Page 146 of Distress Signal

“Lainey.”

“Yeah.”

He wrapped his palms, warm and steady, around my upper arms. “Wewillfind her.Alive. I won’t rest until it’s done.”

My eyes flooded with tears, a few slipping down my cheeks, and I nodded.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Finn pressed a kiss to my forehead, and when he pulled back, I said, “I need a minute. I’m going to go up to the house for a bit, if that’s okay?”

I knew he wasn’t keen on letting me out of his sight, especially not after dark. But there were enough people around that he ultimately relented—then stood in the open barn door, his tall, broad frame silhouetted by the lights from inside, watching until I made it inside.

I was suddenly so fuckingtired: emotionally and physically. My arm ached, my feet were killing me in the damn heels I’d decided to wear, and a headache was beginning to form behind my right eye.

A few weeks ago, Finn had shown me his childhood bedroom, and I headed there now, knowing being surrounded by something that was his, even if I needed a moment alone, would help improve my mood.

Slipping my shoes off, I perched on the edge of Finn’s bed and rubbed at my feet, groaning at the delicious release of pressure against my toes.

The room was a time capsule, seemingly unchanged from a time sixteen years ago when the twins called it home. I could imagine Birdie keeping everything as it had been when the boys enlisted. A shrine to the sons who may never come home. The walls were decorated with sports posters, including one of their own big brother in an advertisement for Nike. A small shelf in the corner displayed awards earned by the twins over the course of their own athletic careers. I’d been surprised to learn they’dplayed baseball, not football like Owen, Trey, and Lane. Framed family photos decorated the other flat surfaces, the two simple dressers and closet still filled with Finn and West’s teenage clothing.

I couldn’t get over how different our upbringings had been—but the similarities of growing up with a twin were impossible to miss. My bedroom back home was the one I’d grown up in, but it had changed over the years, shedding its skin like a chameleon, morphing as I did from girlhood to teenager to collegiate life to the woman I was now.

Lainey and I had never shared a room. Our family farmhouse had more rooms than people to fill them, and after conceiving twins on the first try, Mom and Dad didn’t have any more children.

Even though we hadn’tneededto share, we’d fall asleep together more often than not.

As little girls, Mom and Dad would put us in separate beds, only to find us together in the morning, one of us drawn from our room to our twin’s. We’d slip under the covers with a flashlight to play with dolls or tell silly stories. As teens, gossip and overly dissecting the day’s happenings carried us until sleep pulled us under.

Then it was Mom and Dad’s deaths and my inability to sleep alone. Nightmares would dig their claws in and hold me hostage, forcing me to relive the final moments of their lives, over and over, until Lainey’s screams finally dragged me awake.

It had always been us against the world.

Without her, I was unmoored. Adrift. Like a ship lost at sea, unable to return to shore until she returned home.

“Reagan?” someone called from downstairs.

With a sigh, I headed down, my brief reprieve over—and found Aspen waiting at the base of the stairs.

“Shouldn’t you be celebrating?” I asked.

“Needed a breather,” she admitted. “Likely for the same reason you did.”

I nodded in understanding. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” she said, smiling sadly. “Unfortunately, I can’t bring Lola back. She is gone forever. But Lainey won’t suffer the same fate. Wewillbring her back.”

“But what if we don’t?”

For the last several months, I’d refused to entertain the thought. Hadn’t wanted to consider the possibility that watching her climb into that car in front of our house back in April was the final time I’d ever see her. I knew deep in my heart she was still breathing, but the longer she remained missing, the harder I found it to remain hopeful. Even now that Trey had managed to locate the footage from our first visit to Dusk Valley, I held myself back from truly believing this was the break we needed.

So much time had passed.Toomuch.

Aspen reached for my hand, steadying me.

I hadn’t realized I was crying until a tear caught on my top lip. I snatched it with my tongue and sniffed loudly.