Chapter 37 Lucinda
Lucinda
I'm humming some nameless tune when I pull into Gabriel's gravel driveway, the sound bouncing off my truck's windows like happiness trying to escape into the Montana afternoon.
The sun catches the weathered cedar siding of his ranch house just right, turning those hand-carved shutters and stone chimney into something out of a postcard. Even the old cottonwood by his porch looks like it's glowing.
Today is the day everything changes. Today I stop running and start living.
The sight of an unfamiliar black SUV parked beside Colt's rust-streaked Ford doesn't even scratch my resolve. Probably some state business for Gabriel. Small-town sheriff stuff that'll be wrapped up by dinner.
The weight of secrets that's been crushing my chest for months feels lighter with each step toward Gabriel's front door. By tonight, they'll know the truth.
All of it.
Lucinda Kensington-Reid, the woman who loves them enough to trust them with everything.
I push through the screen door with a smile splitting my face, my keys jangling as I drop them on the entry table next to Gabriel's badge and Stetson.
"Gabe? Beau? Colt? Good you are all here—"
The words die like a bird hitting glass.
Gabriel sits at his kitchen table, but he's not alone. Colt and Beau flank him like stone sentries, their faces carved into expressions I've never seen before. Cold. Suspicious. Wary.
But it's not them that turns my blood to ice water in my veins.
It's the man sitting across from them, silver-haired and perfectly composed in his expensive suit.
Uncle Richard.
The world tilts sideways like I've been sucker-punched.
Sound becomes muffled, distant, like I'm drowning in air that suddenly feels too thin to breathe.
The cheerful yellow glow from Gabriel's vintage Edison bulbs turns harsh, burning my retinas.
My knees lock, refusing to bend or move, while my heart hammers hard.
He's here. In my safe space.
How?
"Hello, Lucinda." Gabriel's voice comes from a thousand miles away, but each syllable hits like a physical blow to my solar plexus.
Lucinda. Not Lucy. Not Trouble. He knows. They all know.
My chest constricts until I can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but stand there like a deer in headlights while the buzzing in my ears drowns out everything except my own ragged gasping.
This isn't happening. This can't be happening.
But uncle Richard's smile is real. Cold and patient and victorious.
"Hello, sweetheart." He rises from his chair with the predatory grace of a wolf who's finally cornered his prey. "We've been so worried about you."
Movement in my peripheral vision makes me turn, and my stomach drops straight through the floor.
Two other figures emerge from the hallway shadows like something out of my worst nightmares.
Dr. Harrison from Rosewood, his kind face masking the monster I know lurks beneath that professional smile.
And Nurse Wells, who held me down while they forced injections into my veins until the world went black.
They're all here. All of them. In Gabriel's house, around his table, contaminating the first place that's ever felt like home.
"How..." The word scrapes my throat raw, comes out as barely a whisper. "How did you find out?"
I look at my men, these three incredible souls I thought I could trust with anything, and see nothing but hurt and suspicion staring back at me.
Like I'm a stranger who wandered into their home uninvited. Like I'm the enemy.
The betrayal hits harder than any physical blow ever could.
"Your uncle was very thorough," Gabriel says, and his voice is different now. Professional. Cold as a Montana winter. Like I'm a suspect he's interrogating instead of the woman who shared his bed last night. "He showed us everything."
Everything. The word echoes in my head like a death knell.
"You don't understand." I take a step toward them, stopping short when Beau actually flinches away from me like I might explode into violence.
"Whatever they told you, it's not the whole truth. I can explain—"
"Can you?" Colt's voice cuts through the air like broken glass, sharp enough to draw blood. "It looks like you've been lying to us about everything. Your name, your past, who the hell you really are."
Each word is a knife between my ribs. He's looking at me like I'm something dirty he scraped off his boot.
"I haven't been lying about who I am!" Desperation makes my voice crack, turn shrill in a way that makes me sound exactly like the unstable woman they think I am. "I'm still me. I'm still the person you know, the person you—"
But I can see the doubt creeping across their faces like shadows at sunset. The way they look at me now, like I'm something fragile and dangerous that might shatter or explode without warning.
