No Longer Lost: Secrets Of Stone: Book Nine

  No Longer Lost

  Secrets Of Stone: Book Nine

  ANGEL PAYNE

  VICTORIA BLUE

  This book is an original publication of Angel Payne & Victoria Blue.

  * * *

  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 © 2019 Waterhouse Press, LLC

  Cover Design by Emmy Ellis

  Cover Photographs: 123RF

  * * *

  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.

  For my beautiful boy, now my handsome young man—forever my perfect prize. The world is a better place because you’re in it. I love you, Kadin, and I’m so proud of you.

  —Victoria

  * * *

  For my Thomas.

  I’d be lost without you.

  —Angel

  Contents

  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

  Also Available from Victoria Blue

  Excerpt from Misadventures with a Book Boyfriend

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Angel Payne

  About Angel Payne

  About Victoria Blue

  Chapter One

  Taylor

  The geraniums I’d planted two springs ago were leggy and fighting weeds for space in the overgrown flower bed outside Mom’s dingy trailer. The door slammed shut behind me, the spring of the rusty hinge squeaking with neglect—a lone voice of protest speaking up for the rest of the property.

  Preach on, sister hardware. Preach on.

  The afternoon I’d spent planting the flowers around this shoddy place had been a hopeful one. I’d been so sure Mom was on the right path toward sobriety. She’d landed a job at a nearby warehouse a short walk away, and she’d be able to make her shifts without problem. Of course, within a month she’d been fired and was back to spending her time at the corner bar instead.

  I straightened and stretched my back, looking over to where I’d hastily parked my Nissan in the gravel parking space beside my mom’s double-wide. I let my thoughts travel even further into the past. The day she’d moved into the place, she’d been so proud. Her boyfriend at the time had promised her the moon and was one of the few who had started to deliver. That was before his wife had caught wind of the affair he was having and put a screeching—literally and figuratively—stop to the whole thing. Later, my mom found out the woman had threatened a messy and public divorce, making the trailer an elaborate consolation prize. Okay, more like a parting gift. Oh, screw it—sometimes a spade was just a spade. The thing was a payoff, plain and simple.

  One of the few things about Janet Mathews that was simple.

  But as her life had gone, time and time again, being that man’s curse had transformed into her blessing. Because of the “cheater with the screecher,” as she’d wryly started calling the bastard, she had a roof over her head. I paid the rent and utilities on the lot at the mobile home park and hoped my mother wouldn’t squander every cent of her welfare check on drugs and booze. That way maybe I’d at least get a small contribution toward her bills. But I knew better. Relying on her for that—or anything else—was buying a one-way ticket to disappointment.

  After tossing the weeds, I got back into my car and shut the door with a tired whump. I blew out another resigned sigh while resting back against the headrest—and gritted my teeth against the approach of angry tears.

  Stupid. So stupid. This isn’t worth your tears. None of it has ever been.

  This really wasn’t ever going to end. I would never get out from under the burden of caring for my mother.

  And just because I needed the day to get worse, my memory blazed to life with the text of Mac Stone’s Dear John letter. Or in this case, the Dear Taylor letter. Not that it mattered. The gist was the same; the results couldn’t be altered. I could never be the woman he wanted me to be—or even the one I pretended to be. What I gave the world on the outside was a woman who took life by the horns, wrestled it to the ground, and did things her way.

  The reality was horrifically different.

  I would forever be the victim of my mother’s shitty life choices and bad habits. And no, there was no other choice. That would mean turning my back on the only bit of family I had, and I just wasn’t cut from a moral cloth that could allow that to happen.

  But why did it have to be that way?

  I knew that answer already. I just hated facing it.

  And was furious with him for making me.

  Why had he made it such an ordeal? Why did being happy with him have to mean not looking after my mom? People took care of their parents and had meaningful relationships. All the damn time. Even with sex that made my eyes cross and toes curl. The kind a man like Mac Stone was able to give. And give. And give…

  But deep down, I knew this was different. That “taking care of” someone didn’t mean enabling them to continue abusing themselves and using others. I just didn’t want to face the reality of it. The reality was I was enabling my own mom.

  And would have to give up a man like Mac.

  God, I really liked him. All right, maybe more than “liked.” Surrendering him hurt more than I wanted to admit. He made me laugh and feel good about myself. He was smart and witty. And did I mention the part about the man being sex on wheels? The kind of experiences I’d never encountered before in my life.

  No. I wasn’t ready to let any of it go.

  But he wasn’t giving me a choice.

  “Shit,” I muttered, lowering my forehead to the steering wheel. But there was the truth, plain and simple. I had two options. Crappy and crappier. And all I wanted was to be happy. I didn’t think that was too much to ask of the universe. It wasn’t being selfish or greedy.

