12:30 p.m., 11 ½ hours…
Gwen
I dove back into my mother’s diary, still sluggish, but the underwater fog had lifted. Thanks to my Badass PI partner.
I wasn’t sure I could continue at our frantic pace: twenty-four hours of passionate sex, talks, jokes, and promises, pretending our uncertain future and messy past didn’t affect our seconds. Too many conflicting emotions had been set loose. But having him here was a start.
Forgiving myself was a milestone.
The loss of my father still lingered like a nasty sliver, the kind you struggled to remove. Having never known Ted Mercer meant it couldn’t burrow deeper.
I had, however, known my mother. I was getting to know her.
Learning what had happened between them was top priority. My new birthday wish. To understand her, prove I hadn’t been the root of her despair. Which meant this search would provide me closure, like August had said.
With him beside me, I read more pages, each one teeming with teenage angst. Nothing hinted at an unplanned pregnancy or painful breakup, but she had written an entry about babysitting and shitty diapers and not understanding why people had kids. It was a glimpse of the mother I’d known, the one who’d never wanted children. Not new information, but reading it still stung.
Then the writing changed.
The entries weren’t dated, but a page had been skipped and a different pen was used. These lines had been jotted down one at a time, across the page on a diagonal, as though written frantically. My anxiety mounted with each word.
I never really knew him.
He’ll never know about the baby.
In one night, they stole it all from me.
I didn’t know who “they” was, but dread clawed up my neck. He’d truly never known about me, the choice stolen from him because he’d hurt my mother. He’d done something bad with someone, my affair theory gaining steam. I flipped the page but found it blank. I flipped back and forth faster, the stuck ones almost ripping until I discovered one more written entry.
Secrets kill the soul. Both are now buried with my heart, on a hill, at the red rock where our baby was conceived.
That was it. Nothing else was written, but the words secrets and kill escalated my worry. The pages fluttered under my rapid breaths.
I’d known a major event had split my parents apart. Growing up, discovering the source had never been my priority. I’d been focused on finding my father, then the possibility of meeting a sibling. Whatever dramatic event had altered the course of my life had only been a background whisper.
It was screaming now.
August eased the book from my grasp and read the two passages. “It sounds like she’s talking about the lookout point, Tank Hill—I’m guessing that’s where you were conceived.”
Where August and I had slept last night. Where sex had happened. “Do you think she actually buried something there?”
“It’s cryptic, but possible.” He studied the diary, leaned so close his nose was practically in the book. “Pages are missing, a few cut out after her last note.”
I ran my fingers along the seams. The cuts were so clean they were barely noticeable. “If she removed these, believed she had to hide something, she could have buried them.”
She’d obviously enjoyed keeping a diary, had found the process cathartic. She would likely have detailed the events that had destroyed her heart. She might have buried them as a symbolic way to move on.
Secrets.
Kill.
My chill worsened.
“A time capsule,” August murmured, probably recalling the two of us digging up his back yard to bury ours. “You think Barbie-Man is in hers, too?”
I elbowed him, thankful for his humor. “Barbie-Man isn’t there, but I have a feeling my answers are.”
He moved to close the journal, but he stopped and squinted. “I think there’s…” Using both hands, he pried apart two corners I hadn’t realized had been stuck. “Something’s written here.”
I pulled his hands and the diary toward me. A small block of text was on the page:
I hope eleven years isn’t too late.
Below that vague line was contact information: one of those random email addresses that could belong to anyone ([email protected]), a phone number, and a Denver address.
“It’s like she wrote that to a specific person,” August said. “The other entries are more personal.”
I didn’t reply. Eleven years—something about the number rang a bell. I closed my eyes, ran through all I’d learned the past two days, fragments spinning, blurring. They rolled and rolled, until…
“The Greyhound employee.” I clutched August’s thigh. “He said the suitcase went missing in 2001. The diary and contents were from 1990. That’s eleven years.”
Like two synchronized swimmers, we turned our heads in time, slowly lowered our eyes to reread the new page. August tapped the journal’s edge. “Not sure what it means, but I think you’re right. The two timelines have to be connected.”
