Credence

I shake my head, hanging up the phone. Grabbing my laptop on the table, I spin it around and bring up the Internet.

Why am I aggravated? I don’t care what they say about my parents. Maybe it would reveal that they weren’t perfect, even if the current topic of discussion was bullshit.

The guys surround the table, no doubt waiting to know what’s going on, but as the page loads, and I type in my parents’ names, the headlines assault me all at once.

My heart pounds against my chest.

“What does it say?” Noah asks, peering over my shoulder.

I shake my head, anger rising up my throat, and I don’t know how to make it stop.

“Sources claim my father was controlling,” I tell him, skimming an article, “domineering, and my mother feared him. He took her with him because he didn’t trust her loyalty once he was gone.”

This is bullshit. My father lived to see her thrive.

I click out of the article, scanning other headlines, Twitter mentions, and links to YouTube videos. Really? Conspiracy vlogs this fast?

A hand grabs my screen and spins the laptop around, away from me.

“Don’t look at it.” Jake slams the top shut. “You knew all the shit they were spewing, which is why you’ve stayed off the Internet.”

I dig my nails into the table.

“Well, is it possible?” I hear Noah interject.

His father shoots him a look.

“I mean… It’s not like it matters anyway, right?” Noah rushes to add. “They were jerks.”

I take a deep breath, trying not to hear him.

But he’s right. Does it matter? Why is this pissing me off?

“This isn’t your problem,” Jake tells me in a stern voice.

I raise my eyes, meeting his calm stare. Patient, but… ready if I need him.

I stand up straight and pick my cell back up, scrolling my contacts.

I dial.

“Bartlett, Snyder, and Abraham, how may I direct your call?”

“This is Tiernan de Haas,” I say. “I need to speak to Mr. Eesuola.”

There’s a short pause, and then, “Yes, Ms. De Haas. Please hold.”

Kaleb hangs back, leaning against a wooden beam between the kitchen and living room, his eyes lowered, while his father and brother stare at me from by the table.

“Tiernan,” Mr. Eesuola answers. “How are you?”

I spin around, facing away from the guys for privacy. “Have you seen the article in the Daily?” I ask quietly.

“Yes, just this morning.” His voice is solemn. “I’ve already sent a Cease and Desist.”

I shake my head. “No.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You want a retraction printed instead?”