by Sophie Davis
Admittedly, it wasn’t the greatest plan devised—Lark was the mastermind, not me. But it was also all I could think of just then, so it’d have to do.
Next to me, one of the children in the double stroller let out an earsplitting wail. The sudden noise made me jump, and I fought the urge to cover my ears to preserve my hearing for future use. The children’s mother must have noticed my reaction because she was quick to offer an apology.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “The twins are usually so well-behaved in public. This place,” she made a small circle with her index finger meant to encompass the entire chain coffee shop, “is a little overwhelming for them. Especially little Evie.”
The woman beamed with pride as she bent down and swept a tuft of unruly dark hair from her daughter’s forehead.
“Johan is usually my little troublemaker,” she added.
The tiny toddler, Johan, cooed at the mention of his name, then reached a pudgy arm over and placed it around his sister.
Unable to help myself, I grinned. The twins were adorable. Watching them interact tugged at my heartstrings. For as long as I could remember, I’d desperately wanted a sibling. Someone to share not just life’s ups and downs, but things like family vacations and Christmas morning. Someone who loved me, even when she didn’t like me. Someone who wasn’t my parents.
Was that why I felt so close to Lark? Reading her journal gave me a perspective on her life that even her closest friends didn’t have. It created a bond between us that few ever shared with another person. Despite all the odds, I knew the real Lark. Her insecurities, her worries, her secrets.
When this was all over, would we become friends?
Would I share with her all of the parts of me that I hid from the rest of the world?
The woman sitting next to me blew on her coffee, worry darkening her gaze. She shifted in her seat, and I realized that she was waiting for me to say something.
“It’s no bother,” I said, waving off the woman’s apology. And then for good measure added, “They’re really adorable.”
The mother swelled with maternal pride, the slight blush of embarrassment that had crept into her cheeks disappearing.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
With one last smile at the twins, I returned my attention to the search for Blake. Still at a loss, I browsed several more articles about his soccer matches at Georgetown. The write-ups were impersonal, mentioning little beyond his position—center midfield—and stats. Even the one interview I stumbled across failed to list a major or hint at where he spent his free time.
Feeling defeated, I clicked over to Georgetown’s athletic department page in a last-ditch attempt to learn something that might help me find Blake on a campus of nearly eight thousand. And finally struck gold. The elite university’s soccer team practiced at six p.m. daily, at the stadium on Hoya Drive.
Yahtzee! I thought, faith in my sleuthing abilities renewed. Maybe after this was all over, I really would open a PI business. Solving a case like this—saving a missing diamond heiress—would definitely give me street cred.
Glancing at the digital clock in the bottom right hand corner of my laptop screen, I was surprised to find that it was already just after noon.
Wow, where had the morning gone?
There were still five hours to kill before Blake’s scheduled practice time. Which meant I had just over five hours to work up enough courage to spy on Lark’s boyfriend.
Part of me was excited—giddy, even—at the thought of seeing Blake Greyfield in real life. Not that I had any reason to feel that way. It wasn’t like I was the one he’d be over the moon to reunite with—I was well aware of that fact and not harboring any delusions otherwise. And yet, I still felt jittery with anticipation.
Conversely, there was also a part of me that dreaded seeing Blake. And I did understand that feeling. Now that I’d confirmed Blake’s existence, my heart broke for him.
What must he have gone through since she’d vanished?
What must he still be going through?
Even if his love for Lark was a mere shadow of her love for him—doubtful, after everything I’d read—the guy must be in agony over her disappearance. Worrying constantly about her safety. When I saw him, would I really be able to keep all I knew inside? Didn’t Blake have a right to know that Lark hadn’t just decided she was done with him and taken off? That there was someone or something out to harm her? Whether it was because she’d been kidnapped or…hurt because of it, or that she’d run away to save herself, Lark’s disappearance wasn’t her choice. Her choice was Blake. To be with him, no matter the consequences. That’s what she’d wanted and had been planning for—to move to DC to be with him.