  Mac’s smug words blared into my mind, pissing me off all over again.

  If you decide you deserve me.

  “Shit!” A spew of venom this time. What the fuck did that mean? Where the hell did he get off? Was the bastard chugging hallucinogens during his three-second breaks at the hospital?

  I wanted to start the car, drive straight to Oceanside, and crash through the pretty glass of his pristine beachfront place, and then get out and kick him in the balls—all for that comment alone. He was so effortlessly arrogant. So ridiculously self-righteous. He was so…so…

  A stupid grin spread across my lips.

  He was so perfectly Maclain Stone.

  So much of everything I was fucking addicted to. That confidence. That self-awareness. That outright, undeniable sexiness. I’d be lying if I tried to deny it.

  Bastard.

  Alluring, smooth, carved, cocky bastard—all true. But bastard nonetheless.

  A bastard I could
really lean on right now.

  But even having the thought made me hate myself more. How did I get to this place? Lean on him? I mean, could I hear myself? I’d never leaned on anyone. Never needed anyone. That kind of behavior only led to one kind of situation.

  The one I was in at this exact moment. Abandoned. Alone. Vulnerable. Weak.

  A place I swore I’d never be.

  A tightness I swore I’d never feel.

  Tears I swore I’d never be battling.

  “This is utter bullshit.”

  I stuffed the key in the ignition, turned it, and prayed—a little ritual that had become a new habit. “Please start, Missy. Please start. Come on, girl.” I’d only recently started calling her Missy. If she was known to be a drift missile, then Missy was the perfect alter ego for her. I just wished I’d come up with the name sooner. We seemed to have a new bond these days, and thank God it was still working. The engine turned over. I gave the dash a little pat of gratitude and began to back out.

  For today, my work here was done. Mom was tucked into bed, with ibuprofen and water at her bedside for the middle-of-the-night cotton mouth and headache. She’d know what to do. She was damn near a professional at this point—though if they really paid people to get strung out, I didn’t want her knowing about it. Besides, Janet usually went with the hair of the dog approach, and I refused to be a part of that.

  While heading back into the more populated part of San Diego, I turned up the radio in an attempt to leave the shitty evening behind me. But even humming along to the angsty alt-rock station wasn’t helping. More words from Mac’s letter kept taunting me, a great reminder that I had to set the damn thing on fire when I got home.

  Willing to be in a healthy relationship…

  I crunched a frown until actually feeling the furrows in my forehead. “All right, Clown,” I gritted. “Are you willing to be in one? Do you even know what that looks like?” I finished with a satisfied snort. When I’d first met the ass, he’d been working so many days straight that he didn’t know if it was day or night. Forget other basic relationship stuff like, say, remembering names or faces.

  Though every time you were beneath him, he swore off every other name but yours…

  Reflections that were not needed. Not now. Not for this process.

  Nope. I definitely didn’t need awesome sex replays. What I needed were answers.

  A healthy relationship. What exactly did that look like? Did such a thing even exist? Even Claire and Killian Stone, likely the most happily married people I knew, had one hell of a roller-coaster ride getting to where they were today. And according to the rest of our mutual friends, it was a lot of work keeping things functioning well, no matter what stage a relationship might be in. It required honesty and bravery, fortitude and forgiveness, patience and persistence.

  So what the hell was Mac basing his comment on? His own personal “experience” with “healthy”? And where, exactly, was that acquired? His psychotic mother was on her third husband, if I remembered correctly. No Leave it to Beaver theme song for that upbringing. And as an adult, he’d spent the better part of his life hopping from operating rooms to race cars to strangers’ beds.

  Maybe he was a neurosurgeon with a minor in family psychology. Now wouldn’t that explain a lot? At least the musing made me laugh out loud before adding a little pressure to the gas pedal. Mac’s love of driving had been rubbing off on me. I guess his promise of letting me drive on the track at Thermal was as empty as all the others he’d made.

  The sign for my apartment complex came into view in record time. The nearly empty late-night roads coupled with my complete disregard for the speed limit got me home in no time at all. I pulled into my space as Evanescence blared “Going Under,” one of my favorites of all time. The lyrics were perfectly, painfully meaningful tonight…

  “Will you grab the potato salad from the refrigerator in the laundry room, honey?” Talia had her hands full with an elaborate fruit salad loaded into a basket carved from the shell of a watermelon, so when I asked if she needed a hand, she took me up on the offer.

  “Through here, right?” I pointed toward a doorway to my right. The home she shared with her two husbands, Drake and Fletcher, was enormous and complicated. I couldn’t remember which door led where, though I’d been inside it more times than I could count.

