Stolen Love (The Wildheart Duet Book 1)

by Murphy Wallace

  “Our flight time to Miami will be approximately 2 hours and 50 minutes.” By the time she gets into her spiel about safety, we are taxying out to the runway.

  I lay my head back against the head rest and close my eyes, trying to dispel the dizziness inside of my head.

  “Are you okay?” Owen asks.

  I inhale deeply and then exhale through my nose, trying to calm myself. Deep breaths, Lana. Deep breaths.

  “Yes, just nerves. I’ll feel a little better when we’re off the ground. I’ll feel a lot better when we land in Curacao.” I feel him take my hand in his soothingly rubbing his thumb over the back of it.

  “We’re in the clear Lana. We made it.”

  As much as I want to believe Owen, I can’t help keep the phrase “famous last words” from permeating my brain. My body feels weighed down by a foreboding feeling of dread. I take another deep breath.

  The plane stops its movement as the Captain comes over the speaker and says, “Cabin crew, please prepare yourselves for take-off.” I take another deep breath.

  As the crew moves to various parts of the airplane to take their seats, you can hear the roar of the engines as they begin to come alive. They cause floor of the plane and the seats to vibrate with their power. I take another deep breath.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” The woman next to me says. “You don’t have anything to be nervous about.” She pats my hand, which is almost numb from how hard I’m gripping the armrest between our seats. I give her a tight, horrified smile, and she looks out of her window on the left side of the plane. I take another deep breath.

  As the engines move into hyper-drive, I feel the plane begin to lurch forward. It doesn’t take long before we are halfway down the runway.

  Just as I think the plane can’t go any faster, it kicks it up another notch and the trees that I was looking at outside of the window, are just a blur of green. I take another deep breath.

  All of a sudden, I feel my weight pushing against the back of my seat. Oh my god. We’re in the air. It’s smoother than speeding down the runway. Okay. Just keep breathing, Lana. Everything will be fine. I take another deep breath.

  As the minutes pass, we begin to climb higher. Okay, Lana. You’re doing this. You’ve got this. I take another deep breath.

  “Oh my god!” I hear the woman next to me say. “Where is all of that smoke coming from?’

  “WHAT?” I scream as Owen and I both turn to look out of the tiny window.

  As we do, there is a loud boom and the plane shakes like an earthquake. I continue to look out of the window to see if I understand what’s happening. All I can see is thick smoke and red-hot flames coming from the wing.

  The plane begins to drop slightly. Gone is my ability to take deep, calming breaths. My eyes are glued to the clear pane separating us from the outside and they’re wide with terror.

  I hear a loud screeching sound. Suddenly, I see the far side of the wing snap, turn inward toward the plane, and fly straight at the cabin. It’s as if everything is moving in slow motion.

  The end of the wing is getting closer and closer to the row of windows. The wing hits the side of the plane. I feel a rush of cold air coming in from the area that was torn open like it was a piece of wrapping paper.

  I don’t realize that the woman next to me has been killed until her body slumps over the armrest and I see the blood pouring from her head.

  I look past her through the hole in the plane. The plane starts spiraling toward the ground. It feels like it’s getting faster the closer it gets to the earth. I feel Owen pull me toward him from behind.

  “Lana!” is the last thing I hear and the green of the earth is the last thing that I see before everything stops. There is no more noise. There is no more breath. There is no more pain. There is only darkness.

  Lochlan

  I can’t believe how drastically this day has shifted. I’ve been at this fucking airport for three hours now and they still don’t have answers for us. I’ve never been more relieved to have friends in low places than I am right now. If it weren’t for the phone call that I placed, I don’t know if I ever would have learned about the plane crash.

  When I realized that Steele had lost his tail on Owen, I called my contact at the Department of Homeland Security who owed me a favor. I told him that I needed him to complete a search of outbound flights leaving Pittsburgh International within the next hour. He looked at all of the flight manifests, searching for any occurrence of “Lana,” “Finch,” Owen,” or “Branch.” Once he had the results he sent them my way.

  “Fuck! None of these names are correct.” Just when I was about to ask him to search for flights leaving in the next two hours, a thought popped into my head.

  “Run a search for “Trent.” I demanded.

  This time when I received the results, my eyes narrowed in on the third name on the list;

  “Trent, Adrienne Florence”

  “Son of a bitch. I’ve got her.” I hung up the phone.

  I pulled up the flight status information to see if it had already taken off, but I couldn’t locate it anywhere. I called my contact back and asked him to do a search. What he told me is the last thing that I expected to hear.

  The plane went down shortly after take-off and they’re asking all family members to meet at an old hanger that they use as offices on another part of the property.

  That’s where I’ve been for the last three hours, waiting on information about Lana, but the only thing they’ve said so far is the fact that there was an accident. No fucking shit! Like we didn’t already know that.

  I need to find Lana and get her home where she belongs. I walk over to the area where a large crowd of family and friends have gathered waiting for answers.

