Lost Without You (The Lost Series Book 2)

by Tracie Douglas

  The chill I feel vanishes as I feel Kingston stop close behind me.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I understand,” he says, and I can hear the honesty in his words. Something about this man calls to something deep inside me. I can’t explain it, but even if I could, I don’t think I should try.

  “Look, I’m sorry if I was rude earlier. It’s just...you were there for him when I wanted to be and I’m still having a hard time dealing with it.” I turn to face him and the honesty pours from me.

  “I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.” He smiles down at me and I shiver. I’m in no way immune to the sexy man in front of me, but I’m not a fool. I know who Kingston is, and I know he’s married.

  “I don’t,” I sigh, allowing a little of the wall I placed between us to crumble. This is the man who helped pull Hudson away from the edge, and for that, I should be grateful. I should be kinder to him. “Tomorrow, come over to my place, and I’ll make you dinner. Bring my dickhead brother.”

  I turn away, dismissing the way my heart jumps when I picture him at my dinner table. He shifts behind me, and I feel him press closer, the heat of his body so close I can smell him. Sandalwood and mint.

  “Missy,” he whispers, sending a chill down my spine.

  “Yes?”

  “Look at me, please,” he pleads. The softness in his voice turns me into a pile of goo. I turn slowly, backing up until I’m pressed tightly against my car. His large body fills my vision as he steps even closer. Too close, but still not close enough.

  “Yes?” I manage, forgetting to breathe.

  “I was wondering if maybe you know where I could take my crown in and get it polished? I want to look my best for dinner and all.” He smiles down at me, his voice playful and light. I smirk, tilting my head to the side.

  “You’ve got trouble written all over you, don’t you, Kingston Cole?”

  “Oh, Queenie, I’m just getting started.” He leans in, stopping mere inches from my face. “Keep throwing sass my way, and I’ll show you what kind of trouble I can give you.”

  “Too bad you’re married, otherwise I might have to take you up on that offer.” The reality of my words crash down around me, reminding me exactly who I’m up against, but I notice how my words don’t affect him like I thought they would.

  “Damn good thing I’m about to be divorced, then, isn’t it?”

  He pushes off the car behind me and turns to walk away. I’m frozen to my spot against my car as the meaning of his words and what just happened sinks in.

  Oh, shit.

  I’m in trouble.

  And if I’m not mistaken from the look of the bulge in his pants, big trouble.

  Chapter Two

  Love in the Making

  Ten Months Later

  Dear Queenie,

  We said good-bye an hour ago, and I’m aboard the plane, ready to go where Uncle Sam wants us to go, but I’m already missing you. As you know, I can’t tell you where we’re going, but no matter the distance between us, know that you’re never far from my thoughts.

  It’s quiet right now; only the hum of the plane’s engine fills the silence. The team is spread out. Some have their ear buds in and are listening to music, staring off into the distance. Some are doing the same thing I am right now, writing letters to those they love. Some are sleeping, taking advantage of the rare silences that come with this job. We’re all trying to mentally prepare ourselves for what we’re about to step out into.

  Please write as often as you can. Your words will be the fuel I need to get through the next few months until I can hold you in my arms again. Kiss your sweet mouth. Hear the sound of your laughter. See your gorgeous green eyes.

  Sometimes I can hardly believe you finally said yes, agreeing to explore this thing between us. Thank you for being the woman you are and for caring enough about me and my children to push me away until the time was right. You are a good woman, and I only hope I am a good enough man for you.

  I’m going to end this letter here, so I can send it out as soon as we land. Think of me often.

  Love,

  Kingston

  *****

  Dear Kingston,

  That was fast. Please tell me you aren’t this fast where it counts. I don’t know if I can handle that kind of letdown. *wink, wink*

  Your letter couldn’t have come at a better time. It’s been an adjustment without you or my brother around. Thankfully, I’ve had work to keep me busy and the girls have insisted on many movie nights. Apparently, a certain soldier spent most of his time home keeping me all to himself. Not that I’m complaining. I prefer your company to a night of sappy, romantic movies, margaritas, and girl-talk. Although, now I have something to gossip about, an absolutely gorgeous man who has taken my heart by storm and makes me go weak at the knees at least once a day.

  I miss you. More than I ever imagined possible. You’ve burrowed yourself into my heart, so deep, Kingston. I knew you were trying to do that before you left, but would it surprise you to learn you didn’t have to try so hard? You were already there. You’ve been there since the moment I saw you sitting in your truck, your life in shambles. All I wanted to do was open that door and soothe your pain. It was so hard not to do it, too.

  I think about you all the time. Sometimes, in the middle of some random task, I hear your laughter or catch a glimpse of you, only to be let down when I realize it isn’t you I’m seeing. It’s just some stranger walking by. Every night before I fall asleep, I look out my window, up at the sky, and wonder what you’re doing at that exact moment, probably running some kind of mission, saving the world. My man, the hero.

  I don’t know where you are in the world, and that’s okay. I’m more familiar with this life than I think you realize. All I ask is you keep yourself safe and you come home to me. I’ll write you every day if you promise to do the best you can. Oh, and it’d be really great if you could bring that big oaf I call brother home with you, too. In one piece.

