The Solitude of Passion (63 page)

The house dissolves into flames. Mitch flies over the truck and lands with a thud on the other side.

“Hold onto her.” Max pushes me into Colton before taking off.

“Oh my, God.” I close my eyes and lock out the world for a brief moment before kicking free from Colt.

Mitch lies on his stomach with a trickle of blood coming from his nose. Max falls down next to him and speaks directly into his ear. The sirens stop screaming, the flash of red and blue lights slice through the night as an entourage of men in uniforms storm the grounds. I drop to my knees and lean over his beautiful face.

“Mitch,” I breathe his name, but not a sound escapes my lips. Max backs up for the medics to tend to him. They take his vitals—lift his wrist, limp as a ragdoll. I push my lips to his ear. “I have
always
loved you, Mitch Townsend.” It strangles out of me with tears. “You will always be mine. Come back to me, Mitch.” A painful knot ties up my vocal cords, but I push the most important words through. “I will love you forever.”

The days melt by in snippets—the race to the hospital—Mitch in a coma for weeks.

He never woke up.

The funeral is small and private. The whole world has inverted. It turned its ugly side out and made us suffer. There is a familiarity about this horrible hour in my life, but this time every new memory we created these past few months gouges at me with its jagged shards.

Stella and Eli are locked in the tempest. Nothing could ever quell this sadness—take away the pain from this needle in our eye. There is no more light in the universe, no more oxygen. Mitch took it all with him. There is nothing left to look at without him here beside me. Every part of me wants to crawl into his casket and beg the world to cover us both with warm Mono soil. I just want to be near Mitch. I miss his touch, his voice, his strong body pressed against mine. I’m smothering in this indescribable ache. My heart has shattered. Mitch took it right along with him.

Max and I share our grief—a suffering so great, I’m not sure it will ever end.

I never could choose between the two of them.

Sometimes God chooses for you.

Sometimes even He can find no good solution.

Then at the end of a long harrowing day at the cemetery, after lowering a black slick casket that holds the remains of my sweet husband and tossing soil over it with my own hand, Colton brings me a gift.

“He wrote this on the plane, just in case. He didn’t think he’d need it.”

I take the envelope from him, gingerly, as if it were Mitch himself.

Max and I read it together.

Dear Lee,

If you’re reading this things didn’t end well for me. I was sort of hoping this was just a way to kill time on the flight back home but something in my gut said do it just in case. You see, the last time you lost me I didn’t leave anything behind for you to look at or hold that would tell you how much I love you. I guess what I’m doing now is covering all the bases.

I wasn’t sure why God had me in that hellhole for so long, but, now, I think I know. I think there was a purpose and that purpose was his and his alone. I’m also pretty sure that five years apart gave you enough time to establish a new life, it let me see what your world would have really been like had I been gone for good. I’ll be honest I wasn’t too impressed with the choices you made at first, well, choice, and that being Max. But now that I’ve had time to see things from all angles, I have to commend you on a job well done. Since I wasn’t there to be a husband to you, I’m glad it was Max. In fact, now that I’ve made a more permanent relocation to the hereafter, I hope the two of you will live a very happy life together. I mean that from the bottom of my heart. If it can’t be me, I’m glad it’s Max Shepherd.

Please tell Stella I love her as often as you can. I don’t want to weigh her down with my death, but somehow I’d still like for her to feel like I’m a part of her life.

I’ll be watching down over our family every single day. When the kids hit all their highlights in life you can bet I’ll be right there beside you and Max, cheering them on.

As for the sweet baby you’re carrying, I wish I could have been there to see you through this, hold your hand when it comes time. I know that if that child is mine, and I really feel in my heart it is, that Max will still love her or him as fiercely as he does his own, like he loves Stella.

I can’t say I’m not sad to be there with you, to make love to you each night, to feel your hair, your soft kisses, but I know that if God did choose to take me, it was my time to go.

Don’t cry for me, Lee. Don’t grieve me. It kills me to think that I could bring one more ounce of pain to your precious life. Smile when you think of me. Laugh. Talk about the good times and cherish them. I’ll see you again, Lee. I’ll be the first one waiting to greet you when you come home—Max, too. We’ll all be together again, and maybe you and I will get that private time as husband and wife we missed out on down there. It was a privilege and an honor to be your husband, and, if I had my way, we would have lasted another sixty years at least. I’m guessing eternity won’t start feeling like heaven until you arrive, and, when you do, I plan on making up for lost time if you don’t mind.

I guess it’s hard to tell what the future holds in so many ways, but I know with Max there beside you there is nothing for you to fear. I know with Max in your life, I’m leaving my family in the best hands possible. Tell him I love him. Tell Stella, and Eli, and the new baby, too. I love you all deeper than the ocean.

I will see you again someday.

Love,

Mitch

One Year Later

Max

“Go right!” I shout to Eli. It’s hazy out, but the sand is still warm under our feet. “No—your other right.” I laugh, tossing the ball anyway.

“Daddy—
me!
” Stella jumps and squeals.

“You’re next.” I turn toward the house. Lee catches my eye. She waves from the porch and pauses to grasp the baby’s fingers, and the two of them wave together.

A sharp pain flares in my gut as Eli pins me with a power throw. “Nice job, buddy.” I hike the football over to Stella before glancing back at Lee. Hard to believe the baby is seven months.

