Page 36 of Darkwater Lane (Stillhouse Lake #7)

GWEN

Madison waves from the porch of the house next door.

I don’t know what to say. I feel exposed. Vulnerable.

Thankfully, she fills the silence. “I know how this must look. I’m really sorry, Gwen. I can try to find somewhere else to stay if it would make you more comfortable.”

She pauses, waiting. My instinct is to tell her that, yes, I want her to move, but I check myself.

If she’s here for nefarious reasons or to spy on us, then she can do that just as easily hunkering in the woods behind the house as she can from the rental up the hill.

Besides, spying goes both ways. Having her nearby means I can keep tabs on her just as easily.

I still don’t like it.

“It’s fine,” I tell her through clenched teeth. “Let me grab something and I’ll be right over.” I hang up and go inside to retrieve my gun. No way am I going over there unarmed.

I arrive at Madison’s rental house ten minutes later with my Sig Sauer tucked snugly in my shoulder holster.

I approach the cabin slowly, memories assaulting me from when Sam lived here.

I remember the number of times I jogged past, the times I looked this way and caught sight of him sitting on the front porch drinking his coffee.

It’s unsettling when I knock on the door and instead of Sam opening it, it’s Madison.

She’s wearing pressed, dark-wash jeans, a fitted flannel shirt topped by a quilted vest, a camel hair coat, and knee-high boots.

It’s not at all a practical outfit and makes it clear she’s never lived anywhere with a true winter.

Otherwise, she’d know how useless those boots would be the moment the first flakes of snow fell.

Meanwhile, I’m in fleece-lined leggings and a thermal top under a quilted jacket I left open in case I need to reach my firearm. Plus I’ve got on thick snow boots with a solid tread. I wanted to make sure I could bolt outside comfortably if necessary.

Madison’s face brightens when she sees me.

“Gwen! Hi! Come in, please.” She steps aside and I’m once again hit with déjà vu.

The cabin isn’t large. It’s one of the old hunting lodges from before they turned the area around Stillhouse Lake into a resort.

At some point along the way, someone installed a few upgrades to make it easier to rent.

When Sam lived here, there was just an old sofa, chair, and no TV.

Now, there’s a blush couch, an overstuffed loveseat, and a large TV hanging on the wall.

“Coffee?” Madison asks as she leads me toward the kitchen.

Not as much has changed in this room. The appliances have been upgraded, but the table in the center of the space is still the same. I run my fingertips across it, remembering eating pancakes here with Sam.

Of course, this was also where we were sitting when someone fired a shotgun at us through the window. Too many of my memories are seasoned with violence.

Madison puts a pod in a fancy-looking machine, and we wait while it gurgles and hisses. I notice a hard case open on the kitchen counter, various pieces of equipment stashed inside. She sees me looking at it.

“I’m glad you changed your mind about the podcast. I think it’s going to really help get your story out there.”

“I’m still not committed to releasing anything,” I remind her.

The machine finally finishes, and Madison hands me the cup of coffee. The moment I reach for it, she notices the bruises circling my wrists from where the police handcuffed me the other night.

She gasps. “What happened?”

I grimace. “Nothing.”

She reaches for me like she’s going to take my wrist but catches herself before touching me. “That doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Let’s just say there are a few folks who aren’t super excited we’re back in town. One of them swatted us. And then slashed our tires. That’s why I couldn’t meet you at the diner.”

Her eyes go wide. “Really? Why’d they do that?”

“Sam pissed one of them off.”

“And they swatted you and slashed your tires? What did Sam do?”

“Got one of them banned from the gun range when he showed up drunk and picked a fight after Sam took his gun.”

She blinks at me. “Seriously? That’s it?”

I want to laugh at her na?veté. People take their guns seriously around here. The range isn’t just a place to practice shooting; it’s a social hotspot. Getting banned made Jesse Belldene look bad. It hurt his ego and, with some men, that automatically leads to violence.

“I also brought a little too much attention to the town, given my past. The Belldenes are what you’d call hillbilly mafia. The less authorities look their way, the better.”

“But the cops are going after them for it, right?”

“There’s no point. The Belldenes consider themselves untouchable. Honestly, the best thing to do is just leave them alone in the hopes they leave you alone.”

Madison thinks about that for a moment. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Of course it does.” There’s anger in my voice.

“I’m tired of feeling like I have to fight the world just to exist. I wish everyone would leave us alone: all the sickos out there with nothing better to do with their lives than send us death threats, the Lost Angels and their mission to expose my family and me for crimes we had no part in.

I thought when Miranda Tidewell died, that would be the end of it.

But then Leo took over. Once he disappeared, I had hope again.

But then came Rowan Applegate. It’s never ending and it’s exhausting. ”

I realize I’m nearly panting, my hands clenched into fists, and my cheeks hot.

I shake my head, trying to dissipate some of the burning anger.

“Sorry. My emotions are closer to the surface these days. I haven’t had much sleep since the swatting, and when I am able to sleep, I keep waking up in a panic thinking someone’s about to smash in the door. ”

I’m embarrassed for having unloaded on her. “Maybe this was a bad idea. I should go.” I start for the door.

“You need to stop silencing yourself, Gwen,” Madison says.

“If my family heard you say that, they’d laugh. You may not have noticed this, Madison, but I’m not generally a quiet person.”

“You may not think so, but you’re wrong.”

I cross my arms and lift an eyebrow, inviting her to continue.

She holds up a hand, ticking off her points as she goes. “You don’t answer media requests.”

“Because I don’t trust the media not to twist my words,” I counter. “Journalists always have an agenda, and it rarely overlaps with mine.”

“You refuse to stand up to the Belldenes.”

“That’s out of pure self-interest. I’ve been to their compound. I’ve seen the kind of weaponry they have at their disposal. Engaging with them is a losing proposition.”

“You talk about all the threats your family receives, but from what I’ve seen, you do nothing about them.”

“I send them to the police and the FBI. What do you want me to do, become a vigilante?”

“The Lost Angels have been waging a campaign against you for years, and instead of fighting back, you’re walking away.”

“I’m being smart, Madison. I’m picking my battles.

I know that may look like staying silent to you, but you’re young.

You’re like my daughter, still so idealistic, believing that if you can just make the right argument, someone will listen and change their minds.

You still feel like you can change things.

Well, I hate to break it to you. Sometimes, you can’t.

Sometimes, you just have to accept things the way they are and make the best out of a shit situation. ”

“Is that what you’d tell Lanny to do? Just accept the way things are? Don’t make waves? Don’t fight for change?”

I’m the one who brought my daughter into this, but still my chest burns at the mention of Lanny’s name.

“People need to hear from you, Gwen,” Madison says. “They need to hear what it looks like to fight. People see you as the villain. Show them you’re not.”

I turn away from her and stare out the front window toward the lake.

The surface is an unknowable gray. I think of the woman I was the last time I stood here in this house.

I was on the edge of running after finally putting down tentative roots.

I was trying to decide who I wanted to be and what I planned to fight for.

I was scared.

I’m still scared.

I’m not sure I’ll ever stop being scared.

Maybe that’s the problem. I keep waiting to find safety. I keep waiting for the moment I won’t clock exits when I enter a room or go to bed with my shoes by the bed in case I need to make a hasty escape. I keep waiting for it to end.

There is no such thing. This will never end.

This is life. It’s happening now. And I’m going to miss it if I’m not careful.

“Okay,” I say, turning back to face her. “Let’s get started.”