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I stalked closer, feeling my chest grow significantly tighter. My nose burned, which was the oddest fucking feeling. How was it possible to love someone this much?
“Where do you want me to hang it?” I gently pulled the key from her fingers.
Her dopey smile made my knees weak.
“Above the mantel, see where that picture is? Slide the key over the nail then replace the picture. That way only the two of us will know about it.”
Grinning, I did as she asked. Once the picture swung back into place, Callie was on me. Her arms went around my neck, her lips crashed against mine, and then her legs were around my waist.
We never made it to the bed that night. We ended up on the couch, and after a few rounds, I just tucked her into my chest and held her tight against me.
I thought over the conversation with her dad, then decided to push it out of my mind.
That was my first mistake.
ELEVEN
CALLIE
It was early.
The sun had just barely cleared the ridge surrounding the valley as I sat on the front porch, sipping my coffee. I had an oversized sweater over my pajama shorts. The sweater stopped mid thigh, but no one was out here to see me flash my ass if I bent over. The night spent in the cabin was as frustrating and exhausting as I assumed it would be.
After Laura and I cleaned, we went into town for food to stock the kitchen. As soon as we reached the fence to exit, there was a member from the club there to meet us and trail us into town. It annoyed Laura, but I was beyond caring anymore. I had grown up with members tailing me and following me around, so I just shoved it into the back of my mind. Once we’d returned, we began drinking. We were trying to find the silver lining of this trip, but Laura ended up passing out on the couch early, leaving me to an empty cabin full of memories.
The itch under my skin to check behind that picture for a certain key had gotten the best of me. I didn’t know why I thought it would still be there, or why I assumed Wes didn’t throw it away when he moved out. I should have just taken it with me when I left, but I was too proud and too damn angry. Sure enough, as I slid that old picture to the left, there was an outline of where the key had once been. I searched the mantel to ensure it hadn’t fallen or slipped into a crevice somewhere, but it was gone.
Now, under an early dawn, I felt foolish and annoyed. Why was I allowing my memories of Wes to define my connection to this place? It was always mine and my father’s before it was anything to Wes and me. I took another sip, allowing the foundation of this place to wash over me. When I was a little girl, my dad used to bring me out here to camp. It only lasted until I turned fourteen or so, but when I was little, it felt magical. He’d take off his leather vest and simply become my dad. Not the president, or any other person to anyone. He was just mine. We’d spend the whole weekend eating hotdogs, telling stories, and burying treasure. I wondered if any of that treasure was still buried around the property.
Leaving my mug behind, I walked behind the house and began toeing different patches of dirt with the tip of my boot. It had been years since I even looked at this part of the property, so I was a little unsure of where to even begin. Even when I briefly lived here with Wes, I didn’t come outside and look around for treasure, except for that one night, but I couldn’t even remember where we’d buried that jar, or why it hurt so much to remember that moment with my father. Sorrow crowded my chest and made it ache.
Remembering how he’d helped me get past one of the hardest chapters of my life, using our buried treasure, was something that I had always clung to. Now, my dad was gone forever. There was no reconciliation talk. No rumble of his engine, which I used to wish for when I was in my apartment in DC. No bear hug where he wrapped me in his arms, and I finally felt safe again. None of that was ever going to happen again, and for all my bravado at the funeral, grief was a knife point in my sternum, threatening to tear me open.
A tight, painful sob caught in my throat as I searched the ground.
The glass jars we used weren’t buried that deep, and the landscape didn’t seem to have changed that much. So, it should be around here, easily available.
When the ground blurred and a tear fell down my cheek, I realized this might be more of a daunting task than I originally thought. The sun made it over the hills, pouring into the valley and bathing me in gold. I sniffed, allowing more tears to fall free as I shut my eyes. Maybe I needed this.
To cry, let out all the anguish and hurt.
Fuck, I needed therapy. It was a luxury I couldn’t afford, but if I saved, or skimped on eating out, I could make it happen. I really needed to, because this shit hurt. Eventually I sunk to the ground, wrapping my arms around my knees as the new day expanded around me. The heat from the sun was already soaking into my sweater and drying my tears, when I heard someone walking.
My head snapped up, my eyes landing on the tall form roughly fifty feet from me. Here in the early morning light, Wes looked like a fallen angel. Devastatingly handsome, a look of determination and wrath painting his features in harsh lines and shadow.
My gaze narrowed, with streaks of tears still clinging to my cheeks. He was the absolute last person I wanted to see.
“What?” I yelled.
I must look ridiculous. Sitting among weeds and dead grass, dirt smudging my ass from where my pajamas had ridden up.
He stalked closer, his face an unreadable mask, like stone. There was no warmth left in him, and whatever used to be there once upon a time was long gone.
The sun created a halo effect around his head as he neared, until finally his motorcycle boots kicked up dirt near my toe and he lowered into a crouch, peering at me from wary eyes.
“I need the letter your dad left you.”
His voice came out clear and deep, like a cold river running in the depths of a cave. Those familiar eyes squinted at me as I sat in the dirt, tears staining my cheeks. Just to ground myself, I dug my nails into the earth at my sides and inhaled a shallow breath.
