Lost in the Shadows (The Lost Series Book 3)

by Tracie Douglas

  The screeching sound of a whistle peals through the air, silencing everyone in an instant.

  “Astrid, Farrah, Savannah, and Skye, sit down.” Tom uses the dad voice again and their mouths drop, prepared to argue with him, but a narrowing of his eyes on them has them taking their previous seats. His whiskey-colored eyes rest on me, and while I don’t think he knows everything, he knows the circumstances between Damien and me are different. “I know Penelope didn’t mean what she said the way any of you took it.”

  “No, I didn’t,” I squeak, feeling Damien’s hand slip into mine, entwining our fingers tightly. My throat feels tight, but I swallow hard, ready to give them this piece of me. “I wasn’t exactly truthful about how we met last night. I’m sorry.” I focus on Astrid, watching as her face softens. It gives me the courage to continue. “Damien saved my life, and the circumstances of our meeting… There’s nothing traditional about it.”

  “I swear if he’s done something—” she flares, confusion laced into her brow.

  “Would you just shut up and listen, Astrid?” Damien cuts her off, his eyes never leaving me. “This isn’t an easy story to tell. Show some fucking respect.”

  She blanches, clearly taken aback by her brother’s response. But she listens—they all do—intently as I tell them my story and how we met. At the end of it all, after they’ve raged about Miguel, shed tears over the life I’ve lived, and declared our story one of the best they’ve ever heard, they each wrap us in their arms and give me the greatest Christmas gift I ever received. A family.

  “What’s in the envelope?” Farrah asks, and I look down at the white parchment in my hand. In all that transpired, I’d forgotten it was there.

  “The part of Penny I know she’s secretly missing,” Damien answers. I gasp and look at him with wide eyes and a pounding heart.

  “I think we should give you two some privacy. Besides, we need to get breakfast started before the herd of children begins wandering in.” Astrid stands, and the rest follow. Savannah helps Tom, and they each leave the room with a soft smile and a nod of their heads.

  “Open it,” Damien urges, pulling my attention back to the letter, but I don’t know if I can. If what I believe is in that envelope is there, the tears I’ve shed in the last hour will be nothing compared to what will come. When I don’t move right away, he reaches for it and opens the flap, revealing a handwritten letter.

  My heart freezes in my chest, and I forget to take my next breath because the letter he’s now holding out to me is written in my mother’s hand.

  On instinct, I snatch the letter from Damien’s hand and begin pouring over ever single word she wrote. I seek word of my siblings and cry out with joy when I see their names further down the page.

  Dearest Penelope,

  I write to you knowing I have no right to do so, or to say the things I am going to say, but I need to say them. My heart is filled with relief to learn you are alive and well. I prayed daily that you would find peace and safety.

  It has been many months since the day you were taken from us, and I want you to know I have regretted not fighting for you. I have no excuse for the way I treated you, except to say it was either you or one of your younger sisters.

  The devil was set on selling one of my girls, and I knew if you had a choice in the matter, it wouldn’t be one of them. I’m sorry from the bottom of my heart for being so callus and cold about it. I’m sorry for not being strong enough to stop him. I’ve always been powerless when it came to him, and it has shaped me into a terrible mother and woman.

  I know I am beyond forgiveness, and I want you to know that I do not write you seeking it or your understanding. I write you with news of the devil’s death.

  Miguel has left this earth. His soul is now burning in the deepest, darkest pits of hell. And for the first time in years, we can all breathe easier. We are free.

  Your brothers and sisters are overjoyed to hear of your survival. Paolo lit a candle for you every day on his way home from school. Now, he lights it for your bright future and the man who saved your life.

  Isa has taken your absence the hardest and has just finally stopped crying herself to sleep nightly. I think she has also taken a liking to the man your husband sent to check on us. His name is Bear, and even though I was taken aback by his burly looks, he lives up to the name given to him. He treats your baby sister like a princess and has promised to bring you home to her one day.

  I hope you do return one day, for Isa’s sake. But in the meantime, I pray you are happy and this letter gives you some of the answers you seek.

  I’m glad you have found a man to love you and to love back. A good man worthy of you and the light you carry inside. Please be happy, my daughter, always be happy.

  Love,

  Your Mother

  I fold the letter, careful to keep it away from the tears falling once again down my face. I don’t want to smudge the words because I know I will want to reread her letter when I have a private moment to mull it over.

  “Is she telling me the truth? Is he dead?” I ask Damien, afraid to trust the words my eyes barely grazed. I want them to be true, and not just for me.

  “He had a heart attack,” he says, but I barely hear the words because the world around me has gone silent. My thoughts take over, and for the first time in months, I feel peace settle inside myself.

  Miguel is gone.

  He’s dead.

  It was either me or one of the girls.

  My mother made the right choice. They wouldn’t have been as lucky as I have been. I’ve seen firsthand what they did to the younger girls, the ones Isa’s age. She wouldn’t have survived a single night.

  Yes, my mother made the right choice.

