voice tight, “No. No way in hell. It must be a mistake.”
Whatever his manager was telling him clearly wasn’t the answer he’d been hoping for and, if possible, he went even more rigid. “No, you’re wrong. Well, check it again!” Iris startled at the sudden increase in volume and sharpness in his voice. “No. I don’t think so, Quinny. She wouldn’t. It’s not possible.”
Oh God, was he talking about her? She wouldn’t what? What was going on? Could this have something to do with her mother’s text? She wanted to call her mum to find out, but found herself unable to drag her eyes away from his. He looked fierce, resolute, but as he listened to whatever Hunter Quinn was telling him, something in his eyes flickered and she saw the doubt begin to creep in.
“Trystan?” she whispered, her hand covering his where it still rested on her knee. His grip had tightened to the point of pain, but he flinched at her touch and to her horror and panic, he flinched at her touch and instantly moved his hand to his own knee. “What’s happening?”
“Yeah… yeah.” He nodded as he spoke, his eyes going distant as he focused on his friend’s words. “I agree. Do what you think is best. Yeah. I’ll take care of it. I’ll text Brand. Yes. I fucking know, alright? It’s done. Okay. Right.”
He ended the call and Iris reached for his arm, but he shook her off and retreated to the bench seat across from her—where Luna was lying stretched out and sleeping—putting as much distance between them as was possible within the confines of the car. The dog, momentarily disturbed by the movement, opened her eyes for a few seconds before drifting off to sleep again, her head resting against Trystan’s thigh.
He tapped on his phone again, sending another text, his focus trained on the screen while the suffocating silence between them festered and became an almost living entity, strangling Iris’s words in her throat.
His phone pinged and he grunted in satisfaction before lowering the privacy window between them and the driver and Chance. He handed his phone to Chance and then shut the divider again, clasping his hands between his spread knees and leaning toward her to stare into her face for a long, brutal moment. His eyes like ice, his features frigid, his demeanor frosty.
“May I have your laptop for a second please?” he asked. Iris wasn’t sure what frightened her more, his brittle voice or the ridiculous formality in his words.
“Why?” she asked, not liking the way her own voice quavered in confusion.
“I need the internet and Chance has my phone.”
“Th-the internet?”
“You are connected, right?”
“Yes. Uhm… through my phone.” What a ridiculous exchange. “Please tell me what’s happening, Trystan. You’re scaring me.”
He held out a steady hand and, hoping it would be the fastest way to get the answers she needed, Iris unzipped her laptop bag and handed her slim pink laptop to him. He opened it and then sighed impatiently.
“It’s password protected.”
“Oh, right. It’s IrisHApril—my birth month—all one word,” she told him. “The first I is uppercase as are the H and the A.” He gave her a fleeting, censorious frown—probably because of the ludicrously easy password—before typing it in.
She watched, chewing her cuticle pensively, as he tapped away at the keyboard and then went still as he seemed to find what he was looking for. She watched the muscles in his jaw bunch as he clenched his teeth, but his face remained impassive, even though she could tell that he was livid.
“Trystan?” She hated how tremulous her voice sounded, hated even more that it was an accurate indication of how she was feeling right now.
He swiped at the track pad with his index finger, the movement filled with restrained violence, and then perused the screen for a few seconds. He seemed to blanch, going pale as he traced his finger over the track pad again and then clicked.
His throat moved as he swallowed, and he seemed to go even paler.
