When Lee Townsend’s past explodes back into her life, it does the only thing it can, it demands to reshape her future.

When Lee’s husband leaves the country on a community outreach, the last thing she expects is for him to never come back—for him to have tragically met his demise.
Lee goes on to marry his adversary and settles into life and business with him, merging her vineyard with his and creating a worldwide conglomerate.

Five years later a twist of fate brings the past back to her and forces Lee to make a decision that will change the landscape of her life forever.Secrets emerge, forcing relationships to be examined—magnifying the surprising true underpinnings of her marriage.

Lee’s heart is unwilling to surrender her love for either Mitch or Max. She must choose to carry forward with the past or present. Lee has a choice to make as her different worlds collide in THE SOLITUDE OF PASSION.

(New Adult/Contemporary Romance, sexual situations,
intended for mature audiences 17+)

Praise for The Solitude of Passion:

“I recommend the Solitude of Passion…to anyone looking for action, adventure, and of course romance!!! ”

“A book that crosses all boundaries…Two weeks later and I’m still thinking about it! A powerful story of love, faith and redemption.”

“Addison Moore has pulled off yet another perfect love story…”

an excerpt from

The Solitude of Passion

by Addison Moore

Prologue

It’s hard to know what’s real and what isn’t when you’re trying to pick the pieces of your heart off the ground. But the order of the universe reversed itself—it took my heartbreak and exchanged it for something far more palatable. I swallowed the delusion whole and traded agony for this strange new reality. Now, there was a choice to be made—a decision that would prove impossible.

I was walking barefoot on the edge of a very sharp knife, the blade already slicing me to ribbons, but I was oblivious to its infliction. The pain was sublime. I was the lucky one, even when the torment shaved me to the bone.

It was a season in my life, born of confusion, all consuming lust, passion that could fuel jet planes—intoxicating, rich and heated as lava.

A fire brewed in my heart, too magnificent to ignore, I could never deny it, never insist it disappear. I want to drink it down, let it erode me from the inside like a white-hot flame—intoxicating myself with ecstasy—ignoring the misery. A dream had materialized from the darkest part of my being. I had pulled everyone into my fantasy, and it was only fair that no one suffer but me.

Mitch gazes at me with those hungry eyes, his body glowing like burnished bronze.

“Lee,” my name streams from his lips like a poem. Mitch meets me with his mouth, diving over me with a kiss that tastes like eternity branding itself from his soul to mine. “I’m going to love you,” he whispers, gliding down my body and burying a string of kisses over my stomach, trailing lower until he presses my knees apart.

Mitch peels off his jeans and rises above me like a phoenix. He crashes his lips over mine and kisses me through a lust-driven smile. I open up for him like a flower—Mitch is the sun I’ve craved for so long. He pushes into me with a pronounced thrust, and a small cry escapes me that’s been building for the last five years. Mitch pushes in, deeper still and fills me with all of his carnal affection—a hard-won groan wrenches from his gut.

“God, I love you,” he pants hot into my ear.

“I love you, too, Mitch.”

There’s not another person in the universe who exists right now.

It’s just Mitch and me, lost in our love as his body moves in rhythm to mine.

But Max hovers over us like a ghost.

And, now, nothing will ever be the same.

1

The Departure

Lee

It’s a dangerous game when nobody knows how to surrender. If only it were a simple game.

The ground quakes beneath them. You could hear their primal grunting, feel the wind of their bodies cutting across the court. This was no ordinary match, no friendly round of balls—it was a battering. They want to beat each other, cross the net, and shove the optic yellow sphere down one another’s throats. This is years’ worth of pent-up aggression—the I’ll-see-you-in-hell kind of drama played out in fields of war, gang infested alleyways—prison.

Katrice and I huddle on a bench under the eaves and watch Mitch and Max play tennis in a warlike fashion. The California sun scorches across the sky, searing down over the four of us as if there could be casualties. My eyes wander to a bone-dry acacia that threatens to ignite like a birthday candle under the oppressive heat.

A night from long ago hedges in my mind, and I can’t fight it. I can still feel Max’s strong body pressing into mine, still see the flexing of his chest—hear his steady groans.

“You ever think of that party back in high school?” Kat asks. She doesn’t even know she’s chiding me, that it feels more like a taunt than something genuinely inquisitive.

I slept with Max—just once, that night at the party.

Katrice bows her lashes, trying to hide a smile. She’s the only living soul that knows what happened that night. Not even Mitch knows about that explosive night I shared with his self-proclaimed enemy. Of course, back then they were anything but—they were the best of friends.

“You ever tell Mitch?” she whispers.

“I’d die before I told him.”

Those two were closer than brothers until Mitch’s father and Max’s mother flaunted their infidelity for the world to see. It was treason in both the bedroom and boardroom. It split two families in half and reduced their friendship to cinders.

“Lee,” Max shouts, waving his racket. His black hair gleams in the light. He’s so cuttingly handsome, but it’s Mitch who’s my golden Adonis. “You see that? Your husband cheats!”

I wasn’t paying attention, so I just shake my head and round my hand over the curve of my swollen belly. I’m hardly five months, and already I’ve lost my toned stomach, exchanged it for a beautiful bump, oval and hard as stone.

“Leave him.” Max grins before serving the ball with bionic force. “I’ll help you raise the baby.”

“Leave him?” Kat whispers. Her face pricks with mockery. “I’ll help you raise the baby? He is so still in love with you.”

“Shut up. He’s not in love with me. He’s in love with making Mitch miserable.”

“Heard his divorce is final,” Kat practically sings the words. I can tell she’s enjoying this.

He was married less than six months to Vivienne—Viv. A girl he’s dated on and off forever.

“Well, I’m never getting divorced, so he’s out of luck.” I hold out my wedding ring and examine the stones as they shimmer under the harsh supervision of the sun. One of the diamonds pierces me with a glare—its brilliance lingers in my mind long after I put my hand down. It’s been a year for Mitch and me. Our baby is due in October.

