Page 29 of Darkwater Lane (Stillhouse Lake #7)

She rolls her eyes. “I’m massive and I waddle like a duck.”

I reach her and pull her into a hug. Her bump presses against me, unyielding. “I can’t believe how close you are to your due date. How are you feeling?”

“Doctor says I’ve still got a while before I have to worry about the little one making an appearance,” she tells me. “I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or bad thing. I feel like there’s still so much to do before he gets here.”

“Like what? Anything we can help with?”

“Last night, I caught her scrubbing the seals on the dishwasher,” Javi says.

I laugh. “When I was pregnant with Lanny, I steam-cleaned all the mattresses and mopped the walls. Hormones are no joke.”

Kez gets a thoughtful look on her face.

“No mopping the walls,” Javi says, dropping a kiss on her cheek .

She frowns and presses her lips together as if biting back a response. It won’t surprise me in the least if I find out tomorrow that she was up in the middle of the night with a bucket and rag attacking the baseboards.

“We brought dinner,” Javi says, changing the subject. “And picked up some groceries to tide you over for a bit.” He starts toward the truck bed, which is piled with bags. Kez moves to join him, and he playfully swats her away.

“No lifting,” he reminds her.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not an invalid,” she grumbles. “You know I hate feeling useless.”

He takes the bags from her. “You’re not useless; you’re growing our child. Now go and relax while you still can.”

“I could use a break,” I tell her. “Let’s go sit on the porch.”

After unloading the truck, Javi, Sam, and the kids get started on heating up dinner, and I smile at their chatter as Lanny and Connor fight over who’s in charge of chopping the vegetables for the salad.

I grab a couple of drinks from the fridge and slip outside.

Despite the chill in the air, Kez sits out on the deck, her feet up on the railing as she leans her head back, eyes closed for a brief rest.

I hand her a bottle of water and crack open a beer for myself.

“I got you a present.” Without opening her eyes, she reaches down next to her chair and grabs a gift bag. She lifts it in the air toward me. “Welcome home.”

“Kez, you shouldn’t have.”

She shrugs. “The minute I saw it, I thought of you.”

I pull out the tissue paper and find a box at the bottom of the bag. I open it to find a large folding utility knife. It’s pink, and the handle is carved with delicate flowers. I can’t help myself, I laugh.

“A girl can’t have too many defensive weapons,” she says.

“This is true,” I tell her. I tuck the knife into my pocket and then pull a seat around to sit next to her. She shifts, sharing her blanket with me. I sigh, my muscles aching from the frantic packing over the past seventy-two hours.

“So, how are you really feeling?” I ask.

“Terrified. I told Javi last night that I changed my mind about having kids.”

“And what did he say?”

“That it’s a little too late for that.”

I laugh. “He’s got a point.”

She sighs and looks out toward the lake.

“I’m not ready to give birth. And it’s not just the physical aspect of having this child.

But so long as they’re inside me, I can take care of them.

Once they’re out in the world…” She absently runs a hand over her bump.

“It’s just hard when you’ve seen the worst of people.

Knowing that’s the world I’m introducing them to. ”

She rolls her head to look at me. “Does it ever get easier? Does that terror ever go away?”

I think about how many times I check the app that tracks my children’s locations.

How my heart jumps any time my phone rings and my kids aren’t home.

I remember the panic attack I felt when I saw Lanny’s college acceptance letters and realized she might be leaving home sooner than I expected. “I wish I could tell you yes.”

“Thanks for making me feel better,” she grumbles.

“You can’t always protect your kids, but you can be their safe space. You’re the first person they turn to for comfort. When they’re young, your smell, your touch, your hugs—they can fix anything. It’s like magic.”

“And when they’re older?” Kez prods.

“At that point, you just have to hope you’ve given them the tools they need to survive.”

“Have you?”

Not enough , I think to myself. It will never feel like enough.

But that’s the problem. I have to let them go, even if I’m not ready to.

“I’ve taught them how to survive. I’ve drilled situational awareness and self-defense until it’s become second nature.

I’m not so sure I’ve taught them how to actually live.

How to be happy. I see my kids isolating themselves, not making friends, and I worry that I’ve spent so much time on keeping them alive that I haven’t taken the time to show them why. ”

It’s a hard thing to admit, but it’s the truth.

She studies me. I keep my focus on the lake, watching as the water turns darker, reflecting back the last dregs of sunlight.

I wonder at all the ways it can feel like you’ve failed your children, all the ways in which you love them more than life itself and you do anything and everything in your power for them, and yet sometimes that’s not enough.

You can’t make the world love them like you do.

You can’t make the world want them the way you do.

You can’t make the world appreciate them and understand them.

It hurts to know that the world won’t always be kind to them.

There will be days they’ll cry, and you won’t be there to hold them.

Worse, they wouldn’t want you there anyway.

I want so much for my kids. I hate that I can’t give it to them.

But I can’t say any of this to Kez. Not when she’s at the beginning of her motherhood journey.

“You’re a good mom, Gwen.” She reaches out and takes my hand.

My throat tightens. I don’t trust myself to speak. She lets her words sit for a moment.

“And your kids are amazing. They’re thoughtful and loving.

Connor noticed the paint chips I taped to the wall in what’s supposed to be the nursery and, without even asking, he got to work prepping the walls.

Lanny drove him to town to get supplies, and the nursery was painted by the time I got home from work.

They even sealed off the room and opened the windows to air it out so I wouldn’t worry about fumes. ”

She squeezes my hand. “That’s because of you, Gwen. Because of how you raised them.”

My lips twitch in a smile. Neither Lanny nor Connor had mentioned doing that during any of our calls. Hearing about their thoughtfulness makes me proud.

“I just wish life was easier for them,” I admit.

Kez snorts. “Life isn’t easy. Anyone who tells you different is lying, selling something, or trying to get followers online.”

I look over at my friend. She understands what my family has been through—the havoc Melvin Royal and his legacy have wreaked.

She almost lost her life because of it. She refused to let me face Jonathan Watson on my own, which resulted in her being kidnapped by the psychopath and held hostage at the top of a lighthouse.

He threatened to kill her and her unborn baby more than once, and she stayed strong through it all.

She’s the reason I survived that encounter.

Had she not told me to jump from the metal stairs I’d been climbing, I would have been electrocuted.

“So, how does it feel to be back in Stillhouse Lake?”

I take a moment to ponder the question. I look up at the dark sky, feeling the fresh cold air on my cheeks as I gaze at the stars. I forgot how quiet the world could be. With that silence comes a sense of peace.

There’s a rightness to being here that I feel in my bones.

“I know there are a lot of dark memories attached to this place, but whenever I’m here, I think of all those nights I sat here and stared out at the lake, imagining a future for me and the kids.

It was here that I found the courage to want more out of life.

Being back here reminds me of the promises I made to myself back then. That we would find a way forward.

“This is where my journey really began, and I’ve always felt in my gut that this is where it would end. Stillhouse Lake is where I finally put Melvin Royal to rest for good.”

“Any idea how you’re going to make that happen?” Kez asks .

I laugh. “No clue whatsoever. But the motivation is strong.”

Kez smiles and lets out a long, contented sigh, her hand rubbing idle circles around her bump. “Well, selfishly, I’m glad you’re here. Not just for my sake, but for the baby’s.”

I’m touched by the comment. I really am. “You may regret saying that. Anywhere I go, trouble follows.”

“Nothing we can’t handle,” she says resolutely.

I just hope she’s right.