6 a.m., 18 Hours…
August
Gwen covered her mouth with her hand and spoke through her fingers. “I want to kiss you, but I can taste my breath. It could kill a small country.”
“You think I care? Mine’s just as bad.” I stalked toward her until her back was pressed against her apartment’s brick exterior. Her place was a few floors up. I wasn’t leaving without a kiss.
“If you don’t care, there’s something wrong with you.”
I caged her between my hands, but was smart enough to keep my hips back. Already, I was hard. Primed for her. If my body brushed hers, I’d be dragging her upstairs and neither of us would see our friends today. Not an unpleasant prospect…. “There’s something wrong with me, all right. I’m crazy for the girl who stole my boxers.”
“They look better on me.” Still with her hand over her mouth.
“Stop being so adorable and kiss me. We both drank water. It dilutes the morning breath. Or we can stand like this for the rest of our lives, like those street mimes who never move. I’ll paint you red and me yellow.”
Like our shirts.
We’d woken up with the sun, tangled together, smelling like ass (aka ketchup, mustard, dirt, and sex). My body had ached from sleeping on the hard ground. My heart ached every time Gwen glanced at me. My flight was at 8:10 a.m. tomorrow, which meant I had to be at the airport by 5:30. Not enough hours from now. I needed every kiss I could get. “Give in, Possum. You know I never back down.”
She rolled her eyes, and I pressed a soft kiss to her hand, as though it weren’t covering her lips. I gave it a lick and she squealed. Fast as lightning, she jerked her palm away, planted a close-lipped kiss to my mouth, then darted under my arm. I’d take what I could get.
The street was quiet, the few morning devotees either jogging or zombie-walking toward the nearest coffee joint. When she reached her building’s entrance, she paused and faced me. She smoothed her hands down the sides of her slim jeans.
As though on a spring, she hopped forward, back toward me, dodging a zombie along the way. She kept enough distance between us that she didn’t cover her mouth. “I just wanted to say, because I don’t think I did, that I couldn’t have done this without you. If you hadn’t shown up at my mother’s, I wouldn’t have known Finch was at that club. I probably wouldn’t have spoken with Uncle Rex. The ballet teacher wouldn’t have given me the time of day.”
She was all fizz and bubbles, but the air in my lungs turned flat. It was one thing to keep Mary’s letter and what I’d learned from Gwen. I didn’t need her thanking me.
She twisted her fingers together. My insides corkscrewed into a violent knot.
“You’re part of the reason I’m going to meet my father,” she went on. “I want you with me when I knock on his door. If he’s amazing or awful, I want you there. Which means we need to find him today, before my birthday and your flight. And I didn’t mention it, but my mom wrote that she’d scratched her name into a bench at Fisherman’s Wharf. The one by the Alcatraz booth? A romantic etching, you know, using his last name instead of her own—cute teenage hopes of marriage or whatever. If it’s still there, and the bench hasn’t been cleaned up or replaced, it’s all we need. I’ll be able to find him.”
She took one step back, then two. Her cheeks glowed brighter. “But not before I brush my teeth and tell the girls about our night together.”
Her departing wink was equal parts fun and naughty, exactly what I wanted for our last day, but my heartbeat became sluggish. My posture sank. I watched her slip into her building, disappear down the corridor.
I stood. I stared. I nearly retched.
If Gwen’s mom had scratched Mary Mercer into that bench and Gwen traced it to her father’s house, I couldn’t return there and continue this lie, pretend I hadn’t talked with his widow. That would be relationship suicide, and I never believed Gwen would get there. Not in two days. But the possibility of her discovering that last name, the coincidences that had led us here…
This had the potential to go very south, very fast.
I could derail her search, beat her to that bench and scratch out his last name if it was there. It wouldn’t be hard.
It would also be active sabotage. No way was that happening. That left telling Gwen the truth, confessing I was the reason she’d never meet Ted Mercer.
Another impossible option.
“August!” Jimmy growled from behind me. “Slow the fuck down before I have a heart attack.”
