Page 33 of Cruel Dreams

I lay my head on a pillow and Stella offers me her lips. I eagerly accept. I cup her cheek, rubbing my thumb over her dewy skin. “I missed you. Did you have a good trip?”

We’ve always been on the same page, and she knows I’m not asking about the voice recorder or what she and Max found at the NTSB offices.

“It was a little scary,” she says, burrowing close to me.

“How, sweetheart?”

“All the people, all the noise. DC is huge. We got to the hotel, and Max went to his room right away. I could have explored, but I was too scared to go out alone.”

“You can’t rush this, Stella,” I say, hurting for her. I’m pissed Max didn’t have more common sense. If he’s going to be with my sister, he’s going to have to start using his head.

“I know. Everything feels so new and strange.”

“When you can stop being Kendra Lovelace, you’ll be able to do whatever you want. You and Quinn can go out for dinner, or you and Zarah can go shopping. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

I feather my fingers over her belly, and she nudges my hand under the waistband of her panties, her pad brushing the backs of my fingers. She draws her knees up and lifts her hips, inviting me to touch her.

Her clit’s engorged. She’s ready. I wet my fingers and circle her nub with slow, lazy strokes.

She kisses me and moans against my lips as she flies.

Safe in my arms, she spreads her wings.

I hope she always feels this way.

We talk for hours after we should have gone to sleep. I listen to what she has to say because I think her experiences may be instrumental in helping Zarah find her balance again, too.

Between the lines, I read what Stella doesn’t put into words. She’s scared and feels alone. I know I’m not completely to blame—it has a lot to do with her growing up in foster care, never having a stable home. I can promise her that I will be her home, but it wouldn’t matter. I didn’t come through the last time and she has no reason to believe me now.

Besides, she could want to build a life somewhere else. A little town, quiet, off the beaten path. I can picture her in a garden, weeding, butterflies dancing around her head. In my daydream, she’s pregnant, as lush and as vibrant as the flowers around her. There’s a man in the background, a shadow, a presence, and when my daydreams turn to nightmares, that man is not me.

“I’m sorry,” she suddenly says, lifting onto her arm.

I brush a kiss over her cheek. “You have nothing to be sorry about, baby.”

“You don’t want to hear about the recorder right now, I know that, but some of what we heard...your dad and Clayton were good friends.”

“The best,” I say, not sure where she’s going with this.

“Clayton kept some nasty things from your dad. Kept his evil hidden under lies and a fake personality. Zane, your dad had no idea, and I’m sorry I thought it would be, or should be, different for you and Ash.”

I roll onto my side, twist my fingers in her silky hair, and press a hard kiss to her lips. “Itisdifferent, Stella. You have every right to blame me. My mom, she wasn’t trying to tell my dad what a horrible person Clayton is. Had my mom been trying to warn my dad, explain to him that Clayton Black wasn’t the kind of person everyone thought he was...that’s different. My dad loved my mom with everything he had. They drew their lastbreaths as in love with each other as the day they married, and I don’t have to listen to the recording to know that. He would have believed her. That’s the difference. I claimed to love you, but when you spoke, I didn’t listen. That’s not love.”

I appreciate what she’s trying to do, but she warned me about Ash many times. I didn’t listen, instead labeled her an outsider who wouldn’t know how “our kind” lived. I should have listened because out of anyone, Stella knew.

She could see.

I wake up before she does, and letting her sleep, I kiss her forehead and roll out of bed. I shower and dress, let in the breakfast delivery, and carrying a cup of coffee and the manila envelope, I search for a quiet corner. It’s easy to find in a hotel of twenty empty floors, but I choose to go up to the roof. The sun is shining and the sugary scent of donuts from the bakery down the street wafts up to me even this high.

The CVR transcript sits in my lap, the pages ruffling in the breeze. I’m reluctant to look at them, but last night, alone and in private, giving me space and her unwavering support to break down, Stella would have told me if my mom had been working with Clayton. After all, Stella’s claim Clayton killed her to cover up his mistake was just that—a claim.

The recording confirms her theory.

I shift, sipping my coffee, and prepare for what I’m about to read. I’ve been waiting years to have this information in my hands.

The conversation between Denton and my father surprises me—he never hinted they spoke the day Dad died. The recorder didn’t pick up Denton’s side of their talk, but I don’t needhim to fill in the blanks. My father had been looking into nonprofit work. Non-government organizations or shelters that aided women and children, victims of domestic violence. My dad wanted to make a difference, and he asked Clayton to be his partner in that endeavor. To my father’s disappointment, he declined.

Clayton, Willow, and Ash have always invested in nonprofit work to complement Black Enterprises. As a family, we volunteered thousands of hours as well, but with organizations already founded by others. My mother had been a huge supporter of the National Humane Society, and I regret I let the Maddoxes’ involvement with them taper off. My father loved getting his hands dirty and helped build several houses with Habitat for Humanity. He never said he felt like that wasn’t enough. He never mentioned he wanted to start something between the two families because he thought Ash and Zarah would marry.

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