“More questions,” I mumbled, but the answers felt closer.
“We could call the number and see who picks up.”
I shook my head. “If that number was my mother’s, a secret cell or something, she won’t be picking up. If it belongs to someone else, I’d rather be prepared for whoever might answer. We should follow the other clue first, the one that mentions the hill.” Continue on the journal’s path.
We closed the book, the weight of its final clues thickening the air between us. Air already heavy with our personal tension. August was allowing me to set our pace, determine our course. Problem was, I vacillated between wanting to slow things down and fast-forward to jumping his bones, his impending departure hovering above it all.
Freaks and Geeks. Freak Show. Freaky Friday.
Dammit, I was doing it again.
He snickered at me. “I’ll meet you there. Actually, I’ll beat you there because my way is faster.”
“You’re delusional.”
“I’m right. I also plan to kiss you before I leave this car.”
“August…”
“Just a small one, Possum. There will be no sex.”
He invaded my space, ran his nose up my cheek. My belly swooped in a shivery rush. He was doing his best to distract me, like he’d done as kids. It was him being the fixer, but I didn’t sense the pity I’d witnessed back then—him making me his project. There was sadness behind his playful banter, empathy in his soft gaze.
As always with him, my mind quieted. All freaking out ceased.
Closing my eyes, I turned my head toward him. It was the only direction it could go. His lips brushed my cheek, by the corner of my mouth. His nose fitted alongside mine. Our lips lined up, and so, so softly he kissed me, a slight opening of his lips to capture mine. Our eyelashes fluttered together. His breath tickled my tongue. Heaven was built on kisses like this.
He pulled back, and I barely refrained from reaching for him and demanding more. I had firsthand experience with August’s kissing mastery, and the man was holding out, teasing me by rationing his skill. It wasn’t fair. He knew it would break my resolve. But we had a time capsule to unearth. A secret to discover. And we were losing time.
Although we were still alone, the lookout was less romantic during the day. San Francisco sprawled in all its glory below, but no stars lit the sky. The sleepy quiet of night had been replaced with movement. Cars. Birds. City sounds.
August and I stood side-by-side like we had not long ago, the backs of our hands touching. “I hit traffic,” he said, still moaning that I’d beaten him here.
“Don’t be a sore loser.”
“My way’s faster. In a scientific study, I’d win.”
“But you didn’t. And you’re wrong.”
“We’ll do it again tonight.”
“We have birthday drinks tonight.”
Our last night together. I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend it with my friends this year. A daunting decision. If I ditched them on our shared birthday, Ainsley would mix Tabasco sauce in my toothpaste, but I kept spinning things with August in my mind, fear overtaking my hurt. The idea of him leaving with us in limbo, our status unclear, was worse than getting a mouthful of hot sauce.
If I asked him to spend the night with me alone, take the time to work things out, he’d say yes. He might tell me he loved me again.
Would I find the courage to say it back?
He stood beside me now, taking in the view. His arm wasn’t around my shoulder. He wasn’t bathing me in his sultry voice. The inches between us stretched into miles, because I’d imposed another rule: the no sex rule. Like my seconds rule. Weak attempts to control the uncontrollable while my life unraveled.
The harder I tried to slow things down, the faster my imagination rolled forward. It tripped ahead, painting a picture of our imagined future, my future and the babies I wanted to have one day, how I ached for a kid with his unruly cowlicks and my determination. Our shared sense of humor. I was ready before, to try long distance with August. Then life threw me another curve ball.
Here I was again, placing my hand on my belly, wishing for a second heartbeat inside me. A child created by us.
“If you keep looking at me like that, Possum, sex will happen.” August’s husky voice broke my trance.
I swallowed and stepped back, unaware I’d been staring. “Like what?”
He stalked closer and dipped his head to my level. “Like you love me.”
I sucked in a strangled breath. That was a sneak attack. A low blow.
I couldn’t deny the claim.
He shook his head, hands held in surrender. “Forget I said that. We’re here for your mother’s time capsule. Not us. Let’s get searching.”
