The Titan Series 1-3 Boxed Set

by Cristin Harber - The Titan Series 1-3 Boxed Set

  So many questions. So many overwhelming emotions. And none of it was worth sticking around for if his livelihood endangered their children.

  Kelly and Jessica ignored her suggestion to find Grandma and took turns mimicking each other. Maybe it was their age. At eight and six, Kelly and Jessica were like Teflon. Nothing seemed to stick, at least on the surface, though Sarah was sure she should start squirreling away money for therapy. No family walked out on a dad and remained unscathed.

  It was only a matter of time before their invisible wounds surfaced.

  Brock was gone for weeks at a time for work. That may’ve been their saving grace. The girls were used to being without him. She’d been used to time without him too. But this was different.

  Every night, she cried herself to sleep because, in her heart, she loved the man she’d thought she knew. He was long gone, maybe never really existed. She’d learned more about Brock in the week living with the enemy than she had in a decade of marriage.

  She’d been naïve. Purposely or not, she’d closed her mind to what he did on his work trips. When he came home with gunshot wounds or explosive burns, she knew it was because he’d saved someone’s life. Not taken another’s.

  Surrounded by half-emptied boxes in her mom’s Pennsylvania guest house, Sarah wondered how life in Virginia had been so… sheltered.

  Her cell phone rang. She grabbed it as the girls ran outside. Sugar. “Hey—”

  “Are you sulking or surviving?”

  If there was one thing she’d learned about Sugar, it was that the woman was direct. “Surviving. Mostly.”

  “What about the girls?”

  She stared out a window, wrapping and rewrapping a dishtowel around her hands. “They seem excited to be in a normal school. It’s small, private, not overwhelming. So it’s working. Much different from homeschooling them.”

  “What about you? You run up north, how’s that going to help your problems?’

  Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat. “Meaning?”

  “Brock.”

  His name made her arm feel like stone. It fell to her side. The towel dangled, as lifeless as she felt. “You know him better than me, Sugar. Definitely in a different light.”

  “Bull.”

  She laughed sadly. Sugar never held anything back. “I miss him and wish things could’ve been different.”

  “Cut the crap, Sarah. That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said to me. I was ATF. I was trained. If he was too panicked to use Titan and had to do something to save his family, I was a good bet. I’d survive. No one was taking me out like that.”

  “I just feel—”

  “If you spout some woe-is-me shit, I’ll probably come to PA and kick some sense into you. Give the guy a break.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Give him a chance to explain.”

  “You’ve forgiven him for what he did to you? Fine.” She snapped the towel. “Well, I can’t.”

  “That’s my burden to bear, babe. He was trying to save you.”

  “If he’d made different choices, if I’d known the kids were in so much danger…” She turned to see if they could hear her, but Kelly and Jessica were occupied terrorizing each other. “If he’d—”

  “If he did what, Sarah? I’ve had the same conversations with Jared. So answer that—if he’d what? Desperate men made desperate decisions. They’re all morons. So you deal with it.”

  She couldn’t stand still and stalked out of the room. “I’m angry at him.”

  “Hell, me too.”

  “You weren’t married to him.”

  “You still are.”

  She bit her lip then said, “I still am.”

  Still, she couldn’t get over her angry. It was a vicious, nonsensical circle. Like a hamster running on its wheel, once her mind started spinning, she panted through mental laps, trying to find an answer. Trying to find relief or release or resolution. But the repetition didn’t help.

  “Sarah,” Sugar snapped. “Did you hear me?”

  “What, uh… No.”

  “What’s your plan? Sit on your ass and ponder all the ways he could’ve reacted better to his family being snatched?”

  Maybe she shouldn’t squirrel money away for her kids’ therapy in the future. She should spend it now and secure her sanity, because it’d been tough on her. Sarah took pride in her self-sufficiency and a rock-solid foundation at home. Maybe that had been a lie she’d told herself, and she wasn’t really strong. Maybe she was weak and pathetic but had never realized it before.