My thighs screamed with each long stride, my pounding feet reverberating in my skull. I’d hoped my run with the guys would give me clarity, an option beyond my two excruciating choices. All I had was a side cramp and smarting shins. Sweat dripped off my forehead.
I slowed to a jog, my lungs working harder as I lost momentum. My chest felt ready to rupture. A session with my guitar would have been better than trying to chase away my guilt.
After I’d walked in on Gwen and Finch nine years ago, I’d played guitar until my fingers had bled, literally. I couldn’t get the visual of him in his boxers out of my head, kept picturing them in bed together. I’d felt so stupid. Angry at Gwen’s mom for suggesting I had a chance with her, furious at Finch for abusing my trust. Sickened that I still yearned for Gwen. Even with my hardened calluses, I worked the fretboard so harshly, my skin broke.
I itched for that same pain now, but my favorite Gibson was in Germany. Where my life was. Where I’d end up alone and scratching my heartbreak into lyrics if I botched this.
The boys and I had run a circuit through Owen’s neighborhood, ending in a park. Owen planted his hands on his hips, head tipped back as he caught his breath. Jimmy walked in circles, cursing me for setting the frantic pace. I yanked off my drenched shirt, could practically squeeze out the sodden fabric. I squeezed my fists instead.
It was a Sunday. Families were playing on a jungle gym, balls and Frisbees tossed. Dogs kept time with their owners. Everyone with normal lives. I didn’t envy their nine-to-fives and daily routines, assuming most of them walked that treadmill, but I envied how they lounged and laughed like they had forever. Living their lives with their loved ones. With their kids.
Another stitch cramped my side.
“Mind telling me what you were chasing out there?” Jimmy stopped pacing. He sat his ass on the grass, under the shade of a large oak, arms dangling over his bent knees. “This was supposed to be a leisurely morning run. Not a sprint.”
“I have stuff going on.”
“Yeah, I figured that out. You’ve been scowling so hard my teeth ache.”
I loosened my always working jaw, dragged my hand through my sweaty hair.
Owen sucked back a large breath, exhaled as he studied the blue sky. More blue. So much blue in San Francisco compared to Europe. I had missed this. I’d missed being able to run with friends, even though we hadn’t said a word while pounding the pavement, the type of comfortable silence that allowed you to brood or think or not feel so alone.
Silence that settled the soul.
It wasn’t helping much today.
Owen’s shirt joined mine in a heap. He stretched his long body out next to Jimmy, hands behind his head like he was lounging at a pool. “I’m guessing the mood is because of Gwen.”
I couldn’t sit on the grass. My blood still rushed from our run, my mind as busy. I jammed my toe into the ground. “Because of her and something shitty I did.”
“Isn’t she the one who slept with your brother?” A shaft of sunlight cut through the leaves, slashing across Jimmy’s tattooed arms.
I appreciated his candor. It was why I’d blurted our sordid history when we’d met for drinks. No point pretending that shit show hadn’t happened. But this was worse than Gwen drowning her sorrows in Finch, and Finch using her to get to me.
This was unforgivable.
“What Gwen did sucked, but it was years ago. We’ve changed since then. We’ve talked it out, and I’ve forgiven her. The real kind of forgiveness, like I know I can really let it go.”
“So you guys had a good night together?”
My queasiness persisted. That didn’t keep me from smiling. “We had a great night. Most of it, at least.” The frantic sex on her living room floor. The frantic sex on a patch of dirt in the middle of the night. Talking to her until we both fell asleep, her warm body tucked into mine. A great fucking night. “Unfortunately, this is about a letter I got from her mother before Mary passed away. Something I haven’t told Gwen.”
One big, massive thing.
Owen squinted at me through the sun. “Lay it on us. We’ve both been through rough times with Ainsley and Rachel. We know what it’s like to screw up and almost lose the one. Assuming that’s how you feel about Gwen.”
The ebbing of my adrenaline had me dizzy. Or maybe it was thoughts of Gwen. “She’s it for me. She’s freaking out because I go back to Germany tomorrow. I’m losing it, too. Hate the idea of being apart for a second.” Even now, my senses felt dulled. The way a shorted guitar pickup deadened the ringing notes. Without her, everything was muted and worries invaded my mind. Was she talking to the girls, telling them she couldn’t keep seeing me? Talking herself out of us?
