The torment of two, p.1
The Torment of Two, page 1
The Torment of Two
Copyright © 2024 K Webster
Editor: Emily A. Lawrence
Formatting: Champagne Book Design
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
About This Book
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Epilogue
About the Author
Excerpt from Sheriff’s Secret
To Blue—
You’re the ultimate writing buddy.
From USA Today Bestselling Author K Webster comes an enemies-to-lovers, new adult M/F small-town romance!
She craves freedom from her overbearing family, and being a student at Park Mountain University is exactly that for her.
Until she’s partnered up for an entire semester with a surly, difficult man who despises her immediately for no reason at all. So much for an escape…
At PMU, I can finally be free to be my own person away from the Park family name.
This semester, though, my happiness is threatened when I meet him.
Tristan “Two” Sheridan is a grumpy jerk who nearly runs me over with his hunk of junk car and then has the audacity to blame me.
Our dislike for one another is instantaneous.
Imagine my horror when not only is he in one of my new “blow-off” classes, but I’ve also been partnered up with him for a labor-intensive class project for a huge portion of my grade.
His distaste for me is mild at first, but the second he learns my name, it turns to utter contempt.
Why does he hate me so much?
What did I ever do to earn such nastiness from a man I don’t even know?
Beneath Two’s crankiness are secrets—secrets I plan to uncover. With each encounter, I peel back more of the mysterious layers of the handsome man with pale gray eyes and find there’s someone likable deep down beneath. And, despite his grudge against me and my family, I think he can’t help but like me too.
As we spend more time together on our project, and just when I think I’ve got a handle on Two, someone else starts harassing me. This person stalks me at every turn, leaving me anonymous creepy notes and promises of a future together.
The stalker is the least of my problems, though. When Two reveals the true reason for hating me—the crushing secret that has tormented him his entire life—my own world is suddenly turned upside down. I feel inadvertently responsible and want to somehow make it all better.
A budding romance burns hot between us as our walls come down, but we have to keep it a secret. My parents will vehemently disapprove of our coupling, and his will be utterly destroyed. Under the guise of our project, we’re able to spend stolen moments together, stoking the flames of our growing feelings for one another, keeping the bitter truth from our families.
But my stalker has other nefarious plans that keep escalating in nature.
In order to get help from my father and my brother’s cop fiancée, I will have to come clean. My life may depend on it. Ugly truths will be brought to light and Two’s family will no doubt suffer the consequences. I dread the day I’ll be forced to spill the truth.
Is this thing between me and Two worth all the heartache and pain destined for our future?
Only time will tell…
***This is a complete M/F standalone novel with a happily ever after. Tropes for this book include: enemies-to-lovers, grumpy/sunshine, college, new-age romance, opposites attract, historical preservation nerds, hidden rooms and treasure hunts, romantic suspense, mental health rep, and secret romance.***
Shameful Secrets Series
1 – The Teacher of Nothing (Callum’s Book)
2 – The Tangle of Awful (Hugo’s Book)
3 – The Heart of Smoke (Jude’s Book)
4 – The Law of Deceit (Dempsey’s Book)
5 – The Torment of Two (Gemma’s Book)
Trigger Warning
This book has triggering scenes for some readers including physical and mild sexual assault (not by main character), past family traumas, kidnapping, stalking, drugging, and other potentially upsetting subject matter. Please read with caution.
Tristan “Two” Sheridan (Nine Years Old)
Santa is real.
I hate Dax for lying and saying he isn’t. Dad always tells me you have to believe to get presents. Does Dax not want presents?
Stupid Dax said he could prove it. That if I went and dug around in my parents’ closet, I’d find them and all the candy that goes in the stocking.
I should have just ignored him, but I have to show him he’s wrong. My dads have never lied to me. They wouldn’t lie about Santa.
The garage door rumbles and then silence falls on our house. Dad said he had to run to the office to help Pops with something and that he’d be right back.
Usually that takes about fifteen minutes.
I’m going to have to hurry.
As soon as I’m sure Dad has left, I rush over to the front windows and peek out just in case. Dad’s SUV speeds away, leaving me to my mission.
Dax is going to feel so dumb when I tell him off when we play Xbox later. I can’t wait to laugh at him until my belly hurts.
Backing away from the window, I peek over at the decorated Christmas tree. There are so many gifts from my dads underneath, all of them wrapped perfectly with matching bows. There’s no way they’d also get me all the stuff Santa buys too. I’d be spoiled and Dad is always worried they’re spoiling me.
I’m telling you.