  Sarah shook her head. “My plan is to move on. To protect my kids. And never feel like this again.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Brock opened his eyes to the same scene, different day. Maybe. He wasn’t sure and didn’t care. But he did know that, sooner or later, he’d have to eat. Having the shakes from alcohol withdrawal wasn’t a good enough excuse to ignore the warning bells in his head. He needed to eat, and if the food stayed down, then good. If not, well then, he’d given it the old college try.

  Rolling up and dangling his legs off the bed, he gathered his bearings and glared at the empty granola bar wrappers. They littered the floor. On the dresser, an empty container of peanut butter sat abandoned. A knife he’d used way too many times sat on top of an empty sleeve of bread.

  Screw this. He had to eat, and with a disgusted groan, he slid off the bed and made his way to the kitchen. With each step, his stomach swished, his gag reflex jumped into action, and his ears… were now hearing sounds. Imaginary voices? Great. A new low.

  There were voices in his head.

  His pathetic, downward spiral was taking the scenic route. Surely, this was cosmic retribution for all of the shady work he’d done in the past, however good his intentions might have been.

  Using the wall to stay upright, he pinched his eyes closed to ignore the lights and hushed away the voices.

  “It’s about time, Buttercup.”

  It took more than a second to blink. He wasn’t sure if the men sitting at the table were really there.

  “You need a goddamn shower.”

  “Christ, we should’ve done this a week ago.”

  Winters, Roman, and Rocco sat around his kitchen table, burgers in hands, and stared at him. The aroma of fast food made his mouth water and stomach turn simultaneously.

  Brock had worked by their sides for years, and he’d abandoned them. Put their lives in danger. He’d done the worst thing a leader could do, and that was lie and lead them astray.

  Why were they there?

  They were Titan. He was a piece of shit, unworthy to be in the same room.

  Winters kicked a chair out toward him. The loud scratching across the floor reverberated in his ears. “Sit your ass down. Before you fall and split your head.”

  He didn’t want to. He wanted to escape from the glares and coming accusations, but Winters was right. Brock faltered forward, using the chair before he hit the floor. He tried to clear his throat, but it was too dry and abused from days of drinking and dying. “Whatever you want, get it over with.”

  If they were there to kill him, it’d be welcome. So why hadn’t they? His blurry brain didn’t care. He just wanted them out, because he had a date with a half-empty bottle of something amber-colored that sat on the counter.

  Winters slapped the table. “Brock?”

  “Yeah?” Brock’s eyes strayed from the men to the bottle, and his mouth watered.

  Roman crossed his arms and looked at Rocco. Winters ignored them all and finished his burger.

  Rocco probably had Brock’s job now. He’d be a natural team leader. Smart. Respected. It’d be a good fit. Titan and Rocco deserved each other. Loyal. Trustworthy. Unstoppable. Damn it, I need a drink.

  Rocco cleared his throat. “You trying to kill yourself?”

  “Yup.” Why bother with a lie?

  “You’re doing a good job of it.”

  His head tilted to the side, and not because he wanted to mov
e. It was more of a list, a weight too heavy to hold up. “Not really.”

  Winters crumbled the wrapper and licked his thumb. “We’re not going to let you do that, fucker.”

  Absurd. It took a lot of energy, but Brock laughed. It came out in a garbled, scratchy cough. “Yeah, all right. Don’t let me die.”

  Rocco shook his head. “Eat. Shower. This is your intervention, or whatever it’s called.”

  “Whether you like it or not,” Roman leaned forward on the table, “we’ve been a team for years, and screwing up isn’t a death sentence.”

  Yeah, it was, actually. “It is when you’ve done what I’ve done.”

  “We all know what you did.” Roman’s intense stare burned into him. “Shit got harsh, Brock. You made a wrong decision.”

  “I crossed the line.”

  “No kidding. But we move on,” Roman volleyed back.

  “I don’t deserve to.”

  Rocco downed his soda then shifted his focus back to him. “No, you don’t, asshole. But that’s how it’s going to be.”

