Lost Without You (The Lost Series Book 2)

by Tracie Douglas

  I stop in front of the large front window and watch the street, studying every car passing by.

  Waiting.

  My heart pounds in my chest, but I can’t tell what makes it pound the hardest. Seeing my brother or seeing Kingston.

  They’re home early. Their deployment interrupted because of an attack on the team during a routine mission. The phone call alerting me to the event came in the middle of the night, and I’ve been on pins and needles ever since.

  Both Hudson and Kingston have ignored my attempts to make contact with them. It wasn’t until I threatened to fly to Germany that Hudson finally responded to my email. His message was short and vague. Something meant to keep my ass from following through on my threat. It left me more worried than I already was. Not knowing how he was, how Kingston was, nearly killed me.

  Three days ago, I got two sentences and their flight schedule. It took everything in me to keep from going off on him through email. Now, all I want is to hug their necks and never let them go.

  I don’t know the detail regarding the attack, but I know three lives were lost that day and most of them walked away with some kind of injury, whether physical or otherwise. They won’t be returning to their families and friends the same men they were when they left. They are coming back different because of a single moment in their lives.

  A black SUV slows to a stop in front of my house, and my heart leaps into my throat. I watch the driver’s side door open, and Hudson slides out of the vehicle. He looks hesitantly toward my house, and I can see his brow furrow. His eyes stop on me peering out the window at him, and for a moment he looks unsure. He turns away from me and opens the door to the back seat, pulling out his large duffle bag in the process. He turns once again toward the house and takes a step, tightening his hold on the bag. He takes the pathway leading to my front door.

  I hurry to meet him, opening the door as soon as he reaches it. His familiar blue eyes meet mine, and for the first time since my dreaded phone call, I feel like I can breathe. He cocks his head to the side, like he’s always done since he was a little boy, and offers me a smile.

  “Welcome home, soldier,” I whisper, feeling the burn of tears gathering in my eyes. I step forward and throw my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. He hugs me back, but he tenses his body under my touch. I pat his back the way our mother used to do when something bad happened, and his shoulders begin to relax. His arms pull me in tighter. I feel a shudder run through him, and he relaxes completely into me. “I’m glad you’re here. You’re safe.”

  He straightens a bit before pulling away. His smile is a little brighter, but now I can see it doesn’t reach his eyes. The lines on his face might be softer, but his eyes tell me everything I need to know. My brother is pained. I run my hand down his arm, wanting desperately to take away the darkness looming around him. I squeeze the hard, defined muscle and watch as his smile vanishes. His face transforms into one of pain and torture. I gasp and yank my hand away.

  Shit.

  Overjoyed to see him standing on my stoop, I never thought he might have been one of the members injured that day.

  “Are you okay?” I ask tentatively.

  “Through and through, on my upper arm,” he explains with his eyes on the ground. His body is twisted inward, as if he has something to be ashamed of. I carefully reach out for him and pull him to me.

  “Never look away from me, little brother,” I choke, trying to find the words to comfort him. “There is nothing to be ashamed of. You’re a good soldier and a good man. I’m sorry I didn’t know you were hurt.”

  “It’s okay, Missy. I didn’t want you to know,” he tells me, and I can feel him kiss the top of my head. I swallow hard, realizing I had no idea just how bad things were for him. He could have been on death’s bed and I wouldn’t have known because he didn’t want me there. “I’m glad to see you, too.”

  “Hudson,” I whisper his name, mostly because I’m still having a difficult time believing he is here and everything that’s transpired in the last month.

  I will not cry. I will not cry, I repeat over and over to myself. My throat feels tight and I struggle to control my emotions. He almost died. I pull back to look at him, studying everything about the man in front me. I can’t help thinking about the night our parents died and how strong he’s always been. He always went out of his way to protect me, to keep me from worrying about him.

  His body tenses against me, and I know he senses what I’m feeling and thinking. I’m not trying to make him uncomfortable, but it’s hard to understand why our family keeps experiencing heartache and death. I want to take it all away from him, make his pain go away.

