Page 39 of Tracking Wolfe

I ran my clammy hands down my thighs, unsure of where I wanted this conversation to go. I still couldn’t imagine a scenario where we were together. Not when the idea of telling Derek still made my palms sweat. But I didn’t want my relationship with Wolfe to be strained anymore.

Hell, I wanted to have a relationship with him again, period.

I needed him to know I didn’t think of him as a child any longer, but that I also wanted him safe. Not because he couldn’t take care of himself, but because he was precious to me.

“I don’t want things to be like this between us,” I admitted, hearing the roughness in my voice. “You’re important to me. And I… I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” he said softly.

The ache in my chest intensified, and I sucked in a breath. Had I really thought all the missing would be on my side of the equation? That leaving San Francisco to protect Wolfe, to let him move on from his crush, would be a pain-free experience for him?

We sat in silence for a little while, Wolfe continuing to smooth the fabric next to him and me taking sneaky looks around his van.

I noticed his journal lying on the table and felt a pang. He was still using the leather cover I’d gotten him ages ago.

Yeah, not a pain-free experience.

I cleared my throat. “You been writing any songs?”

His head snapped up. “What?”

I nodded at the journal. “It’s just, you used to write song lyrics sometimes. I wondered if you ever did that anymore.”

“Oh, uh… Sometimes. Yeah.”

“Anything you want to share? I haven’t heard you play in a long time.”

He shook his head and went back to smoothing the duvet. His cheeks were now as red as his ears, mottled and uneven. The red made his lips look even more kissable than before.

“It’s okay,” I murmured. “No pressure.”

He glanced at me quickly before returning to his task. “Aren’t you supposed to be at SERA? You’re probably getting ready for spring and summer sessions.”

I forced myself to go along with the stilted conversation, wondering if it was simply a matter of putting in the time and small talk before the two of us would feel more comfortable with each other again.

So I told him about my recent SaR cohorts, about the lost snowmobiler in Yellowstone, and how Foster’s tracking dog, Chickie, had been improving by leaps and bounds after a winter of training attention.

Wolfe told me about his recent work at the foundation. Projects he’d been excited to fund and beneficial partnerships he and Jude had created that would help expand the foundation’s reach for years to come. Even if it wasn’t his dream job, he seemed satisfied with the work he’d been doing there, despite Derek and Jude’s fears.

We talked about the Marians, catching up on everyone’s lives, since I knew more about the Legacy crew, and he knew more about the others.

Over the span of two hours, Wolfe began to relax. His legs straightened out again, and his body flopped sideways to lie on a pillow.

He’d offered me a cup of coffee from his little pod machine, then pulled out some of the same pastries I’d picked up at the local market.

I ended up kicking off my shoes and propping my feet up on the bench next to me, picking the paper cover off a muffin while telling him about my trip up from Joshua Tree.

He frowned. “You found me from social media posts? How? I haven’t even been posting to my personal account.”

The wording of that was strange, as if he had more than a personal account, but instead of focusing on it, I explained how I’d used the Joshua Tree boondocking tags to find him.

“That’s creepy, Trace,” he said, smiling in a way that took any sting out of the accusation.

I shrugged. “It’s what I do.”

He rolled his eyes and crumpled his paper towel, shooting it at the small wastebasket near me and missing. “I hope my dads are paying you well, at least.”

I was in the middle of correcting his missed trash shot when I glanced up at him, fully offended. “You can’t be serious.”