Page 228 of One Wild Wish

Never loosening my hold on Gwen’s hand, I nodded to the bartender. “Is Finch in?”

The woman did a double-take. “You’re August Cruz.”

“I am.” Although people like that ballerina occasionally recognized me, I mostly flew under the radar when outside Europe. Not where my brother worked.

She planted her hands on her hips and shook her head. The feather in her bobbed hair caught the light. “I’d always hoped you’d play here. I love ‘Girl with a Black Heart.’”

From my angle, I could see Gwen roll her eyes, and I had to muffle my laugh. What had happened between us wasn’t amusing. Writing that song hadn’t been, either. But man, if we couldn’t laugh about it now, find some humor in the darkness, we’d never make it. “It’s one of my favorites,” I said, dragging Gwen closer. “I used to act it out on a voodoo doll.”

“Hardy-har-har.” This from a glowering Gwen.

The waitress detailed a bad breakup of hers, a painful time the song had paralleled. I winked at Gwen, who mouthed, Not funny . But it kind of was.

“Shoot. Sorry.” The waitress waved a frazzled hand. “I’ve monopolized you. I’ll call up to Finch, tell him you’re here.”

Gwen watched the servers bussing tables, the animated patrons chatting. I watched Gwen. She’d always had this effortless beauty about her, but it was amplified now. Her shorter hair was wavy and loose, like she’d been at the beach, her casual bangs falling longer at the sides, framing her stunning face. Looking at her hurt in a visceral way. Tore at pieces of me. Except the hickey. That mark made me smile.

Then I spotted Finch, and my smile nose-dived.

11

10:30 p.m., 25 ½ Hours…

August

Finch stood at a side door, arms crossed, legs wide, scanning the room like he owned the place. Which he kind of did. Not in name or money, but he’d rebuilt the Raven’s reputation, act by act, month by month. I’d watched his progress from afar, impressed with the growing praise. He deserved the accolades he’d earned. Didn’t make dealing with him any easier.

The second his sights locked on me, his chin jerked upward, and a fizzy feeling snaked through me. The lighting made it tough to read his expression.

“He’s coming over.” I anchored my arm around Gwen. To ground her , I told myself. But that swirling in my gut lessened.

She held her purse against her stomach. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“The owner isn’t around much, but he’s the same guy who ran the place when your mother came here. If anyone has answers for you, it’s him. Finch is your connection.”

My brother was the link to her past. Maybe her closure. Maybe mine, too. All our paths converging. Keeping tabs on my twin’s life from across the globe, pretending I didn’t want to call and congratulate him on his success, had gotten harder over the years. Seeing firsthand how lively and full the club was made me want to drag him in for a hug. None of it changed our past.

He strutted toward us, confidence in his long strides. His hair was longer than mine, curling at the base of his neck. His short beard was new. The changes made us look different, but only slightly. It was still like facing a mirror.

He stopped in front of us, took in my arm around Gwen. Our close proximity. The bastard grinned. “Are you two finally together?”

There were a thousand things we needed to hash out, but that grin had the snake pit in my gut calming. “We are.”

But Gwen said, “No,” and I jolted. She talked over herself. “I mean, we’re hanging out. But we’re not together together.”

What in the actual fuck?

The hickey on her neck was from me. Her body had been mine two short hours ago. She could kid herself all she wanted, but we were as together as together got. Something we’d deal with later. For now we were on a PI mission. “We’re looking for Uncle Rex.”

“You have an uncle Rex?” She glanced between Finch and me.

Finch shook his head. “It’s the name he goes by—the club owner. Everyone calls him Uncle Rex.” His eyes cut to me, squinting like a far-sighted man trying to read small type. “But if you want to play here, I’m the guy you speak with. Not Uncle Rex.”

The hurt on his face was plain as day. “This isn’t about playing. We need a favor.”

His squinting intensified. “And you thought you’d walk in here, ask a favor of me, when we’ve barely spoken in years?”

“I don’t know, Finch. You’re the king of asking for favors and welching on your end of the agreement.”