I rested my full weight on him. He hugged me tighter. Our breaths slowed and thinned. I drifted off slightly, in and out of a foggy sort-of sleep, eventually waking half-on and half-off him. My room was dark, only a hallway light illuminating the space. I briefly wondered if I’d dreamed the letter and details I’d learned. I wasn’t sure if I wanted this revelation to be real or imagined.
Real, I thought to myself. As real as the man who’d gathered me close to his thudding heart.
“I bet today is hard for her,” I said, my voice thick from napping.
August stirred and hummed his agreement. “But it’s your birthday, and it’s already been rough. It’s up to you how we spend it. You can call Sarah, if that number still works. We can hang out with your friends.” He slipped his hands up my shirt and tickled my back. “We can spend it in bed.”
As nice as that sounded, I was too overwrought to have sex. I kept glancing at the diary, the unearthed note. Couldn’t stop picturing Sarah struggling today, hating herself for the choice she’d made. A deeper self-loathing than I’d ever experienced.
“I’d like to call her,” I said, unsure it was the smart move, yet unable to put it off. “And I’d like to see the girls tonight.” My support network. The women I’d be leaning on after August left. “Is that okay?”
“Only if I can kiss you all night long.” He planted several soft ones on my lips.
“I’ll need as many as you can give. They’ll have to last me awhile.”
We kissed some more, slow and deep. He hardened against my thigh but didn’t roll his hips or increase his groping. He knew exactly what I needed.
He grunted eventually and nudged me fully off him—a man could only take so much. I fell into the dirt pile smearing my bed.
He grimaced. “We need to shower again. A no-sex shower,” he added, his voice gruff. “Then you can call Sarah, and then I’ll take you out for your birthday. After, we’ll talk about when I’m coming back to San Francisco and how excited I am for you to meet me in Germany. I’m gonna spoil you rotten. That cool with you, Possum?”
As nervous as I was about my impending phone call, as devastated as I was for him to drive to the airport at 5:30 a.m., my smile couldn’t be faked. After all these years, August Cruz was my boyfriend. “It sounds perfect.”
I sat on my couch, legs tucked under me, the phone heavy in my hand. My pulse feathered rapidly. I tried dialing Sarah’s number several times, only to hit End each time. Part of me hoped the number was a dud, that I wouldn’t be able to reach her yet. An excuse to pretend my life was normalish for one more night. A foolish wish.
August was in the bedroom, giving me privacy. I couldn’t see him, but his proximity boosted my courage. I dialed again. The phone rang. I didn’t hang up.
Pound, pound, pound went my thundering heart. I pressed the phone harder to my ear. The ringing persisted. No one picked up. My reluctance shifted to desperation. A full one-eighty of mood swings. She had to answer. It had to be her number. Learning I’d never meet my father had been a harsh blow. This suddenly seemed essential, to hear Sarah’s voice, connect with a parent. Tonight. Now.
The tendons in my neck felt ready to snap.
“Hello?” A voice answered. Her voice. My mother.
I opened my mouth to reply. Nothing came out.
“Hello?” Louder this time. There was a sweetness to her tone, modulated and pleasant. She didn’t sound like me or her sister. She didn’t sound like anyone I knew. She was a stranger, who was anything but. Another mother I wanted to know.
“Hi…” I cleared my scratchy throat. “I’m sorry to call like this. I’m just… This is…” I’d never been less eloquent in my life, the alphabet jumbling in my head.
“Who is this?” An edge crept into Sarah’s cordial tone.
The truth had never seemed so daunting, three strangled words that would change both our lives forever. Finding my father had been a lifelong task, one I’d believed would have a concrete result. Like learning his name would give me closure. The treasure at the end of a grueling hunt. This wasn’t the end, though. Finding my mother was the beginning. A journey I was ready to start.
Reminding myself how near August was, how full my life would always be, I said, “I’m your daughter.”
She sucked a harsh breath. “Gwen?” Gone was her wariness, the tremble in my name hinting at tears.
My vision blurred. “It’s me.”
“But how?”