Baby Mitch is quiet and pensive—a twin to Stella in male skin.

They caught Hudson. He confessed to the field fires, so insurance paid up after all. But it’s been Johnson’s almond farm that’s kept us afloat. It turned out to be a saving grace. We’ve already decided to replant the fields. Vines are on their way from Italy and France—should be here in a few weeks. We’re dedicating an entire field to Mitch as a memorial—Mitch’s reserve. He’ll get his own line. God knows he deserves one and then some.

Lee kicks off her shoes and makes her way over with the baby. Stella thinks he’s great, but she’s still holding out hope for a sister. We told her we’d try again in a couple of years.

“Hold your fire,” I shout to Stella. She tosses the ball to the side and runs in and out of the waterline with Eli.

I take the baby from Lee and bounce him off my chest until he smiles. He has the same serious gaze as his father, and he holds me with it as if it were Mitch looking right at me through his son’s eyes.

It brings me back to that night we lost him, how I told him he would always be my brother, to hang on, that it would be all right, but it wasn’t. I knew in my heart, though, that everything was better between us. I could feel it there those last few weeks.

I’d like to think there was a higher purpose at play. In the midst of heartbreak, when things don’t make sense, I plan on remembering that—remembering Mitch, letting him live on through me, and Lee, and this beautiful family he’s given us. We gave each other strange gifts. We were the curators of our own misery, but it all spun around, turned into a thing of remarkable, absolute beauty. We were family once, and, now, we are again in so many ways.

Stella and Eli run over and clasp onto my knees for a moment. I pull Lee in and land a careful kiss over her lips. I like this chaotic unity, this buzzing circle of children that surrounds us, but it feels like someone is missing from our circle, and I know for a fact it always will.

“Can I throw in Daddy’s flowers?” Stella snatches the pale yellow lei off the sand.

“Yes.” Lee manages the word, but you can see how much it hurts.

Today marks one solid year since Mitch went home.

I watch as the flowers sail through the air only to drift back to shore. Stella tries two more times before launching it out about five feet. Lee and I take a seat in the sand and watch as the flowers drift over the surface of the water. She circles my waist and rests her head on my shoulder.

“He’ll always be a part of us,” she gives it in a broken whisper.

“I know.” I land a soft kiss over the top of her head. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Mitch and I had made amends. We righted all the wrongs at the last minute. I hope he’s okay with the fact I’m here with Lee—that I’m going to love her and the kids until the day God rips me from this earth. If the situation were reversed, I know I’d be more than content. For so many months I struggled with why God would let him come back only to take him away again so tragically. But Mitch had a chance to meet Stella, to kiss Lee one more time and create a beautiful new being with her. He got to say one hell of a good bye, and I’m glad he did.

He saved Lee from the fire. I didn’t find her. Mitch did. He gave her back to me and to the kids. He was the guardian angel that needed to help her out one more time.

I’m damn glad he came back from China. He promised Lee he would, just like he did the first time, so he had to.

I give a wry smile.

Mitch always kept his word.

I lean in and kiss Lee on the lips, slow and lingering.

She pulls back with a loving smile. “We had him for a while.” She blinks into her tears. “In that sense it was good.”

“Then that’s what his labels will say—a good year.”

“More like a good year for heartbreak.” She lays her head on my shoulder.

“Let’s just call it a good year.” I sweep a kiss off her cheek. We had talked about that once—adding
a good year
to the labels—about it representing how strong we were, and now it means so much more because it brings Mitch into the fold—the three of us like a team. “I love you, Lee.”

“I love you, too.” She wraps her arms around the baby and me.

Every year you spend with the ones you love is good.

In the end, what Lee, Mitch, and I shared was good.

And it always will be.

Thank you for reading,
The Solitude of Passion.
If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review at your point of purchase. Look for Addison Moore’s New Adult romance,
3:AM Kisses
, coming September 17
th
2013!

To my husband, you rock my world. No more falling from rooftops, please.

A special thank you to my wonderful team of betas, proofreaders, and my fab editor, without who my books would still be sitting on my hard drive. Christina Kendler, you are kind beyond words to endure my torment! Thank you for all of your patience, and thank you for pushing me to make this the best book it could be. I
really
appreciate your hard work. Delphina Miyares you have gone above and beyond! A million thank yous for your valuable input! Diane S., what can I say other than you have the eyes of an eagle. Bless you for that. I owe you dinner. Preferably sushi. Tamara Beard you are amazing and sweet and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of your valuable and thoughtful suggestions! To the wonderful Heather Smiddie, you saved my butt! You truly are a “Supa Gurl.” Thank you for taking the time to go over the manuscript, and for letting me harass you at all hours of the night. And, last, but definitely not least, Sarah Freese who endures all my insane emails, and Facebook messages. You have spoiled me unreasonably with your kindness. I love you for that.

To my wonderful readers, you bless me every day. Thank you for making my dreams come true. I hope you enjoyed Lee, Mitch and Max as much as I did. This is a story that has stayed with me for years, and it’s a privilege to share it with you. I love to chat with you online, please feel free to message me whenever!

To Him who sits on the throne; worthy is the Lamb. Your word is manna for my hungry soul. I owe you everything.

About the Author