Say You Still Love Me(124)

“What do you—”

The front door flies open.

“Piper?” My dad frowns, his gaze skittering from me, to Kyle, and back to me. “I saw the taxi pull up. What are you doing here?”

“I . . . uh.” I planned a mini-speech on the drive here but I’m thrown off for a moment. “The phone company sent me the records. I have proof. You wanted proof about Tripp, and I have it.” I stumble over my words. What was Kyle going to tell me?

“This is not a good time,” my dad mutters. His shirt collar is crooked, the top three buttons unfastened.

“I can see that.”

What did Kyle do? What about Eric?

He cocks his head toward Kyle. “Who are you? You look familiar.”

“I work in your building, sir,” Kyle says stoically.

Dad’s eyes narrow as they take in the sleeve of tattoos. “The security guard.”

“Yes, sir.”

But Dad’s still frowning, deciphering Kyle and wearing that I know you but I don’t know how expression.

I finally find my composure, handing over my phone to Dad. “I have deleted texts between Tripp and Hank Kavanaugh, with Tripp saying 500k is his asking price, and what would have to be in the proposal to look more appealing than Jameson’s. And you know how Tripp said he’d been working this with KDZ for months? That’s bullshit. Or partly. Because there are all these other texts from January through May that show Hank Kavanaugh wanted to buy that building but we beat him to it. He was looking to invest and convert it himself. He’s old friends with Tripp, so he started pushing him to get us to sell. That’s why Tripp was stalling. He figured he’d make the project look like a loser and then, when you’d had enough with the delays and decided to cut our losses, Tripp would come in with KDZ. Hank offered him a cut for that deal, initially. And then when that all fell through, Tripp offered up the construction deal for it instead.”

“Jesus Christ.” Shock fills Dad’s face. “You have all that?”

“Yes, in phone texts. I wouldn’t have thought to check, but Kyle suggested it. And he’s also the one who overheard Tripp on the phone and told me about it.”

“Wait a minute.” Dad stares at the man standing next to me, and I watch the recognition finally take shape in his eyes. “Kyle? The boy from that camp?”

“He works security in your building?” a familiar voice exclaims from somewhere inside the house.

I frown. “Mom?”

Dad sighs, flinging the door open, and there she is, standing a few feet away. “You knew about this and you didn’t tell me?” He glares at her with accusation.

It dawns on me. “This is who you’re dating? You’re dating Dad?” My head feels like it’s going to explode. “But you two hate each other!”

Dad doesn’t bother to explain, his steely gaze on Kyle. “What the hell is he doing here?”

I reach over and take Kyle’s hand. “He came with me.”

Dad’s eyes flare. “You have got to be kidding me—”

My fingers squeeze tight. “I know what you did, Dad. I know that you paid Kyle to leave. I know that you threatened him if he didn’t.” My voice is rising with each syllable. We’re still standing on the doorstep, giving the cab driver a show, but so be it. “You threatened an innocent seventeen-year-old, who was already traumatized by what happened to his friend that same night.” It doesn’t take much for me to think back and remember the look of fear and helplessness on Kyle’s face as he stood halfway down that hill, peering at Eric’s broken body below.

“Innocent seventeen-year-old boy?” My father nearly spits the words out.

“Kieran, calm down.” My mother reaches for him, her hand smoothing over his arm with affection. It’s a bizarre, foreign sight to behold and I’m sure it’ll register in my mind later.

I sense Kyle stiffening beside me as Dad steps forward, my mother’s attempts failing. “Did your innocent little friend tell you about the hundred grand that he extorted from me!”

“It wasn’t like that,” Kyle blurts out. “And it wasn’t for me!”

I feel like someone just punched me in the stomach.

A hundred grand?

Extortion?

“What is he talking about?” My hand slips from Kyle’s as I turn to face him, to see the guilt and pain in his eyes.

“It wasn’t for me. It was for Eric,” he says softly.

My stomach sinks.

“About six months after the incident at that camp, I got a phone call at work from Kyle”—my father spits his name out—“demanding a hundred thousand dollars—”

“It wasn’t like that!” Kyle yells, and I startle. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him lose his temper.

“How was it, then?” my father roars back. “What do you call trying to pin a brain-damaged boy’s own stupidity on my daughter?”

“What?” A cold feeling seizes my insides. “Brain-damaged boy? You told me he was going to be okay!”

Dad squeezes his eyes shut, maybe to hide the guilt of his lie. Another lie.

It’s Kyle who answers, his voice pained. “Eric’s not okay, Piper. They thought he’d pull through at first, but then his brain swelled more and the doctors couldn’t get a handle on it. His family didn’t have much money. When all the medical bills and the air ambulance bill started piling on, they were going to lose their house. I gave them what I could, but I didn’t have nearly enough.” He’s rambling through his words now, as if racing to get them out. “I figured out who your dad was. I knew he’d have the money. So I phoned him one day and I asked him to help Eric’s family—”