Life: A Trinity Novel: Book Four, page 1
Life
A Trinity Novel: Book Four
Audrey Carlan
Contents
Life
Warning
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
The End
Excerpt from Fate
Also by Audrey Carlan
Acknowledgments
About Audrey Carlan
Life
* * *
Life
A Trinity Novel: Book Four
This book is an original publication of Audrey Carlan.
* * *
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
* * *
Copyright © 2017 Waterhouse Press, LLC
Cover Design by Waterhouse Press, LLC
Cover Photos: Shutterstock
* * *
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Warning
This book is designed for audiences 18+ due to language, graphic sexual content, and themes that some may find disturbing and may cause trigger reactions. This story is meant only for adults as defined by the laws of the country where you made your purchase. Store your books and e-books carefully where they cannot be accessed by younger readers.
Dedication
* * *
To my soul sister Dyani Gingerich.
* * *
Without you, there would be no
Maria De La Torre.
* * *
Without you, I would be a soul sister short
of my perfect friendship trinity.
* * *
Without you, this love story
wouldn’t have been written.
* * *
BESOS
* * *
Bound - Eternally - Sisters - of - Souls
Chapter One
I won’t cry. I can’t cry. Showing pain would be a sign of weakness. I refuse to be seen as weak. Ten years ago, I was powerless, a product of my environment. Now, five years later, I’m a survivor. Confident and strong. I kicked my weakling side to the curb the day I chose to live.
On this day, in front of hundreds of mourners, my survival skills are ratcheting into high gear. For Tommy, I will prevail. Even though my heart is shattered, my mind is mush, and my body is a living, breathing bag of bones, tissue, and muscle functioning solely on autopilot… I have to. Tommy would want me to go on and live my life.
A life without him.
Grief is a sneaky bastard no one can hide from or abolish. It creeps like a ninja, night and day. It could even be considered an invisible monster that wraps its acid-dipped claws around a person’s heart in the dead of night. They’re dreaming of peace, but instead find themselves filled with devastation and gut-wrenching pain.
Pain is no stranger to me. Right now, I welcome its sharpened, lethal point. At least the dagger in my heart prevents me from drowning in the bubbled edges of numbness I want so badly to wrap myself in. The blessed relief of nothingness would be welcome during a time when everything around me is complete and utter chaos.
Everywhere I look, men in black suits and uniforms are piling into the church, their shiny badges glinting sparks of light in every direction from the midmorning sun’s rays. The red, white, and blue flag draped over the casket in front of me should make me proud. A hero has fallen, and the sea of men here to pay their respects should give me a sense of closure. It doesn’t. Tommy is dead because of me. Killed in the line of duty, protecting my best friend.
What’s worse is that I wouldn’t have it any other way. I believe in my heart that I had just started to fall for Tommy, but Gillian, my best friend, is the only family I’ve ever known. He knew that. If he hadn’t, I don’t believe he would have put himself right in the middle of the fray against a deranged killer. He saved my soul sister’s life, and in exchange, he gave his own.
How do I live with that? There is no book I can read that will absolve me of my heartache, my guilt. There is no prayer I can say that will change the fact that the man I had just begun to love, to believe could be the first man I could trust with my heart, is now gone.
Gillian squeezes my hand as she holds it tightly between hers. She sits at my left—my heart side. She and my two other soul sisters are the only reason that battered organ still beats. Bree sits at my right, her hand running up and down my thigh in a soothing, sisterly gesture of support. Her other hand lies calmly on her well-rounded belly. One life gone, one life soon to be born. A superstitious person might say that’s how these things work. The yin and yang. Life and death. I’d like to truck-punch the pinchazo who came up with that saying. Take away what he or she loves most and shove it in the face of that prick.
I stare down at my fingers—interlaced with those of my friend’s—and remember the one soul sister who can’t be here today. Kathleen. Still in the hospital. The other person I let down. If I had only gotten to her quicker, she might not have suffered such severe burns. Her lung might not have collapsed. She might be sitting here alongside us, sharing her support. Instead, she’s in a burn center, fighting for her life.
I run my tongue over the rough surface of my dry, cracked lips and consider that night. I should have been there. Even though I tried to kick through the boards around the theatre’s window to get to Kathleen, I was too late. Cuts along the bottoms of my feet itch inside the flat-soled boots I’m wearing. The discomfort is welcome. They still ache at night, and the gashes down my abdomen where I dived through the broken window to get to my friend haven’t completely healed either.
Three weeks have gone by since the fire in the theatre put Kat and me in the hospital. Two weeks since the man I loved was pushed through the windows of the historical tower where he fell two hundred feet to his death. From what I was told, even as he flew through the air, my Tommy went down while releasing a hailstorm of bullets, one of them catching the perpetrator straight through the neck, ending Daniel’s reign of terror and destruction once and for all.
