Page 120 of Truck Stop Tempest

“You’re an amazing woman. I don’t tell you that enough. But you are.”

Aida was either sunburned or she’d grown a heart because those cheeks of hers blazed. “You’ve never told me that.”

“Well. I’m telling you now.”

“Thank you,” was her simple reply.

We walked for a bit along the small stretch of beach until we reached the edge of the property. Aida stopped and plopped her ass in the sand. I followed suit.

“Can you believe where we ended up?” she asked, shielding her eyes from the early afternoon sun.

I shook my head.

“Ever think about going back?” She picked up a stick and drew swirly patterns in the sand.

“Not a chance in hell.” I leaned back on my arms, raised my face to the sky, and sucked in the clean, untainted air. “You?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Hell, no.”

Aida turned to look at me, a question in her eyes. She reached up and traced a finger over my scar. “You know what happened to my dad was not your fault, right?”

My ticker dropped to my gut. “It was my fault. I led those fuckers straight to him.”

Aida grabbed my chin and pinched hard. “It’s not your fault.”

“No offense, Princess, but you weren’t there. You can’t say that.”

She looked over her shoulder, then back to me, eyes narrowed. “Tucker found my mother. A few months back.”

“What the fuck? Why haven’t you told me?”

“I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with that information. He said she had good reason for staying out of my life and that he would tell me more when I was ready.”

“Well? Are you ready?” Fuck. How was she so calm? She’d spent her whole life wondering who her mother was and why her father had refused to talk about the woman who had given birth to his only child.

Aida cocked her head to the side, offering a crooked grin. “I’m happy. I don’t need to know. She’s alive. She’s safe. That’s enough for me.” Her eyes focused over my shoulder. She opened her mouth to speak. Then snapped it shut.

“Aida, what is it?”

“I have my suspicions, Tito.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper with a Georgia address written in black ink. “I think you’ll find the closure you need if you check this out. If my gut instinct is right, you’ll see you’re holding on to misplaced guilt.”

I tucked the paper into my pocket, met her soppy gaze, and wiped moisture off her cheek. I didn’t have to ask to know she was talking about her father. If she suspected Voltolini was alive, then he was alive. Aida’s gut was never wrong.

“Is this something you need me to dig into?”

“No. This is for you.” She offered a sad smile and studied my reaction before turning her attention to the shoreline.

The truth wouldn’t matter. I had stewed in guilt for so long, I reeked of it. Knowing whether or not Luciano had survived the fire wouldn’t change anything. Too many others had died.

I studied the scenery. Soon, Lake Willow would be alive with boats of all shapes and sizes. Water skiers. Jet skis. For the time being, the water was quiet and still, small waves licking the shore. I envied the stillness.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Aida’s voice broke my reverie.

“What?” I asked.

“Love.”

God, the woman always knew right where to hit me. I dropped my head. “I miss her so goddamn much.”

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