  Love,

  Missy

  *****

  Dear Queenie,

  I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. Or called. It’s been a rough few weeks.

  How is it every time I’m home, I forget how hot the deserts out here are? It’s ironic, really. Surviving in this heat day to day for months, you’d think it’s unforgettable, but it is. Which is good, I guess. It means I’m leaving what happens behind. Who really wants to think about the hell we go through here anyway, especially when we’re wrapped up in a woman’s arms?

  Thank you for the cookies. Like the last time, they didn’t last long, but I managed to hide a few from the guys. I’m currently enjoying them as I write you this letter. The look on your brother’s face when my care package came…fucking classic. My gut still hurts days later from laughing so hard.

  My mother said you called last week; thank you for checking on my parents and my kids. It’s been difficult not hearing from them. Tatum is still keeping them from me. The one call I was able to place went unanswered. I hope she lets them listen to the message I left for them.

  I hate not being home for them. I hate not being there to watch them grow. But as much as I hate missing out on their lives, I know what I am doing here is far more important for their future and the lives of the children they will one day have. I want them to be proud of who their father is and what he accomplishes in life. Most off all, I want the world to be a better and safer place for them. For you, too.

  I like knowing you think of me when you look up at the stars, because I find myself doing the same thing. Out here, the nights are so clear, and the sky, fuck, it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before. You can see as far your eyes will let you. The child in me starts looking for the constellations, counting how many I find. The only thing that would make it better is having you by my side, looking for them with me.

  I miss you,

  Kingston

  *****

  Dear Soldier,


  I’m afraid I won’t be any help during our stargazing adventure. Astronomy wasn’t my favorite subject. In fact, it was a class I skipped...a lot. What can I say? The cheerleader in me just wasn’t interested in the stars in the sky. I guess you’ll have to show me what I missed out on, although I can think of more fun things to do under the stars. And before you ask, yes, I do have my cheerleader uniform. Yes, I will happily wear it for you and fulfill your lifelong fantasy of banging the head cheerleader. See, I knew there was a reason why I’ve held onto it for all these years.

  If there is one thing I know about your children, it’s they have no doubts you love them. They know the sacrifices you make to keep their world safe. They make them right alongside of you. They wouldn’t have it any other way. They’re good kids with hearts the size of the sun, just like their father.

  The weather has cooled significantly here. The rains are coming. This is the season I love. The smell of wet earth and smoking fireplaces. It makes me want to curl up on my fluffy couch with a good book. Only this season, I’m not enjoying it as much. I can’t concentrate long enough on anything. My thoughts keep drifting to a particularly sexy soldier.

  You know, I’ve never believed in ‘soul mates.’ The idea that there are two halves to every whole and fate will guide you along your pre-destined pathway, leading you to ‘the one.’ When you walked into my life, everything I was so sure of turned upside down. You make me feel something I never thought possible. You with your need to irritate me and then act like a caveman ten minutes later. I miss the caveman. A lot.

  I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I kind of like you. Okay, maybe I little more than like you.

  Love Always,

  Missy

  *****

  Woman,

  This Caveman. Me miss you, sassy-pants. I come home. Me beat on chest. Drag by hair to cave. You dress in uniform. Cheerleader, yes. Me rip uniform off body. Ravish you. Claim you mine. Fuck you hard. Can’t walk next day or next.

  Okay, I couldn’t help myself. Don’t kill me or get rid of your cheerleading uniform, because I’m going to put it to good use. More than once. Fuck, the idea of you in a tiny skirt, with nothing under it, shaking your pompoms, is going to fuel the next few weeks of fantasies. As much as I love thinking about what your lips are going to feel like wrapped around my cock for the first time, damn, Queenie, there is something about a cheerleader I can’t explain. Maybe it’s more the idea of you as that cheerleader, though.

  I miss the rain. Send some of it in your next care package. Throw in a few good books, too. Nothing mushy or classified as mommy porn, though. Book badasses like me can get into. Shoot now, ask questions later. Save the day. I’d ask Hudson to share one of his, but he’s still holding a grudge over the cookies. He seems to think you packed more in my box, even though I told him you didn’t. Shh, I won’t tell him if you don’t.

  Queenie, I’m glad I turned your world upside down. You did it to me the moment I laid eyes on you. Never has a woman affected me the way you do. I never believed in the term ‘soul mates’ either, but how else can one describe it? I feel like I found a piece of me in you, a piece I didn’t know was missing. What felt wrong and awkward with others feels right with you, including this conversation. The best way to describe it: you center me.

  I know without a doubt, I more than like you, too. But words on paper are not how I want to tell you my feelings. I want to see the look on your face and the light in your eyes. I want to feel the rapid beat of your heart when you hear it for the first time, and I want you to feel mine.

  We only have a few months left. I promise when I come home, we are going to lock ourselves away and throw away the key. Not only will I tell you my feelings, I will show each and every one of them to you, multiple times.