He smiled, as though unruffled by my brush-off, but he couldn’t fool me. Not with the tightness around his hazel eyes, the sharp angle of his jaw. Keeping him at a distance was supposed to help me cope with today’s troubling events. It had seemed the safer option. In truth, it was making everything harder.
He was ahead of me, circling the large tree crowning the hill. Last night’s swing, the one we’d sat on while covered in ketchup and mustard, dangled from a branch. My mother’s diary had mentioned a red rock, a landmark for our treasure hunt. August searched the area, then dropped into a squat and brushed at the earth.
He licked his thumb and rubbed a rock. “If she buried something, this could be the spot.”
I approached slowly, dread clutching at my ankles. As sure as I was destiny had played a part in recent events, I was equally as positive she had buried something, and whatever it was would change my life. This wasn’t meeting my father, who may or may not have been an asshole. This was discovering a secret buried for twenty-eight years.
I made it to August’s side and peered over his shoulders. “It looks like a red rock.”
He picked up a hefty stick, examined its tip. “You helping me dig?”
I nodded and found a flat rock. The effort distracted me from August and all I wanted to tell him, and from the entombed truths I wasn’t sure I was ready to learn.
The earth was dry and flinty, hard packed. Digging was an effort. I dropped to my knees, put more muscle into it. August copied my pose, the two of us sweating in minutes. I dug harder, faster. The rock tore at my hands. I ignored the cuts, didn’t bother swatting the couple flies circling my head. Sweat dripped into my eyes. August was as disheveled.
Then I hit something.
We froze and traded nervous looks. Just as quickly, we dug a wider ring, like a couple of archeologists unearthing fossils. A black box had been buried, my history captured in time. By the time we’d loosened it, dirt was caked under my nails, and I was messy again. A pattern with August and me. He took over, gently raising the keepsake.
We sat on the nearby grass, the box placed between us. I shoved my hands under my thighs. “I guess this is it.”
He wiped his forehead, smearing dirt across his brow. He nudged the box toward me. “It’s yours to open.”
I didn’t budge. All I could see was August, this man who was dirty and sweaty, all to help me. He’d forgiven my unforgivable WTF, had confessed his love. He made me feel more alive than surfing waves or scaling rocks. Whatever was in the box would change me, a twenty-eight-year-old secret that could rattle my world. But August steadied me. I’d wanted his support today. Not Rachel or Ainsley’s. His. He’d been a part of me forever.
“August?” I couldn’t touch that box without knowing we were okay.
He tilted his head, an ocean of affection swimming in his eyes. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.” I didn’t get into his choice to withhold my father’s name or my blame in that decision, or explain my statement. He was here, with me. Supporting me. Relationships were hard. There was good and bad, plummets and exhilaration—a roller coaster without a safety bar. We were proof of that, as was the love blazing inside me, still fierce after our screw-ups.
His warm gaze swept over my face and his brow crumpled. “I love you, Gwen. I know you don’t want to hear this now, but I can’t keep it in. Not with all that box represents. Not for a million reasons. But you need to know and believe that I love you. I’m here for you, no matter what happens.”
He’d said the words before, but they meant more now, after our turbulent reunion: we were strong enough to move past our painful mistakes. He was my best friend, the only man or boy I’d ever loved. He’d made my childhood bearable and had given me more joy the past two days than I’d experienced in years. Not because I hadn’t been happy. I loved my life and my friends. This was more than happy, though, bigger and brighter.
He was the reason my sun would rise tomorrow.
It was how my mother had mooned about my father, before he’d hurt her. And like her, I couldn’t form the words. The fire in my throat burned them up.
Instead, I said the worst thing. The crazy Gwen thing.
I looked at the love of my life, and said, “I hate that I’m on the pill.”
August became a statue. “What did you say?”
I tried to rewind and eat my words. I hate that I’m on the pill. Only an idiot would blurt that raw truth. An absolute moron. I closed my eyes, hoping I’d disappear.
“I can still see you, Gwen. What did you say?”
“I hate that I’m on this hill?” The lie came out like a question.
He crawled toward me, forcing me to lie back. The intense lines of his face could cut glass. “No. No. That’s not what you said.”
I tried to shove him off, but his hands and knees caged me. I shimmied, but he didn’t budge. “Finding the box got to my head, made me dizzy. Being up here feels too high.”
