2. Gwen
Gwen
ELEVEN DAYS LATER
After bouncing around the hotel, unable to find anywhere that feels like the right spot to work, I give up trying to be semi-social and head to my suite. I’m armed with my travel rig and a fresh cup of coffee.
My main box is dark, humming on my desk, practically calling out to me.
That PC never leaves the hotel or this room.
It’s essentially my brain, holding my master programs and running my deepest systems. It’s also where my development magic happens.
I just haven’t felt all that, well, inspired lately to be creative.
I set down my coffee and my matte-black rig—better known as a laptop to my non-techy peeps—and take a seat. I flip open the lid to get back to work, combing the world for the man who walked (more like ran) away from me.
No sign of Easton in my search yet, and I can’t decide whether that’s a good or bad thing I can’t find him.
Frustrated, confused, and all the things, I lean back in my chair, grab my mobile from my back pocket, and open my music app. I hit shuffle on my playlist and freeze when the first song starts.
Easton added this one in the summer. He liked to school me on classics he insisted I needed to know. “Right Here Waiting” by Richard Marx happens to be one of those songs, and listening to the lyrics now? Just kill me. I want to slam my head against my desk and cry.
To make matters worse, the mug I’m drinking from while using my facial recognition program to search for him is his.
He’s had this U-M cup since attending school at Michigan.
A solid blue mug with GO BLUE printed in gold across the side.
I borrowed it when he lived here, and since he never asked for it back when he was packing, I kept it.
“Whatchaaa doing?” Elaina pops her head over my shoulder, and I jump so hard I nearly spill my coffee.
A curse slips out as I set down my cup and fumble to shut off the music. “You scared the bloody hell out of me.” I stand, whirl around, and teasingly glare at her.
“You did give me the code and a key to your room.” She smirks. “Also, I love how British you get when I sneak up on you.” She casually opens a pack of Oreos, then leans in, obviously trying to read my screen.
I snap the lid shut and face her. “Aren’t I always British?” I deflect, stealing an Oreo.
Elaina drags a rolling chair over and makes herself at home. “Ameri-British?” she says, like it’s still up for debate. “You’ve started adopting some of the slang. Sweater, not jumper. Pants, not trousers.”
She’s getting a kick out of this, I can tell.
“I still can’t get you to say cell phone, though.” She rolls her eyes skyward in exaggerated disgust. “Mobile. Sounds so proper.”
Elaina’s one of Dad’s teammates’ daughters.
Liam and his wife, Emily, decided to spend the holidays here at the hotel with my family.
I was stubborn and wouldn’t head to the States for Christmas, so Dad brought Christmas to me, including one of my favorite people: Elaina.
If only Easton had popped out of a package on Christmas morning yesterday .
. . that’d have been quite the surprise.
I twist the top of my Oreo as I sit, and she guesses, “Left side.” It’s a thing she used to do with Liam when she was younger, guessing which side the frosting will end up on when the halves are split.
“Right side.” I lick the frosting clean from the one half.
“Sooo, what were you doing before I snuck up on you?” she asks around a mouthful of Oreo.
“Just work stuff.” I finish both halves, then toy with the trident charm on my bracelet. Dad gifted it to me, and I rarely take it off. Not just because I love it, but because it doubles as a tracker, something I was in the dark about until he used it to find me.
She nudges me in the side. “Sure you weren’t looking for him?”
“No clue who you’re talking about.”
She taps her finger against her lips twice while making a hmmm sound. “Gee, I don’t know, could it be a pilot?”
“Nash?” I shake my head. “He’s down the hall. No need to hack CCTV footage to locate him.”
Carter tried to move him into Easton’s old room. I may have had a mini breakdown at the idea, explaining why he couldn’t live there. Carter didn’t protest and changed Nash’s suite without a word. I owe him for that, and for not embarrassing me.
“Nash is cute, by the way. And single, from what I hear.”
“He’s separated, not quite single yet. And twenty years older than you, missy. Don’t be like me and start dating older guys when you’re eighteen, please.”
She chuckles. “You’re acting like your dad.”
“Maybe now that you’re of dating age, I’m starting to understand him a little better.”
As she goes for another Oreo, I wind up zeroing in on Easton’s mug, and now I’m mentally transported to the day he found me in his kitchenette while I helped myself to his Nespresso machine because mine was acting up.