“It’s a long story.” The craziest of birthday adventures. “But the luggage you sent years ago got lost and turned up yesterday. Then I found your journal and the box on Tank Hill. I don’t know what to think or do, but…I needed to call.”
Sobbing slipstreamed through the line, ragged inhales. “Oh, Gwen. My Gwen.”
Each word swelled in my chest, so much hurt and love abrading her voice. Mine couldn’t pass the fire lining my throat. I pressed my hand to my quivering lips. It didn’t help. My tears fell, hope and regret wetting my cheeks. “I didn’t know who you were. I got the cards, but I didn’t know.”
“How could you?”
“Mom never said a word.” Mom. Mary. The woman who gave up her life to raise me.
“I should have called. I shouldn’t have assumed, but Gwen…I just couldn’t. I wasn’t strong enough. I didn’t think I deserved you.”
Exactly why I’d pushed August away. Like mother, like daughter.
A sniffly laugh escaped. “I can’t believe this.”
Her crying intensified. It set me off again, the two of us blubbering shamelessly. Eventually, she gained control over her breaths, each one slowing. Mine calmed as well. A shudder passed from her end. Then, “Happy birthday, baby.”
A birthday I’d never forget.
11:11 p.m., 49 Minutes…
Gwen
It was later than intended by the time August and I met our friends. Kissing happened before we left my apartment. Then on the street. In the taxi. Outside the taxi. As much kissing as we could fit in during his last hours.
Talking with Sarah had helped clear my mind slightly. We’d kept the conversation short, both of us too emotional to say much. We’d made plans to talk again tomorrow. I was nervous for that exchange, one that would likely be more jarring. Painful wounds would be opened for us both. Whatever the outcome, it had to happen. She needed to know what my childhood had been like. I needed to know her life. We had to figure out who we were to each other.
I’d never been more thankful to see Rachel and Ainsley.
Their chosen bar was busy for a Sunday night. Industry night, they called it, for chefs and servers who usually worked while others partied. Hanger 47’s tall ceilings gave the room an airiness, the corrugated walls, vintage lighting, and airplane memorabilia super cool.
Before August and I ordered drinks, the girls spotted us and dragged me away from the group.
Ainsley gave me the once-over. “You’re late and you haven’t returned my texts. What kind of best friend do you think you are?”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “What she means to say is, are you okay? Is everything good with you and August?”
“Right. Yeah. That.” Ainsley nodded. Her curvy figure was pronounced in a stunning cream dress with sheer sleeves and a dangerously high hemline. Rachel’s risqué cutaway dress was courtesy of Ainsley, too. Personal shopper extraordinaire. I’d have to book her for an afternoon, use her expertise to source a sexy ensemble for my Germany trip.
My sights drifted past the tattooed clientele who frequented this place—most ink depicting a vegetable or cooking utensil on arms or necks—and landed on my guy. August was chatting with Owen and Jimmy. Cameron and Emmett joined them with fresh drinks. August spoke with his friends, but his heated glances cut my way often.
I may not have sipped any wine yet, but a warm path slid down inside my chest. “Everything is amazing with August,” I told the girls.
Rachel sighed. “She’s fallen in love.”
“It’s
sickeningly sweet.” Ainsley beamed at me.
If I looked as dopey as them when they swooned over their men, sickeningly sweet was the perfect description. “I booked a flight to meet him in Germany. We’re determined to make this work.” I didn’t mention August’s and my baby talk, our hopes to one day have kids. I felt too fragile. But it sent my mind to my newfound history, how it would feel to give up my yet-to-be conceived child. My insides twisted at the thought.
Rachel touched my wrist lightly. “If things are good, why do you look sad?”
“He’s leaving,” Ainsley said, pointing out the obvious. “Of course she’s sad.”
I was sad August was going, but excited, too. I would torment the man of my dreams through dirty texts. Seeing him again would be the best kind of reunion. “Saying goodbye to him will be painful, but some other big stuff happened.”