  “Yep, right there. The light is on your left.” She called it over her shoulder while heading in the opposite direction toward the sliding-glass door. Just beyond that was the backyard where she, Drake, and Fletcher had gotten married last September.

  “Wow,” I mumbled. It had been almost a year since that memorable day. Crazy how much had changed in just eight months.

  So much…

  I found the switch and flipped it on, illuminating the room. The large stainless refrigerator was in the opposite corner alongside a front-loading washer and dryer. I took out the potato salad and then turned to head back toward the kitchen. At the same time, the other door from the garage swung open, almost knocking the bowl out of my hands. I dodged out of the way just in time…

  Only to look up into jade-green eyes as intent and beautiful as I remembered.

  Surrounded by that face, as strong and chiseled as I remembered.

  Turning my stomach inside out, in every incredible way I remembered.

  Would walking into the same space as Mac Stone ever fail to do this to me? Did I want it to?

  Judging by the looks on his and Fletcher’s faces, they’d been gawking at Fletcher’s new car. The guy was almost as obsessed with high-speed performance vehicles as Mac, but Talia absolutely would not allow Fletch on a racetrack after the accident that had nearly taken his life. So he filled his need for speed with the brand-new 520-horsepower addition to BMW’s lineup, the 8 Series coupe.

  Apparently I’d walked in on the middle of Fletcher confiding to Mac that he was “working on her.” I was damn sure he meant Talia and not the car but wisely kept my lips compressed. Talia had confided in me about the man’s specific “persuasive techniques,” leading to my quick conclusion that he might just end up getting his way after all.

  Fletcher visibly brightened as I appeared in the doorway, a smile surreptitiously crossing his boyishly handsome face. “Hey, Taylor! How’s it going?”

  I grinned at him knowingly. I’d seen the same genuine, excited look on Mac’s face so many times when he talked about his “babies,” as he called them. “Doing good, Fletcher, thanks.”

  Quickly turning a shade of pink I was certain I’d never seen on his face before, Fletch scooted past me, grabbing the bowl from my hands as he went. And that was how the tables officially got turned on me inside ten seconds—ensuring I had heat-flushed cheeks to answer Fletcher’s shit-eating wink.

  “I’ll get this to Tolly,” he drawled. “You’re welcome.”

  I arched both brows. “Are you kidding me?”

  He waggled both of his. “Why don’t you two kids stay out here and have a nice chat?”

  I grimaced. Then huffed. There were such things as surprise setups, but then there were things such as full-on ambushes. I wrote myself a quick self-reminder. Next time Talia asks for help with the potato salad, pretend I’m late for a wax appointment.

  “Shit.” We muttered it in tandem as Fletch shut the door, sealing us together in the massive laundry room.

  “So.” I tried for nonchalance, certain I sounded like an idiot instead. “How’s it…uhhh…going, Mac?”

  “Good, good. You?” His grin infuriated me and turned me on at the same time.

  “Okay.” I shrugged, convinced I sounded like an idiot. Idiot. “You…uh…look good.” I inspected the floor while I spoke this time.

  “Thanks. And you…do…”

  His voice trailed off as we finally looked up together, right into each other’s eyes. I sucked a breath in. Holy shit. The awful-letter-writing clown was more gorgeous than I remembered. Those piercing green eyes. His umber hair messy yet perfect, like he�
��d just been for a ride with the top down and loved every second of it.

  “Damn it.”

  “What?” he prompted, taking a slow, purposeful step closer.

  “You look better than good.”

  I clapped my hand over my mouth, yearning to take it back the minute it slipped out. Shit, shit, shit, shit! Giving this man and his ego the upper hand was the last thing I wanted to do.

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re wrecking it by talking though.” My grin grew wider in proportion to his.

  Until he wasn’t grinning anymore. Instead, as he reached out and touched my cheek, he was damn near somber about murmuring, “I’ve missed you, Taylor.” But the caress was over as soon as it started, and I instantly missed his warmth before he pulled away, betraying what looked like his own loss.

  “Mac.” My voice was quiet, plaintive.

  “Oh, sassy girl.” Without hesitation, he stepped right back in. He brought up his hand again, cupping my cheek with deeper pressure—but then, pausing there, his breath snagged and held as he watched me carefully, waiting for me. Needing my approval. Craving my yes…

  I wanted to. Dear God, how I wanted to.

  And was a split second from caving…

  But stepped back instead.

  Traitor brain! Why? My heart and body wanted to jump on him like a monkey, wrapping my arms and legs around him and never letting go. What the hell was this stepping back bullshit?

  “I… We…”

  “What?” His gaze turned the shade of a haunted forest, the green nearly turned to black. Oh holy crap, did thick and needy lust look fantastic on him. “What is it?”