A biplane gets my attention as it whirs in the sky. It heads off toward the beach, hauling a tattered sign with a picture of a faded beer can. Living on the coast you see a lot of these. You lose interest in what they’re trying to sell and just enjoy it for the spectacle it is. Mono Bay magic—that’s what the tourists call it. Mono Bay, where the vineyards reach the shore. Not quite, but what do tourists know? Mono is famous for its vineyards with two of the most prominent belonging to the gladiators on the tennis court.

My stomach sours as the biplane purrs toward the horizon.

God—Mitch is going on an impromptu trip overseas, and I hate the thought of it. I hate the thought of him being away from me for one second, especially now with the baby. He wouldn’t be going anywhere if it wasn’t for Colton and his hidden talent of rolling off rooftops.

“So, Colt broke his leg,” I whisper. Kat already knows this, but I’ll say anything to change the subject from my one-night stand with Max, so I go with it. “They really need a general contractor, someone who knows what they’re doing.” A tight knot builds in my throat, choking off the rest of the words.

Colton. I’m so pissed he broke his leg. I’d like to break the other one, too—hell, all four limbs.

“Don’t tell me Mitch is going in his place?” Kat’s features harden. “So it’s official? It’s his job to keep bailing out his loser brother?” Her hair whips around her face and conforms to her sarcastic smile like parentheses.

“Bailing out Colt is Mitch’s third job.” Right after the vineyard and his new side business of construction.

I push into Kat playfully with my shoulder. Our matching long hair is straight as bones and pale as paper. You can tell we’re sisters in so many other ways, but it’s the hair that confuses people, makes us look more like twins even though Kat likes to remind me I’m older—twenty-four to her twenty-three. My mother called us her Irish twins until the day she died.

“Besides, he’ll be in and out,” I say, trying to believe it myself. The truth is, it’s going to be two long weeks in China. They had a team of six people, and three have already bailed. If it wasn’t a community outreach, he’d probably reconsider. It should be great PR for Townsend Construction, the company Mitch and Colt started once the vineyard tanked, but I’m not sure it’ll do anything to drum up business. “Colton volunteered to cover material expenses and promised to heft the bulk of the responsibility.” I make a face at my sister because we both know damn well that Colt is allergic to responsibility.

“And the real story?” Kat is the last to buy Colt’s special brand of bullshit.

“Apparently, a hot brunette committed to go, and Colt’s dick wanted to salute the effort.” A small groan escapes me because now it’s my handsome husband who’s stuck traveling abroad with a hot brunette. “Anyway, so much for altruism. Mitch is going to supervise construction, so he’s pretty crucial to the team. They’d have to cancel the trip without him.”

“And the vineyard?” Kat lends her gaze to the battlefield as two gorgeous men swelter in the citrine sun—even though I’d never admit it, I could watch this twenty-four seven. The truth is, I miss Max in our lives. We grew up together. I knew what each of his smiles meant. I miss those infectious dimples that would greet me, those cobalt eyes that washed the day anew with their glory. But, once the divorce bombs went off between their parents, lines were drawn, and I was already with Mitch at that point. Although, unlike Mitch, I never considered Max an enemy, not by a long shot.

“The vineyard?” I consider Kat’s question. “Colt has two weeks to run it into the ground.” I give a wry smile. “Considering he doesn’t have far to go, I’d say he can do it in one.” It’s the truth. Kat and I both know it.

Unfortunately the Townsend label doesn’t have great distribution, so the construction business helps keep the financial cogs spinning. Max, on the other hand, has turned his father’s vineyard into a global conglomerate. You’d think they were selling the fountain of youth the way bottles of Shepherd wine fly off the shelves. It’s been served to royalty. And, poor Mitch—nine out of ten derelicts prefer Townsend wine across the country.

“Weird they’re playing together,” Kat muses, never taking her eyes off the sultans of soon-to-be third degree sunburns.

“So strange,” I whisper. Max wasn’t even invited to our wedding.

It was me who was playing with Mitch before I started to sway in the heat. Kat works at the club, so she brought me lemonade. Max came out with her and challenged Mitch to a quick match. “Wouldn’t it be great if they could be friends again?”

“Mitch-the-Bitch and Maxi-Pad?” She balks at the insanity of it all.

Clearly I’ve stunned her.

Those were the monikers of choice they used for one another in school after the “incident.”

Maxi-Pad. That’s what Mitch called him for years, still does sometimes. It’s hard to let go of all that misplaced anger. It was his dad he really wanted to strangle for having the affair with Max’s town-harlot of a mother. But, both of their fathers are long since dead. You’d think it would have brought them closer together, but under the circumstances it created a division as wide as the sea and made them captains of industry far too soon. It set them up at the helm their fathers abandoned and led them to turn their livelihoods into a bitter rivalry.

“Mitch feels like he’s always on the losing end of the stick.” It’s an unmitigated truth never before spoken, but it hangs in the air like a ghost every time we read of another Shepherd victory.

“He said that?” Kat’s mouth rounds out as if I’ve just dispensed a juicy bit of Mono gossip.

“Not those exact words, but it comes out in other ways.”

“Oh, come on.” Kat’s eyes roll back a moment. “He’s got you, Lee. He won the war. Who cares about battles fought with toothpicks when he’s already holding the gilded trophy?”

I look over at Kat. Her play on words amuse me. Ironic if you think about it. Mitch and Max, those hardwired rackets nothing more than glorified toothpicks. What are they fighting for so ferociously, anyway?

A dull laugh settles in my chest.

Mitch really wants the win, and Max doesn’t know how to lose.

Max catches the ball with his bare hand and howls out a laugh. He belts the ball into the sky as if it were Mitch himself.

“You suck, Townsend,” he shouts, rounding out the gate and blowing me a kiss.

Mitch tosses his racket across the empty court like a machete, and it fractures into a thousand splintered shards.

So many pieces to pick up after those two.

I don’t know why this always surprises me.

Mitch drives us past the vineyard on the way home, and I roll down the window, inhaling the sharp bite of soil. Up ahead, a tall wooden arch rises into the pristine sky with a crooked sign reading, Townsend Fields.

“I’ve been meaning to fix that.” Mitch presses his lips together and eyes the sign as if it might crash over the roof of the car as we drive beneath it.

I gaze out at the fields with the earth plowed in rows of deep russet-colored soil. The flat leaves of the vines are as wide as my hand, and the grapes gleam, hidden in the branches like tiny black gemstones.

