There was a word he hadn’t expected to ever come from the hardened ex-Special Forces hero. “Thought they drilled that out of you Army tough guys in basic training.”
“Fear of combat, sure. Fear of handing over my beating heart for Dawn to maybe piss all over and laugh at? No drill sergeant in the world could prep me for this kind of gut-churning horror.” He used one finger to pull his collar away from his neck. “Shit. I’m sweating.”
One of Zane’s favorite things about upstate New York was its cool summer mornings. The heat eased in gradually, like a grandpa slowly settling into a rocking chair. Plus, the breeze off the lake had the leaves above them dancing since he’d entered the clearing. “It’s not even nine in the morning. Maybe seventy degrees, tops. What’s wrong with you?”
“You’re what’s wrong with me.”
Zane raised both hands in the air and shook his head. “Hey, I’ve had ladies rave about my ability to warm their feet on a cold winter’s night, but I’m not even within cuddling distance.”
“I’m taking your damn advice.” Joel slammed shut the journal and tossed it onto the bench beside him. “I’m asking Dawn out. On a real date. And if it backfires? If she laughs in my face? Don’t think I won’t come take it out on you.”
Whipping off his sunglasses, Zane squinted at the older man. The pallor, the glazed over eyes, the locked jaw. All the tell-tale signs of nervousness were there. Fascinating. “When are you taking this momentous step?”
“Right now.” He patted the leather cover of the journal. “That’s why I’m sweating.”
“What—you’re writing her a note?” Zane pointed, while choking back a laugh. “In that? Sure you don’t want to scribble it onto a paper airplane and fly it through the front door of Cosgrove General?”
His smart-ass teasing netted him another glare. Joel’s eyes were spitting shards of disdain this morning. “Outsiders like you never really get how much we all rely on the journal.”
“Oh, I get it. Those things are chock full of daily minutiae as well as life-changing decisions. Everything from changing up a hair color to kicking an ungrateful slacker of a son out of the nest once he hit thirty.” Zane planted his tongue firmly in the side of his mouth. “I just thought that, when you said you were asking her out, you were actually grabbing some sac and asking her to her face.”
“I told you I’d leave it up to Dawn to decide when she’s ready. So I wrote her like normal.” Joel patted the journal again. “And said if she wants to find out who she’s been anonymously carrying on a romance with between these pages for so long, then she can come find out. Here. Sunday night. At sunset.”
Okay. That was as drenched in romance as cherries jubilee was drenched in brandy. Zane just hoped the similarity ended there, and Joel didn’t go up in flames. “Not bad.”
“It could be bad. It could be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.” Joel’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down twice, hard. “I could lose her.”
“You can’t lose what you don’t have.” Zane should know. He’d had Casey. A tenuous hold, unbeknownst to him, but he’d had her. And now she was gone.
“Right now, I’ve still got her friendship. I’d rather have just that piece of her than nothing.”
“Not me. I’m an all or nothing guy.” What was the point of settling for two bites of a steak? Or a promotion without a corresponding bump in salary? All it did was drive you crazy thinking about the stuff you didn’t have.
Joel stretched out his legs, crossed them at the ankles. And broke into a shit-eating grin that showed how thrilled he was the conversational spotlight had rotated back off of him. “How’s that working for you?”
“Do you want the answer I could’ve given you yesterday?” This was the sort of conversation guys had over beer and nachos. Standing in the outfield. While at the gym, with the clang of weights punctuating every sentence. Felt all kinds of weird doing it in a picturesque clearing, surrounded by gently waving branches and some bush covered with blooms that looked like fat pink snowballs. “Or my depressed, beaten-down version, fresh from a break-up?”
A long, low whistle pierced the clearing. “You two broke up? Talk about one heck of a fight. Is that why you’re here? To use the journal to beg Casey to come back to you?”
No. Zane wouldn’t grovel or beg when he’d done nothing wrong. And if he was going to beg her to give them another shot, he’d do it in person. With flowers. Buttercups, probably. Not that he’d thought about it at all. Much.
