Page 50 of Tracking Wolfe

Thankfully, none of them had quite figured it out yet, but it seemed inevitable that they would. Unless… unless I could figure out a way to stop it.

I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to find a solution, but by the time I had to head back for the campground dinner, I was no closer to finding an answer than before.

And despite what Gabe had advised, I wasn’t strong enough to do the hard thing.

Not when telling Wolfe what I knew might make him run again.

13

WOLFE

I knew I needed to head back to Jake’s this afternoon, but I was having a hard time figuring out what to say when I got there. How I felt about things with Jake.

He’d been sweetly protective of me earlier, and I knew that was yet another indication that he was a good guy. Jake checked all the boxes. He was kind and considerate, interested in me, and protective. He’d seen my real name and hadn’t used it against me. I had to assume he didn’t know who Wolfe Marian was, but even so, he hadn’t exposed my secret to anyone.

Jake was also fiercely proud of his sister and encouraged her music dreams, even though she wasn’t likely to win over any talent scouts in the industry. He was exactly the kind of person I would want to date…

If I weren’t hung up on Trace Bishop.

And the more I thought about it, the angrier I became. Because before Trace showed up, I’d been doing well.

Getting over him… kind of.

Starting something with Jake… maybe.

Instead of disconnecting the van and heading back to the bar, I sat down at the picnic table to make a few notes in my journal. I wanted to mark the date of my encounter with Trace and try to put my feelings into words, knowing I’d look back on it one day and remember this mixed-up feeling.

The feeling of wanting something but knowing it was the absolute worst thing for me.

While I wrote, the familiar sounds of the campground soothed my anxiety. I’d gotten used to the relative peace and quiet, but I also appreciated hearing snippets of Brennan talking to Pup as he walked the cat on her leash. The sounds of the Reynoso kids giggling over their attempts to get better at jump rope tricks. The soft sound of Armand affectionately lecturing Thierry for sneaking one of his two daily cigarettes.

I let the sounds wash over me as I poured out my heart onto the page, the words automatically sorting themselves into lyrics here and there. As I heard them in my mind, I made notes about chords and composition.

My focus was deep enough that I didn’t notice a truck pull up until it was turning into my site behind the van. I blinked and stood before recognizing Shay and Jake in the front seat.

As soon as Jake put the truck in Park, Shay hopped out, squealing with happiness. “Oh my god! Thank you so much! I can’t believe you did this!”

She was cradling a guitar in her arms like a newborn baby, and I quickly realized Jataya must have acted crazy-fast on my request to the foundation.

I raised my arms with a laugh. “That’s not from me.”

Jake rolled his eyes and shook his head. “No use denying it, Will.” He thumbed toward Shay before nodding at the back of my van. “California return address, California plates.”

Shay lunged at me, giving me an awkward hug with the guitar pressed between us. “Who else would it have been? Thank you, thank you! I can’t believe it!”

Had I imagined the emphasis he’d put on my fake name? And the license plate thing was a ridiculous assumption.

“Fine,” I admitted, returning Shay’s hug. “I know of a charitable foundation that supports musicians in need. You were a musician in need, so it was an easy recommendation. I’m glad you like it.”

Jake eyed the van up and down, walking around to check it out with a whistle of appreciation. “Nice rig. I figured you had something fancy, but this is… wow.”

He leaned in to poke his head inside, and I suddenly felt embarrassed by my wealth. “It’s really nice,” I began. “I feel spoiled.”

“What do you do for a living?” he asked in a lower voice. “That you can afford something like this?”

Heat flooded my cheeks and neck. “Oh, er. I’m…” A shit liar. “I work for a nonprofit.”

He barked out a laugh. “Right.”