Mitch and I get out of the car and walk over to the ridge, an overlook where you can see the entire vineyard, acre after luscious acre, nothing but rolling rows of verdant beauty.

“I’m going to turn this ship around.” Mitch wraps his arm around my waist and presses a kiss into my neck as he leads us down into the field.

“I know you will.” I give a peck to his cheek and rub my lips over the sandpaper like stubble. “I’m proud of how you handled yourself out there today, you know, with Max.” Strange, his name hasn’t passed through my lips in so long that it actually sounds foreign, downright illegal.

Mitch pulls back a dull smile. He’s so unreasonably handsome with his chiseled features, his glowing jade eyes. He still makes my stomach squeeze tight with nothing more than a stolen glance.

“Shepherd has balls to talk to you the way he did.”

“What?” I pull him in by the arm and hug him. “You’re hysterical, Townsend. He was kidding. Only in his wildest dreams would I ever leave you and let him raise the baby.” I brand a kiss over his lips and linger. “Besides, it’s too late.” I stop him from moving ahead and wrap my arms secure over his waist. “I love you. You’re my husband. The only one I’d ever want.” I push another kiss off his lips. “You’re my everything. You’re perfect.”

Mitch presses out a gentle smile, never taking those lawn-green eyes off me. He reaches over and plucks a grape off the vine and sets it in his teeth before feeding it to me by way of his mouth. He cups my face as we share the sharp bite of fruit with his sweet tongue dancing over mine. Mitch is a master of achingly soft kisses—kisses that wrench a cry from the deepest part of me, kisses that give birth to moans that have the ability to stretch out for weeks. My hands ride into the lip of his jeans, and I pull him in until his body is pressed against mine. The baby protrudes just enough to create a barrier.

He trails his mouth up to my neck and bites down gently over my earlobe.

“You’re my perfect wife, Lee. And nobody, not even Max Shepherd, can take you away from me. I’d move heaven and earth to make sure that didn’t happen. In fact, I already did.” He gives my ribs a quick tickle, and my elbows swoop to my sides as I give a violent laugh.

“Oh”—I reach down and scoop a handful of clay—“tickling, huh? So you want to play dirty?”

“Is that where this is going?” He tilts his head with that wicked gleam in his eye, looking hotter than hell in the process. “Because it looks like you’re the one who wants to play dirty.” Mitch takes a slow step in, and I jump back, laughing. “Come here and nobody gets hurt,” he gravels it out sultry and demanding.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” I try to make a break for it, but Mitch scoops me up in his arms and lands us both in a soft pile of Townsend soil, laying my head to rest in an orange cloud. “Thanks a lot,” I tease. “I’ll be washing dirt out of my hair for weeks.”

His brows twitch. Then, quick as it came, his playful demeanor dissipates. His eyes grow serious as death as he takes me in.

“God, you’re so beautiful, Lee.” He swallows hard as he runs his gaze over my features. “I always want to remember you like this.”

“Hey”—I reach up and touch his face, pulling him down by the chin—“I’m not going anywhere. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

He gives a quick glance around at the vineyard with its dilapidated sign, its dwindling crops, and gives a wry smile.

“Sometimes I think that’s the only thing I’ve done right”—his eyes squint out a smile born of pain—“having you in my life.”

“It’s you and me ‘til the end, Mitch.” I pull him in until he’s just a breath away.

“You and me ‘til the end.” He crashes his lips over mine and we detonate in a vat of passion, nothing but limbs and sublime kisses right here over a warm bed of Townsend soil.

Mitch said he would move heaven and earth for me.

I believe him.

Mitch

A seam of early morning light streams into the room from the slit in the curtains.

The clock reads 5:54—a full minute before the alarm is set to go off. I seem to do that on a regular basis—beat the buzzer, and I’m not sure why. It’s a gift, I guess, but as far as gifts go, I’d like to put in for something different. Something a little more useful that actually has the potential to produce a paper-like substance traded as currency.

I dot the back of Lee’s head with a kiss and take in her scent as she lies folded in my arms, still and quiet—so beautiful, and I fight back tears. Of all the times for my brother to maim himself, and he chooses now while Lee houses the evidence of our love deep in her belly. The thought of leaving Lee makes me sick to my stomach, but I would never tell her that. I don’t want her to worry. I’ve been making it sound like no big deal, but Colt would have caused less pain in my life if he skinned my balls and used them for batting practice.

Lee relaxes into me, still lost in a silent slumber, and I memorize the way her skin sears up against mine, her silken hair soft against my cheek.

I close my eyes and beg God to take care of Lee, our baby, the business. Protect all three from my idiot brother—and deliver us from Max. I throw in that last part about Max just for fun. Can’t get him out of my head since last week. I don’t like the way it happened—the way it felt too coincidental. My father’s self-prescribed doctrine comes back to me—that there are no coincidences in life. It’s never bugged me before, but now, with Max showing up out of the blue and saying the things he did, I hate the concept.

The plane ride floats through my mind, and I can’t help but envision an aerial cartwheel, followed by a ball of flames and nothing but the blue Pacific as we nosedive into the sea.

Wish I could shake this feeling of outright foreboding. Then again, I don’t travel much. Maybe this is how you’re supposed to feel seven hours before an international flight—maybe it’s just self-preservation kicking in—a little something called “fight the flight.”

I slip out of bed and head downstairs to make breakfast while trying to blow off the negativity.

It’s probably just Lee’s hormones rubbing off on me, and any minute now I’ll be bawling like a schoolgirl, craving pickles and ice cream.

I hit the bottom step and my foot lands on the bare plywood that spans the downstairs. I meant to take Lee into town to pick out flooring. We never should have moved in without installing a proper floor of all things. Now there’s furniture to move—heavy, cumbersome furniture that I’m pretty damn sure is lined with lead. Originally we had travertine planned, but at the last minute Lee changed her mind, and we moved in anyway. So plywood it is. The truth is, I’d love our home no matter what the floor was—because it’s just that, our home—the one Lee and I designed ourselves. The one I built with Colt as a starter project for our new side business—Townsend Construction.

