You’ll Never Know

Chapter 1

GRANT

“I think we’re lost,” I say.

“We’re fine,” Avery replies with a wink, her hand resting loose on the wheel of our white Jeep Cherokee as it rumbles up the rugged road. The Uncompahgre National Forest presses in around us, shadows flickering over the hood, the mountains rising ahead, looking ominous and indifferent.

“How did you hear about this hike again?” I ask.

“I found it on Reddit,” Avery says.

My eyebrows rise. “Reddit? Seriously?”

She shrugs. “What? It had a thousand upvotes.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. My wife is easygoing like that. To her, every moment is a cause for adventure—which I love, but right now I want her to pull over. I need to check the map. The road has split three times already, and I lost cell service miles back.

“Are you sure about that?” I ask. “Reddit also thinks birds aren’t real.”

“That’s not true,” she says with a grin. It’s a weapon she uses against me frequently. Anytime we have a disagreement, all she has to do is smile: fight over.

“It is, I swear. Look it up.”

She returns her gaze to the road. “The thread did say the trail’s a little hard to find.”

“I’d say it’s more than a little hard to find.

Here, let me see if I can figure out where we are.

” I retrieve my phone and try, knowing full well I won’t be able to get a signal.

The forest is growing thicker by the minute, the trees crowding in on either side of the road like silent sentinels, attempting to block out the sky.

“Actually, can you pull over for a second? We might need to turn around.”

“No, we don’t. We’re good. Look.” She points, and I spot the gutted remains of the structure ahead.

It’s the landmark Avery told me to be on the lookout for when we first pulled off the highway—a cabin ravaged by a long-ago fire.

It means we only have another quarter mile to go.

Still, I can’t help but feel a twinge of dread at seeing a building that looks like a blackened skeleton half swallowed by the trees sitting out here in the middle of nowhere.

Avery pops an eyebrow. “Okay, you can admit it now.”

“Admit what?” I ask, pretending not to know what she’s talking about.

“You know exactly what.”

“Fine,” I say with an exaggerated huff. “You were right.”

“And?”

“And I was wrong. We’re not lost. Better?”

Her smile widens. “Much.”

A few minutes later, we break from the trees and into a clearing that takes my breath away.

The horizon is drenched in a spectacular wave of color.

Mountains spring up around us everywhere I look, all of them dressed in vivid suits of blue and green.

The peaks climb toward the sky in a dizzying array of granite crags and vertical pitches that are so beautiful they almost look artificial.

Living in Durango, I’m used to gorgeous scenery, but nothing like this.

The view is stunning. For a moment, it feels like we’ve been transported to Switzerland.

“Wow,” I mutter, hypnotized. “This is amazing.”

“So beautiful,” Avery echoes as we reach the lot.

She pulls off the road and parks near a sign indicating the trailhead.

I’m about to get out and take it all in when she reaches over and lays a hand on my knee.

“Wait a second. I have something for you.” She slides a small box from the pocket in the door and hands it to me.

It’s a present, fully wrapped and topped with a white bow.

“Did I forget an anniversary?” I ask, surprised. “What’s this all about?”

She laughs. “Open it and find out.”

I do exactly that, expecting to see a book or new wallet, but instead find myself staring at a framed photo. At first, I don’t understand what I’m looking at. It’s nothing but a black canvas with a white blob in the center that—

Oh my god.

The image takes shape and the world outside the car turns to a smear of color.

None of it exists—the sky, the mountains, the trees—all of it is gone in an instant.

The only thing that matters is what I’m clutching in my palms. The picture isn’t of a blob but rather of a head rounding down into a face with a small bump of a nose.

Lower, I can just make out a belly sprouting two little legs and an arm caught in what looks like a wave.

Because it is a wave—I’m looking at a hand growing five little fingers.

“Is this real?” I whisper in awe.

Avery doesn’t reply. I look up to find her crying, tears spilling over her cheeks in silent streams. She nods. “Look at the bottom corner.”

When I do, I see the baby’s stats—a length of nearly six centimeters and an estimated age of twelve weeks. The name Avery Wilson is stamped above them, along with a date. The ultrasound was taken two days ago.

I try to speak, but I can’t. I’m unable to push the words past the lump in my throat.

“It’s real, Grant,” she says. “I’m pregnant.”

“But … how?” It’s the only question I can think to ask because Avery can’t get pregnant. What I’m looking at is impossible.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” she says. “My gynecologist thinks it’s a miracle.”

I continue to stare at the photo in a daze. A father. I’m going to be a father.

