Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
STERLING
B efore we left the next morning, Hawk did a thorough sweep of my car, our devices, and even our shoes. With a snort of disgust, he discovered a tracker on my car and one inside my purse. That one was momentarily terrifying until I remembered sitting at the bar at Avery’s place, drinking a seltzer, my purse hanging from the back of my chair. I’d lived in a small town my entire life. I hadn’t thought twice about securing my purse. I wasn’t exactly used to being stalked by criminals.
Hawk handed me my backpack and said, “I have it all set up with Lucas and Emmett. I texted you the address. Go straight there. Pull into the parking garage and say who you are through the intercom. They’ll let you in.” He paused, then added, “Don’t be shy.” He tilted his head at my backpack, my laptop safely inside. “I don’t know why you haven’t told anybody what you’ve been up to with those classes, but these guys can help if you’re interested in moving in that direction. Don’t be afraid to be yourself.”
Hawk wasn’t the touchy type, except with my sister, but his words made me feel such a confusing combination of gratitude and embarrassment and love that I threw my arms around him in a tight hug.
Hawk’s arms came up slowly, and he gave me a tight, short squeeze in return.
“Thanks,” I said and got in the car beside Forrest.
“You know where we’re going?” Forrest put the car in gear, his eyes lingering on Hawk, then shifting to me for a second before pulling onto the long drive to the gates.
“Yep.” I dropped the address from my text messages to Forrest’s phone, and he set up the navigation app.
“What was that about?” Forrest asked as he tapped the screen.
“What?” I asked, playing dumb.
“You giving Hawk a hug.”
I couldn’t tell whether he was jealous or just curious. And I didn’t know how to answer. I didn’t want to tell him what it was about, considering that I hadn’t told anyone what I’d been up to. But Hawk’s words had struck me. Don’t be afraid to be yourself. I didn’t entirely know who myself was. But the Sterling Sawyer the world knew was not a newbie hacker and computer geek.
I’d heard a lot of names applied to me, both by people who knew me and people who didn’t. And it was jarring to realize that few of those names applied. Nobody knew me. I wasn’t the spoiled party girl I’d been. I wasn’t the kickass, financially independent coder I wanted to be. I didn’t know who I was. So, no one did.
Except that wasn’t true. Hawk knew me. Quinn knew me. Griffen knew me. Forrest knew me. But not all of me. Because Hawk was right—I was hiding the truth because I was scared.
I looked at the backpack at my feet, then back to Forrest, who patiently waited for an answer. I thought I loved him. I thought I’d forgiven him. But if that was all true, why didn’t I just tell him?
I ran through it in my head. I’ve been studying coding, and it turns out I’m pretty good at it. And Hawk wants me to talk to Lucas and Emmett because I’m interested in cybersecurity, and they can give me advice.
The words sounded fake, like anyone who heard me say them would bust out laughing. Sterling Sawyer? The girl with the big boobs and the blonde hair who threw great parties and could drink the guys under the table? That girl is into coding? Not likely.
I pressed my lips together and felt a stab of remorse. After everything I’d put Forrest through for lying to me, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth. It was still too new, too raw. And I couldn’t risk him laughing, even if I thought it unlikely he would.
I opened my mouth, and instead of telling Forrest why I’d hugged Hawk, I lied. “Just wedding planning stuff,” I said casually. “Hawk is really sweet, building the arbor for Quinn. It’s going to be small, but I want to make it perfect for them.”
Not entirely a lie. All of that was true, just not what we’d been talking about. Did the tiniest bit of relief cross Forrest’s face? I couldn’t tell. I didn’t feel relieved. I felt a little sick.
All my demands for honesty and I folded as soon as my pride was at risk. But I didn’t want to be laughed at. I wasn’t missing the irony. I had made so many poor choices and refused to be embarrassed by them. Now I’d made a smart choice—to finally apply my brain to something I was good at—and the idea of telling anyone paralyzed me.
It was a lot more painful to be laughed at for trying, for reaching for something I cared about, than to be laughed at for not doing anything. I couldn’t fail if I didn’t try, right? But now—now I was fucking trying. And it was terrifying.
I snuck a sideways glance at Forrest. “What?” I asked, seeing something in his eyes that said he wasn’t done.
“Do you ever think about coming back to work at the inn? Doing what you were doing before? Working in event planning?”
I shook my head, feeling even worse about my lie. “No,” I replied. “It was fun. I learned a lot, and I think I’m good at it, but it’s not what I want to do. Too many people, always having to be on. And I like being in charge of my own schedule.” All of that was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth.
I should tell him, give him the honesty I demanded of him. I half opened my mouth, then snapped it shut, pulled up my phone, and went to the board of pictures I’d been collecting for the wedding. It didn’t make me feel like less of a wuss, but at least it made what I’d said about Hawk a little more true.
Hawk was making progress on the arbor, which meant I had to get my butt in gear. Just because they didn’t want fancy didn’t mean I couldn’t pull together something special.
The miles flew by, Forrest playing DJ. We’d always shared taste in music, so I had no objection. I scrolled through idea boards, occasionally showing things to Forrest and asking his opinion. He wasn’t into fashion or decorating, but he had a good sense of style.
That was one of the first things I’d noticed about him when he’d started working at the inn—he didn’t look like he spent an hour getting dressed every morning, but he always looked good. The kind of good that told me he might worry about coordinating his socks with his ties, but he put thought into the things he chose to have around him and on his body, and he cared enough to get it right.
He agreed with almost all of my choices for the wedding. I teased him with a pic of hot pink tulle swags, but he just looked at me and shook his head with a curl to the side of his mouth. “I don’t think Hawk would go for that,” he said dryly, and I giggled, knowing he was right.
So many people said a wedding was the bride’s day, but I knew this one was as much for Hawk as it was for Quinn, if not more. I had a feeling my sister would have happily trotted down to town hall and stood in front of a judge. She wanted to be Hawk’s wife, and that was it. She didn’t particularly care about the wedding, but Hawk did. He wanted it to be perfect for her, and she wanted it to be perfect for him. Sometimes, I thought they’d kill me with adorableness.
I looked over at Forrest, calmly navigating the twelve-lane freeway into Atlanta. I liked to think of myself as sophisticated, but every time I was here, the sheer width of the roads blew my mind.
Forrest didn’t seem troubled. He didn’t fold. It was another one of the things I loved about him. He wasn’t showy, and he wasn’t loud, but he had a spine like steel, and he didn’t give up when things got hard. Most men would have left after we broke up. They would have given up. Cut their losses.
Not Forrest.
How long would it have taken me to talk to him if I hadn’t solved the clue on the Vitellius? I didn’t know, and now that we’d come this far, I knew I wouldn’t have been able to stay away forever. I would have cracked sooner or later. Sooner, probably.
We got off the freeway in Buckhead, turning up one road and down another until ahead on the right, I spotted the building Hawk had described in his text. Four stories of mirrored glass with accents of gray and black. Forrest turned down a side street and pulled into the entrance to the underground garage. An impenetrable metal gate blocked the way from floor to ceiling. Lowering his window, he leaned out and hit the red button by the intercom.
“Can I help you?” a crisp female voice asked.
“Forrest Powell and Sterling Sawyer to see Lucas Jackson,” Forrest said.
“Oh!” Now, the voice was welcoming. “You made good time. Pull up ahead and to the right and park in one of the guest spots. The button for the offices is marked in the elevator. I’ll be there to let you in.” The intercom clicked off, and the metal door slowly rose, revealing the dark interior of the garage. Forrest eased the car forward, the bright light of the summer morning fading as we entered the inner sanctum of Sinclair Security.