Page 122 of Off Plan
“Fenn! Holy fucking shitballs.Fenn! Stop kissing your boyfriend in the fucking monsoon and come see this!” Beale called.
“I’m taking you home and putting you to bed,” Fenn said mildly, ignoring his cousin. “Unless you think you need a hospital?”
I shook my head, knowing I was going to be sore the next day no matter what, but that I needed rest more than a hospital. Rest, and… “I really need to be with you,” I admitted. Letting him hold me and ground me in the safety I only ever felt with him.
“Handy, Loafers. Because that’s exactly what I need, too.” He kissed me again, with his forearms under my shoulders and his fingers supporting my head.
I sighed.
“For the love of Jacob Godfrey’s ghost! Fenn and Mason! Stop dry humping… uh? Wet humping? Whatever. Get your asses over here!”
I darted a glance toward the edge of the sinkhole and shuddered. Yeah, I hadzerodesire to crawl back over there. But Fenn was already levering himself off me and offering me both of his hands to help pull me up.
Once I was on my feet, though, he didn’t drag me toward the hellmouth; he pulled me into his arms like he was as reluctant to let go as I was, and he kissed meagain. I could get very, very used to this.
I was thankful I wasaliveto get used to this.
“Shower,” I mumbled. “Beer. Bed.”
“Baby, you have seriously good plans—”
“Jesus Christ!”Beale yelled. “There’s a fuckingboxin this hole, boys! A very old, very heavybox. Are you hearing me? Blink once for yes, twice for no!”
But Fenn and I just stared at each other without blinking at all.
“You need me to spell it out? I’m pretty sure this means Mason just crashed your Charger into the Whispering Key treasure, Fenn!” Beale yelled. “So stop yourcanoodlingand come fuckingsee it.”
“There is no way,” Fenn said, shaking his head slowly. “Not possible. Inwhatuniversewould a person have a car accident and find a treasure people have hunted for centuries?”
As it turned out, the answer to that question was… this one.
Chapter Twenty-One
Fenn
Two mornings later,I stepped out the back door of the Goodmans’ house into somewhat-organized chaos. The sun was shining, the ground was boggy, and the air was thick with humidity. Young Rafe and Beale were manning a chain saw—never a good idea—to hack a storm-downed tree into tiny pieces for yard cleanup. Beale’s cat, Marjorie, whose delusions of being a pit bull grew more and more pronounced each day, stood on the porch steps hissing at the noise. Big Rafe manned the barbecue smoker just out of sight, sending giant white plumes wafting across the covered patio where an enormous picnic table covered in a red-and-white-checked cloth stood ready and waiting for food. Gage waved at the smoke from his spot on the porch stairs, where he chatted with Mason, who was sprawled across the lounge chair I’d threatened to strap him to if he attempted to move.
Just a typical family Sunday, right?
Except it hadn’t really been typical for any of us up to now. Not even a little. There was a feeling of happiness and anticipation hanging in the air, along with the smoke and the humidity. A sense of camaraderie. I feeling that we were… I dunno. Actuallyfamily.
A lot of the happy buzz had to do with the contents of the safe in the floor of Uncle Rafe’s bunker—a wooden chest banded with iron containing several gold bars, gold coins, pouches filled with gold dust, and a pair of gold rings, one inscribed with the initialsJG, the otherRG, like the original owners wanted to beextrasure we knew just who it had belonged to.
But I think even more of it had to do with how close we’d come to losing Gloria (who was still in the hospital, but feeling fit enough to video chat with Gage and walk him through her pineapple bread recipe) and Mason (who was bruised to hell and back but was, in his professional opinion, “Perfectly fine, for fuck’s sake, Fenn, but if we don’t have makeup sex soon, I won’t be responsible for my actions”). There was something to be said for remembering that no matter how much we pissed each other off—and we did—we really loved one another, too.
“Hey,” I said, approaching Mason’s lounge chair. I ruffled Gage’s hair and pushed at his head when he muttered, “Dick.”
To Mason, I said, “You relaxing, baby?”
Mason pushed his sunglasses up through his wavy, dark hair and narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “Clearly, yes. I had no idea you had this relaxation kink. I offered to help Beale and Rafe with the tree, and Beale threatened to sit on me if I tried, which is counterproductive to my bruised ribs healing, FYI.”
“Yeah, but the threat worked, didn’t it. You’re still lying here?” I braced my hands on the arms of his chair and leaned down to give him a long, thorough kiss.
“I feel if you want me lying down, there are better ways to accomplish it, that’s all I’m saying,” Mason whispered against my mouth when I pulled back. “That’s all Ikeepsaying.”
I grinned and knocked his feet out of the way so I could sit on the end of his lounger.
“Fine,” I agreed. “Fine. If that’sreallywhat you want to do… you’ve convinced me.”