  “Say it and get it over with.” His voice is filled with angst, and as I open my mouth to everything in my mind, in my heart, nothing comes out. Everything I’ve wanted to say to him suddenly seems insignificant compared to just hugging the shit out of him. I don’t want to ruin this moment with words that can be felt instead of said. My brother is home, in one piece.

  “There’s nothing to say. You’re here. Safe and sound,” I whisper and feel the tension leave his body. He knows I’m not going to say anything. All I need now is to feel the arms of one more person. I pull away from him and try to look past him. “Where’s Kingston? I thought he was coming home with you?”

  Hudson shifts uncomfortably, and he averts his eyes from me, again. My stomach sinks.

  “He’s here.”

  “Why didn’t he come in with you?” I ask with a shaky voice, but he doesn’t answer me.

  Something’s wrong.

  Dread creeps its way into my limbs. The look on Hudson’s face when he finally looks at me makes my heart crack in my chest.

  “He’s flying home in a couple of hours to be with Max. His injuries require further medical attention, and he’s being transferred to a facility in the States that specializes in amputees. King wants to be there before he lands.” He pauses and looks over his shoulder before continuing. “But he’s waiting to see you before he leaves.”

  “Oh.” The word is barely a whisper from my lips.

  Hudson cups my face with both hands, forcing my attention to him. “He gave the orders that day. The guilt is eating him alive. I know this isn’t what you hoped for, but try to understand why he needs to do this.”

  “Okay,” I agree, nodding my head. My body feels heavy and my heart throbs in my chest. I do understand why he wants to be there for his brother, even before Hudson explained. If it were my brother, I would want to be there for him, too. In truth, I expect Kingston to pull away from me, especially after everything they’ve been through. I can’t imagine the things they’re feeling or going through. I tried to prepare for backlash. But with the moment finally here, I realize there is no preparing for it.

  My vision blurs, but somehow my feet carry me past Hudson, down my porch steps to the large black vehicle parked in the street. Kingston leans against the side of it. His arms and legs are crossed. His head is bent. I blink, and he comes into focus. The sight of him makes my heart pound double time inside my chest.

  His dark hair glistens in the sunlight, like he’s just stepped out of the shower not too long ago. His face is unshaven, covered with a week’s worth of scruff. My palms itch to reach out and touch it, to cup his face in my hands and run my lips along the length of his jaw. He looks completely casual, dressed in his signature color. If I were a person walking past, I’d say he almost looks peaceful, but I know better. I see the truth in his posture. His body is locked tight, and I can feel the waves of tension roll off his body. His hands are tightly fisted, making his knuckles white from the intensity with which he holds them closed. From the top of his head down to the cover soles of his feet, I can see the difference in him already.

  He lifts his head, and the moment his dark brown eyes meet mine, I know this day isn’t going to be anything like I’d hoped. I expect to see a swirling of emotion, but there is nothing. There is only coldness. There is only darkness. T
here is only emptiness. I shiver from the frigidness of this moment.

  I’m frozen in front of him, and it’s almost as if he doesn’t see me for a moment. When he focuses on me, I can see he isn’t the man I fell in love with five months ago. That man is gone. This new man stares at me like I’m a bug he wants desperately to squish. I don’t know how long we stand like this, but he is the first one to break the silence between us.

  “Missy.” His gruff voice does things to me I can’t explain, but I push them aside. My heart cracks a little more because he calls me by my name, not the nickname he’s given me long ago. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard. For a split second, I think I see regret buried in his eyes, but he masks it quickly. He doesn’t want me to know anything he feels, especially when it comes to me. I open my mouth to speak, but his words stop me. “We’re done.”

  Two words hit me dead center in my chest, shattering the rest of my heart into a thousand pieces. The look on his face knocks the breath of out my lungs, and while they burn for replenishment, I refuse to breathe. I can’t. I don’t want to. Breathing means this moment is real, and I don’t want it to be real. I count the seconds as they pass, listening to his words as he continues to speak.