  “Please, when will you have more information?” One man asks.

  “My son and his friends were on that flight. I need to find my son!” A woman explains as she cries hysterically.

  This is fucking ridiculous. I push past everyone and make it up to the front of the podium.

  “Where is a manager or somebody else with more competence than you who can give us some fucking answers? You can’t keep us here for hours without telling us whether or not our loved ones are dead or alive you dumb fuck!”

  “Sir,” someone says behind me. “You’re going to need to calm down and contain that behavior. We have zero tolerance for abuse of any kind toward our staff and passengers.”

  I turn around with a scowl on my face. I think I scared her a little because she moves back slightly.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I demand.

  “I’m the ground executive,” she answers.

  “Then give us answers.” I demand, a wicked tone to my voice.

  “Yeah!”

  “He’s right!”

  “You have to know something by now!”

  Everyone in the crowd around me is screaming with equal frustration.

  “If everyone will please quiet down for me, I will address the group.”

  When a quiet spreads through the crowd, she speaks again.

  “After takeoff, the aircraft experienced uncontained engine failure, resulting in the explosion of engine two. This caused the tip of the wing on the port side of the aircraft to snap and fly into the belly of the plane. Upon impact, it tore through the fuselage creating a gash approximately 100 feet long. From that point, the aircraft spiraled to the ground, where it crashed 300 yards from the end of the runway.”

  There is a collective gasp from the crowd. Mothers are crying, fathers are consoling them, trying to stay strong.

  “Of the 167 people on board, 143 experienced fatal injuries. The other 24 passengers and crew members are in serious to critical condition.”

  The cries get louder now. Pain and sadness squeezes at the heart that I’d thought shriveled up years ago. These are two feelings that I haven’t felt in a long time. Two feelings that I swore I’d locked away the day that I buried Carolina and our baby.

  “I wi
ll be coming by with a clip board to ask your loved one’s name. Then, I will direct you to one of these makeshift offices where there is a counsellor ready to brief you.

  I push my way closer to her, my presence demanding her to speak with me first.

  “What is the passenger’s name?”

  I grind my teeth together out of frustration before letting the name slip from my lips, “Adrienne Trent.”

  She looks down at her list for a moment before directing me into the first of the three offices. When I step through the doorway, I’m met by another sad and patronizing gaze. I sit down across from the counsellor as the ground executive offers her a packet of information before leaving.

  The counsellor begins scanning the documents in her hands, her forehead wrinkling with worry. Then she looks up at me.

  “Your name and relationship to the passenger, please?”

  “I’m Lochlan Finch. My wife, Adrienne Trent was on the flight.”

  She considers this for a moment before taking a deep breath.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Finch. Your wife is one of the deceased.”

  Everything stops. I can’t see anything. I can’t hear anything. I can’t feel anything. I stand there, unable to move.

  “Her body has been taken to Regional Medical Center. When you get there…”

  I don’t hear what she’s saying anymore. I turn and walk out of the office, to the front of the hangar. I throw my visitor’s badge on the ground and head across the lawn that we had to cross to get here. There is a fence on the far end, and Steele is waiting for me just beyond that.

  When I finally make it to the car, I hop into the passenger seat. It takes him by surprise because I never ride shotgun, but he’s smart and doesn’t question it.

  “Regional Med,” I mutter. Steele takes off.

  * * *

  The moment we arrive at the hospital, I practically jump from the passenger seat of the car. I reach the front desk and let the receptionist know why I’m here. She looks at me with pity and directs me to the room that they’ve reserved for family members of the deceased.

  I don’t see anyone in the room waiting to speak with me, but I’m numb at this point. I don’t have the energy to demand to be seen immediately. I take my seat and space out. It doesn’t take long for more people to arrive and crowd the room around me. It makes me feel like I’m suffocating.

  I have no idea how much time has passed before I hear someone say, “I’m looking for the family members of Adrienne Trent.”

  That’s enough to break my daze and have me standing.

  “That’s me. I’m her husband.”

  She sticks her hand out to me and I take it.

  “Hello, I’m Maya Ward. I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. Trent –”

  “No, my last name is Finch,” I bark at her.

  “Oh, my apologies. I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Finch.”

  “Can we please get on with it?”

  “Right this way,” she says, a surprised look on her face.

  The room that we enter looks almost like an interrogation room. There is a camera up in the corner of the ceiling and a recording device on the table.

  “Have a seat anywhere, please.”

  I take the seat closest to me when I enter the room.

  “I want to summarize the procedure for you, before we dive in.”

  “With all due respect, Ms. Ward, can you spare me the semantics and that piteous look on your face? I’m a grown man, just show her to me.”

  She looks at me with wide eyes full of shock. I don’t know why, but I feel the need to explain myself.

  “Everyone grieves differently, Ms. Ward. I’ve been through this once before in my life. I can’t stand the thought of being dragged through it again, so if you could please treat this like removing a band aid and get it over with in one swift motion, then that would be appreciated.”

