Page 266 of One Wild Wish

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.”