  This can’t be real.

  “I’m going home to North Carolina. Don’t know when I’ll be back or even if I’ll be back.” His gaze grows dark on me, and it takes everything in me not to cringe away from it. “Don’t write. Don’t call. I don’t want to hear from you.”

  He pushes off the SUV, and for a moment I think he’s going to reach for me, but he doesn’t. He turns and opens the driver’s side door. He’s going to leave. No, I can’t let him go like this.

  “Why?” My voice is a whisper, but it’s all I can manage because my throat is tight. Not that I need to say more; my one word is strong enough to stop him from getting into the vehicle. He leans his head against the roof and keeps his back to me.

  “Because I don’t love you.”

  Five words are all it takes to destroy me. Five words I never dreamt of hearing from the man I love. Five words to turn everything black and cold. I can’t wrap my head around them. The impact is too much for me to take in. Why is he saying them? What did I do wrong?

  Before I can react, he gets into the SUV and drives away.

  He doesn’t look back.

  I close my eyes trying desperately to stop the pain burrowing deep into my chest, but I relive those last five words over and over in my head. Wishing like hell they wouldn’t hurt the way they do.

  It isn’t until I feel a pair of steely arms lift me up when I realize I’m not standing anymore, that I’m lying curled up on the cold sidewalk. An animalistic sobs tears through my chest as I try to protest my rescue.

  “Shh, it’s okay, Missy,” Hudson murmurs into my hair as he carries me into the house. I want to scream at the tops of my lungs how wrong he is. It’s not okay. It’s the furthest thing from okay.

  He doesn’t love me.

  It’s never going to be okay again.

  Chapter Five

  Broken

  Kingston Cole

  Four Months Later

  My feet pound the pavement, while my heart pounds in my chest. Usually, running helps me re-focus. Today, it isn’t working.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been running for or how far I’ve gone, but my body is drenched in sweat and my legs burn. I know I should stop, but I can’t. I’m lost to my thoughts and the music blaring in my ears.

  Four months, twenty-three hours, and six minutes…

  That’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen her. Since I ripped out her heart and stomped all over it. Since I told her I didn’t love her. Since I walked away and watched her in the rearview mirror of the car, wishing I hadn’t because I didn’t want to see her pain.

  Driving away from her was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but it is nothing compared to burying three of the most honorable men I had the honor of knowing. I had to end it, to do what was right by her. I was no longer the man she fell in love with. He died that day, too.

  She deserves a good man. A man worthy of her, of her love and her goodness. I’m not him. Not anymore. I know I did the right thing, releasing her to find that man. The man who will love her like she deserves to be loved. The man who will be real, in every sense of the word.

  It’s not that I didn’t love her that day. I lied. I did love her. I still do. But loving her doesn’t mean I’m right for her. It doesn’t mean I deserve her. This shell of a man doesn’t deserve anyone.

  I tell myself every moment of the day she has moved on, trying to lessen the guilt gnawing at my gut. My heart and my body are opposed to the logical side of me. Not that I blame them, but it’s important to believe the right choice was made, no matter how many times I wake up in the middle of the night looking for her.

  I came back to North Carolina to be with my family. With my brother. Only being around him hasn’t helped me at all. Not when every time I look at him, I’m reminded of who put him in that wheelchair. Me. It’s my fault he’s stuck in a fucking chair, struggling to learn to walk again with a prosthetic leg.

  Max doesn’t blame me, though. He thinks I saved his life, and he fucking thanked me for it. How fucked up is that? I gave the orders that day. I ignored Preacher’s warning and suggestions. Hell, I ignored my own internal warning bells. I wanted the mission over and done as quickly as possible, and that meant doing it the same way we’d always done it. Big fucking mistake.

  I should have listened.

