Page 64 of Seeds of Love
“Use your words, honey.”
I groan, slumping further into the couch. “It’s complicated.”
“Isn’t it always?” She pats my leg. “Now, when’s the pizza getting here? I need sustenance if we’re going to properly analyze your text messages like we’re back in high school.”
I throw a cushion at her, but I can’t wipe the smile off my face. Even after the worst date in history, tonight hasn’t turned out to be a total disaster.
Maybe Antarctica will have to wait.
FREDDIE
NOW – JUNIOR YEAR – MARCH
The old Jefferson Mine looms before us, its entrance gaping like some ancient beast waiting to swallow us whole. The rusted equipment scattered around looks like fallen soldiers, a graveyard of industry. It reminds me of the tools Dad used to clean at our kitchen table, his hands already shaking back then, though none of us wanted to admit it.
Working with Alex these past few weeks has been... surprisingly good. Yeah, she still treats her color-coding system like it’s a holy relic, and God help me if I mislabel a soil sample, but we’ve found our rhythm again. She’s brilliant when she gets going—fired up about rehabilitation strategies and sustainable practices. Sometimes, I catch myself just watching her, her hands flying as she explains some complex concept, and this odd, tight feeling settles in my chest. I’m not quite ready to figure it out.
We’re here to collect soil samples, to gauge how far contamination has spread. This morning, we worked quickly and efficiently. But now, it’s time for the real fun.
“The soils are in the car?” Alex checks again, her voice a little tight with anticipation.
“Yes. They’re all safe and sound, I promise.”
She nods, her eyes gleaming.
I adjust my backpack, hiding a grin as I feel her excitement building. Somehow, she managed to convince Professor Bam to let us into the main shaft—something about “hands-on visualization for rehabilitation potential.” Honestly, though, I think Bam just recognizes what I do: when Alex believes in something, she’s an unstoppable force.
The air hits me first—damp earth mixed with the sharp tang of oxidized metal, the kind of scent that makes my nose wrinkle instinctively.
“Alright,” Alex announces, her voice dropping into that no-nonsense tone she reserves for when she’s in full project manager mode. “We stick to the plan: main shaft, east tunnel, then out. No detours.” Her expression hardens into all business, her determination as palpable as the stale air around us.
I’m only half-listening, though, because there’s a ‘Do Not Enter’ sign for a second entrance, hanging by a thread, practically begging to be investigated. And maybe it’s stupid, maybe it’s reckless, but something about it calls to me. That’s where the real story is—not in the safe, sanitized route they’ve cleared for students.
“Hey,” I nudge Alex, watching her expression shift from focused to suspicious. It’s kind of cute how she can say “absolutely not” with just her eyebrows. “What do you think’s down there?”
She follows my gaze, her forehead creasing. “Probably collapse risk, toxic gases, or something equally deadly. Hence the sign, genius.”
But I see it—that flicker of curiosity in her eyes. For all her rules and regulations, there’s a part of Alex that wants to coloroutside the lines. She just needs a little push. And yeah, maybe I shouldn’t be the one doing the pushing, but I’ve never been great at resisting temptation.
“Or,” I say, letting a challenge creep into my voice, “it could be the most interesting part of this whole site. Maybe we’ll see some unique rock formations. Come on, Lexie. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
She shoots me a look that’s equal parts exasperation and intrigue. “Buried under a mountain of common sense,” she retorts, but I catch the glint of curiosity in her eyes.
“We’re already trespassing,” I press. “Might as well make it count, right?”
Alex chews her lip, and I try not to stare. “Fine.” She sighs. “But if we die, I’m haunting you for eternity. I mean it, Donovan.”
“Deal,” I grin, ducking under the chain. Like having her around forever would be a punishment.
The tunnel swallows us whole, darkness wrapping around us like a living thing. Our headlamps cut yellow wounds through the gloom, revealing walls that haven’t seen daylight since before either of us was born. Everything glistens with moisture, water dripping somewhere in the darkness like a broken metronome. The air is thick with the ghosts of industry—damp earth and rusted metal, the same smell that used to cling to Dad’s clothes.
As we push deeper, the main shaft splinters into a maze of smaller tunnels. The support beams above us look about as reliable as matchsticks, and something in my gut starts to whisper that maybe this wasn’t my brightest idea.
“This place is creepy as hell,” Alex mutters, and the slight tremor in her voice makes my protective instincts flare.
I’m about to crack a joke when I realize we’ve fucked up. The tunnel branching out ahead of us? It’s not on any of our maps. Shit.
“Uh, Alex?” I try to keep my voice steady, casual. No need to freak her out. “I think we might have taken a scenic route.”
