Page 123 of Darkwater Lane

He also used the proceeds from the podcast to buy himself an old truck, the kind he’s not afraid to get dirty hauling equipment around when he’s working at the barn. He appreciates the independence of having his own vehicle, though he still always makes sure to tell me where he’s going when he leaves the house.

With Sam’s name cleared, his old boss called to offer him his job back. Sam politely declined. He already had a new job of sorts. A few weeks after Rowan’s murder, we got a rather confusing callfrom a lawyer out in California. It turned out that in the process of probating Rowan’s estate, they realized she hadn’t made any arrangements for the disposition of the Lost Angels.

Technically, Miranda’s ownership interests transferred to Leo Varrus upon her death. And at his death, they went to Rowan Applegate. Her will was silent on the matter, which meant the founding documents controlled who got ownership.

According to the attorney, that meant full ownership of the Lost Angels, including its substantial endowment, reverted to its co-founder, Sam Cade.

Finding that out had been quite the shock, and our first instinct had been to say hell no, we wanted nothing to do with the organization that had dedicated itself to my persecution for so many years. Then, we reconsidered.

The charter of the Lost Angels was to help those grieving the loss of a loved one. At its inception, it was meant for the loved ones of the victims of Melvin Royal, but nothing prohibited broadening that mandate. So, that’s what we decided to do—but in our own way.

Sam took over the Lost Angels and reshaped it into a force for good. The first thing he did was change its name to Wings Mended. At his core, Melvin Royal refused to see the humanity in people, so that’s become Wings Mended’s core mission: ensuring the humanity of all. There’s a victim advocacy group, a support hotline, and plans for a network of safehouses for those escaping untenable situations. They’re in the process of establishing funds for medical care and grants for research. Eventually, they plan to purchase a fleet of air ambulances to provide transport for those who can’t afford to travel for care. Sam would, of course, volunteer as a pilot.

It turns out that Miranda Tidewell was an exceedingly wealthy woman with an estate worth hundreds of millions, all of which now belongs to Wings Mended. Her daughter, Vivian, had loved birdsand had a hand-drawn tattoo of a pair of wings just beneath the ankle on her right foot. That became the logo for Wings Mended.

I like to think that Miranda would be proud of how her money is being put to use.

As for me, I’m still working for J.B. I don’t have to. With the money from the podcast and the salary Sam earns running Wings Mended, we’re plenty comfortable. Plus, several publishers have approached me about a possible book deal. The numbers they’ve mentioned are staggering. I wasn’t interested at first—I don’t feel like giving Melvin Royal more attention and oxygen than he deserves—but then one of the editors flew to Stillhouse Lake and pitched the idea to me in person.

As she explained, it wouldn’t be a book about Melvin Royal, but about Gwen Proctor. A testament to my strength and perseverance and a road map for others to find their own path to self-discovery. While I know I won’t be able to write that story without resurrecting Melvin in some way, turning it down would give him more power than he deserves.

If I can be the spark in the darkness for someone else, it will be worth it.

It’s the reason I keep working for J.B. There are still those out there who need me. So long as I can offer help, I will.

I’m pulled from my thoughts by the sound of clapping. I glance down the table and find a plume of smoke drifting from the candle in front of Sarah. She already has fistfuls of icing in each hand, smearing both down her face. Kez and Javi laugh, watching their daughter with awe and adoration.

Sam leans toward me, whispering in my ear, “What did you wish for?”

I smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Come on, your secret’s safe with me.”

I poke him lightly with my elbow. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

“You don’t believe that, do you?” he teases.

At the end of the table, Kez and her father get into a debate about whether it’s best to cut the cake into slices or squares. Everyone else starts to weigh in with their opinion, but I keep my focus on Sam. “Why haven’t you asked me to marry you?”

He shrugs. “I did. You said no.”

“I said not yet,” I clarify.

He laughs. “There’s not a lot of daylight between no and not yet. Both of those answers meant I wasn’t getting married anytime soon.”

“You weren’t ready,” I point out. “You were looking for a way to numb the pain.”

“I’ve always been ready,” he corrects me.

I blow out a breath. “Well, then, I wasn’t ready. I had to make sure I wasn’t marrying you for the wrong reasons—because I needed to be rescued, or as a distraction from everything we were going through. I needed to know I was well and truly done with Melvin, emotionally and psychologically first.

He lifts his eyebrows. “Are you?”

That’s the million-dollar question. I think of the role Melvin has played in my life over the years. Boyfriend, husband, lover, father, abuser, torturer. I still hear his voice sometimes and feel his derisiveness over who I and the kids have become.

For so long, I wanted to silence that voice and erase him from my past. But I know that will never be possible. He’ll always be there. That’s okay.

He played his role, forcing me to grow and adapt. Now, that role is over.

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