It hasn’t fallen over yet, so we must have done something right.

“Morning.” Lee comes up from behind and wraps her arms around me. I turn and bury my face in her neck, taking in her scent—not showered and perfumed, just natural Lee. This is how I want to remember her. The sweet scent of her skin is going to get me through the next two weeks. I dig my face into her hair and inhale sharply—saving it all for later.

“Morning beautiful.” My stomach pinches with grief at thought of boarding that plane without her. I wish she could go, but with the baby I don’t want to take any chances.

The more I think about this situation, the more I want to smack my idiot brother. I’ve never been away from my wife for more than a day, and I sure as hell didn’t plan to go on some foreign relations excursion while Lee is pregnant with our first child.

“Don’t go,” her voice dips into its lower register when she says it, sounding sexy as hell in the process.

I give her a minute to see if she’s going to back it up with some nightmare she had of a plane crash, then for sure I wouldn’t go. When Lee was six, she dreamed her parents were in a horrible crash the night before they were killed in a car accident. It’s never happened again, the dream thing, but if she said it, I wouldn’t go.

“I’ll be back before you know it. Besides, hundreds of disabled orphans are counting on me.” I throw in that last part with a lopsided smile—amused she might actually believe this.

“I know.” Lee sags as she sweeps the floor with her gaze.

“Come here.” I pull her in tight. “Stupid Colt,” I whisper into her hair.

“Stupid Colt.” Her chest rumbles over mine.

“I may have to kill him before leaving the country,” I tease, rubbing her back, and she lets out a moan of approval. “Of course, I’ll have to make it look like an accident. Maybe I can run his head over with my back tire at the airport. People are always in such a damn hurry in those kinds of places.” A soft laugh rumbles from my chest.

Lee pulls back and makes a face. “No killing, Colt.”

“You’re right. Screw it. I’m sure he’ll have some new mutation of the clap before Christmas—and I won’t have to worry about doing the dirty work—flesh-eating clap.”

Lee belts out a laugh. “Rumor has it, there’s going to be a beautiful brunette on call in the event you get lonely.” She bites down on her lip, her teeth white as milk. “I think I’d better give you something to remember me by.” She hops up on the barstool and rocks back with the curve of a naughty smile, crossing her legs, slow and seductive. Her skin glows from underneath her nightshirt, revealing the fact she’s not wearing any underwear.

I give a slow spreading grin. “I can eat on the plane.”

“Eat on the plane?” She runs her tongue over the rim of her lips. “Whatever will you do with all this time on your hands?” She slides her foot over her knee exposing a dark triangle tucked between her thighs, and my hard-on ticks to life.

“Oh, I don’t know.” I lean in and wrap my arms around her waist. “Maybe you can help find something to keep me busy.” I trace the pattern of her brows, her high cheekbone before dipping down and feathering my finger over her lips.

Lee runs her hands along the elastic of my boxers before expanding their girth and sailing them to a puddle at my feet.

“Really?” I hold back a smile while my fingers work the buttons on her nightshirt. Technically it’s my dress shirt, but it’s been a longstanding habit of hers to utilize my wardrobe as her nighttime accouterments. “I’m naked in the kitchen. You’re limiting my options of what I can do.”

She bubbles with laughter as I fumble with the buttons just over her belly.

“Why don’t you make us some eggs?” She teases. “You could be the naked chef.”

“You’re funny.” I peel the shirt off her shoulders, and my insides pinch seeing her like this. Lee has perfect breasts, round as melons, but her stomach stops me cold. I hadn’t seen her in the light in a while. I’ve felt her stomach firming, seen her rounding out in her T-shirts, but seeing her stomach mound like a half moon scares the hell out of me. Lee has transformed into a full-fledged goddess, a creature of beauty too magnificent to comprehend.

“Lee,” I whisper, touching my hand over our growing child. “What the hell am I doing leaving you?”

“Hey.” She pulls me down to her mouth and tucks her legs over my hips. “It’ll be over before we know it. I promise you, this baby and I will both be waiting, right here, naked on this stool until you get back.”

A dry laugh rolls through me. “I like the imagery.” My hand slips between her thighs, and her chest expands with a breath. “I’d think I’d better leave you with something to remember me by—something that might hold you over for the next two weeks.” God knows I’m not going to be able to breathe without her.

She reaches down and guides me in. Lee lets out a groan that sears me straight to the bone. I push in and watch as her head slips back, her eyes close just enough while she bites down on her cherry-stained lip. I push in deeper before gliding out, and I’m already about to lose it. I don’t close my eyes once. I savor every moment with Lee, lost in ecstasy, and wonder if I’ll ever get to see this again.

I run my fingers over her slick and bring her right there with me until the world, the universe, feels like a bomb ready to detonate.

“Oh shit.” I pull her in and tremble over her as she pants wild in my ear.

“God, I love you, Mitch.” She grazes her teeth over my ear as she says it. “Come back to me.”

“I will. I promise.”

That heavy feeling takes over again.

Please God, let me keep my promise.

Lee and Mom sob all the way to the airport as if it were my funeral.

I cut a hard look to Colt. He almost had surgery. They wanted to pin his stupid leg then decided he wasn’t worth the effort. I’m going to tear into him as soon as Lee and Mom are out of earshot—pin him to a wall with a hunting knife if I get the chance.

LAX roars with the hustle and bustle of bodies readying themselves to drift to the four corners of the earth—with China being the most distal point.

We park and the three of them come to the ticket counter with me to give a “proper farewell” as Mom put it. Hate to break it to her but this proper farewell has all of the charm of an Irish wake.

Colt leans against the wall, sizing up a blonde in an airline uniform as she whizzes by.

“Dude, come here,” it huffs from me, annoyed as hell. I nod him over to the counter while Lee and Mom huddle in misery.

“What’s up?” His hair is neatly combed back. He’s showered, but his eyes look as if someone poured in vinegar. I’m afraid to ask whether or not a couple of blunts played a role in the breakdown of his blood vessels, but I’d most likely say, yes. We’d look identical if I spent more time at the gym and he spent less time everywhere but the vineyard.