Fresh sweat beaded. The cold, clammy kind. “I’m not willing to lose her, but I did something stupid. If she finds out, she’ll probably cut me off.”
“You’d be preaching to the choir,” Owen said. “I mean, Jimmy screwed up way worse than me. Not even sure Rachel should have forgiven him.”
Jimmy kicked Owen’s shin. “Asshole.”
“She’s way out of your league.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. And I’ll warn you upfront,” Jimmy told me, “Ainsley gets scarier when you hurt her friends. I’d hire a bodyguard.”
An adoring grin swept across Owen’s face. “Love my girl.”
And I loved mine. A smack-down, hook-line-and-sinker, irreversible love. She didn’t want to hear it, though, had asked me to keep things light. Our blasted seconds—my stupid suggestion when I’d been high from making love to her our first time.
It didn’t change how I felt. Or what I did. “If Ainsley finds out what I’ve kept from Gwen, I might have to join the Witness Protection Program.”
Jimmy yanked grass from the ground and peeled the blades. “Sit down, already. Your pacing’s making me nervous.”
I hadn’t realized I’d been on the move. I couldn’t run from what I’d done or play it away in a song. I sat in a sunny spot, hoping the heat would ease the chill slipping down my spine. “You guys know how Gwen never knew her father?” They nodded, and I forged on. “Gwen’s mother sent me a letter a month before she died, two months ago now. In it, she wrote Gwen’s father’s name. For some reason she wanted me to tell Gwen, asked me to be there for her when she found him.”
I didn’t mention Mary’s subtle reminder to recall our conversation on Gwen’s nineteenth birthday. Gwen loves you. Don’t let her push you away. I wasn’t sure it was in my control anymore.
Owen sat up slightly, leaned on his forearms. “But Gwen said you guys were going to look for him, like she didn’t know who he was.”
“Gwen doesn’t know about the letter.”
Both guys winced. Jimmy opened his mouth, probably to tell me I was a jackass.
I talked over him. “My past with Gwen was intense for me, and getting that letter brought it all back. I didn’t think I could handle facing her. I was away, touring. Figured twenty-eight years had gone by, what difference would another month or two make? Then her mother died. I missed the funeral. Made some excuses to myself about concerts I’d booked, but I was dazed at that point, unsure I could deal with seeing Gwen, facing everything that had been stirred up.”
“Why not tell her now?” Jimmy quit peeling grass. He had an intensity about him, like at the bar last night, when he’d asked me to leave if I’d shown up to provoke Gwen. “Why search out a man when you already know his name?”
However things unfolded with Gwen and me—if we wound up together but I was away, or if she cut me from her life—I was happy she had her girlfriends and these guys. People who supported her.
Hopefully they knew her well enough to tell me the smart thing to do. “I decided to look him up before telling Gwen, to make sure he wasn’t some deadbeat who’d hurt her or use her for cash. I realized I couldn’t keep stalling and booked a flight a week ago. I found the man’s house, knocked on the door. And…”
I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes until they burned. “I found out he had a heart attack. The week prior. I sat on that information for seven weeks. If I told Gwen right away, like her mother had asked, she’d have had seven weeks to get to know the man, ask all the questions she’s built up. You have no idea how big of a gap that’s been in her life. We used to spend days searching for him as kids, hours on the internet. I knew it was massive for her, and I waited because I was too big of a pussy to face her, and now she’ll never meet her father.”
“Jesus.” The intensity in Jimmy’s face turned contemplative. The idiot smirked. “That’s way worse than my fuck-up with Rachel.”
“And that’s supposed to help me how?” I picked at my calluses.
He returned to playing with the grass. “So you’re afraid she’ll cut you loose when she finds out.”
It was a statement. The obvious fact. But not the only one. “Partly. I wasn’t prepared for what I felt when I saw her after so long. And the way she looked at me?”