But, did he know that?
If I were Blake, would I want to know?
Too many questions, too few answers.
One thing I knew for sure: Asher was so not coming along to watch me stalk Blake. For that matter, it was probably best if I didn’t even divulge what I was going to do. Given my neighbor’s protective instincts where I was concerned, it would just cause a problem.
With my plan in place, I packed up my things and started walking home from Starbucks. Just as I began devising excuses to ditch him for the evening, lady luck paid me a visit. To my utter astonishment and immense relief, eluding Asher for the evening was ridiculously simple, only requiring a brief textual exchange:
Asher: Got plans tonight?
Me: Nothing special.
Asher: I have class until 7:30. Wanna do a late dinner around 8:30?
Me: Sounds good. I’ll buy.
That earned me a smiley face from him, matching the one spread across my own features.
In truth, I felt bad lying to Asher. He’d been nothing but kind and caring and helpful since our very first encounter.
I’ll tell him all about it over dinner, I decided, appeasing my conscience. I mean, maybe. Probably. Possibly. Who am I kidding? That’s totally unlikely.
Since I wasn’t going to speak to Blake, it wasn’t like I’d learn any new or vital information that would help us find Lark. Besides, Asher might think I was nuts for going to find the guy from a stranger’s diary. I didn’t want or need my only friend in D.C. questioning my mental stability.
****
After a couple hours of mundane distractions, I was nervously awaiting the time to head over to Georgetown. In true creeper fashion, I listened at my door for the sound of Asher leaving for his evening class. Then, I waited while fifteen long, agonizing minutes ticked away before I, too, exited the Gibson Street row home. Once in my car, I punched the address for Georgetown’s stadium into my GPS. It was a little before five o’clock, and the GPS had my ETA at 5:08 p.m. That gave me about an hour to find public parking, and hoof it to the stadium. Assuming parking in Georgetown was as bad, if not worse, than everywhere else in the city, I might need every spare minute.
Of course, once I reached the cobblestoned streets of the posh district, I found that it was definitely as bad. Way worse, in fact. Unable to find anything closer, I had to park in a residential neighborhood set three blocks back from the mini shopping mecca and bar scene that Georgetown was known for. And a lot farther from the stadium.
The evening was cooler than the previous few, though I was still comfortable in my wine-colored J. Crew shorts and white t-shirt. If my calculations were correct—though I was, admittedly, directionally challenged—it would be a ten-block walk through streets filled with tidy townhouses and luxury sports cars. Stretching my legs felt good, and the walk went a long way toward burning off the nervous energy coursing through my veins.
The envelope I’d found at the bank was in my messenger bag, the weight of it causing my shoulder to ache after only a few blocks. Maybe I should’ve put it in the outgoing mail first thing that morning. Or at two, when I heard the mailman downstairs. Or stopped at a post office on my drive over to Georgetown. Or in the numerous public blue boxes I passed on my walk to the stadium.
>
But I didn’t.
It wasn’t that I didn’t have every intention of mailing it—I did. I was definitely going to send the envelope to Blake. Most likely, it would still be unopened when I did. Because, of course, reading mail meant for another was wrong. In the last twenty-four hours, I’d told myself that over and over again. It was just that, unfortunately, burning curiosity was a powerful moral inhibitor.
I just need to see Blake first. Then I’ll feel better about mailing him the envelope, I kept telling myself.
Just call me the master of stall techniques.
Finally, there I was. Standing outside the entrance to Georgetown’s stadium just before quarter to six. Though it seemed highly unlikely that Blake would have any idea who I was, I had no interest in being called out as a crazy stalker chick. As such, my face was obscured by oversized sunglasses. And partially hidden behind a pole.
Strangely, I was finding it hard to take deep breaths. Hard to think. Hard to…anything. This felt like such a defining moment. Though I had no idea what line I was about to cross. All I knew was the thump of my heart in my ears overtook all other sounds. The only sight I knew was the front of the stadium. The area leading up to it. The place where I might finally catch a glimpse of Blake Greyfield.