“You don’t take your eyes off Lee, got it?” I meant for it to come out harsher than it did. I’m so close to tears I force myself to take a deep breath and down the rest of my water before continuing. I’ll let it all out on the plane—emasculate myself in front of dozens of strangers minus the people on the outreach team I don’t know anyway.

“Okay.” He salutes me. “She might not like it when she’s taking a shower, but I’ll follow orders.”

“Right.” I grip him by the arm and dig in. “Listen to me, you little shit. My wife is having our baby. If she feels the need for ice cream at midnight, she’s going to call you. Pretend you’re an adult for five minutes. I left the vineyard on autopilot. Just show up. It might actually give people the impression someone’s in charge.”

“So you’re just using me for my pretty face. Can I push all the shiny buttons?”

“The only buttons you ever push are mine.” I blink a smile and offer a half-hug. “If anything happens, man, take care of Lee for me, ‘kay?”

He pulls back, slaps me on the shoulder. “Dude, nothing’s gonna happen. But if it does”—he mock shoots me—“I’ll continue with family tradition and procreate with the girl in question.”

Lee swoops in and shoos Colt away. Her face is blotched and her eyes stained with large, dark rings from crying. It’s a haunting image that sears itself into my mind before I can stop it.

“Love you.” I press a kiss into her, deep and lingering, as if we were alone. I don’t usually make it a practice to kiss Lee so passionately in front of my mother, but this is an exception. I fight the urge to start breaking all sorts of carnal rules like taking off her clothes—having her right here at the baggage check in. “I love you deeper than the ocean, Lee Townsend.” The first time I told her I loved her was at the beach, and those were the exact words I used.

She tries to smile but it fails to initiate. “I can’t do this without you.” It strangles out of her, broken in pieces, as she glides her hand over her stomach.

My heart breaks witnessing all of the misery I’m causing, and I haven’t even stepped on the plane. I sweep my thumb over her cheek and press a kiss into her forehead.

“I’ll be right back.” Made it sound like I was going to the refrigerator.

“What if you’re not?” Her eyes are on fire with grief, her lips quiver with fear; although, I’d like to think it was the kiss I just delivered that was making her tremble.

We hadn’t entertained the theory of anything tragic happening until now. Something tells me it’s too late to explore the concept, so I nip it.

“But I will be,” I whisper. “I promise you. I’ll be okay. Don’t fall in love with Colt while I’m gone.”

She shakes her head like a frightened schoolgirl. I want to add, if I don’t come back, it’s okay to fall in love with Colt. Something tells me to say it, but I don’t.

I crash my lips into hers instead.

Max

Oversized X’s, the size of cereal boxes, are keyed into all four doors of my truck—a bittersweet memento from Viv. Hell, it’s all bitter. There’s not one sweet bone in that woman’s body. I’m over her, though. Although, I can’t say I’m not freshly offended each time I’m forced to admire her artwork. It’s more of a performance piece I guess you could say. Just like Viv—all performance. And cutting that drama out of my life was like excising cancer. The best thing we ever did in our relationship was sign the divorce papers. I assumed the position and took it up the ass while she got the house, two cars, and the condo in Tahoe. Thank God for the prenup, or everything my father worked for would be boxed and buried right alongside him. Talk about a watertight lesson. Might just leave those X’s to remind me of what lies ahead the next time I entertain the idea of unholy matrimony.

I pull into Hudson’s expansive, massively expensive, yet somehow doggedly showy, crap-filled yard and hop on out.

Hudson. Leave it to my ex-con slash wannabe biker of a brother to turn the best real estate in Mono into an automobile carcass warehouse. You name it, rusted out Chevys, skeleton Fords by the mile, burnt out crap, too. Anything and everything that once held the promise of a roadside maneuver litters the landscape as far as the eye can see. He lifts a beer in my honor as he makes his way over.

“What the hell?” Hudson stumbles forward, looking far more horrified at Viv’s extension of her vagina than I did when I first saw it. I slam the door and survey the damage right alongside him.

“Love letter. If you’re lucky, you’ll get one someday.” I push him in the arm, and nearly knock the beer out of his hand.

“Sooner than you think.” The lines around his eyes harden. “Jackie’s leaving me.”

“Serious?” A quick pulse of alarm tracks through me. Hudson and Jackie have been married for over three years. They happen to own my favorite nephew, Josh—my only nephew.

“Serious.” He yanks at his baseball cap and downs the rest of his beer before discarding the bottle into the bushes. “Moved out a week ago.”

Hudson glances up at me. His watery eyes shine like green stones. He’d be a good-looking guy if he hadn’t let himself fall to shit. Long scraggly hair—a Fu Manchu that scares the hell out of little children including his own—not that Jackie’s a prize with that razor blade she calls a tongue. I’ve seen her greet her own mother with a blunt fuck off on at least a dozen occasions, and half of those were holidays.

Hudson heads toward his massive enclave of garages, and I follow suit hoping to escape the harsh sting of the sun. An entire herd of his lackeys are busy twisting over the open hood of a bright yellow kit car. In addition to pilfering the vineyard, Hudson runs a sweatshop on the side. Although, I believe the term he prefers is “automotive restoration lab.”

“That’s too bad about you and Jackie,” I say before we head into the protective shelter of his overgrown man-cave. Can’t say the breakup was entirely unexpected the way my brother likes to keep track of the local strippers—the way he earns frequent flyer miles by purchasing drinks at the bar.

“Don’t feel too bad.” He offers a conciliatory slap to the back of my neck. “I don’t miss her. Besides, now I get to hang with the boys.” He pats a burly looking linebacker on the shoulder.

“That’s the problem,” I’m quick to assess. “You never stopped hanging with the boys.”

“You come to lecture me on what it takes to keep a woman around?” He bucks out a laugh and plucks another beer from the cooler. “Or are you just playing show-and-tell with the new masterpiece scribbled on your truck?”

“That’s what I’m doing.” I shake my head. Viv made sure I became a road show for her new career as an emasculation artist. I’m sure she calls this piece the ex-husband ode to Blue Balls. “I came by to see Josh and to tell you there’s a shareholders meeting next Tuesday. Play dress up in a monkey suit, will you? Brush your teeth, and I’ll throw in a six pack.”