My overheated blood pumped faster than when on our run. “None of it went how I planned. Her mother’s luggage turned up, and she was overwhelmed. It felt like we’d been brought together for something bigger, and the journal’s been insane. Gwen’s mother was a piece of work, but we’ve seen new sides of her through her words, and it’s like Gwen’s finally discovering a woman she can understand. She’s grieving for her for the first time, and if I tell her, she’ll stop searching for her dad. Stop learning about her mother. So, no, it’s not just about me. She needs this closure in her life.”
Owen hadn’t said a word, his brown eyes hazy, as though he’d tuned us out.
Jimmy was back to glaring. “Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. You love her, man. You love her and you’re scared you’ll lose her when she finds out.”
“I’m terrified, but—”
“No buts about it. I get why you delayed telling her initially. I probably would have done the same. But now? You’re traipsing around the city, searching for a dead man, and you think it’s because you want her to have closure? You are seriously delusional. And forget smallpox. If Ainsley gets a whiff of this, she’ll castrate you.”
A soccer ball bounced toward us. Jimmy shook his head at me, his damp black hair a ratty tangle. In one move, he palmed the stray ball and hopped to his feet, jogging toward a few kids messing around.
Owen stirred and sat up cross-legged. “You know I was raised by my nana, right?” I nodded. His eyes still looked glazed, his mind elsewhere. “I didn’t talk about it much when we played soccer and hung out, but I never knew my father, and my mother left us when we were kids.”
“Sounds rough.”
“It was, at times. But I’m acquainted with feeling adrift, not understanding who you are or where you come from. It drove a lot of my choices growing up—sticking with a marriage too long as an adult, pushing Ainsley away when I should have held on tighter. I get why this has been a big void in Gwen’s life, but Jimmy’s only partly right.”
“The part about me being delusional?”
He huffed out a laugh. “We all are when we’re falling in love. No two ways about it. The emotion gets too big to see right. But you’re not wrong about the closure part for Gwen. My brother held onto more anger than I did after our mother took off. It beat him down. Understanding why she left would have gone a long way to helping him live a fuller life sooner. Maybe I wouldn’t have married the wrong woman. So I get it, why you’ve waited. But everything has a way of getting out eventually. If you don’t control that information, the fallout is way worse.” The stuttering of his Adam’s apple suggested he was speaking from experience.
“If I burn the letter, she’d never know.”
“True. But you would.”
As teens we’d drink beers under the bleachers after practice, hit on girls, talk shit about the other soccer teams, but we never discussed feelings. I had no clue Owen had been through so much. I was impressed with how together he was now.
I was far from together.
Jimmy was teaching soccer drills to a few kids. I dragged my hand through the grass, plucked at it like he’d done. It reminded me of my lawn cutting days and Gwen chasing after me, shoving clippings down my shirt. I’d never tossed out the T-shirt she’d bought for me. Lawn Enforcement Officer. No matter my anger surrounding our history, I couldn’t part with the threadbare memory or delete her photo from my computer. She’d always been a part of me.
“I have to tell her,” I said quietly.
“You do.”
“I’m going to lose her.”
“You might.”
The air around me thickened. The April heatwave threatened to box me in. “I love her. In one day, my world’s tipped sideways. There’s never been anyone else for me. Doubt there ever will be.”
Owen hunched forward, hands clasped in front of his crossed legs. “If you’re honest about why, she’ll hopefully understand. Wish I had better advice.”
“It’s my mess to sleep in.”
My lungs felt blistered, charred and inflamed. Gwen had looked so hopeful at her apartment this morning, positive she’d meet her father and get the answers she sought. I’d be the one to torch that dream. She wouldn’t forgive me. Not for this.
I pressed my clenched fist to my stomach, but the jagged twisting didn’t lessen.
Helping her discover her mother had played a part in my choices. Gwen had needed to grieve, glimpse the woman who’d asked me not to let her daughter get away. But Jimmy was right, too: stalling now was selfish. Telling her meant losing her, which was the last thing I wanted.
There was no option in the end. I was her best friend. All these years later, that was my most important title. Best friends didn’t follow each other on false scavenger hunts. They forgave the unforgivable, which I’d already done. They also shared the tough stuff, truths that stung.
First thing I’d have to say when I met Gwen this morning was her father’s name.