Like every moment we shared was built on lies.
"Lucinda." Dr. Harrison's voice is honey-smooth condescension as he approaches me with the careful steps of someone approaching a spooked horse.
"I know this is overwhelming. You've been living in a fantasy for so long that it feels real to you.
But we're here to help you remember who you actually are. "
"I know who I am!" My voice climbs higher, more hysterical. Exactly like someone having a breakdown.
The thought hits me like ice water. This is what they want. This is what they've orchestrated. Me, falling apart right in front of the men I love, proving every terrible thing they've said about me.
I watch Gabriel, Beau, and Colt exchange glances. They're looking at me the same way the staff at Rosewood used to look at me. Like I'm proof of my own instability.
"Sweetheart." Uncle Richard's voice drips false concern like poisoned honey. "You're getting upset."
"I'm not getting upset! I'm trying to defend myself!" But I am getting upset. My hands are shaking like leaves in a windstorm, my breathing is rapid and shallow, and I can feel myself spiraling exactly the way they want me to.
"This is exactly what we were concerned about," Dr. Harrison murmurs to the men like I'm not even here, and I want to scream that he's doing this on purpose, that they're deliberately triggering me to prove their point.
But how can I explain that without sounding even more paranoid?
I'm trapped. Every emotional response proves I'm unstable. Every attempt to defend myself becomes evidence of my delusion. It's the same psychological prison they built around me at Rosewood, and I'm walking right back into it with my eyes wide open.
"Maybe..." Beau starts, then stops, running a hand through his dark hair. He looks exhausted, overwhelmed, like a man drowning in impossible choices. "Maybe it would be best if you talked to your uncle. Just for now. Until we can sort this out."
Just for now.
Those three words hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest. Because they mean he doesn't believe me. None of them do.
I look at each of them in turn, searching desperately for any sign that at least one of them might still be on my side.
But Beau's face is carved from Montana granite, cold and unreachable as a mountain peak.
Colt won't even meet my eyes, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping.
And Gabriel...Gabriel looks at me like I'm a problem to be solved rather than a person to be protected.
The fight goes out of me all at once, leaving me hollow and aching like I've been gutted with a rusty blade.
"Fine." I whisper the word like a prayer to a god who stopped listening years ago. "You want me to talk to my uncle? I'll talk to him."
Relief flickers across Gabriel's face. And I have to look away before the pain of it destroys me completely.
"Gentlemen." Uncle Richard's voice is silk wrapped around steel, smooth as aged whiskey and twice as dangerous. "Would you mind giving us a few minutes? I think Lucinda might be more comfortable speaking privately."
They file out like obedient soldiers following orders, leaving me alone with the architect of my nightmares.
But they don't go far, I can see them through the kitchen doorway, close enough to intervene if needed but far enough away to give the illusion of privacy.
Uncle Richard waits until they're settled, like a predator giving his prey time to realize there's no escape. Then the transformation happens, instant and complete.
The concerned uncle facade melts away, replaced by something cold and calculating that makes my skin crawl with revulsion.
"Hello, darling." His voice drops to an intimate whisper. He approaches with slow, measured steps, each one deliberate as a countdown. "You've led us on quite a chase."
I press myself against the doorframe, trying to put as much distance between us as possible in Gabriel's small kitchen.
"How did you find me?" My voice cracks on the question.
"Does it matter?" He reaches out to touch my cheek with fingers that feel like ice, and I flinch away so hard I nearly fall.
" You were good at hinding… But one careless selfie posted by a party girl at a Briarhaven bar, plus a phone call from the local Sheriff to a bugged phone…
And here we are. The important thing is that you're safe now. We can take you home where you belong."
"This is my home." The words come out stronger than I feel.
His laugh is soft, indulgent, like he's humoring a child's fantasy. His hand reaches out to stroke my hair with false tenderness, the gesture loving and gentle for anyone watching through the doorway.
I try to pull away, but his other hand settles on my shoulder, keeping me pinned against the wall with gentle but implacable force.
To anyone watching from the kitchen, it would look like a loving uncle comforting his troubled niece.
The perfect picture of family concern. But his words are poison, delivered in a whisper only I can hear.