  Why did they care? “Go away.”

  “You have a good woman. A family none of us knew about. And no one here can say that they wouldn’t lose their mind to save them either. Not Parker or Cash either.”

  “But Jared.” Brock’s head swung side-to-side, spinning. “He’s a different story.”

  “True that. But you know who else has a fan? Sarah—in Sugar. Nicola and Mia too. And because all you fuckers are love struck and bringing girl talk into our inner circle,”—Rocco gestured to Winters and Brock—“we’ve got chicks gossiping. And they like Sarah. Man, we’re family. Estranged at the moment, but the roots are still there. So we can’t let you kill yourself.”

  Winters reached for another burger and threw it at him. It landed on the floor. “Brock, buddy. Eat. Get dressed. Get sober. Get your wife back and claim your life.”

  ***

  One solid week. That was how long it took to sober up and keep down a meal.

  One solid hour. That was how long Brock had sat a few houses down from his mother-in-law’s house. He contemplated how badly his rehearsed speech sucked then glanced at the dashboard clock.

  He gave a self-imposed deadline. One minute to pull it all together. His mother-in-law had left Sarah alone at the guest house, and the kids weren’t at home either. They were at school. What a novel concept. Brock walked up the driveway, past the main house, to the backside of the property. The guest house loomed ahead.

  The only thing he knew for certain was that his life awaited him on the other side of the door. He twisted the knob but stopped. Took his hand off and sucked down a breath and ignored the urge for a drink. Barging in wasn’t the right move. Knocking was. Knocking to see my wife. This blows.

  Two quick raps and he stood there, unsure what to do with his arms. He ran a hand over his freshly shaven jaw. Checked his hair in a reflection on a nearby window and then pocketed his fists into his jeans to keep his fingers from tapping.

  The door didn’t have a peep hole, and she couldn’t see who was there from the front windows. The angles were all wrong. He tried to ignore how this house had little in the way of security, not that his ramped-up safety measures had kept his family from danger.

  The door cracked and Sarah peered out, one big brown eye wide open. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hi.” His heart clutched. What was he doing here?

  “Brock?”

  He couldn’t read her voice. “I’d like a chance to…” To what, explain? Justify? Beg? His mind remained blank. “Can I come in?”

  She pulled back. “No.”

  He’d expected that. The muscles in his chest tightening and the ache in his throat, he hadn’t. “Five minutes, then I’m gone.”

  “No.” She inched the door closed but didn’t click it shut.

  The Sarah he knew had been bubbly and smiling. This surprised version of his wife seemed hardened. How someone could give an impression like that while only showing an eye and saying a few words, he didn’t know. But he knew he couldn’t leave. Not yet.

  “Three minutes.” How would three minutes make a difference when he couldn’t string his thoughts together and—

  “Fine.” She swung the door wide.

  He lost his thoughts again. It’d been weeks since he’d seen her. Titan missions lasted that long, but today was different, and wasn’t she the most beautiful thing he’d ever set eyes on.

  Her petite frame that always fit under his arm, her perfect freckles that he could map in the dark. The way her auburn hair fell over her shoulders. How familiar it always smelled, like sunshine and summer.

  “Three minutes. Then it’s good-bye.” Nothing in her tone was sunshine or summer.

  He nodded, words not coming.

  Her brow pinched. “If you’re coming in, then come in, Brock. Otherwise—”

  “No, I’m here. Coming.” He stepped through the threshold into a small living room that very much reminded him of his mother-in-law. Doilies and pristine furniture. A few cardboard boxes were flattened and leaning against a wall. The kids had toys strewn on the floor, and he’d kill to have a Barbie to step over in the middle of the night again.

  The living room opened into a kitchen, and he followed Sarah to the table. A newspaper had been laid out. Pen marks and circles decorated what looked like the classifieds. Heaviness hung on his chest. She’s slipping further away from me.

  He tried to read her notes without being obvious. “What are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing here?” she countered, sitting down and snagging her pen.