  She wipes all traces of surprise from her face and lays her clipboard down on the table. Things haven’t changed in the last 18 years. Just like with Carolina, there is a picture underneath of the silver clip, facedown. She removes the picture and slides it across the table to me.

  I sit there and stare at it for a moment, readying myself to once again stare into the battered, swollen face of the woman that I love. I reach out and place my hand over the picture. I drag it toward me slowly, shocked at the sudden taste of bile in the back of my throat.

  I bring it all the way to edge of the table before gripping it between my finger and thumb. I am almost surprised at the feeling of tears prickling my eyes. With one last breath, I flip the picture over and I take a look at the woman in the image.

  Shocked by the face looking back at me, I jump out of my seat, leaving the picture looking up at me on the table. I back up to the wall, my hands on top of my head, trying to keep it from spinning.

  “Mr. Finch,” I hear the counselor say. “Mr. Finch, I know this is hard, but I need you to tell me if the woman in the picture is your wife.”

  I move forward, placing both hands on the table, one on each side of the picture. Staring. Making sure I’m not missing something. Looking for all of the signs that I know she’s mine. There are none. This isn’t her. This isn’t my Lana. I move my finger and point to the picture.

  “That’s not her. That’s not my wife!”

  When I wake up, the entire room is black. My head is killing me and it feels ready to explode. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to will the pain to go away. Just as my fingers reach my temples to try and provide some relief, the room’s illuminated and there he is. I gasp in terror. He’s sitting in an arm chair next to the bed. He leans in and takes a deep breath before opening his mouth to speak.

  Before he could get a word out, a tear escapes from the corner of my eye as I whisper, “Just make it quick.”

  He looks at me with a confused, questioning expression on his face.

  I swallow as more tears stream down my face. “When you kill me. That’s why you’re here, right? I’ve been in so much pain for far too long. Please, if you have one ounce of compassion in you, I’m begging - just make it quick.”

  “I’m not here to kill you,” he states.

  “What, then?”

  “I’m here to…” he trails off as moisture mists over his beautiful green eyes. “I’m here to take you home Adrienne.”

  “I don’t have a home. And my name is Lana.”

  “I’ll call you whatever you want me to call you, but your name is Adrienne Trent and you’re my wife. I failed you as a husband and words can never express how sorry I am for what you’ve been through these last three years. But I will bust my ass, going all the way to hell and back, for the rest of my life to make it up to you.”

  He reaches for my hand and places it between his, but I pull away from him and place it underneath the blanket that is covering me.

  I turn and look at him, expressionless, and say, “The last time I woke up in a strange place and a guy that I didn’t know told me that I was his wife, my world was turned upside down. So please excuse me if I’m not overwhelmed with excitement by this turn of events.”

  Murphy Wallace, though new to the writing scene, has always had a deep appreciation for the written word. She started writing at a young age after discovering that the most amazingly beautiful art forms just by stringing words and sentences together. She never thought that she would be publishing a novel one day and she’s still in complete shock over it.

  When she isn’t writing she’s most likely fallen down the internet rabbit-hole, searching for new images and videos of model Stephen James.

  She doesn’t watch much TV but she can sit and watch Shameless for hours; sometimes days.

  Murphy recently relocated to Florida with her husband, who doubles as her best friend, and their two boys. She has a cat named Maisy who is her constant writing partner.

  You can follow Murphy on any of the social platforms below:

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  It took me over two years to get this book out and there were a LOT of people that played a role in this book coming to fruition. Everyone that I’ve listed below has helped and supported me in one way or another. You have no idea how much your love and support means to me and I would not have gotten here without you!

  This all started with a dream that I had over two years ago. I didn’t think much about it and I usually tend to forget dreams fairly quickly. This time, however, the dream morphed into an idea that grew legs, and before I knew it I had an incredible ending to a story that I felt compelled to write. A few months later, I was in Boston with the incredible Courtney DeLollis – bestie, fellow book lover, mother of my future daughter-in-law – and I mentioned this idea to her. Her response to me was, in so many words and overly-excited girl sounds, “you HAVE to write this book!” Courtney - you have been there EVERY step of the way throughout this whole process and I will never be able to thank you enough!

  J – You’ve always supported me no matter how ridiculous or incredible my ideas are (for those of you who don’t know me, they’re all usually ridiculous). Your love and support have helped make this dream of mine come true. I am so lucky to have you in my life and by my side. I’m constantly impressed and amazed by everything that to you do and say to show me how much I mean to you. You are my inspiration for Marshall. Now the world will know how amazing you are too.

  My family and friends – I was terrified of any of you finding out that I was writing. I didn’t know if I could be myself and still have your support, but I realized quickly that I was crazy to think so little of you! Each and every one of you are so important and have played a huge role in this process for me, whether you knew it at the time or not!