Suddenly, emotion so strong it took my breath away slammed into me. I didn’t just want to see Blake, I needed to see Blake. Needed to lay eyes on the guy who had stolen Lark Kingsley’s heart.
And then the man, the myth, the Blake Greyfield walked towards the entrance gate. I held my breath and sent up two simultaneous prayers. One that he would look in my direction so I could see his face head on. And another that his attention would remain focused on his two companions.
Earlier, I’d decided where to wait for him with as much strategy as I could muster. My location was near enough to the entrance that I would see Blake, but not so near as to be obviously lurking around it like I was waiting for someone. As bits of conversation drifted my way, I felt satisfied with my decision. Until Blake and his teammates veered off course.
They moved farther from the entrance gate and closer to where I stood—right next to an unmarked door that I’d stupidly assumed led to a closet or something. Instantly, my lungs felt tight from lack of oxygen. Reminding myself to breathe was almost more than I can handle. Because I was so totally busted.
“Dude, Rachel is hot. What more do you need to know about her?” one of Blake’s friends was asking him. The guy was the blonde, surfer-type, the kind that belonged in California and a wetsuit.
A sudden urge to punch the kid in his slightly-crooked nose came over me.
An alarm went off in my head, telling me I needed to move, to not allow Blake to pass so closely to me. Briefly warring with the emotion, the same longing feeling I felt earlier flared and, bizarrely, something akin to…envy.
Who was this Rachel chick and why did it matter whether she was hot?
Needing to hear more, I took a step back into the shadows and remained within ear’s shot.
“She’s pretty,” Blake agreed, his tone indifferent.
A fierce pang of jealously caused my stomach to cramp. Blake thought another girl was pretty?
Your girlfriend is missing, you asshat! I wanted to shout the words so badly that I dug my nails into the flesh of my palm to keep from giving in to the urge.
“But I’m not really in the dating mind frame right now,” Blake added.
The words were like a balm to a scorched heart.
The third guy, an exotic mix of dark skin and baby blue eyes, laughed before chiming in. “Umm, from what I understand, Rachel doesn’t exactly date.”
Even worse. Rachel is a hussy. What great friends, throwing skanks at Blake. They suck.
“I’m not in that sort of mind frame either. Going to the mixer with her would be mean when I’m not interested,” Blake insisted.
Exactly. Don’t lead the poor girl on. And don’t forget about the love of your life, while you’re at it.
The three guys were at the door, just ten feet from where I lurked. Err, stood. Caught up in their conversation, my presence didn’t register on their radar.
“Seriously? Come on, Greyfield, have you hooked up with a single girl since coming to college?” Blondie asked as he reached for the door handle.
Yes, Blake, I thought, have you ‘hooked up’ with a girl since coming to college? Have you?
As nuts as everything had become in my life, I was still surprised by the vehement feelings—and um… peculiar thoughts—their conversation was bringing out in me. By how much the thought of Blake with someone other than Lark bothered me. I was truly indignant on her behalf. Secret relationship be damned, that didn’t give him the right to go off and hook up with another girl. There was a nationwide manhunt going on for his girlfriend, for heaven’s sake.
“It’s complicated,” Blake said with a sigh, as if he’d said those same words many, many times. “I’m just…. It’s just…. It’s complicated.”
One by one, the three guys filed through the door, without so much as a glance in my direction.
“Well then could you put in a good word for me?” I heard the blonde guy’s voice ask from somewhere beyond the door. “’Cause to me, it’s pretty simple: a hot girl needs a date to her sorority mixer. Where the alcohol consumption will be high and inhibitions will be low. I’m so there.”
Just before the door clanged shut behind the three boys, I heard Blake’s reply
“She’s all yours, man. She’s all yours.”
A grin spread over my face.
Right answer, Blake.
“ARE WE COOL?”