A shiver trails through my body as I focus all my attention on the casket in front of me. Tommy’s parents are sitting on the other side of the aisle alongside members of his family. When I arrived, they hugged me as if they were my own parents—not that I really know what that feels like. His mother even whispered in my ear that I was always welcome in their family. His father led me up to the front pew where a wife would sit with the family, as if I had earned that honor. Not even close.
The priest approaches the altar, bringing me back to the here and now, and starts the funeral mass memorializing Thomas Redding, San Francisco Police Detective, son, brother…the man I never had the chance to tell him I loved him. He died never knowing the truth. And that knowledge I’ll have to live with for the rest of my days.
* * *
I feel a warm hand on my shoulder coming from behind as I stare unmoving at the casket. I covet the stillness. I gather the entire place has been cleared out, everyone going to Thomas’s family’s estate for the reception.
“Maria, es hora de ir.” It’s time to go, Chase says in Spanish, my native language. I nod and stand, a shot of pain zipping up my legs from my feet where the cuts are bearing my weight. The doctor had issued me limited movement instructions for the better part of three to four weeks in order to let the damage to my feet heal. Unfortunately for him, I’m not a good patient, so the healing time is taking longer than anticipated.
“Can I have a few minutes alone?” I glance over my shoulder. Chase Davis is holding Gillian, my bestie, at his side. Tears track down her face in endless streams. I don’t think she’s stopped crying since the fire. Her skin is paler than normal, and there is an element of hollowness to her gaze. I glance down her body and take in her form. She’s gained a little of the weight she’d lost during the past few months of the psycho’s reign over our lives, but not much. For the most part, she’s skin and bones. Hell, besides Bree and her pregnancy, the rest of us are losing more weight than we can afford. Hard knocks will do that to you.
Chase has a hand over Gillian’s midsection. It’s a protective and odd gesture, but he’s an intensely possessive man. I learned that the hard way. Even with his faults, he’s still the best thing that’s ever happened to my best friend, and I’m happy they found each other. I’d hoped that all of us would live happily ever after, just like in the storybooks. Gillian with Chase. Bree with Phillip. Kat with Carson. And me with my Tommy. Not to be. I’m the
Chase inhales and sighs. “Of course. We’ll wait outside the church.” He squeezes my shoulder, and I close my eyes.
Eventually, I make my way over to the casket. A life-size headshot of Tommy in his police uniform sits next to it. I place my hand over the top of the flag and hang my head.
“Tommy, I’m sorry. None of this was supposed to happen. It should have never been you,” I whisper, meaning every word down to the depths of my soul. The ache of his loss is agonizing, cutting me up from the inside out.
Tears finally swell and fall down my cheeks. I give in to them, not having a chance in hell at thwarting the grief. It has dug its vile claws into me and is taking over. Holding back has finally become too much. My body shakes with the strain and effort I’ve expended to stop myself from falling into a pit of despair. Each tear falls down my face and drips down my chin to the floor like scalding hot magma, burning me with every pea-sized drip that releases.
“If I could, I’d take your place.” I pat the casket, hoping that somewhere, somehow, my Tommy is listening.
“Ahhh, beautiful, now that would be a downright shame.” A rich, gravely, all-too-familiar voice from behind startles me.
I know that voice.
That voice has come to me in my dreams every night for the past two weeks. It’s the voice I hear inside my head, soothing me when the guilt and grief are excruciating. It’s him. Every hair on my arms and neck stands at attention. I swallow, attempting to remove the giant lump of cotton in my throat. Slowly, I inhale and close my eyes while I turn around. Please, God…
It’s not possible.
There’s just no way.
Could it be?
Tommy.
I blink furiously against what I think I see. There he is. Alive. Esplendido. His eyes are the same dazzling green I remember. As he looks at me, he seems to see right through me, to the brokenness within. My heartbeat goes wild inside my chest, pounding out a rhythm I’m incapable of keeping up with. I clutch at the skin above my breasts.
“Can’t be…” I choke out. The tears now have a mind of their own, and they race down my face, dropping hotly onto my chest. I hold out a shaky hand. A halo of light glows around his head, but his hair is dark and layered, with the sides cut shorter. What? I blink a few times, trying to understand what it is I’m seeing. Tommy didn’t have hair.
“Are you okay?” he asks, but his voice sounds deeper, not quite the same timbre I’m used to.
He grabs me under the arms and hauls me against his massive chest just as I begin to teeter and lose touch with my balance. The chest I’m plastered against is far larger than the one I’d cuddled, kissed, and hugged this past year.
“Oh my God. What’s going on?” I sob while gripping his tattooed arms.
Tattooed arms? Tommy didn’t have any tattoos. I trace every inch of what I can see with an analytical eye. My body continues to shake like a leaf in the center of a windstorm.