“Got it.” Hudson looks impressed with the promise of malt liquor.

A white truck pulls up with a cheap metal sign slapped on the door that reads Townsend Construction.

“Here’s my man, Colt.” Hudson raises the bottle in his honor. “He’s gonna give me a bid for the new garage.” Hudson plucks his jeans up by the belt-loops before meeting him halfway. They exchange high fives and bark out a laugh over something. Probably how they’ve got their brothers snowed into doing the lion’s share of work while they sit around titty bars and collect checks like Halloween candy.

Colt’s sporting a thigh-high cast with a dozen different signatures scrawled over the front. There’s a drawing of a naked woman upside down that he probably penned himself with his dick.

“What happened to your leg?” I don’t bother with hello.

“Fell off a roof two weeks ago.” He presses out a dull grin, and I see Mitch hiding behind his face like a ghost. “Glad it wasn’t my neck.”

“Yeah, well, better luck next time.” I yank on my baseball cap. “Aim head down. You’ll get it right eventually. Where’s your brother? Rolling around with a broken back somewhere?”

“China. Building homes for orphans.” He runs his fingers through his hair. Girls used to fall over themselves trying to get Colt into bed. They thought he was some god who was going to rule their world with his pearly smile and cut abs. Now look at him. Tumbling off roofs, barely able to keep the family business afloat. They can’t save Townsend. Hell, not even I could save Townsend. There’s not enough alcohol in the world to pull off that miraculous feat.

“Sounds like Mitch is a real hero,” I say.

Colt and Hudson somehow managed to stay friends after my mother devoured their father like an anaconda. The blame should probably be the other way around. Young widow, fragile mindset, vulnerable, but it was my mother in question, and the word vulnerable is nowhere near her lexicon, let alone her person—not after my father died—not a moment before. Everything she does is calculated, and if she wanted to bag a very married Townsend, then, by God, that’s just what was going to happen. And it did, for a good long while until he died of a heart attack right there tucked between her legs.

Hudson and Colt could let it go, but not Mitch. He acted like I personally plunged a knife in his back when he wasn’t looking. He was already with Lee at that point. First she dated Colton. That’s when I hooked up with her at a party. She was mad as hell at Colt. Best night of my life, even if I was drunk out of my mind. So was she, which isn’t like her, and that probably explains the sleeping with me part. Soon after, she broke up with Colt, and it’s not too hard to understand why. I spent the summer with relatives on the East Coast, and when I came back she was with Mitch—missed my chance. I always wondered what would have been different if I had stayed. I don’t believe Mitch Townsend was ever Lee’s destiny, mostly because I don’t believe in that destiny crap unless it concerns Lee and me. Nope. Mitch Townsend wasn’t Mr. Right, just Mr. Right Place at The Right Time. Lee got comfortable that’s all. She’s loyal—doesn’t know when to quit. I know this because every now and then I’ll look at her, and sparks fly. You can’t deny chemistry like that. Lee might, but I never said she wasn’t above lying.

“Say a prayer for him.” Colton’s lips keep flapping like anybody cares. “He’s gonna need it.”

“Will do.” Dear God, please let Mitch drop dead in China, preferably between the legs of another. Either gender will do. Ah heck, make it a big hairy woman.

I blink a smile over at Colt. “Just sent one up.”

2

Missing You

Lee

My limbs swim over the bed in search of a tactile response—for arms or legs. There’s a mental hiccup just after I wake and instinctually I reach for him. For a brief moment I believe he’s still here, close enough to touch, then it all comes back to me, Colt and his broken leg—Mitch on the other side of the planet. Not even the tiny being that flutters in my belly can comfort me. The void he left eats through the darkness. It drills into my soul with a weight as heavy as the sea.

Eleven days without my husband and I’m starting to forget how to breathe. I can’t see past the permanent lens of tears anymore. Eleven days without contact. No phone, no email. He said, worst case, there’ll be no phone coverage and you won’t hear from me. It’s been eleven days, and it’s worst case. Nothing—not one damn word.

The alarm on the nightstand blinks in a panic—two o’ eight. There’s no point in trying to pretend to sleep, so I call Colton and coerce him into coming over.

I scuttle downstairs in the dark, waiting for the trail of headlights to illuminate the night as I nestle on the couch. It’s soupy out as a dense fog pushes over the landscape thick as batting unfurling in bolts. I glance up at the three-quarter moon spraying its beams over the haze. It ignites the neighborhood with its glittering magic. A part of me is convinced I can walk through that precipitous bloom and land on the other side of the world—touch Mitch.

I’ve never been afraid of the dark. Contrary to popular opinion I rather enjoy it. I like to sit and bask in its stillness, take in the world robed in its midnight splendor. There’s something relaxing about a room void of any ocular energy. I like the way the air shifts and takes on a strange heft—the way its weight presses against you like a body. The dark can comfort you far more than the light can if you let it. The light magnifies all the flaws in the universe, but the darkness lends a certain magic to the world. That’s the reality I’d much rather live in.

Katrice and her husband, Steve, live a half block away. They’ve only been married a couple months, but I don’t have the balls to ask her to come over this late. Colton is another story. Him I’d ask to dig in the sand until he found diamonds at this late hour. He owes me. He owes Mitch.

Twin lamps light up the street like a flare before landing harsh in the driveway.

When I called, he didn’t sound the least bit tired. He sounded irritated more than he did roused from a hard-earned slumber. The only thing he likely abandoned for me tonight was his hard-on.

I watch as he jogs up the walkway. Same broad shoulders, same flame of golden hair as his brother and for a second I let myself believe it’s Mitch—that he’s come home early to surprise me. Then Colt comes in clear with his schoolboy swagger, that get-in-my-bed grin—nope, definitely not Mitch.

I push out a tiny smile and hold the door open. A crisp breeze whistles in and inflates my nightgown like a flower before I tighten Mitch’s cashmere robe over me.

“You’ve got timing, you know that?” He gives a mild look of irritation as he steps inside.

Truth is, my eyes were ready to close off the world, heavy as anchors just before he pulled in. I could have gone to bed, but I promised Mitch I’d make Colt lose sleep at least once, and tonight seemed as good as any. I’m sure Mitch will dream up some supreme punishment later that involves manual labor and long hours, both of which Colt is spectacularly allergic to.

