Keeping Secrets in Seattle - By Brooke Moss Page 0,73

with him this way. He needed to know. He should have known from the beginning. And it was time, once and for all, that he found out.

When the journal containing my secret was packed, I closed the top of the box and taped it shut. It was Friday morning, and I knew that if I sent the package today, it would reach Gabe’s apartment on Saturday while I was in Las Vegas with Landon. He could read the journal, know what happened, and finally know what I’ve been trying to tell him over the last month.

Or not.

Judging by the way our attempts at conversation over the past couple of months had gone, my hopes weren’t high that he’d read them at all.

My chest squeezed, and I rubbed my forehead. It was only six a.m., and I already had a headache. Landon was going to pick me up in fifteen minutes, and I needed to get this package addressed and ready for Betsy to mail downtown. I plucked a marker off of my dresser and scrawled out Gabe’s address just as there was a soft knock on my bedroom door.

“Come in.”

Kim walked into my room in her pajamas, a mug of coffee steaming in her hand. “You ready to go?”

“I think so.” I nodded and avoided her eyes. “Nothing left to do but get hitched.”

“Wow.” She chuckled and looked down at the box. “What’s this?”

“I’m sending some things to Gabe this weekend. Will you make sure Betsy remembers to take this with her to work? She said that she’d send it.” I put one last piece of tape on the box and slid it toward Kim.

She flared her nostrils. “What is it?”

“Just some stuff Gabe needs to see,” I said, turning my focus on my suitcase.

“Will do, darlin’.” Kim sipped her coffee. “I’m going to hit the shower. Love you.”

I folded the dress carefully and laid it in my suitcase. “Love you, too. I’ll call…you know, after.”

“You better.” She waved, then locked herself in the bathroom, leaving me in the quiet alone. I stared down at the box with Gabe’s address on it and fingered his name. By the time he opened that box and read those journals, I would be a married woman. Married to another man. A good man. A man I was lucky to have.

But a piece of my heart was taped up in that box with my secrets.

…

“The ceremony before yours went long. Would you like some champagne while you wait?”

I examined the woman holding two plastic champagne flutes filled with bubbly liquid under our noses. She looked like a woman who’d spent the better part of her adulthood in smoky bars and tanning beds, and her voice was as croaky as a lumberjack’s.

“Thank you.” I took both cups and swallowed their contents in four gulps.

Her black-lined eyes widened, and she topped them off again. “Congratulations.”

“Landon? Champagne?” I wiggled the cup in his direction. “Bottoms up.”

He watched me for a beat. I could tell that he was growing more and more concerned. During our limo ride from the hotel to the chapel, I’d just stared out the window at the blurry neon lights flashing. In the time since slipping into a beautiful turquoise dress with black lace overlay—and sidestepping Landon’s efforts to get me back out of it—the lump in my throat had morphed back into a ball of broken glass, scratching my throat raw.

“Are you all right?” His voice was quiet.

“I’m fine.” I swirled the cup. “Drink up.”

He shook his head. “No, thank you.”

Upon walking through the door, I’d had to run into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face and stuff tissues underneath my arms. I was sweating like a madwoman, even though I was inside an air-conditioned building. I was minutes away from marrying Landon. Thoughts of Gabe scrolled through my mind like a slide show, every memory we’d made together over the years. When Landon failed to grab his cup of the pinkish bubbly, I threw my head back and downed his portion in one gulp.

He watched me with a scowl. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

I looked down. The weight of his stare was making me sweat even more, and the tissues under my arms were getting soggy. “I’ve already told you that I’m fine.”

I glanced around the lobby, where the walls were covered in black vinyl and we were perched on a pink pleather couch. The woman who’d given us champagne lit a cigarette behind the counter and