“You get half a point. I’m here for the journal. But it’s got nothing to do with a certain stubborn blonde.” Actually, it had everything to do with her. Acacia Greenspring, that is. Not the loyal-to-the-death, passionate woman he knew and grew to love as Casey Hobbes.
Joel tossed him the journal. Winged the pen over, too. “Plenty of pages left.”
“Good. I’ll need the space. I’m writing a note to the entire town.”
“Jumping in with both feet, huh? Good for you. What are we supposed to weigh in on? Give up the dirt on which department over at the college throws the best parties?” He made a show out of looking at his watch. “Speaking of which, don’t you have a class today?”
Zane couldn’t give a fuzzy rat’s ass if everyone at Hobart kept their fridge stocked with Jell-O shots and growlers of local beer. “I’ve got twenty minutes to spare. It should be enough. I want to let them know I’m in the loop on the identity of the Lone Survivor.”
“Huh? Why?”
“I need some first-hand accounts of what happened when Dawn first brought Casey to town. Did they have a meeting? Swear a blood-oath of secrecy? How long was it before people dropped their guard around strangers?” Zane checked himself. He could bore Joel with a list of questions a mile long. Instead, he flipped open the book and began to scrawl down a simple, straightforward plea.
“I don’t get it. Casey told you everything, but you’re still going to write the book on the Sunshine Seekers?”
“Of course.” How was that confusing? He’d sought information for ten years. Said information had just fallen—literally—into his lap. This was a good thing. A dream come true. And Zane’s bottom line when it came to information was that he had a moral responsibility to share it with as many people as possible.
Joel braced his elbows on his thighs and let his wrists overlap. “Does Casey know?”
Now he was getting pissed. Easy to do with the one-two punch of no sleep and a hangover making his skull feel three sizes too small. “Miller Mencken Publishing is drawing up a contract with me, not with Casey. I don’t need her permission.”
“You need her help though, don’t you? Isn’t that why you’ve been searching for her all this time? Casey dumping you sounds like a clear signal she won’t help.”
“She’s already given it to me in broad strokes. I’m sure I’ll be able to get her to fill in enough of the gaps.” Zane had it all mapped out.
He’d arrange for his attorney to fly out next week and meet with her and Dawn. There’d be a full song and dance explaining how their identities would be protected, if that step even needed to be taken. It still seemed to Zane that this whole thing was a mountain out of a molehill. Too many years had gone by for the over-crowded California legal system to care about a custody case where nobody wanted to press charges. Dawn would tell him her side. She’d probably turn out to be the conduit to Casey’s father. All the pieces would fall into place. This book would be a blockbuster. More importantly, he’d finally have the answers to every single question about the Sunshine Seekers.
“Is that your curiosity or ego driving you to crank open this can of worms? Or both?”
He’d had enough of this psychobabble second-guessing. “Don’t lay that crap on me. You’re doing it—opening your own can of worms. Because I pushed you to open up and share the truth, you’re finally asking Da
wn out. You’re on the verge of living happy freaking ever after. Doesn’t that prove you agree that it’s better to be honest? To lay the truth bare for the whole world to see?”
“Are you practicing that speech to trot out when that man who’s suing the pants off of you shows up?”
Zane slammed shut the journal. Got up to put it back inside the simple metal mailbox on a wooden post. Trampled a few spiky wildflowers in the process. “No practice needed. I could lecture on this particular topic for hours.”
“Man, would it kill you to just apologize to him?”
“Why the hell should I?” Zane slammed the door and raised the red flag on the side. “I don’t regret a single word. I sure as hell wouldn’t retract any of them, either. Bottom line? I’m not sorry for what I wrote.”
“Aren’t you sorry that his life is ruined?”
Frustrated, Zane picked up a flat stone and hurled it at the lake. A couple of ducks sunning themselves on the shore quacked wildly, setting the birds in the branches above him into an echoing tizzy.