I held my breath waiting for Adam’s reply.
“Of course,” he replied. Putting his hand on my arm, Adam gave it a gentle squeeze.
The tension between us lessened another notch with his assurance.
“Are you sure? What happened, it must’ve been so weird for you.”
“It wasn’t weird, Lark. I was just worried about you.” Sincerity shone in his caramel eyes, and I had a feeling his words were not simple platitudes meant to make the situation less awkward. “You left without ever saying goodbye. I called, sent texts, and you never replied. I didn’t know what to think and I worried about you.”
“I know and I’m sorry. I can’t begin to imagine how you felt and what you thought. I wanted to call, honestly. My parents, they flipped. Of course. And they…overreacted is a severe understatement, that’s like saying this is a quaint space to have an intimate party. They flipped their shit. Completely lost it, and….”
Lost in a flood of emotions, I didn’t notice Adam had closed the gap between us until his strong arms wrapped around me. The hug was comforting and I laid my head on his chest. He’d grown so much in these last few years, no longer my short, scrawny childhood friend but nearly a full-grown man.
“I didn’t know you called. My mother took my phone. I just figured you didn’t want to see me or talk to me,” I said against his lapel. “I thought you were angry, or humiliated, or…I don’t know. I thought you hated me.”
“Hate you?” Adam scoffed. “Of course I don’t hate you. I missed you. I do miss you.”
Fighting hard against the tears that pricked at my eyes every time I thought of what happened that summer, I recalled exactly why I’d pushed it to the furthest recesses of my mind. I didn’t want to remember.
Squeezing Adam hard, I let his warmth envelope me. His presence had always soothed me when we were younger, like aloe on a sunburn. And I hated my parents a little for cutting him out of my life.
“I missed you, too,” I said sadly.
Giving Adam one last tight squeeze, I drew back from the embrace to take another good look at the boy who’d been my best friend for so long. I smiled up into his caramel eyes, and then frowned. Apparently, our reconciliation had attracted an audience.
Not fifteen feet away stood the Eight, staring at us with blatant interest. Annie was quietly admonishing the ot
hers in a failed attempt to give Adam and me our privacy. Slightly worried, I wondered how long they’d been watching me hug a guy who, to them, was a complete stranger.
“Come on, time to meet the crew,” I said, grabbing Adam’s hand and dragging him over to my circle of friends.
“Hey guys! This is Adam,” I called, smile a little too bright, voice a little too cheery.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Annie said, the first to step forward. She sounded overly enthusiastic, and her cheeks were flushed—she obviously took more shots in my absence. She offered Adam her hand. “I’m Annie.”
“Nice to meet you, Annie,” Adam said, shaking her hand and shooting her that effortless smile of his that always put people at ease.
“Alistair, pleasure to meet you, mate.” Alistair stepped forward, straightening up to his full height so he was eye-level with the unknown guy. “Can’t say we’ve heard much about you, though,” he continued.
“I know,” I said, interjecting before the manly chest thumping went any further. “I’m just full of secrets.”
“Well I, for one, am just thrilled to finally meet you!” Camilla exclaimed, leaning in to brush a kiss on Adam’s cheek. “I simply can’t fathom why our Lark has been keeping you all to herself.”
Adam’s smile never faltered, but he shot me a sidelong questioning look. I shrugged, as if to say, “Alcohol, it does funny things to people.”
The twins and Ilan took their turns shaking his hand, with Everett pumping Adam’s hand a little too hard and Barrett making a point to stare down his nose at the newcomer.
Rolling my eyes dramatically at the ridiculous display of male posturing, I was just glad Adam didn’t feel the need to reciprocate.
“Okay, peacocks, stand down,” Annie ordered, punctuating her words with glares all around. She turned back to me. “We’re just excited you brought him. Err, well…that Adam came tonight!”
“Yeah, I’m really glad he came, too,” I agreed.
“How do you know Lark—Allan, was it?” Alistair interjected.
