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Unearth:
To find something that was buried in the earth.
* * *
Love buried his heart in the cold, hard ground.
Now he’s fighting to keep it there.
ONE
—TWENTY YEARS AGO—
“Max! Wait up! You’re running too fast!”
Max grinned over his shoulder but didn’t slow down. Why would he? As far as he was concerned, he and his best friend were racing. Just like every day, as they made their way home. From the moment they cleared the crosswalk in front of their elementary school, till they reached their private fort in the woods. Granted, the forest that wound through their neighborhood wasn’t exactly the route they were supposed to take, but who was going to stop them? Certainly not the crossing guard shouting after them as she trafficked an endless stream of kids across the road. And definitely not the other kids trudging along who Max and Kevin passed in a blur. Heck, half of those kids took the shortcut home, too. Which is why Max and Kevin built their secluded little tree house safely off the well-trodden path. They were sixth graders now, at the top of their school’s food chain. Didn’t need any youngsters trying to crash their party.
Max bolted past countless small, split-level homes, then cut a hard left at the next intersection. Their community pool came instantly into view, its parking lot spanning a stretch of said woods. A stretch that opened up to the very dirt path Max and Kevin footed every single day. Whether during the school season to and fro from home, or during the summer when in route to go swimming. Honestly, that strip of forest got a steady trickle of traffic pretty much all year round. And understandably so. It cut travel time by half, as opposed to taking the sidewalks.
Sneakers eating up the asphalt, Max reached the forest’s opening and tore down the hill into tree cover.
“Max!” Kevin shouted again, a dozen yards behind. “I told you, I’m not stinkin’ racing!”
Max laughed as his lungs heaved. “Only ‘cause you’re losing!”
He reached the bottom of the hill and dashed ahead, gunning it to a small, cedar bridge. Arching gently over a shallow creek, the fifteen-foot structure was still fairly new, having just appeared overnight last summer. Guess enough kids got hurt trying to cross that some grown up decided to do something about it. Not like they had homeowner associations to pay for that kind of thing like the newer, richer neighborhoods had. Max’s small feet resounded like a staccato of drum beats as he tore across its planks. He glanced at the water over the wooden railing, then stole another peek over his shoulder. Kevin had made it to the bottom of the hill, and boy did his flushed face look perturbed. Which, naturally, sent Max into a breathless bout of giggles.
“Hurry up!” he taunted, leaping off the bridge. “God, Kev, you’re so dang slow!”
Backpack bouncing riotously against his back, Max didn’t wait for a reply, just set his sights for the next approaching hill. And this one was a biggie. Twice as tall as the one he’d just descended. Another round of drum beats sounded behind him. Kevin spanning the bridge, hot on his heels. Max’s grin spread wider as he dashed down the trail, crunching over dried leaves and twigs. But when the path veered right at the base of the hill, Max just kept on trucking it straight. Right up that big, rocky, tree-strewn incline, till his legs and lungs started to burn. Behind him, Kevin’s footfalls slowed swiftly, too. Then, finally, the hill leveled off.
Max’s green eyes locked on their target destination, nestled inconspicuously among a stand of tall trees. His and Kevin’s haven, twenty yards away. Waiting for them to come and fill it. Which they’d do just as soon as they got there since it wasn’t very big.
Max downshifted to a walk, allowing his best friend to finally catch up for the last couple yards to their spot.
“You’re such a cheater,” Kevin panted, shoving Max’s shoulder.
“Am not.” Max laughed and shoved him back.
“You got a head start.”
“You got a slow start.”
Kevin giggled. “Did not.”
They arrived at their fort a few seconds later, the tiny treehouse their new pride and joy. If one could actually call it a treehouse. It only sat a couple of feet off the ground and was only walled-in on three sides. But it was attached to two close-sitting trees with a boatload of carpenter nails. Their dads had donated said nails and the wood, but the boys had insisted on doing the building. Which also meant all of the lugging. For two eleven-year-old boys, that was a task in itself. An entire day they’d spent just carting the supplies, but not a single complaint had breached their lips. It’d been their labor of love, and they’d relished every second of it. And now they were relishing the rewards.