Rachel and Ainsley stared at me, wide-eyed, as I laid out my crazy day and the diary details, how August had kept the information from me, that act leading to the biggest case us two Badass PI partners had ever cracked: my father and the woman who’d raised me were dead, but my aunt was my mother…and she was alive.
“You never found your father, but you found your mother instead,” Ainsley said, awed. “I’m barely standing after that revelation. How are you on your feet?”
Rachel wiped a tear from her freckled cheek. “Because she’s the strongest woman we know.”
I glanced down at my body. August had unleashed a sexy growl when he’d seen me in my leather pants, three-inch heels, and red strapless top. He’d said he loved how strong I was.
Standing here, still on my feet after my insane day, wasn’t because I could do burpees and box jumps. Growing up in a cold home had toughened me. I’d learned to breathe through stress, repeat stupid movie titles if needed. Play not-very-good guitar. Now I had a man who loved me and the best friends a woman could want. I’d earned this inner strength.
All I said was, “Of course I’m here. I wouldn’t miss our birthdays.”
The three of us hugged, our twenty-seventh year almost over. Year twenty-eight would knock it out of the park.
“With August gone, we’ll have to rally.” Ainsley rubbed my arm. “I’ll bake you my famous spinach brownies.”
Rachel and I traded horrified looks. “It’s not necessary,” I said.
“Of course it is.”
“It’s really not.”
“Owen loves them. I’ll make a double batch.”
Those vegan brownies tasted like cardboard mated with grass. If Owen ate them, he either had the palate of a starving prisoner, or he was the best boyfriend this side of Canada.
“I’ll make extra for you, too,” Ainsley told Rachel.
“Will you look at the time?” Rachel glanced at her slender wrist, which didn’t house a watch. “Pretty sure it’s almost midnight. We should get back to the boys.” Crafty girl, dodging the brownies.
She kissed my cheek before we moved. “But Ainsley’s right. Not about the awful brownies, but about us rallying. We’re here for you. If you need a breather, come visit me in Napa. If you need me to make an emergency trip here, just say the word.”
I squeezed her elbow. “I’d be lost without you ladies. And you realize what this means, right?” When I had their attention, I pulled three folded papers from my front pocket.
They both gasped.
“I forgot we did that,” Rachel said.
This time last year, we’d made resolutions that would change our lives. We’d written them on papers to hold ourselves accountable. Rachel and Ainsley had fulfilled theirs months ago. Mine had seemed impossible, the distant hope to know my father having slipped through my fingers when Mary had died.
I may not have met him, but I’d discovered his name, my history, and I’d hopefully be meeting my birth mother in the coming months. “I’d say we rocked the shit out of our birthday wishes.”
“Was there ever any doubt?” The pride in Ainsley’s voice was contagious.
I gave the girls their papers and pocketed mine. “To another amazing year.”
Ten minutes before the clock struck midnight, we joined our men. Jimmy pulled Rachel’s back into his chest and wrapped his arms around her. Owen did the same with Ainsley and played with the pendant hanging from her necklace.
August winked at me and picked up a glass of red wine from the bar. “Figured you’d want this.”
“You’re a mind reader.” I did want the wine. I also wanted him. In a simple white T-shirt and faded jeans, he was lickable. My libido revved back to life.
He tucked me into his side and raised his glass to the group. “Is there a birthday wish on tap this year?”
“I don’t need a wish to get what I want,” Ainsley said. I expected her to make a show of kissing Owen, but she batted her Lancôme lashes at his brother. “If Emmett doesn’t tell me what Owen’s tattoo means, I’ll tell his boyfriend about the gift I’m buying for Emmett’s birthday this year.”
Emmett narrowed his eyes at her. “Nice try, but this guy”—he flicked his thumb toward Cameron, whose hand was in Emmett’s back pocket—“knows what I’m packing below.”
Playing along, Cameron waggled his eyebrows. “Any bigger and I’d be in trouble.”
Undeterred, Ainsley tapped her index finger against her chin, as though contemplative. “I’m not sure I believe you, and I bet the crowd here might wonder why I feel obliged to buy you a…PENIS PUMP.”
She said it loud enough that a few people turned their heads.