He walked out of his bedroom in thin cotton blue pajama bottoms that left nothing to the imagination. No shirt on and messy bed head to complete the sexy look. I may have checked him out. Okay, okay, I ogled the hell out of him as discreetly as possible.
“And you’re here because?” He had the nerve to casually lean against his counter with folded arms, acting like he caught me doing something downright sinful.
“I needed a cup of joe.” I had to turn my back to him, unable to face him any longer. Otherwise, I’d have kept staring at his tanned, sleek abs and his rock-hard chest and shoulders. And as for his arms? They had to be cut from steel or something.
“And what happened to your joe?”
“Never been with a Joe, but—”
“Smartass.” His body brushed against mine when he grabbed his U-M mug from the top shelf for me.
“I was thinking Nash is cute for you, not me.” Elaina successfully interrupts my memory, which is probably for the best. I’m not supposed to be thinking about Easton (let alone searching for where he’s at).
I wash down the Oreo with coffee. “I’m not interested in Nash.”
“Julian, then?” she blurts out.
I grip the handle tighter at her question, remembering Easton’s comment to me on the terrace. Almost sounded like jealousy when he referred to Julian as my date at the wedding reception.
Julian’s sister married a few months back, but she and her husband waited to have the official party to celebrate until earlier this month, and Easton showed up for all of two minutes. Spent one and a half of them out in the garden with me saying goodbye.
“No, not Julian. We have the cyber thing in common, sure. And he’s witty, smart, and obviously good looking, but—”
“But he’s not Easton?”
I roll my eyes. Very mature, I know. “Even if there was no one else occupying my thoughts, I’d never date someone Mum would approve of. Julian’s noble, richer than Carter, which is saying a lot, and—”
“Dead, according to most government agencies,” she cuts in again. “Doubt your mom would like that.”
“I really tell you too much.” I finally abandon my mug and rest my hands in my lap.
“Don’t ever stop.” She grins. “Anyway . . . Easton is the one ‘occupying your thoughts,’ yeah?” she asks with air quotes.
Why’d I say that? “Easton and I are just mates.” My shoulders sag. “Well, not anymore, I suppose. He left me.” I snatch another Oreo, needing a sugar fix. I twist the top, and Elaina frowns when she guesses wrong again.
“It’s weird being normal and not knowing everything like I used to.”
I thought that was what she wanted. To be a carefree teenager.
Elaina had always been able to see things, ever since she was little back when Liam and Emily adopted her. But her visions started becoming so strong they gave her migraines and made her physically sick. So sick, she almost died one day last year.
Camila, who’s like a sister to Carter, also had prophetic visions. She spent years searching for a remedy so she could touch people again without seeing their future. From Tibet to New Zealand and everywhere in between, she never gave up on her mission to find help.
Earlier this year, she was finally successful after a trip to the Jordan Rift Valley. She gave Elaina the choice: visions or peace.
“I made the right decision, yeah?” Elaina asks softly, and it pains me she’s still questioning herself. “Taking this medicine is the right call?”
I set aside the Oreo and rest my hand on her forearm and squeeze. “Your visions almost killed you.”
“I gave Mom and Dad a heart attack, I know.” She pulls her mouth to the side. “But how many people may lose their lives because I’m taking this drug and can’t save them?”
“If you die, you can’t save anyone. And you still have the option to stop taking it later on in life if you change your mind, but—”
“We both know what happened when Camila tried to stop taking her medicine.” She grimaces.
“She went off them cold turkey to try and help with a case. Gotta wean off them like most medicines, I assume.” Not that I want her to consider stopping her meds anytime soon, but I can understand why one day she might want to use her vision-gifts again.
“Yeah, I get it, I guess. I need to be a kid.” Her voice remains small. “But what if those visions came from God? Does that mean I’m disobeying by . . .?”
She lets her words fall, and they might as well have slipped deep down into the cracks of the earth, because I have no clue what to say.
I may be over a decade older than her, but she seems to have way more figured out than I do. I’m still battling my own demons.
“You helped all the people you were meant to save,” is the best I can give her.
“I might be able to find Easton if I was still able to see things.” Her tone switches from somber to lighthearted again. “That is who you’re looking for, right?”
“I know you know.” I let go of her. “Because I do tell you way too much.”
“Have you tried asking Carter where he’s at? Carter must have an emergency escape plan for them if their covers are ever blown, right?”