  All my love,

  Kingston

  Chapter Three

  The Last Day

  Kingston

  It’s hot. Fucking scorching. The desert sun bears down on us with so much force I can feel the heat of it through my gear and clothing. Sweat drips down the middle of my back, pooling at the waistband of my pants. I look up at the cloudless sky, squinting even behind my sunglasses from the brightness of the sun. What I wouldn’t give for just five minutes of a light drizzle in this blast furnace called civilization.

  I place my newly-sealed letter into the box of outgoing mail, knocking sand off the lid as I do. I fucking hate the desert. How people survive in this giant sandbox is something I will never understand. It isn’t just the heat or the sand. It’s the lack of amenities.

  I take measure of the sun’s position in the sky, calculating how many hours are left until the sweet relief of the cool night air. Fuck, I hate being hot.

  “Lieutenant,” a feminine voice speaks behind me, pulling my thoughts away from the weather to more important issues. I turn to greet her, and she hands me a sealed envelope. For a moment, my heart rate picks up and my eyes hungrily scan for her familiar handwritten scroll, but it’s blank. The letter is not from her. The soldier in front of me salutes me respectfully. “Your orders, sir. Roll out at o-six hundred.”

  I nod, lifting my hand to salute her. “Thank you, Vaughn. We’ll be ready.”

  She turns and walks toward the makeshift command room. The sight of the plywood building reminds me how temporarily this mission was supposed to be, but here we are, almost three months later, with no end in sight.

  We’ve transformed into a certified babysitting operation. The local insurgents have been a bitch to control and the small village we patrol has lost more innocents than any of us are comfortable with. The elders are ready to pull away from the negotiations we’ve made with them that allow us to patrol on their land.

  I know what contents are contained in the envelope given to me. Orders to patrol an area we’ve been over and over again. Just like always, there will be nothing new to report. Why we receive the same fucking orders every few days is obviously above my rank, but it doesn’t keep me from worrying something bad is brewing on the horizon. This route, this mission, has become routine, and if I’ve learned anything in my line of work, routine is dangerous in places like this.

  I take the orders and head toward my gathered team. Someone must’ve seen Vaughn deliver the envelope to me and alerted everyone, because they all stand around waiting for my approach.

  “All hail the king,” Frankie bellows, and each man curtsies me as I join them.

  “Knock that shit off,” I bark, but my growl is met with laughter. I hate the nickname graciously bestowed on me the moment my boots hit the ground in boot camp. It wasn’t the first time anyone had called me king, though. As a kid growing up, my friends shortened my name, teasing me incessantly. It wasn’t until high school, when I was long bombing the ball down the field as starting quarterback of our state champion football team, did the name give me a higher status. I was crowned “King of the Field” after we won the championship title my freshman year. I was King of both football and the female population habiting the halls of my school. Now, the name is back to its original purpose, tormenting the hell out of me.

  “Those our orders?”

  I look up from the envelope I’ve been avidly staring at to face my second-in-command and longtime brother of war, Preacher. I hand him the unopened envelope, and he smirks. “Don’t need to open it. Same run, same route, same deal.”

  He opens the envelope anyways and curses.

  “Something isn’t right,” he drawls slowly with a deep scowl on his face. His eyes scan the document, searching for something, anything, different from our previous orders. “This shit isn’t sitting right, King.”

  “I know,” I agree, lowering my voice. “Meet me in my bunk in five minutes to go over the route again.”

  “Fuck, man, why? It’s the same route we been driving for two months.”

  “That what it says to take?”

  “You know it is.”

  “Then I’ll see you in five.” I dig my boot into the gr
ound, lowering my eyes. Preacher and I have been calling the shots since assigned to this team. Each man was handpicked by the two of us. All except Hudson, who has been assigned to our team a year and a half ago when Angel decided to go AWOL.

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” Preacher sighs and scratches his face, concentrating on the document in his hand. I look up at him and see the worry laced in the lines of his face, but we are soldiers. Trained to take our orders and see them through. It is not our job to question our superiors, even if every fiber of your being screams at you to do so.

  “Tell the team to get some rest and to be ready to load up by o-six hundred. Going to be another long fucking day in this sandbox,” is all I can say. Instead of expressing my own concerns about the mission, I turn and walk away, leaving him to carry out my orders.

  Tomorrow, I’ll tell the team to be extra vigilant during our mission. I’ll trust them to do what we need to do to get us back safe and sound.

  Chapter Four

  Homecoming Heartaches

  Missy

  One Week Later

  I glance at the clock on my kitchen wall. Their plane landed less than an hour ago. They should be here any moment. I fidget nervously and pick up my toaster, once again checking my hair in the reflective metal. Fuck, when did I become this girl?

  Three days ago, Hudson’s email came informing me of his and Kingston’s flight plans. They were coming home. Finally.

  My stomach has been twisted in knots since the email, and I spent three days scrubbing the hell out of every surface in my house, trying to calm my worries and my nerves.

  I stand up and walk through my house, since my nerves are getting the best of me and there’s no calming the crazy I feel inside. Nothing is going to help; nothing has helped. Nothing would, not until I see the whites of their eyes and I can put my hands on them. Maybe then the knots will untangle and my chest won’t burn so much because I keep forgetting to breathe.