No freaking way.
I race out of the living room and go straight for my parents’ closet in their bedroom. Dad loves clothes. A lot. Pops built him a humongous closet for all his outfits a couple of years ago. Dax’s mom doesn’t have nearly as many outfits as Dad and she certainly doesn’t have a closet as big as my bedroom.
Dad really, really likes clothes.
I haven’t ever had a need to go into their closet much before. When Dad makes me help with laundry, it’s usually just to fold towels or put my own clothes away. Their closet is boring and filled with dad stuff like boots and ties.
Toys and candy too if Dax is right.
Which he’s totally not.
I flick on the light switch and take in all the clothes. Dad’s clothes take up most of the closet. Pops has a small section with the same ol’ blue jeans he always wears and his company T-shirts.
Ha!
No candy and toys!
Just as I’m about to leave, a small bulge behind Dad’s coats gets my attention. Slowly, I walk over to it, readying myself for toys to fall on top of my head. There’s not going to be toys behind these coats. There’s not.
I push one of the big leather coats aside and see a wooden trunk sitting on the floor up against the wall. It reminds me of one you’d find treasure in.
What if the treasure is Santa’s gifts?
My stomach twists at that thought. I’m going to be upset if Dax is right. He’s always right about everything and it’s so annoying.
Kneeling down in front of the chest, I notice my heartbeat is pounding so hard I can feel it echoing in my ears.
I have to know.
Is Santa real?
I hold my breath and force myself to open the trunk. Squinting, I try to shield my eyes from the truth.
Toys and candy galore.
Except…there’s neither.
It’s filled with papers and pictures.
A laugh bubbles out of me. I knew it! Stupid Dax is wrong! I’m about to close it when a picture catches my eye. It’s the window from my room. I love that window. Dad says it’s original to the house and really, really old. The stained glass is pretty to look at.
I pull the picture out from beneath some papers to inspect it closer. It’s not my room, though. Well, it is, but it’s missing the Legos on the shelves. And where are the model airplanes Pops helped me build? They’re usually hanging by dental floss from the ceiling.
My eyes leave the shelves in the pict ure and land on the color of the wall. Pink. Ew. Why is the wall pink? It’s supposed to be navy blue like it is now.
In the center of the room, my bed isn’t there like it is now. There’s a baby’s crib with frilly pink blankets instead.
Above the bed, it says, “Gemma.”
My stomach starts to ache. I don’t like the gross feeling I’m having. Something doesn’t feel right.
Maybe this picture belonged to the family before us who lived here.
Or maybe I had a sister and she died.
I don’t like that thought. There could be more pictures to give me clues. I set the picture down to dig in the trunk some more. I find the adoption papers from when my dads took me home when I was just two years old. Since I don’t care to learn anything about my birth mother, who clearly didn’t love me enough to keep me, I’m not interested in reading all those boring papers.
An envelope under the pile of papers sticks out. It’s pink and written in girly handwriting, addressed to Dad and Pops.
Dearest Leo and Grant,
I’m so sorry, but I’ve decided to keep the baby. I know you were so excited to start your family and this will ruin everything. I’m gutted for you. Believe me, I’ve cried a lot over this because I know how badly the two of you want to be parents.
When we started this whole process, I didn’t think Nathan would choose to stay with me if he knew I was pregnant. But he did, and we’re planning to get married. I’m going to be the best mom, I promise. I believe you’ll find a different baby to love and care for that was meant to be.
Please find it in your heart to forgive me. I never meant to hurt you. If it will make you feel any better, I decided to keep the name you chose for her to honor you both if it turns out to be a girl like Leo’s psychic said it would be.
As sad as this is, I think it’s best if we don’t contact each other again. It’s too painful for everyone involved.
Sincerely,
Jamie Booker
They were going to adopt a baby girl before me? I was their second choice. Dad and Pops always tell me I’m their entire world. But I almost didn’t get to be a part of it.
When they adopted me, I was no longer a baby. I was young, though. So young, I didn’t even know my own name. The only word I’d say was “two” at the time of my adoption, which is how I came to get the nickname Two.
Did all the families before my dads want a baby? Why else would I be fixated on that word? Was I asked my age a lot? Did my dads feel sorry for me and adopt me even though I wasn’t the baby they wanted?
This is much worse than discovering Santa isn’t real. All the loving, happy stories my dads told me about the magical creation of our family was more of a fairy tale than Santa.
They lied to me.
They didn’t tell me there was a girl before me who they wanted badly enough to decorate an entire room for her.