I lock my arms around him tight and take in his scent—musk and beer, a woman’s perfume lingers on his neck like a poltergeist. The girth of his body against mine, feeds me on some level. For years people thought Colt and Mitch were twins, and tonight they could be. I pull back and inspect him for signs of my husband. I see him there in the cheeks, the perpetual smile in his eyes, those perfect bowtie lips.

“Were you closing a deal?” I ask.

“Negotiating.” His brows dip as he frowns.

Colton is in the business of using women, not to be misconstrued as a player. These women demand to be utilized in the most sexually degrading manner possible. They line up for his dominance, desire him—worship at his feet until he points his unholy crutch in their direction.

“Shall we?” I tease, leading him up the twisted stairwell that leads through the attic until we emerge in a bath of dense salt-air. It was Mitch’s idea to add a rooftop patio—that way we could see the moon dance over the water, he explained. He said we wouldn’t want to miss it. And tonight the moon shimmers its spell over the Pacific like a song. It spells out I love you over the ocean like a poem written in the waves. Mitch was right—we wouldn’t want to miss this.

Colton takes a seat next to me on the glider. He hikes his cast up on the small rattan table and groans.

It’s so beautiful here. The beach house was Mitch’s gift to me, to us. And it’s times like this when I take in the grand scope of the sea—glittering and black—that I realize it’s one gift that will never stop giving.

“I miss him,” I whisper, pulling Colt’s arms over my shoulders to keep from shivering. The ocean shouts as it detonates over the shore. It demands our attention at this late hour, filling our ears with its rushing fervor. There’s something magical about hearing the consistency of the waves as they crash, listening to them whisper an apology to the shore after the harsh beating.

Colt leans in and singes a hot breath in my ear. “He misses you, too,” he says it muffled through a yawn.

“I bet you never planned on going. Bet you broke your stupid leg on purpose.” God knows he’s done more creative things to escape an honest day’s work.

“Stupid, huh? I get it,” he moans with his lids half-shut. “You dragged me out here to tell me how much you hate me.” He rubs the sleep from his eye with his palm. “You want to push me off the balcony?”

“Only if you let me.” I let out a little laugh and expire it in a sigh. “I’m sorry.” I nuzzle into him and trace the pocket on his T-shirt. “Calling you was a mistake.” I strum my fingers just under his neck as if I were plucking the strings on a guitar. I thought Colt and I could make music once. But it was Mitch who made me sing. “I should have gone to bed—washed my hair in tears.” It comes out low, morose. After my parents died, tears were the only constant in my life. Not even Kat could cure the pain. But this is an altogether different kind of misery. The pain of missing Mitch has multiplied, blossomed into a thing—a monster—I can’t see past the heartache anymore.

“I don’t want to feel like this.” I let the tears burn hot tracks down my cheeks. They roll into the seam of my lips, and I taste the salt and the pain—nothing but a hot wash of agony I could drink by the gallon.

“Hang in there kid. Just three more days.” Colt shakes my knee trying to snap me out of my hormone-inspired stupor. “We’ll head to the airport, bright and early. We can hold up a big fat sign that says, Don’t even think of pulling this shit again, Mitch.”

I stifle a laugh. “You miss him?”

“Of course, I miss him.” Colt sinks down and wraps an arm around my waist. “He’s my little bro. Annoying as hell, but I need him. He’s pretty good at keeping the funds fresh in my bank account—keeps me out of trouble, mostly—and he took you off my hands didn’t he?”

It was Colton I dated first, then Mitch. Really I was using Colt to get to Mitch, but he grew on me, and we dated three solid months.

“This could have been our baby,” I tease, placing his hand high over my stomach.

Colton is a far cry from his brother. He couldn’t sustain a wife or child on his best day, at least not one set of each. That would be like a tiger living under water, it couldn’t happen.

“Believe me, Lee. You’ll have my baby someday. I’m just having Mitch train you.” He digs a smile in his cheek. “When you’re good and ready, I’ll come around and take back what’s mine.”

“And Mitch?” I’m completely amused.

“He can be our cabana boy. He’ll run around—cook our meals, do the laundry.”

“You know what would be fun?” I reach up and pinch his ear. “If you were the cabana boy. Of course, you’ll have to change diapers and give baths.”

“Mitch can change diapers.” He dips down and plants a warm kiss over the top of my head. “I’ll give you a bath—you can sit on my lap while I do it.”

“Stop.” Typical Colt—all innuendo and nowhere to go.

He tightens his grip around my shoulder. “What do you think Mitch would do if he knew we were sitting in the dark entertaining the idea of bathing together?”

“Nobody is entertaining that idea but you.” The sky brightens with a sliver of lightning. It cuts through the navy sky like a sword in some intergalactic declaration of war.

A storm rolls in on the crest of ominous clouds. I’ve never been one to romanticize the notion of a summer storm. My parents died on a night like tonight, leaving my uncle to raise Kat and me. He passed away my last semester in college.

Clouds gather thick and full in strange hues of pinks and grey while the moon cleverly amplifies itself from behind. The night lights up like a broken chandelier, followed by a primal growl. I pull Colton’s arms tight around me and pretend he’s Mitch. “Thank you for coming home,” I whisper in secret.

He brushes a quick kiss over my ear. “You know I love you.”

Mitch

A crowded room filled with the pungent scent of body odor, distracts me from the fact I damn near broke my back digging in soil that could double as concrete.

Bodies swarm around the tiny room, hot and sticky. The humidity in the air bites through my nostrils like a toxic stew. They talk in whispers while I sit against the wall, trying to keep my eyelids from closing permanently. I can’t remember the last time my muscles ached like this. Swear to God, I’ll never complain about losing a day in the vineyard again. Townsend field has nothing on China.

