“Of course. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“I will. Bye.”

“Bye.”

It took me three tries to hit the right button on my phone to disconnect from the call. The shaking had intensified until a sob finally tore free. The tears came in torrents, and I pressed my face to the pillow on the back of the lounge. I screamed and wailed into it, letting all of the pain and rage and fear free.

Memory after memory slammed into me. A kaleidoscope of the ugliest images of my childhood. Huddling with Chelsea, trying to hide from my father. Watching him punch my mom in the stomach. The blood in the toilet after an especially brutal beating.

It was too much. Where was the justice? Where was God? Where was anyone?

Arms came around me, making me jolt, but Mason’s familiar scent quieted my panic. He lifted me, settling me in his lap and holding me close. “What is it?”

I didn’t have it in me to pull away, even if that might have been smarter. Instead, I leaned into Mason, soaked in his strength and the fact that he cared. “I-I—” The words barely came to my lips. “My parents…they buried Chelsea. She’s gone.”

He went as still as stone beneath me. “What?” I nodded against his chest. Mason let a slew of curses fly, the likes of which I’d never heard from his mouth before. And then he pulled me tighter against him. “I’m so sorry.”

“What am I going to tell Justin and Lyla?”

“The truth. We’ll find our own way to remember her. And it will mean more because there won’t be any ugly energy from your parents to contend with.”

God, I loved him for that. I stilled at the realization. It wasn’t simply a common phrase passing through my mind. I loved this man. For what he’d done for me and Justin and Lyla, for who he was. And that terrified me more than anything. Because what would happen when I lost him?

21

MASON

“She would’ve loved this spot,” Justin said, a hitch in his voice.

I wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I think it’s a good place to remember her.”

After a talk with Justin and Lyla about how they wanted to honor their mom, I’d made a call to my interior designer to see if she knew anyone who made custom benches. She’d, of course, come through. Two days later, we were standing at the edge of the lake on my property, where we’d placed the bench.

It was the perfect spot to take Justin and Lyla if they felt sad or wanted a connection point to their mom. A small plaque on the back of the bench read: Chelsea Foley, beloved mother and sister. Her light will shine on us always.

“Are you guys ready?” Anna asked as she held Lyla’s hand.