Me, Grant Wilson.

I’m going to be responsible for shaping a new life.

“Hey, breathe.”

Avery’s fingertips graze my cheek, and I realize I’m shaking. Words pour from my mouth in a jumbled mush of sound. “I don’t … I thought … I mean … wait, how long have you …”

“Known?” The corners of her lips kick up into a pair of dimples. “A while. A little over two months.”

I gawk at her. “And you’re just telling me this now?”

“I wanted to make sure it was going to stick first.” A sliver of fear flashes across her face and her lips firm. “It still might not. We’re not out of the woods, yet.”

“I still can’t believe this,” I say, rubbing my forehead. It must have happened in Napa. I relive the vacation in a flash of heat. Our honeymoon. A bougie, sun-splashed week full of luxury and four-star cuisine. And sex. Lots and lots of sex.

A laugh bubbles up her throat, and she wipes her eyes. “Oh, you’d better believe it. We’re going to have a family.”

“I’m going to be a dad,” I mumble in a daze.

“Yes, you are,” she says, laying her head on my shoulder. “Get ready.”

When I don’t move, she takes hold of my chin and pulls my face toward hers. “Hey, it’s going to be fine. We’re in this together. You’re going to be a great father.”

“You really think so?” I manage.

“Yes. Now, come on. I want to get this hike in while I still can.”

She gets out, and I follow, the summer sun warming my skin the second I step outside. A gentle breeze ruffles my hair and drifts over my skin.

I’m going to be a father.

“Hey,” Avery says, wagging a bottle of sunscreen at me from the other side of the car. “Can you help me with this?”

“Of course.” I make my way over to her and she presses the bottle into my palm as she pulls her auburn hair over her shoulder.

Besides her smile, her hair was the first thing I noticed when I bumped into her nearly a year ago.

Hair so red it stole my breath. As did her eyes.

They’re this beautiful shade of light green I immediately lost myself in. One look, and I knew I was in trouble.

“Make sure you get my neck,” she says.

I don’t. I spin her around instead. She starts to protest, but I lean in and kiss her.

Her lips soften, and we remain there, lost in each other for a blissful moment, until she places a hand on my chest and pushes me back with a grin.

“Save your energy for the hike. There will be plenty of time for that later.”

“Fine,” I groan, but I don’t step back. Instead, I reach up and brush my thumb over her cheek.

Her nose crinkles as she looks at me. “What?”

“I can’t wait to do this with you.”

“Well, let’s go, then,” she says, eyeing the trail.

“No.” I lower my palm to her stomach and hold it there. “This.”

She slides her fingers over mine. “Me too.” With a final squeeze, she snatches the bottle of sunscreen and raises it. “Now put this on.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say with a chuckle.

After I’m done, we circle to the back of the Jeep. Avery pops the hatch and swings it up. Lying inside is a backpack stuffed with several bottles of water, two bags of trail mix, and a pair of long-sleeved shirts for both of us in case any clouds blow in.

“Here.” She tucks the car keys into the backpack and hands it to me. “This is yours to carry.”

“Of course,” I say, shouldering it. “So how many miles is this hike, anyway? Wait, are you even okay to hike? What did the doctor say about exercise?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m pregnant. Women do it all the time. I’ll be fine.”

“I know. It’s just—”

The sound of an engine cuts me off. We turn together in time to see a black van with tinted windows roll out of the trees. I groan. I knew this was coming; a place like this is far too beautiful to keep to ourselves. Still, I’d dared to hope.

“Let’s get going,” Avery says. “Maybe we can beat them up the trail.”

I don’t move. I simply stand there, staring at the van as it barrels toward us.

It’s paint-chipped and covered in rust, the shocks squealing as the tires bounce up and down.

The sound is at odds with the peace of this place.

And the vehicle is going fast. Too fast. A slash of annoyance cuts through me when it rips to a stop a few feet away, covering us in a thick plume of dust and exhaust.

I cover my mouth and cough. “What the hell?”

Avery takes my hand and tugs. “Seriously, let’s go.”

But I still don’t move. For some reason, I can’t stop staring at the idling vehicle with its battered, black body and dark windows. It’s ugly and doesn’t look like the kind of car a typical hiker would drive. Something about it feels wrong.

Avery pulls harder. “Grant …”

“Okay, yeah, this is getting weird.” I’m about to turn and follow her, when the passenger side door bangs open, and a man steps out. He’s big and dressed all in black. Black shoes, black pants, black shirt, black gloves. A black ski mask.

And in his hand, pointing at us, is a black gun.