  If I had, Max would still have his leg. Preacher would be at home with his kids and wife. Frankie would be banging some young thing behind some bar. Tango would be home handling whatever it is he did for Charlie.

  And you’d be with her, my mind whispers.

  I groan, angry with myself for dwelling on it all again. But their blood is on my hands, and I don’t know what else to do. I’d gladly have given my life for all of them, and given the chance to go back to do it all over again, I would. I should have been the one to die that day. Not them.

  My body stumbles to a stop, and I collapse onto the dirty road beneath my feet. My sweat mixes with the dirt and turns my skin muddy. I roll over onto my back and drag in deep, long breaths of air into my lungs. The hot sun bears down on me, and I lift my arm and drape it across my eyes to shield them from the brightness of it. Funny, I don’t remember the sun being that bright when I left the house this morning.

  I pull my iPod out of the band strapped to my arm to check the time. Fuck, it’s after ten. I’ve been running for three hours. I didn’t plan on it, but thinking about her always leads to the reason why I left, and then my mind goes to places I hate. I woke up this morning with so much guilt and self-hatred it’s a blessing I could stand up straight. The only way to ease these feelings lately is running. I tried drinking and fucking my way out of them, but that solution had me waking up in the arms of my ex-wife the next morning, which was bad because now she thinks we’re back together. No matter how many times I tell her the contrary, she only hears what she wants to hear.

  I sit up and look around, trying to figure out how far I ran today. Last week, I ended up two towns over and had to call my dad to come pick me up. The week before, I made it four towns over. My dad has been the most understanding when I call for a ride home. He never lectures me about the way I am handling things. He understands what I’m running from. He knows the thoughts and feeling flowing through me, because he felt them himself a long time ago.

  My father isn’t the type of father to step in and try to solve the problems we faced growing up. He gave us the space we needed to figure things out on our own. “Sink or swim,” he used to say. It was a rare occasion when he did step in or spoke up, but it takes a lot to get him to do it. He’s a man of few words, so when he speaks, we always listen.

  Being around my parents sometimes causes a different kind of guilt. My oldest brother, Callum, died ten years ago overseas. He w
as also a SEAL, away on a mission, when his team was ambushed. The team barely made it out. Cal took too much fire trying to shield injured members of his team. Thinking about him and the danger I placed myself and Max in, I have a difficult time coping. My parents almost lost all of us.

  A red pickup truck stops a few feet away from me. The driver gets out and walks toward me.

  “Kingston,” my father drawls, stopping beside me. I glance up at him, noting the concern on his face. “Are you okay, son?”

  I grunt, responding the only way I can, since my body is too exhausted to do much more. Fuck, why can’t I exhaust my mind like this? I could use a few days of sleep.

  “You need help up?” he asks, reaching his hand out. I move my arm and look up at him. He watches me with familiar dark eyes, eyes I stare into every day in front of the mirror.

  “No, I got it.” I sit up, and my body protests from the motion. I know without a doubt I pushed myself too hard this morning, but I don’t care. The burn, the pain, the cramps, the discomfort are nothing. I deserve so much worse.

  “Here, let me help.” He reaches down to grasp my arm, but I wrench away from him.

  “No, I said I got it,” I growl. He steps back, giving me some space. Pushing aside the pain I feel in my body, I stand up and walk toward the truck, getting in on the passenger side. He walks around to the driver’s side and hesitates before getting in.

  He puts the truck into drive, but instead of turning around, he goes straight. I clamp my mouth shut, realizing my father has reached his fill of my bullshit. I’m about to get my ass handed to me. If I’m honest, I had a feeling this was going to be happening soon.

  “It’s time,” he says softly, his eyes on the road in front of us. My stomach knots, because I know what those two words mean. They’re the words he uses the rare moments he steps into our problems.

  “I’m not ready.” I shake my head, refusing to look at him, knowing if I do, I’ll spill my guts. He’ll find someone to make me forgive myself, and I can’t let it happen, despite his good intentions.