Page 225 of One Wild Wish

I worked methodically, going through the steps of shoving the journal in my purse, leaving my car, and locking up extra slowly. Delay, delay, delay. A hot dog vendor was down the block, thick scents of charred meat teasing my nose. My belly rumbled. Our cheese and fruit earlier had only been a snack. I was hungry for food. I was hungry for August. I was not hungry to learn about the thing that wasn’t nice to discuss.

I moved to the sidewalk and anchored myself against the car. “Go ahead. Rip off the Band-Aid.”

His right hand was in his pocket. The fabric bulged rhythmically. He probably had a guitar pick in there. Whenever August was nervous or uneasy, he’d spin his pick restlessly. Like now. He gnawed on his bottom lip. “Finch manages the Blue-Eyed Raven.”

I pitched forward slightly. “Excuse me?”

“Exactly.”

Well, wasn’t that just my luck? The day I made love with the brother I’d always wanted, I had to stand in a building with him and the one I should never have fucked. Good times, Gwen Hamilton. “How is that even possible?”

“How is it possible I show up at your door the same day as your mother’s lost luggage?”

A slew of impossible impossibilities. I glanced toward the club, then to August, then at the inky sky. Nerves twisted my insides. I replayed Rachel’s comment earlier, how she’d thought her birthday wish had been touched with magic and that believing in the unbelievable had given her the push she’d needed to fulfill her resolution. My self-imposed sink-or-swim deadline was in twenty-six hours, and fate had been dumping a pile of life preservers on my head.

August was entwined in this search, for some reason. Now his brother was, too. Trying to figure out why would drain energy and time I didn’t have. The bigger issue was how seeing Finch would affect August now. The confrontation could shake the rickety suspension bridge we were navigating.

Maybe it already had.

Questions built in my throat until it burned. “Do you regret sleeping with me?”

He was on me in a heartbeat, his hands cradling my face. “No. Not for a second. Why would you think that?”

Relief flooded me, but barbs still chafed my windpipe. I hooked my thumbs through his belt loops. “The drive here—you were so…distracted? I mean, I get that seeing Finch now isn’t ideal, but he’s your brother. We can’t avoid him forever.” Which implied August and I had forever. Seconds , I reminded myself. This was nothing more than seconds and right now and enjoying the moment. I had a life here. A job. He was leaving. The barbs dug deeper.

He loosened his hold on me, enough that the scratch of his calluses became more pronounced. “The only regret I’ll ever have with you, Gwen, is taking too long to pull my head out of my ass to understand we’re bigger than what went down between us. This thing with Finch—my moodiness on our way here—is partly because of that, but there’s more to it. Stuff I didn’t want to discuss tonight.”

“What stuff?”

Spine rigid, his attention drifted over my head, to the club beyond. “You sure you want to hear this now?”

“We’re about to see Finch, so I think the answer to that is obvious.”

The muscles in his jaw shifted, working mercilessly. I kissed the clenched knot and he softened slightly. “I know you think Finch and I always got along, but things got tense between us during high school.” He tilted his head side-to-side, brushing his cheek against my lips. “It’s great having an identical twin, growing up with someone who’s literally a part of you. I wouldn’t trade our childhood for anything. But looking the same comes with expectations of acting the same, performing the same. It frustrated the hell out of Finch.”

He leaned back slightly, his eyes shifting from distracted to piercing. Like he’d forgotten I was in front of him. “You are so goddamn beautiful.”

My heart swelled three sizes. “Are you stalling?”

He stared at me until my pulse pounded in my ears. “I might need you to pinch me sporadically, because I keep thinking I’m dreaming. The fact that I can touch you, kiss you”—he planted a hard one on my lips—“floors me. So if I stop mid-sentence from time to time to tell you how gorgeous you are, that your green eyes remind me of the first breath of spring, you’ll have to deal with it.”

I pinched his upper arm, as requested. To lighten the mood. To shrink my heart back to its proper size. Any bigger and the effects would be irreversible. “I see where you get your lyrics from.”

“Many from you, Possum.”

Oh, dear Lord. “Let’s not discuss ‘Girl with the Black Heart.’”

He shrugged a shoulder, no apology in his open gaze. I didn’t want an apology. I’d deserved every biting word. “Back to the Finch issue,” I said, nudging August’s hip with mine.

He turned and planted his sexy behind against my car. I wanted to worship his ass. Bite the firm globes. Suck on the length of him until he shuddered and spilled into my mouth. God, even here, minutes from facing Finch and searching for my father, I could do little more than fantasize about August.

He drew me into his chest. “Finch started acting out end of our junior year. He was pissed I was chosen to captain our soccer team. He started smoking weed regularly. His grades dropped, like really dropped, and every time our folks celebrated something I did, he’d withdraw more. Not with his friends. He’d put on his Finch smile and pretend all was roses, but at home he’d barely look at me. It got worse the start of our senior year. You and I had stopped speaking, but I knew he still spent time with you, so I…” His arm tightened around my shoulder. “I asked him for a favor.”

“Am I going to like this favor?”

“Unlikely.”

Not that it mattered. He’d forgiven my unforgivable WTF. There were no grudges left to hold, not now, all these years later. I squeezed his waist, telling him I’d support him. I was here for him, the way I wished I’d been for the past nine years.