“You jump out of airplanes and off bridges. You’re trying to tell me lying safely on the ground is suddenly giving you a fear of heights? Try again.”
He might love me. That didn’t mean he wanted to hear about my ticking biological clock. Talk of babies was a fast track to losing the guy, but there was no escaping him or what I’d blurted. I quit wriggling and groaned. “After we had sex in my apartment, the first thing I thought was that I wished I wasn’t on the pill. I wanted you to come inside me. I wanted us to join in every way possible. Make a baby. So I could have a piece of you forever. I’m sorry. I know how it sounds, and we’ve—”
His lips descended on mine, swallowing my embarrassed babbling. Our desperate moans mingled. I tugged his hair. He sucked on my bottom lip, each taste deeper than the last. Our tongues licked and slid restlessly.
Once. Again. More, more, more.
This wasn’t the sweet kiss that built heaven. This was the kiss that sent well-meaning people to hell.
His lips moved in a carnal rhythm, erotic and panty-melting. A rock dug into my back. I didn’t care. We were at it again, dry-fucking like kids in a lookout spot. This time in broad daylight.
He came up for air, panting. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I want us to have a baby.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“You have no idea how serious I am.” He pressed his erection into me, right where I ached.
I liked his serious a whole lot. “You want a baby?”
“No. Not a baby. I want our baby. I want us. A family. God, I love you. I’ve loved you forever. I’ve never wanted anything this much, Gwen.”
A baby. Our baby. “Seriously?”
“Ask me again, I’ll tell you again.”
I pressed my knees into his hips, keeping him close, wanting him closer. “We haven’t even been on a proper date. Baby talk goes against all pre-first-date rules.”
“There are no rules with us, Possum. How many times do I have to tell you that? And I don’t want a baby tomorrow, but you’re it for me. The possibility of having a future with you? A family? That’s all I need.”
“I love you.” My harshly whispered promise caught me off-guard.
“My girl,” he crooned. We breathed in sync, and I inhaled his soapy man scent, a hint of spice mixing with the dirt below us. I didn’t want to move from this spot—under him, with him, safe in his arms. He lifted up suddenly, intent in his stunning eyes. “I’m going to marry you one day, Gwen Hamilton.”
I bit my lip as my eyes filled. My pulse pounded in my ears. This beat the rush of flying alongside an eagle or conquering my CrossFit goals. It was adrenaline on steroids. I was so far gone for this man…still and always.
I slipped my hands up the back of his shirt, splayed my palms on his heated skin. The planes of his muscles tightened. It was the wrong move. Our heavy petting accelerated to groping, neither of us able to hit the brakes. He fitted his hand under my ass, tilted me up while thrusting, the thick denim between us infuriating. We should stop. We should breathe. I reached for his belt buckle.
And a childish screech sliced through the air.
We flew apart, breathing hard. A blond boy with a model airplane crested the hill, pumping his pudgy legs while flying his toy. I licked my lips, tasting August and his promise to marry me one day. God. His eyes were as dark as I’d ever seen them. My body burned, sensitive and swollen.
The boy’s parents followed shortly, casting wary glances our way. Not that I blamed them. We looked homeless again, covered in dirt, clothes askew.
August straightened his T-shirt and motioned to the box. “We should probably focus on this.” Still, he eyed me hungrily and adjusted himself in his jeans.
That move ruined me. We should open the box, but I only had one night left with him. Whatever was in there would change everything. I kept picturing Raiders of the Lost Ark and ghosts ripping through the air, sucking the life out of all who dared lay eyes on the ark of the covenant. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t turn into a liquefied skeleton, but the contents we unearthed could devastate me, ruin my last moments with August. As desperately as I wanted answers, the box would be here tomorrow. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t.
I needed one night with him, an afternoon even, before I unleashed my mother’s secrets. “Will you meet me?” I asked, suddenly tentative. “At my place.”
“You’d rather open it there?”
“I’d rather shower with you there. I’ll deal with the box later.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed down his tanned throat. “I’ll drive your way,” he said. “I think it’s faster.”