“Tommy?” I pet his bearded jaw. Bearded jaw?
The man jerks his head back. “Tommy? No…oh, no. Miss, you’ve got it mixed up.”
“But, but, you’re him. Your eyes are the same. Your face…” I wipe at my cheeks and back out of his grip until my back collides with the casket. Just like Tommy would, it holds me up as I shake my head. “I’m losing my mind. Finally happened. I’ve gone loco en la cabeza!” I screech, barely able to hold myself up, and look at Tommy’s doppelgänger.
He lifts his hands out in front of him in a placating gesture. Tommy’s hands, only they seem a little bigger. Everything on this man seems larger than life. I am officially losing my shit.
“You’re not crazy.” He chuckles, and it’s a deep rumble that pounds against my chest and squeezes my heart. It’s like Tommy’s laugh, but not.
“I don’t understand. You’re dead. And you’re not you!” I cant my head to the side and try to find the exit signs or my friends. “Chase! Gillian!” I scream at the top of my lungs. Is this a dream? Another twisted nightmare I can’t wake from?
A door in the back of the church opens up and light seeps in, casting the stranger in silhouette.
Feet are getting closer and closer, but so is Tommy. “You’re dead.” I point a finger and shake my head over and over.
“I’m not Thomas,” he rushes to say, and drops his hands down to his sides.
The sound of shoes pounding against a wooden floor gets louder. “Maria!” I hear Chase’s voice, and I swear it’s like a healing balm over my battered wounds.
Chase reaches us, my friend’s fiery red hair bouncing in the distance behind him. “Ria!” she yells.
I fly into Chase’s arms and cry—big, heaping, lung-racking sobs into his warm chest. “Tommy!” I gag out in my breakdown.
“Who are you?” Chase’s voice is a lethal weapon demanding a response. “Jesus Christ, you look exactly like him!” He gasps as if he just got a good look at the man standing a few feet from us. I turn my head and take in the man before me.
Gillian arrives, teetering on her stilettos, and puts out both arms to balance herself. The man holds out a hand to steady her. She grabs his wrist and then gasps as she, too, notices his face. “Oh my God, it’s you…” She reaches for her mouth, one delicate white hand covering her peachy lips.
The man shakes his head. “I was trying to tell you before you freaked out”—he addresses me where I’m still cowering into Chase—“my name is Elijah Redding, but everyone calls me ‘Red.’”
“Who are you?” I manage to form the words through the fear and anxiety controlling every facet of my being.
He rubs a hand through his dark, layered hair. “I’m Tommy’s twin brother.”
“Twins!” I croak and push off Chase’s chest. He never mentioned that he was a twin.
Elijah nods. “Identical twins.”
“I’ll say,” Gillian adds. “You’re like the Hulk version. It’s uncanny.”
Chase whips his head to his woman, his eyes hard on her.
“What? Look at him, baby. He’s like Tommy, but with fifty additional pounds of straight muscle and badass tats.” Leave it to Gigi to go straight for the hot-guy description.
Chase lets me go and moves to his wife, wrapping an arm around her waist, bringing her close. “We’ll discuss later,” he grumbles, and then turns toward Tommy’s brother. “Why is it that Maria hasn’t met you before now?”
Exactly the question I would ask if I could form that many words at one time. As it is, I can’t keep my eyes off him. Gillian’s right. He is the souped-up version of my Tommy. Same height, same eyes, and same mouth. Hair’s different. Tommy was bald and clean-shaven, while Elijah has a rugged jaw with some serious scruff. Although he could have shaven it off and looked the part of grieving brother, if he’d given a flying fuck. Which he likely doesn’t, since he’s just now showing his face.
“Been estranged the last few years. Just got back to town,” Elijah says through clenched teeth. “Who are you to my brother? Saw you sitting in front. What’s your relation to him?”
I squint. If he were family, why didn’t he know about me? Tommy and I were an item for close to a year.
For the same reason you didn’t know about him.
“Your brother was my boyfriend.”
Elijah closes his eyes, smiles wryly, and shakes his head. “Of course he’d have a hot piece like you.” At those words, his eyes track all over my form from the top of my black one-piece jumper to the bottom of my boots. “I should have known.” He rubs his thumb across the bottom of his lip. “He always did have a way with women.”
I cross my arms over my chest. Chase reaches a hand out toward me, so I take it. When I get close, he wraps an arm over my shoulders. “You ready?”
“Listo para decir adios? No.” To say good-bye? No.
Chase nods sadly, and Gigi reaches out a hand to caress my cheek. “We never truly say good-bye to them, honey. They live on through us and those who loved them.” Then Gillian glances at Elijah. “We’re very sorry for your loss. Tommy died saving my life. It’s a gift I can never repay, but if you need anything, anything at all, my husband and I would be honored to provide it.”