“It isn’t. He only thinks it is. So he made the papers for a few days. The whole thing would’ve fizzled out of its own accord if he hadn’t started this lawsuit. He left the cult. Diggle saw the error of his ways, saw the crazy train of cult life, and got out. People should be calling him a hero. Commending him for having the uncommon strength to wrench himself away. He should be thanking me for showing that very admirable side of him to the world.”
“Except that he’s not.”
Planting his feet wide, Zane crossed his arms and gave Joel his best I know more than you professorial stare. “Five days from now, you’ll be thanking me. You’ll be shouting to the sky that Dawn knowing how you feel is better than her not knowing. That knowledge is always, always better than ignorance.”
“We’ll see.”
Zane wouldn’t give up. He wouldn’t give up on writing the book, or convincing Diggle to drop the suit. He wouldn’t give up on proving to Joel that he was right to force the truth into the sunlight. And then, because he never gave up on anything, no matter how remote the possibility, he’d go diving again for that submarine. Because there were suddenly more empty hours to fill in a day without Casey in his life. Not that he’d give up on her, either. No, he’d let go of her. Completely different. Even though both ways left him without his buttercup.
Chapter Nineteen
Casey jammed her hands into the pockets of her uniform shorts to keep from physically shaking some sense into her stepmother. “You have to go.”
Whisking the feather duster over the three-sided display rack of postcards, Dawn said, “I’m a grown woman. I don’t have to do anything. Of course, there are consequences for not doing things. If I don’t pay my taxes, the IRS would come after me. If I didn’t shower for three days, you’d all probably throw me in the lake. But the point is, as an adult, I have free will.”
“You are rambling so far from the point you’re going to need to borrow my compass to get back into this conversation.”
“That’s assuming I want back in. Which I don’t.” Playfully, she whisked the duster along Casey’s arm. “So just drop the whole thing and let me enjoy the unexpected pleasure of your lunchtime visit.”
Casey batted at the feathers. This wasn’t a visit. This was a mission. “I’m not here for lunch.”
Ward looked up from his usual spot at the counter, a dripping BLT halfway to his mouth. “That’s funny. I mean, I get that you didn’t come here to stuff your face. You came to harass Dawn. But there’s no day ending in Y where you’d turn down lunch.”
“Sitting at the counter gives you the ability to hear everyone’s conversation. It does not, however give you the right to butt in.”
“Since when?”
Ward’s mock outrage was a problem for later. Casey followed Dawn’s dusting trail past the magnets, past the fly-fishing hooks and lures, and caught up with her at the ubiquitous Finger Lakes wine bottle-stopper display. “I raced up here because I’ve gotten more than a dozen texts, five voice-mails, and three drop-ins at my office in the last hour. Everyone is buzzing. The news that your secret journal lover is set to reveal his face and his name has basically brought the town to a standstill.”
“A week ago everyone was buzzing about the petition to get me to step down from my office of mayor.” She twirled the duster in the air. “Next week who knows what the topic will be.” Dawn retraced her steps to head behind the counter, where she tied a tan half-apron edged with a yellow ruffle around her waist. “We live in a small town. One where we all go out of our way to weave ourselves into each other’s lives. People can comment all they want. It doesn’t give them a say in what is ultimately my choice.”
Looked like her stepmother was making lunch, regardless. It wouldn’t hurt to eat. Not since the sum total of last night’s dinner had been a disc of cheese and a single marinated mushroom. No breakfast, either. Because Casey’s long-standing streak of never, ever crying about a boy had come to an abrupt end last night.
She hadn’t cried on the path away from the waterfall. Sheer pride made that possible. If she’d so much as sniffled, it would’ve echoed from wall to wall, straight back to Zane. But as soon as Casey got in her Jeep, the waterworks started. Ugly, gasping, mucus-dripping wailing. She’d turned up the radio and rolled down the windows because she couldn’t stand to listen to herself. It felt entirely different from the gentle welling up she did when overcome by all the feels with Dawn or Ella. More raw. As violent as throwing up, except out her eyes instead of her mouth.
