Page 3 of Darkwater Lane (Stillhouse Lake #7)

GWEN

“How do they even think this is okay?” Lanny demands around a bite of pizza. A trail of cheese stretches from her mouth to the slice, and she uses her fingers to twist it free. “The crap the podcast is saying, it’s all bullshit. It has to be illegal or something. Can’t we just call the cops?”

I glance toward Connor to gauge his response.

He’s been uncharacteristically quiet since he got home.

Usually, he’d be just as engaged as Lanny and equally enraged.

However, ever since the school shooting several months ago and the subsequent events in Gardenia, North Carolina, he’s become a lot more introspective.

It makes sense; the whole ordeal put him through the wringer emotionally and physically.

First, he had to deal with watching his best friend shoot two mutual friends at school and then implicate Connor in the shooting.

Once the media realized who Connor’s father was, they had a field day with the information, speculating whether Connor would grow up to fill Melvin’s shoes.

Which, of course, fed into Connor’s already existing fears that he might have somehow inherited his father’s depravity.

When I was offered a missing persons case in North Carolina, I figured it would be a good opportunity to give Connor some breathing room away from the media pressure.

It did for a while, until two psychopathic teen girls started preying on him.

He barely escaped after being shot and trapped in a house fire.

He’s been steadily working on both the physical and the emotional scars since. But the experience shook his fundamental belief in himself and the world around him.

I’ve spoken to both my therapist and Connor’s about his slow progress, and they both tell me the same thing: we all process grief in our own way, and I have to give him the space he needs.

I get what they’re saying, and obviously, I’ll do what’s best for Connor and his recovery, but I still can’t help but miss my outspoken, energetic little boy.

Though at fifteen, he’s not so little anymore.

“She can’t get away with it,” Lanny continues, her outrage growing. “Right? I mean, you can’t just lie like that. It’s illegal, isn’t it?”

“It’s not a crime to lie,” Connor says, not bothering to look up from his slice of pizza. “It’s a civil issue, not criminal.”

Lanny turns to face him. “How do you know?”

He shrugs. “I wrote a paper about it for school. We’re doing a unit on the Constitution, and I got assigned the First Amendment. I had to write about what kinds of speech are protected and why.”

Connor has been taking classes online for the past few months.

Once he was out of the hospital in North Carolina and we could return home, he made it pretty clear that he wasn’t interested in returning to his previous school.

Even though the feds exonerated him for any involvement in the shooting, the building itself held too many bad memories.

I couldn’t blame him, and we set him up with distance learning.

Whenever I ask him how classes are going, he responds with “fine” or “okay,” and little else. This is the first time he’s voluntarily brought up anything related to his online school, and I perk up. “Oh, really? That sounds interesting,” I say, hoping to encourage him to share more .

He stabs at his salad, the tines of his fork scraping discordantly across his plate. “Not when the press can label you a school shooter without repercussions.”

I exchange a glance with Sam. Navigating the emotional fallout of the past few months hasn’t been easy, and I’m unsure what the best approach is here.

Lanny doesn’t hesitate. “For fucking real, Squirtle” she says with a decisive nod.

I know I should probably say something about her language, but when I notice Connor smiling, I decide to let it go. More than any of us, Lanny seems to have figured out what Connor needs at any given point. She was even the one to suggest he try equine therapy which has been an absolute godsend.

Lanny turns back to the conversation at hand. “So, if we can’t send those podcasting jerks to jail, can we at least sue the pants off them?”

“We’re looking into it,” Sam says. What he doesn’t tell her is that we sent cease and desist letters the moment we heard about the podcast––which they ignored.

The next step is litigation, and the quotes we’ve gotten from lawyers to sue the Lost Angels have all been in the five figures, and that doesn’t include the potential cost of going to trial.

That would push it well into the six figures––an amount the Lost Angels can afford, but we can’t.

Lanny slumps back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Maybe I should just embrace the notoriety.” She shoots a smirk at Connor. “We could get T-shirts made: Kid of a serial killer . Or My dad’s a serial killer. How about yours?”

Connor snorts. “ My dad can kill your dad .”

She laughs. “Can you imagine if I wore that on our field trip to DC next weekend? Definite ice breaker, that’s for sure.”

At the mention of her upcoming field trip, I wince and exchange another look with Sam. “Yeah, about that?— ”

Lanny jerks upright in her chair. “No. No way.” She shakes her head. “You’re not canceling my trip.”

Sam’s expression is sympathetic, but resolute. “Your mom and I talked about it, and in light of the podcast?—”

“No!” Lanny’s eyes fill with angry tears. “The weekend in DC is a rite of passage for seniors. I’ve been looking forward to it since we moved here.”

“I know, honey,” I start to say, but she isn’t interested.

“You’re the ones who said we can’t let this stuff interfere with our lives. ‘No more letting fear dictate our lives.’ That’s what you said, Mom. That’s what you promised!” She slams her hand on the table in emphasis.

She’s right. I remember sitting in the rehab facility with Lanny, Connor, and Sam and declaring that from then on, we would live our lives on our terms and no one else’s.

More than anything else, I want to give that to her: a world where she can forge her own path without worrying about who her father was and what that means.

It’s so fucking unfair.

If I could change the world for her, I would. But I can’t.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “It’s just too dangerous right now.”

She doesn’t back down. “If you’re that worried, can’t we just do what we did with Reyne U before? One of you come with me?”

Sam shifts in his chair. “The podcast puts a spotlight on all of us.”