  Sarcastic Sarah. Again, not expected. “I didn’t mean…” God. Could he really not form coherent thoughts around her?

  She studied him then tilted her head to the side, slowly twirling the pen. “I’m looking for a job.”

  “A job?”

  “You know, what people do to make money? Not everyone kills and maims in order to put food on the table.”

  He deserved that one. Time was ticking, and he had no response. “I’ve missed you like crazy, angel.”

  Angel had just popped out. It was natural, more than saying her name, but maybe not appropriate. Too bad. She had always been his angel. Nothing had changed for him.

  Her bottom lip quivered until she thinned it into a line. Sarah twirled the pen again and studied the paper. “Here’s one for a preschool teacher.” Her voice wavered. “I’d be perfect for that.”

  He took a step closer, and his arms ached to hold his wife. “Yeah, you would.”

  “How would you know, Brock?” Her chin jutted up, her eyes watery and wounded. “We don’t know each other.”

  “You don’t mean that.” He pulled the chair out next to her. So close, but he wouldn’t touch her. He shouldn’t. No matter how badly he craved her. “I need to explain things to you. Be upfront whereas before I was… vague.”

  “Vague? Vague wasn’t my problem.”

  “I didn’t know what to do. I messed up. Bad. But it was like my world went black when you all were taken. I couldn’t think. Nothing was logical. It was all survive and react.”

  “I never knew how close our family was to danger. Brock, you almost had another woman killed. That’s not an environment I want to raise our children in.”

  She was concerned about Sugar? He wanted to shake Sarah. So what? God love Sugar. But he loved his family. His wife. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t sacrifice to return them to safety. “Sugar is not your problem. And I know, from the bottom of my soul, you wouldn’t care what I did if it protected Jess and Kelly. Let’s boil it down to basics. Bad things happened, and I was the cause.”

  She looked away, and tears streamed over her cheeks. “I can’t talk about this. I can’t even breathe thinking about it.”

  He needed to wipe them away. Needed to make her hurt dissipate. But he didn’t know the rules right now. Couldn’t risk scaring her. “I take the blame for all of this. Things should’ve bee
n different before you were taken.” Guilt exploded in his gut. He threaded his fingers into his hair. “I would’ve done anything to bring you girls home safe. You can’t see that, and I can’t explain that. So just know I did what I thought was best while I was out of my mind.”

  She sniffled, wiping away the waterworks. “I’m not sure what to think.”

  The minutes were clicking by, and he hadn’t said anything worth a damn. “I want my wife back. I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you feel safe again.” It was rushed. Not eloquent, but there it was. The truth.

  Her eyes locked on his, the look caressing him down to his soul. What he wouldn’t do to kiss her right now. That was how he always felt about her. Especially when he came off the job. He needed her touch. Her kiss. Salve to the wounds she couldn’t see.

  Shutting her eyes, she licked her lips and refocused on him. “Three minutes are up. I think you should go.”

  His heart sank deep in the murky waters of abandonment. “Angel—”

  “I can’t do this. I can’t risk the girls again.”

  “I can make this better. Safer. Don’t take my girls from me.” His voice cracked. Time was up; he needed a last plea. “Don’t walk away. Not from us.”

  She shook her head, and he tried to remember everything Mia Winters had told him when she’d shown up shortly after her husband had left, touting her therapist card. That Sarah probably felt victimized. That she didn’t understand her own feelings yet, that she needed to place blame and have an outlet. That shutting down and barricading herself were self-preservation mechanisms.

  Thank God his buddy’s wife was a psychologist with a major case of two-cent-itis, because Brock hadn’t thought past his own feelings. He’d been content to wallow and drink.

  “I love you. And I love our girls.” Against all of Mia’s advice, he pulled an envelope from his back pocket and slid it on top of the newspaper. “If they’re okay to stay with your mom for a little bit, maybe you can take a chance with me, focus on rebuilding our family again. Rebuilding us.”

  Sarah rubbed the corner of the envelope. “What do you mean? What’s in here?”