Being new to the whole crying over a boy thing, Casey assumed the ride home would’ve been enough. Sinuses tight and painful, throat dry, eyes puffy, she’d sniffled to a stop while unlocking her front door. What a joke. Because two steps inside the door she’d spotted their pinecone. It was on the side table where she dumped her keys. Just a stupid pinecone...that sent her straight into another crying jag.
So instead of calling, she’d texted her friends and her stepmother the news. Considered their offers to come over and cheer her up with cheesecake, ice cream and strawberry daiquiris for all of five minutes. That’s how long it took to rummage through the pantry shelves, discover the only thing remotely resembling a cookie in there was an ancient foil pack of Pop-Tarts, and try to nibble on one.
Important life lesson learned. When bawling uncontrollably, do NOT attempt to eat. One of her pathetic, hiccupping gasps of a breath had sucked the dry crumbs straight down her windpipe. For a few exciting moments, the pain of losing her first real love had been eclipsed by the very real fear of choking to death. Casey could not actually say which option was worse. But the episode took comfort-eating off the table. At least for the night. So she’d kept everyone at bay, cried through a not-at-all soothing bath and eventually cried herself to sleep.
Overall, Casey was disgusted by herself. Her throat had been too raw this morning for food. But a new day—and two cups of lemon tea with honey—meant a new outlook. A new approach. One in which walking away from Zane wasn’t the dumbest thing she’d ever done. Where walking away from him wasn’t a knee-jerk reflex that she already regretted. It was smart. It was a way to safeguard her heart.
Because she’d come halfway. She’d opened up and given him this amazing gift. Zane had done what in return? Oh, yeah. Exactly squat. A successful, committed relationship was about compromise, about give and take. Or so she’d heard. Better to find out now that Zane was unwilling to bend. Unwilling to listen to her side of an argument. Unwilling to value her wishes and fears above his own. Selfish.
So what if Zane insisted that he was writing the book for the greater good? Because it might help someone resist the lure and danger of a cult, Casey was supposed to give up her privacy? Be okay with her boyfriend caring more about random unnamed other people than her? Shining the stupid spotlight of truth on the evil of cults
took away their power...that was all big-picture stuff. Like a beauty pageant contestant saying they wanted to help end world hunger.
Except...that was lip service to win a sparkling crown, whereas Zane probably had actually helped people with his books. Crap. Still, doing good didn’t make him a good boyfriend. Yes. That was her official line, and she was sticking to it.
Casey picked up Ward’s pickle and chomped off half of it in one bite. “You’re right, Dawn. Nobody’s going to hand you a summons and demand a fine if you don’t show up at the mailbox Sunday night.”
“That’d be funny. You know, if they came to arrest her and tweaked the Miranda rights.” Ward cleared his throat and dropped into a low monotone. “You have the right to remain lonely and single. Whoever you do not choose to kiss will not be held against you. Ever. Not against any body part.”
She elbowed him in the ribs. “This is not a laughing matter.”
“I’ve got a couple of strips of bacon left from Ward’s sandwich.” Dawn’s hands hovered just above a trio of plastic containers she’d lined up in front of the cutting board. “How about I top them off with some smoked paprika egg salad for you? On pumpernickel?”
“Sure.” Now that she’d officially stopped crying, Casey’s stomach was twisted from hunger rather than heartbreak. The egg salad would tide her over, but she’d probably get the girls to come over tonight with that promised cheesecake. Since cheesecake clearly could fill the gaping void in her life left by her hot, handsome, hilarious, enthusiastic ex-boyfriend. Riiiiiiight.
“You have the right to a hot attorney,” Ward continued in that low, flat voice. “If you cannot afford a hot attorney, a shorter, pudgy and balding attorney will be appointed to you.” He slapped his thigh as he hooted with laughter so loud it woke up Mitzi from her nap beneath his stool. She scrambled in a tight circle, barking hysterically.
“Are you pleased with yourself?”
He nodded with a big, smug grin. “Are you kidding? I want to write these down to tell Gray later.”
All for You Page 30
