Page 244 of One Wild Wish

“And the worst?”

“It’s lonely.”

I ached at his desolate tone. I’d always imagined him surrounded by people, busy and smiling. I’d assumed his life was fuller and happier than mine, like when we’d been kids. The greener grass that was more AstroTurf than natural growth. “Aren’t you close with your band?”

“They’re good guys, but we don’t stick together. I’ve used studio musicians for different stretches of the tour. People come and go, and outside the music scene, no one really knows me. It’s not all bad. The solitude is great for writing. The venues I play are usually full, packed with music fans there to listen. I get paid doing what I love.”

It was one thing watching him play that hate-love song tonight. The possibility of watching him in concert, entertaining a smoky European club, had me itching to hop on a flight with him. To be his person who filled his lonely moments. Such a tempting idea. “Do you always play ‘Girl with the Black Heart’?”

A light laugh moved through his chest. “People go nuts over that song, but I’ll play the newer version now.”

“People are sick and twisted,” I grumbled.

“Maybe I’ll write a new song. Something cheesy. Just for you.”

“You know I like my music loud and screamy.”

He pinched my shoulder. “You also like to take the long route when we could have driven here faster, if you’d listened to me.”

I pinched him back. Because he was wrong. We kept joking, sharing. He talked about the roads in Europe and how wild the driving there was. We’d for sure murder each other navigating that madness. He confessed he missed his parents, who’d moved to Chicago for his father’s consulting work. His sister, Melody, was a high school music teacher there, all three Cruz kids drawn to the music industry in one way or another.

I explained the intricacies of my job, then he peppered me with questions about surfing and mountain biking and jumping from planes. I barely got one answer out before he shot out another. The night drew on, my eyes grew heavy. He hummed a soft tune.

I hadn’t planned to fall asleep here, but my languid limbs wouldn’t move. He hummed some more, I pressed closer. All I’d learned about my mother and her boyfriend—my father , my gut told me—looped through my mind, puzzle pieces jumbling together. He’d watched her dance, had taken her to clubs and for fast-food dinners. He’d lain with her below the stars and had treated her with respect when taking her virginity. He’d loved her. I was sure of it.

Would he really have cheated on her? Unless it had been the reverse. She could have been the other woman, an escape for him, true love he didn’t have in another relationship. The possibility wouldn’t excuse the deceit. Or maybe the girl who’d searched him out at the Blue-Eyed Raven had been a friend or coworker, a close relative.

The only clarity was August’s steadiness below me, and that this journal could lead me to my father and the answers I craved. In the light of day. Before my birthday was over. Exactly as I’d wished. No other outcome was acceptable. Not when August was leaving and the only thing that could save me from that impending heartache was finding my dad.

15

6 a.m., 18 Hours…

August

Gwen covered her mouth with her hand and spoke through her fingers. “I want to kiss you, but I can taste my breath. It could kill a small country.”

“You think I care? Mine’s just as bad.” I stalked toward her until her back was pressed against her apartment’s brick exterior. Her place was a few floors up. I wasn’t leaving without a kiss.

“If you don’t care, there’s something wrong with you.”

I caged her between my hands, but was smart enough to keep my hips back. Already, I was hard. Primed for her. If my body brushed hers, I’d be dragging her upstairs and neither of us would see our friends today. Not an unpleasant prospect…. “There’s something wrong with me, all right. I’m crazy for the girl who stole my boxers.”

“They look better on me.” Still with her hand over her mouth.

“Stop being so adorable and kiss me. We both drank water. It dilutes the morning breath. Or we can stand like this for the rest of our lives, like those street mimes who never move. I’ll paint you red and me yellow.”

Like our shirts.

We’d woken up with the sun, tangled together, smelling like ass (aka ketchup, mustard, dirt, and sex). My body had ached from sleeping on the hard ground. My heart ached every time Gwen glanced at me. My flight was at 8:10 a.m. tomorrow, which meant I had to be at the airport by 5:30. Not enough hours from now. I needed every kiss I could get. “Give in, Possum. You know I never back down.”

She rolled her eyes, and I pressed a soft kiss to her hand, as though it weren’t covering her lips. I gave it a lick and she squealed. Fast as lightning, she jerked her palm away, planted a close-lipped kiss to my mouth, then darted under my arm. I’d take what I could get.

The street was quiet, the few morning devotees either jogging or zombie-walking toward the nearest coffee joint. When she reached her building’s entrance, she paused and faced me. She smoothed her hands down the sides of her slim jeans.

As though on a spring, she hopped forward, back toward me, dodging a zombie along the way. She kept enough distance between us that she didn’t cover her mouth. “I just wanted to say, because I don’t think I did, that I couldn’t have done this without you. If you hadn’t shown up at my mother’s, I wouldn’t have known Finch was at that club. I probably wouldn’t have spoken with Uncle Rex. The ballet teacher wouldn’t have given me the time of day.”

She was all fizz and bubbles, but the air in my lungs turned flat. It was one thing to keep Mary’s letter and what I’d learned from Gwen. I didn’t need her thanking me.