I’m going to be sick.
My cheeks grow wet with tears and I shrivel inside. Dax never cries, but I cry over the stupidest stuff. This certainly feels stupid.
I’m second best.
Two seems fitting of a name for a kid no one ever wanted.
The sound of the garage door opening has me jolting. I quickly shove everything back into the trunk, close the lid, and move the coats to hide it once more. By the time I exit their bedroom, Dad is coming through the garage door into the house. I swipe all the tears off my face and force a neutral expression.
“Two, buddy, grab your coat and hat. Pops is taking us for pizza and then we’re going to look at a house we’re going to restore. Maybe you’ll find some cool treasures. The owner said we can take whatever we want.”
I stare at my smiling dad, feeling a stabbing, burning pain deep inside my chest. It’s so easy for him to pretend that I almost wasn’t their son. They almost had Gemma. Their perfect, precious baby girl.
“Everything okay?” Dad asks, coming to stand in front of me. He cradles my cheeks with his cold palms and studies my face. “You look sad.”
Not sad.
Destroyed.
There’s a difference, Dad.
“I’m good. Can I get Pepsi?”
Dad purses his lips, clearly biting back what he’s really thinking before he nods once. “Just one and you can have it with dinner, not before.” He drops his forehead to mine and grins at me. “Love you, Two.”
“Yeah, Dad, I know.”
He’s not the only liar in this family.
Gemma (Present Day)
I know I’m a joke to my family.
They think my job as an influencer is made up and silly. Dad is convinced it’s dangerous and not something I should do long-term, often lecturing me on putting my focus on school rather than my platform.
For me, though, it’s something I’m proud of. I built it from nothing and shaped it into something that not only awards me a viable income but also gives me a voice to help other people.
Sure, sometimes that help is showing my followers what moisturizer I use or my favorite lip gloss, but it feels bigger than that. One day, I hope to use it in a way that’s more impactful.
One day.
I’m not really sure how I’ll turn my content around without some blowback, but I’ll figure it out. It’s why I’m majoring in marketing at PMU.
What my family and followers don’t see is all that goes into maintaining and growing my audience. Each day, I spend hours strategizing content, researching what others are doing, and replying to my followers to cultivate and build solid relationships. So many girls my age and younger have reached out to me to let me know they aspire to be like me. It makes me feel good that I’m inspiring them, even if it’s just to feel better about their outward appearance.
I’m making my way through my messages when I come to a strange one.
@TwoCanPlayThisGame.
The username sends a chill down my spine.
I read the message, trying to make sense of it.
I see you. The real you. The you no one else but me sees.
I click on their profile to see what sort of person is sending me this message. From another girl like myself, it could mean something totally different than some random weird man. The profile, though, has nothing to offer. It’s a new account. They’re not following anyone but me and they have no posts. The picture is a screenshot of my profile page.
This is the kind of stuff Dad is worried about, but thankfully, I know how to handle it. It’s not the first weirdo to message me and it certainly won’t be the last. I quickly block the person and delete the message without giving it another thought.
I move on to more sweet messages about how my recommendation for an acne treatment helped one girl’s skin clear up and now she’s feeling more confident. As I read through them all—each one kind and uplifting—I can’t help but keep thinking back to the creepy message.
I see you. The real you. The you no one else but me sees.
It’s a scary thought. The real me, the girl buried deep beneath the perfect makeup, style, and smile, is insecure, feels smothered by her father wanting to keep her safe, and wants to be seen for more than a trophy. That girl isn’t as confident as the one she outwardly portrays for the internet. Knowing someone else might see her leaves me feeling exposed and raw.
I suck in a deep breath and exhale heavily. My nerves are brittle, making me feel slightly nauseous. Imposter syndrome claws its way up inside me, mocking me.
Who do I think I am?
Maybe I’m just a joke.
I give my head a sharp shake and look at my follower count that’s recently surpassed a million. I’m doing something right or these people wouldn’t be here.
With a quick check of my makeup, I turn the camera on me and push the live button. My smile is wide and bright—you can’t even tell it’s fake.
“Hey, Gems,” I say, waving at the camera. “If you’re new here, I’m @GemmaLovesUx2 and I’m dying to tell you about this new primer I just got. Your makeup will look as flawless when you go to bed as when you applied it in the morning. I’m telling you guys you’re going to freak out at how amazing this product is.”
The hearts and comments start flooding in, reminding me I am good at this.
I won’t let some creep torment me and throw me off my game.
I’m Gemma freaking Park.
I invented the game.