I snickered. The fact that Owen had Japanese words tattooed on his ass was funny. The fact that he’d been clueless to their meaning until this year was priceless. The cheeky (pun intended) man now refused to tell Ainsley. Just to torture her.
“Not amusing,” Emmett said, then grumbled something under his breath.
“I’m still waiting.” Ainsley cleared her throat, ready to crow.
Emmett jutted his chin at Owen. “Just tell her already. She’ll only get worse.”
“It’s true,” Rachel said. “She’s like a fashionable pit bull.”
Owen dashed a hand through his sandy hair and shrugged. He leaned down and whispered in Ainsley’s ear. She bit her lip and covered her heart with her hand as she listened. Blue eyes glazed, she looked at Emmett. “You’re forgiven for not telling me.”
“Now I want to know,” I said. Ainsley rarely got choked up.
She ignored me and pressed a kiss to Owen’s chest.
“So no real wishes?” Jimmy asked us.
“Come on,” August said, jumping on Jimmy’s prodding. “Isn’t this wish thing a big deal with you ladies?” The way his smolder slid to me suggested he wanted a say in mine.
Rachel studied Ainsley and me, both of us wrapped up in our men, then she clinked her wineglass against Jimmy’s. “I think we all have what we need. It’s also about that time.”
The start of our twenty-eighth year.
We all shrunk into groups of two, happy to celebrate our new beginnings privately, and I had a slew of new beginnings to contemplate.
August pulled me around to face him. My favorite fresh start. “I love you, Possum. I know the last couple days have been nuts, but being with you is better than I could have dreamed.” My best friend pressed me against the bar and kissed me deeply, unconcerned by the busy room.
I nipped his bottom lip. “Best birthday yet.”
I didn’t need a resolution this year. If anything, I’d need as much status quo as possible, considering the changes I’d be facing: meeting my mother, balancing my job and interests with my man and my friends, sustaining a long-distance relationship.
August’s warm gaze roved over my face. “You sure you’re doing okay?”
Staring up at him, my answer came easily. “Surprisingly, yes. Tomorrow will be a different story, but we have now.”
“Our seconds,” he whispered.
“Every last one,” I agreed.
Two Years and Seven Sec
onds Later
August
My strut offstage wasn’t pretty. I nearly bailed over a set of cables, I accidentally knocked over the water glass I’d had the roadies set out, and I almost dropped my guitar while handing it off. Getting my hands on Gwen trumped a smooth exit.
Fans were great. Performing was a rush. Nothing beat wrapping her in my arms, especially when it had been three long weeks.
She grinned when I stepped backstage, clapping like it was the first time she’d seen me in concert. “You were amazing.”
I lifted her up and pressed my face into her neck. “Missed you so fucking much.”
She giggled when I bit her collarbone. “I couldn’t get here fast enough. Wish I could have caught the start of the show.” She said this while covering my face in kisses. I landed a dirty one on her mouth.
My brother wolf-whistled, obnoxiously enough to pull us apart. “You don’t get paid more for the peep show.”
I snagged a guitar pick from my pocket and flicked it at him. “Might need to amend my contract.”
He failed to bat away my pathetic assault and the pick hit his cheek. He curled his lip playfully. “Doubt Uncle Rex will be flexible, but I could book you at Hunk-O-Mania. Bet those women would slide money down your G-string if you show skin.”
Having Finch as my manager had invigorated my North American career, enough that I could split my time between Europe and here. Unfortunately, it came with his smart mouth. “The only woman I strip for is right here.” I kissed Gwen again.
Finch groaned. “You guys need to keep the PDA on lockdown.”
Gwen blew him a kiss. “Not a chance.”
Grumbling, he marched off, and I breathed in all things Gwen. “Happy birthday, Possum. Sorry it’s slightly late.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s the best one yet.”
“You say that every year.”
“I mean it every year.”
If we were alone, I’d make sure nothing beat this year’s celebration. I’d glide her zipper down and slip my hand into her panties, coat my fingers in her wetness and make her shudder. Then I’d make love to her all night. All morning, too. Man, did I miss her.
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