“Seriously?” She looks between the two of us, trying to figure out if either of us will bend. She quickly recognizes we won’t. We don’t compromise when it comes to her security.

After that, we continue eating in silence. Lanny pushes her salad around her plate for a bit before asking, “The stuff about Callie, and you…you’ve never really talked much about your relationship with her.”

Sam considers this for a moment before saying, “That’s because there isn’t that much to tell, unfortunately.

Callie and I were close as kids, but after our parents died in a car accident when I was eight and she was four, we were orphaned.

She got adopted, and I didn’t. We lost touch.

I never expected to see or talk to her again, but then she tracked me down while I was serving overseas.

We video chatted often as we could, getting to know each other again.

The thing about siblings is that even when time passes, no matter how much, it doesn’t matter.

You’re still family. Your hearts and souls still recognize each other. ”

Lanny and Connor exchange a glance, and I can see in both their eyes that they understand what Sam is saying. They definitely have their moments and get on each other’s nerves, but at the core of their relationship there is a deep sense of love, respect, and enduring dedication to one another.

I know that at the end of the day, they will always be there for each other. Theirs is a bond that will last their entire lives, even after I’m gone. It’s a thought that brings me comfort.

“We were supposed to meet up once I returned home, but…” He clears his throat. “She died before that could happen.”

I’m not the only one who notices his choice of words.

“Your sister was murdered by our biological father,” Connor points out. “You can say it. It’s not like it’s a secret.”

Sam shifts in his seat. Sometimes Connor’s bluntness can be uncomfortable, especially when it comes to Melvin.

“You’re right. When I learned about Callie’s murder, and the details of what happened, something in me broke.

I was already dealing with PTSD from my tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, though I didn’t recognize it at that point.

I was full of rage and pain and needed an outlet.

I found that with the families of Melvin’s other victims. I didn’t see it at the time, but we were toxic for each other. That was the start of the Lost Angels.”

For a moment, I feel a familiar spark of anger at Sam for this. I know it’s not fair. I know he regrets what he did, but that still doesn’t erase the harm the Lost Angels have done over the years. The damage they continue to cause.

He leans forward, placing a hand on each of my kids’ arms. “The time I spent with you and Connor that summer…it’s what brought joy back into my life.

Up until then, the only point I saw in waking up each morning was to get revenge.

You three showed me another way to live. That I could actually have a future.

“I deeply regret that period of time in my life, and I’m sorry for my involvement in causing the three of you pain. But I’ll never regret moving to Stillhouse Lake because it brought you all into my life. And this family—my family—means everything to me. I love you guys.”

Lanny pretends to brush her bangs out of her face, but in actuality uses the opportunity to swipe tears from her eyes. “We love you too,” she tells him. Connor nods, agreeing with the sentiment.

In that moment, my heart is full—despite the podcast, despite the increase in threats that will inevitably follow, despite the turmoil being back in the public eye will bring. It amazes me how something as beautiful as this family could come from something so dark and twisted as Melvin’s murders.

It’s a reminder that we all have choices in life.

We may not be able to control what happens to us, but we can control how we respond.

Sam responded to the news of Callie’s murder by choosing hate and revenge.

Even once he realized he was wrong about my involvement, he could have continued living in that shadow.

Instead, he decided to choose happiness and possibility.

He found a new family out of the loss of his sister.

The same is true about the podcast. It will upend everything, but it’s not like we haven’t been through that before. We’ve faced threats and survived. We can continue to do so.

Lanny was right. I shouldn’t give up on the promise to live on our own terms so easily .

I slap my hand on the table. “You know what?” I tell Lanny. “I’ve changed my mind. You should go on the field trip next weekend.”

Her eyes go wide with excitement. “Seriously?”

“We’ll work out the exact details as we get closer, but you’re right—the Lost Angels want to ruin our lives. We’re not going to let that happen.”

That night, I’m standing in the bathroom applying face lotion when Sam comes into the room. He stands behind me, his hands on my shoulders, gently kneading the tight muscles. I catch his eye in the mirror.

“Letting Lanny go to DC is the right call, isn’t it?” I ask.

He sighs. “There’s no right answer, unfortunately.”

He’s right, and we both know it. But I dislike uncertainty. I’m tired of the constant second-guessing, my brain always churning over threat levels, how to protect ourselves, trying to anticipate the unknowable. It’s exhausting.

I lean my head back, and he wraps his arms around my chest, resting his chin on my shoulder. We continue gazing at each other in the mirror.

“I’m never going to stop worrying about them, am I?”

He smiles softly. “Nope.”

“I just wish things could be normal. They deserve that after everything they’ve been through.”

Sam lifts a shoulder. “Normal is overrated.”

“I got an alert that the podcast released a teaser of their next episode. It’s about you and Leonard Varrus.”

A muscle twitches along his jaw. “You know what? Let’s not invite trouble from the future. We’ll worry about the second episode when it drops.”

“But what if they bring up all that crap about Leo’s blood being found in the Stillhouse Lake house and you being accused of his murder?”

He presses a kiss to my temple. “I have an idea, and it doesn’t involve discussing podcasts or murder––or anything else for that matter.”

I lift my eyebrows. “Oh?”

He pulls me back against him so that his front is flush with my back.

Suddenly, I have a very, very good idea of what he’s suggesting.

He flashes me a lazy smile, then drops his face toward the crook of my neck, instantly finding and nuzzling that sensitive spot that never fails to make my knees a little weak.

I wobble slightly, warmth flooding through me. His arms are tight around me, always there to support me. I decide he’s right. The podcast can wait. I have more important things to focus on instead.