Page 108 of Tracking Wolfe

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WOLFE

The first thing I did when I touched down in Legacy was go to Trace’s cabin to leave him another note. I had no doubt he’d find me in Legacy. He’d proven he could always reach me, whether I was on the top of a mountain or buried under a pile of my own fears. But if he made it home before I did, I wanted him to know I’d been here.

When I stepped up to his door today, it was different from the other times I’d been here. I didn’t have to steel myself to pretend I didn’t feel all the things I felt, like I had on the few occasions when I’d been here with my family. I wasn’t swamped with heartbroken rage like I’d been in February, when I’d kissed Trace and kicked off this wild verse of our love song.

Instead, it felt like the little cabin was welcoming me to the place I belonged.

Standing on the porch, I couldn’t help but look through the window. The interior was quiet and tidy. Midday sun shone into the entry from other windows in the room, illuminating the photos on the wall.

I’d seen those photos up close a million times. There were pictures of his accomplishments. SERA and a summit climb. But there were mostly family photos.

A candid shot of Lennon, Rosie, and me doing cannonballs in the pool while Papa laughed and Dad rated us.

A framed photo of Trace with Papa, arms around each other and clinking martinis in celebration of one of Trace’s birthdays. Trace had always made a joke about martinis being too highbrow for him, so my dads had taken him to San Francisco’s fanciest martini bar and force-fed him drinks until his nose turned pink and his eyes glassy.

There was also a photo taken at Trace’s EMT certification. Trace’s expression had been proud, but not nearly as proud as Dad’s had been.

Some people wore their hearts on their sleeves. Some of us wrote them into lyrics. But Trace’s heart was right on that wall… and it was clear every beat of it was for the Marians.

It was a visceral reminder of what he stood to lose if things between us didn’t work out. My parents were his family. We all were.

But it was also a reminder of all we stood to gain. If—when—everything was out in the open, Trace would make space on the wall for pictures of the two of us. I wouldn’t even have to ask.

I grinned to myself and thought maybe I’d ask anyway. Because getting on my knees for Trace would be extremely pleasurable for both of us.

It will work out. It will.

I knew that like I knew the opening chords of “Not Mine.” Like I knew the particular ache of an open B-flat on a cold instrument. Like the back of my hand. Like the laugh lines around Trace Bishop’s eyes.

And I was going to make fucking sure it worked out by ensuring no one could manipulate or blackmail me like Jake had tried to do.

By finally, finally being completely honest about who I was and who I loved.

By standing up and claiming the future I deserved.

I placed my note on the door, folded around the handle the same way I’d left the one in Hush, and headed to my brother’s ranch.

My family kept a car at the little Legacy airstrip, so I was counting on Lennon to help me run it back over there in case anyone else coming into town for the music festival needed it.

Once Gabe had reminded me of the event, I’d immediately called the Spring Sling event coordinator to ask for help getting my name in the lineup. While I’d been in the air over Wyoming, she’d arranged everything, assuming it was a surprise involving Papa.

She was right that it was going to surprise Papa. I had to admit, I was still a little worried about his reaction.

Would he immediately connect the dots and know part of the reason I’d kept Fletcher a secret was to avoid comparisons to Jude Marian and accusations that I was only successful because of my talented father?

Maybe, yes.

But talking with Gabe yesterday reminded me of some stuff Trace had said while we were hiking, and I now realized that in protecting Papa from one painful truth, I was denying him a chance to know me. To share the music we both loved.

Plus, I was treating him like he was too weak to handle it… just as I’d accused Trace of doing to me.

So I was changing that today.

In the most dramatic way possible.

When I got to the ranch, Lennon was just walking in the side door, covered in sweat and grime. “Well, there he is,” he said with a surprised smile. “The little lost boy returns. If I weren’t covered in cow shit right now, I’d hug the fuck out of you.”