I steal a quick glance around the room for a sign of the clowns I’m here with. It only took four days for each of them to crawl under my skin, and now two weeks have drifted by and I’m ready to start breaking more than a few legs. It was my idea to head back to the place we’re staying at and crash, but I was outvoted by the group and forced to attend a “house meeting”—a glorified Bible study that has all the appeal, and legality of a mafia meeting. It’s not quite a house we’re in, either. It feels more like a bunker, a dimly lit canal with no beginning and no end. We’ve crammed ourselves in a hideaway out in the country to hold this meet and greet after a blistering day slaving over parched earth. If I knew the soil would be so damn hard to penetrate, I would never have agreed to the job in the first place. On second thought, if Colt had come like he should have, I would have applauded the soil for being so damn stubborn.

A man, draped in a shawl that loosely resembles a potato sack, stands with his hands spread wide. He dispenses all things truth and light with minimal animation to a spellbound community of what feels like hundreds, sardined in this tiny space. He flexes in and out of broken English before diving into Chinese. I manage to catch a word or two before growing sleepy from the Ping Pong effect of it all. You would think we smuggled in illegal contraband and distributed it to unsuspecting villagers the way we dug in like moles. Nevertheless, a healthy number has joined the militia-type group. It all feels so rogue—sneaking around, covering the windows with blankets. Turns out, the good book is covert ops in this part of the country. It’s surreal to me. Lee and I must have half a dozen Bibles lying around. At least one of those is swimming around on the floor of my truck with discarded fast food wrappers. We walk into church like heading to the mall, no worse for wear. Not a fear in the world that we’ll find ourselves staring down the barrel of a machine gun or a prison term.

I force myself to keep my eyes open and take in the scenery. When I replay the scene for Colt, I want him to realize this wasn’t the romantic getaway he sold himself on. It’s panning out to be a tinderbox of heartache with too much suffering I don’t have the cure for and not enough Lee.

The women look beat and tired. Everyone’s so hungry to hear what the man with the plan has to offer. As much as their muscles crave protein, their hearts crave hope. It’s a miracle they believe in anything—that they even care to after the desolate living conditions I’ve witnessed. It’s heartbreaking on a whole new level.

Lee. God I miss her. She wafts over me like a cool breeze.

Three more days until I see her. Everything here is in Lee time. Hours until Lee, sunsets until Lee, dreams until Lee. I see her everywhere, her beautiful face in the hills, the clouds take her shape—I watch her in the sky as she laughs and holds her hands over our unborn child. Even the stars converge to spell out her name. Lee is her own consolation, her own divine universe.

I’m so sick without her, I think I could actually die if I wanted. There’s not another good deed in the world that would make me leave her again. I’d break my own damn leg if it came down to it.

I glance around at the room full of somber expressions. You could hear the wind blow, the crickets layered beneath the silence. Not even the sound of human breathing exists within these four cloistered walls, just some underground cleric reciting red-letter promises. He strings them out like a lullaby until the world vanishes, and Lee meets me in my dreams with a smile.

A hard thump jolts me out of my slumber.

“Shit,” I hiss, waking with a start.

A loud crash detonates to my left, and my eardrums vibrate from the assault.

I give several hard blinks and startle to a jumble of confusion—legs snake their way around the vicinity in a panic, a blur of bodies switch back and forth until the room begins to drain. Total disorientation sets in, and for a second I forget where the hell I am and what the fuck I’m doing here.

A gunshot goes off.

I hit the floor in time to see a pair of brown leather shoes stomp in this direction and one of them crushes my knuckles.

I snatch back my hand as I try to digest what the hell is happening.

A voice shouts something loud and aggressive in a dialect I’ve never heard, sounds like a rubber band warbling in and out of tune.

It all comes back, China, God—the man in the potato sack.

Shit.

The brief training we received in the “event things went south” jags through my mind. And here I thought the team captain of this junior expedition was offering comic relief as we disembarked from a twelve-hour flight.

Bodies fly over chairs and dart out every exit at once, nothing but limbs scrambling, women screaming.

A small army of men suited up in black fatigues fill the room, each armed with his own personal assault rifle. They kick and shout at the elderly that were unable to make a quick escape and herd them toward the exit, pushing and yelling as if they were lining them up for the firing squad.

I glance around for a weapon, but the place is so damn bare there’s nothing shy of a rug on the floor. I pat my jeans for my hunting knife before remembering it’s in my backpack which I stupidly left it in the trunk of the car. It houses my passport and a picture of Lee, and suddenly I want nothing more than to get to that picture because clearly logic isn’t invited into the equation.

“Please God, let me see Lee again,” I whisper below a breath. “Just let me hold her one more time.”

I bolt up and run out the back as a barrage of gunfire explodes from behind.

Outside, clouds lay in strips over a sodden sky. The sun melts over the horizon, still affording enough light to amplify the landscape. I dart up through the bushes until I hit the main road, and my heart lurches when I spot the car I arrived in sputtering down the street without me. It’s teeming with bodies, struggling in low gear as it tries to barrel up the hillside.

“Shit,” I grunt as I try to flag it down.

A barrage of uniformed officers pour into the street, corroding the landscape like wolves on the prowl. They fire an errant round of shots, inspiring me to take cover in an overgrown bush.

It all happens so fast. An entire band of men come in, clad in black, shouting and screaming like human megaphones. I peer out at them as they collect themselves in a group. The one with the thick neck and short arms appears to be in charge. He carries the appeal of a death ninja as he barks out commands, and the men break out into groups of two and three in an attempt to fulfill their mission.

The guy in charge levels his weapon to his eye and manages to blow out the windows of the tiny car as it hits the crest of the road.

Oh God, no. The faces of the outreach team flash through my mind. They’re good people. They don’t deserve this.

All hellfire opens up on the car as the small sedan slows to a crawl, curving until it gently butts into a tree.

Three of his apostles take off for the wreckage. Not a window survived the ambush, a shower of red sprays what remains of the shattered glass.

One of the officers tosses in a softball-sized flame through the windshield, and the entire cab ignites like a bonfire.

Not one body moves inside, just slumped figures igniting like torches.

“Shit,” I stare out in disbelief.

The bastard in charge gives a victorious shout as the unmistakable sound of glee swims from his voice. He fires a celebratory round into the air. This was his party, his deadly rules in play. The innocent beings that lost their lives were simply his prey.

The fire in the car dulls down to embers. Those people had families, wives, children waiting for them at home, and now they were gone in the most horrific way possible.

I get up and stagger backward as the