  And now he’s gone. They’re safe.

  I’m safe.

  I can go home.

  Shit.

  My body tenses, and I feel Damien lean into me, wrapping his arms tightly around me. It’s like he knows the thoughts passing through my head because he murmurs the words into my hair.

  “No, angel, I didn’t give this to you because I want you to leave me.” He kisses my head. “You’re not going home, at least not without me and the intention to return here with me.”

  “You sent someone to check on them?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were going to have him killed, weren’t you?”

  “Karma did the job for me.” He doesn’t bother denying it. His voice is firm, but I can hear a twinge of disappointment. He wanted Miguel to suffer for what he did to me, and if I’m honest, I did, too. But knowing he’s no longer on this earth and a threat to my family is good enough.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, turning in his arms and placing my lips against his. It’s a gentle kiss, chaste compared to most, nothing like I wish it could be. “Now, open my gift to you.”

  He pulls back and produces the small white box. Lifting the lid, he let’s loose a hearty chuckle before pulling out the small snowglobe.

  “I wanted something to remind you of our time,” I explain. It’s cheesy when you compare it to my gift, but the snowglobe represents the moment our relationship went from friendship to something greater. It represents us as a couple.

  “It’s perfect,” he says and leans in to place another kiss on my lips. I close my eyes, letting myself get lost in the moment and the feeling of his warm kiss.

  Chapter 30

  Damien

  It’s quiet.

  Eerily quiet.

  Not that I should have expected anything different at a graveyard. Still, there is something about the way the wind is muted against the snow-packed ground that makes it feel too quiet. Even for a graveyard.

  I pull my rental alongside the section where I know my mother’s body rests and shift it into park, cutting the engine before I change my mind. I stare off at the manicured lawn, trying to settle my nerves but more aware of my surroundings than ever.

  It’s the same section where we buried my grandmother and gra
ndfather. My parents bought the plot alongside of them after my grandparents died. They insisted it was the right thing to do, because they didn’t want to leave their children with the difficulties that come with losing a loved one plus the cost of burying them. My sisters and I thought it was morbid and unnecessary, but after facing death time after time, I finally got it. It wasn’t about choices or even the cost. Losing a loved one, especially a parent, is one of the hardest things you will go through in life. This was their way of trying to lessen that pain.

  Not that all their planning did that.

  At least for me it didn’t.

  I lean forward and place my head against the steering wheel. I pull air into my lungs and release it slowly, trying more than ever to prepare myself for what I’m about to do.

  I have to do this.

  No, I need to do this.

  I need to see where she rests, but most importantly, I need to talk to her. I know it’s just her body buried six feet down, a shell and nothing more. But her body is all that is left of her, of the woman I called my mother.

  I’m not sure how much time passes while I sit and battle the emotions raging inside of me, but a tapping on the window pulls me away from the turmoil. I turn my head and see my father standing on the other side, his eyes filled with a knowing sadness.

  He steps back, and I get out of the truck, catching sight of the blue sedan my sister’s driven for years as it pulls out of the graveyard.

  “Thought I’d find you here,” he murmurs softly, studying my face for my inner thoughts. It was something he always did with me, like he was trying to figure out how to relate to me. He offers me a half smile before turning away. I follow as he slowly makes his way to her graveside and the bench placed strategically next to her. He sits, places his cane in front of him, and rests his chin on it.

  I sit beside him, and only then do I allow myself to look down at the stunning headstone inches from my feet. Her name, etched carefully and artfully into the stone, stares up at me.

  Starla Regina Reynolds.

  Loving wife. Dedicated mother. Free spirit.

  Never had any truer words been spoken about her.

  She was everything to my father, to her children, to me.

  She lived life to the fullest every day, moved to the beat of her own drum.

  Losing her was the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced, and I’ve been to war, seen members of my team, my brothers, die before my eyes. But she was more than a mother. More than my best friend. She was everything good in the world and so much more.

  I can only imagine what it’s been like for my father, the man quietly sitting beside me. She was the other half of his heart, his soul, and now she’s gone. Seeing the man he’s become, I know it wasn’t easy. Physically and emotionally, her death had a profound effect on my family, and it’s been difficult learning how to live without her.

  The thought of living again makes me think of the woman waiting for me at home. To say I never expected things to develop the way they have between us is an understatement, but it’s this moment right now when I realize how special what I have with her is.

  Despite the circumstances of our meeting, she is everything I know my mother wanted for me. A good balance to the man I am. It’s like she just knew how to exist with me and what it would take to pull me back into the light.

  Her light.

  If I’m completely honest about everything, I never thought I’d know the kind of love shared between my parents.

  Then she walked into my life.

  Penelope.

  She is my saving grace.

  My lucky penny.

  But she did more than pull me from the shadows; she breathed life into me. My heart. My soul. The man I was always destined to be. My family.

  She taught me what it means to be loved and to love.

  Unconditionally.

  She’s exactly who my mother would have wanted for me.

