Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 71871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“What?” I whispered.
The door behind my fiancé’s parents opened, and my father walked in.
His face was a mask of stillness.
Not a single emotion was in his expression.
“Daddy?”
Ember had my hand in hers moments later.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Dad, why did you drive so far when you know I have to go to the hospital in…” I trailed off when my dad stepped up and cupped my face between his big hands.
“Baby, hush,” he whispered. “Listen.”
So I listened.
And I never realized what it would feel like—losing your soul.
But I imagine it would feel something like how I was feeling now.
Lost. Empty. Alone. Scared. Sad. Sick to my stomach.
Luca is missing.
***
One year ago
“He’s still missing,” Daddy said.
***
Six months ago
“There’s still nothing, honey,” Gabe’s deep, saddened voice said.
***
Three months ago
“Malachi was found,” Gabe said. But before I could get my hopes up, he dashed them right back down. “Malachi is in bad shape. Very, very bad shape. And the location where he was found? Everyone was dead. Everyone.”
Meaning, the hope that I’d had over the last year was for naught.
Malachi was found. But Luca was forever lost.
Prologue II
I got a dig bick.
-You read that wrong
Malachi
The dog tags were clutched in my hand.
Just as they’d been, apparently, when they found me.
“These are your personal effects,” the man that’d just handed me my discharge papers said. “Normally they would’ve been sent to your parents, but they’ve been unable to be reached.”
Unable to be reached.
“So they’ve been in a lockbox,” he continued. “Any questions?”
Did I have any questions? Thousands of them.
Did I have any questions for him? No.
And just like that, I was left with my only personal effects to my name, and not one single spark of memory returned.
Not. One.
I had a wallet full of cash. Credit cards that were likely shut off due to my time missing, and a pair of boots that no longer fit me.
“I’m glad to walk you out to the exit, then,” the nurse said.
I stood up, feeling things hurt on me that should never hurt a man of my age.
The first two steps were always the worst.
My scarred legs didn’t want to cooperate.
It’d been six months since I’d been found in that hellhole.
Six months of pain.
Pain that, still to this day, was just as debilitating as the first day.
Your scarring is intense. Best guess, you survived some kind of explosion.
The doctor’s first words to me when I woke up explaining what had happened were burned in my memory.
Your scarring is intense.
No fuckin’ joke.
Though my face was badly scarred, it, at least, was one of the only parts of my body that didn’t hurt.
My shoulders, however? Those fucking hurt.
There was a clump of scarring from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, and at times, it hurt to even squeeze my hand, let alone move my arm.
Then there was my left leg.
You’re lucky that you didn’t lose that. It could’ve been a lot worse.
Yep, lucky.
I was lucky to have a fuckin’ leg that hurt so bad to walk at times that I nearly cried with my first two steps.
But, the scarring was just that, scarring.
It was proof that I did survive.
Malachi Stokes was a survivor. Even if the name Malachi Stokes meant nothing to me.
“One last piece of advice,” the doctor said as he saw me walking past.
I looked at him.
“Don’t stop moving,” he said. “The more you move, the freer and less stiff the scarring will be.”
I nodded once, feeling the scars pull tight on my face right around my eyes.
You’re lucky you didn’t lose your eyes.
Funny. But I didn’t feel the least bit fucking lucky.
***
Gabe stood next to me as we both stared at the contents of what I’d left behind.
“Your parents apparently paid for this for two years,” Gabe rumbled, sounding tired. “You’re lucky…they would’ve confiscated it all next month if you hadn’t come back.”
Lucky.
Right.
I should feel lucky, shouldn’t I?
I mean, I did return home when his son didn’t.
But I didn’t feel lucky.
Far from it.
“There’s a job at the police station if you want it,” Gabe continued.
Did I? Want it?
No.
But should I take it?
Probably.
“Thank you,” I said. “That’d be good.”
Lies.
All fucking lies.
It wouldn’t be good.
It’d suck.
Everybody would look at me, judge me, find me lacking.
But I would not hide.
I didn’t hide.
At least, I thought I didn’t hide.
“Let’s get all this shit moved to your place,” Gabe said. “I have to meet Ember for dinner later, and she might very well cut off my balls if I don’t get there on time.”
I did laugh at that.
I’d met Ember and liked her.
“Can’t have that,” I said as I picked up my first box. “Can’t have that.”
***
I stared at the box of shoes that I hadn’t unpacked.
Why had I not unpacked them?
Because none of them, not one, fit me.
They were all at least one to two sizes too small.
They were elevens.
And, according to the measuring tape, and an online Google search, I would be in a thirteen and a half.