  “Mom used to say things happen in life for a reason.” I look over at my father and study his profile, committing the sight to memory. “I don’t think I ever really understood what she meant, until now.”

  “Your mother was a smart woman,” he murmurs as the corners of his mouth lift into a smile. A soft chuckle sounds from his chest.

  “And funny, apparently.”

  “You try having the same conversation about something she said for the fifth time.” He looks over at me. His amber-colored eyes are filled with understanding.

  “My sisters?”

  “Each one of them.” He leans back and looks up to the sky. “And like your sisters, your translation will be what you need it to be.”

  “Meaning there’s no right or wrong answer.”

  “The only answer that matters is the one you need it to be.”

  I close my eyes, letting my truth behind it wash over me.

  “If she hadn’t died…” I trail off, afraid to admit the rest. The sheer power of the words fills my body with pain. Even thinking about them makes me sick.

  “You wouldn’t have met her?” my father finishes for me. Hearing the words from someone hurts just as much as if I had been the one to say them.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  I take a moment and think about it. Letting myself feel the darkness I’ve beaten back since Penny came into my life. If my mother hadn’t died, I still would have left the military after the attack on the team. Only the darkness that came into my life afterwards wouldn’t have been as strong, and I would have been able to beat it back with one conversation with my mother.

  “I wouldn’t have been in the right state of mind needed for my recent assignment,” I tell him and hang my head. The thought nearly guts me, because the last thing I want is to imagine my life without her in it.

  “You met her on assignment?”

  “We kind of saved each other.” I lift a hand and run it through my hair.

  “She’s the reason you’ve come home, isn’t she?”

  “I should have come home a long time ago.” I nod my head. “She makes me want to be a better man.”

  “Good.” He pats me on the back before continuing. “I don’t care how you got here, Damien. I’m just happy to have you home finally.”

  “I should have been here for you.” Fresh guilt gnaws at my gut. How could I have been this uncaring toward him? “She would’ve wanted me to be—”

  “You’re wrong,” he interrupts and holds up a weathered hand. “She would’ve wanted you to mourn the way you needed to. I get it, son. If I could have left, I would have.”

  “Dad, please, stop trying to justify what I did. Nothing you say is going to make what I did right. I was selfish and an asshole.” I sigh before looking over at him again. “Coming home would’ve been hard, but it would’ve been the right thing. I was angry. At everyone and at no one, but mostly at myself. How could I not see what was happening right in front of my face?”

  He nods his head, and for the first time in my life, I feel like he understands my heart. “But she didn’t want you to. She knew you wouldn’t have left otherwise, and that would’ve been a mistake.”

  “Bullshit. The team would have been fine without me. I should have been here with her. Taking care of her. Of you.”

  “She didn’t want that, son.”

  “What about what I wanted?” I ask, regretting the words as soon as they leave my lips. My anger surges forward, and I know I shouldn’t take any of it out on him, but I can’t help it. I’ve bottled it up for a long time.

  “And what did you want, Damien? To see her at her absolute worst? To remember when she finally became too weak to get out of bed to piss or shit. Did you want the memories of her crying because she was ashamed when she couldn’t keep anything down?” I swallow, feeling my anger disappear and taking the raw anger and hurt pouring from my father. “Did you want to watch as she wasted away in a bed, crying for another morphine shot because the pain was too much, only to tell her
no because you’d given her one not ten minutes ago?” He stares me down, the memories fresh in his mind. “She didn’t want any of us there—”

  “But you stayed,” I whisper, taking his hand in mine. “You wouldn’t let her chase you away.”

  “She was my wife, through sickness and health.” His body shakes from emotion pouring out of him. The way he does it, desperate and wild, I know he’s bottled a lot of it, too. “It was my job to take care of her.”

  “Dad—” I try, but the moment his tear-filled eyes meet mine, I close my mouth.

  “She wanted you to remember her like you always knew her.” He pauses for a breath, and then continues with agony seeping into his voice. “Do you think I like knowing what it was like for her in the end? I hated watching her waste away into nothing.”

  He’s right. I didn’t want those memories.

  “I didn’t get to say good-bye,” I mutter under my breath, finally giving words to the reasons behind my anger.

  “Is that what this is about? Because you didn’t get to say good-bye?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Just forget I said anything.” I turn away and stand, ready to go home and forget the childishness behind my reasons.

  “Damien Andrew Reynolds, you wait a damn minute,” my father calls after me, using the same tone he used when I used to get into trouble as a kid. He struggles to stand but manages to do so without too much trouble. “I understand you’re upset, but you don’t get to act like a petulant child about this. You got a good-bye, the only good-bye she could give you. Despite the love and life I shared with her for twenty-five years, you were the one she was most worried about. She knew you wouldn’t take losing her easy. She knew you wouldn’t show up to her funeral. She even knew it would be a long time before you came home again. She made us each promise her that we would wait for you and promise to welcome you home with open arms.”

  “Dad—” His words strike me in the chest, and I feel like I can’t breathe.