Page 165 of The Pact

During the weeks prior, I’d had my share of sleeping and waking with Cole, Sutton, and Wesley. Damian was the only one who I’d yet to spend an entire night with. That morning, I watched him for a long time.

His face was soft and unbothered as his eyes fluttered beneath his lids. He looked angelic when he wasn’t shifting between being serious or devilish. I wanted to reach out and run my fingers through his tousled auburn hair. I wanted to kiss those soft, pink lips. But most of all, I wanted to tell him it was okay to let down those walls once in a while.

I wanted to see him like this awake. So beautiful and unguarded.

I was too afraid to do any of that, so I settled for falling back asleep in the arms of the men who cared for me in a way no one else ever had.

Since that night, things have shifted in the house—not only between myself and each of them, but also between each other—like something’s clicked into place. Was I their missing piece, like they were mine? My whole heart hopes so, however, I also know it’s dangerous putting that much importance on what we mean to each other.

I still catch myself holding back, trying to protect my heart just in case the other shoe drops. It’s a habit I’m trying hard to break. That’s why when Cole leaves for work, I go to his desk and start up his computer.

The lock screen comes up. I don’t know his password. I’m about to go to my room and get my laptop when I click the password hint button.

Hint: Treat + Grad Year

My mind filters through the possible combinations. There are hundreds. And his grad year? It could be high school or culinary school, although I’m pretty sure it was the latter. Then I remember something. I look at his nightstand and there’s a picture of him hanging up the diploma in the back office at the bakery.

I really should go get my laptop, but this little challenge makes the nosy part of me giddy. Picking up the picture, I squint, trying to read the words on the diploma. 2011. I think. The date is small, however, I’m pretty sure that’s it. I do the math in my head and it seems to make sense.

The first part of the hint stumps me. It could be anything—eclair, truffle, ice cream. There’s likely a maximum amount of times I can try before it locks me out.

I’ll give it a go and if it locks up, then I’ll get my computer.

My fingers fly across the keyboard. Pie2011. A big red X appears next to my guess. Cake2011. Wrong again. Cupcake2011. Wrong. I get a warning that I have another two attempts before the computer locks.

Cole made me chocolate chip cookies when he was first trying out gluten-free recipes. They turned out amazing. He even started selling them at the bakery. Cookie2011.

The screen does nothing for a moment, then it goes black for a half second before the desktop image of a river and mountains appears in front of me. I give a little squeal of excitement.

I click on the internet icon and pull up the search bar.

It’s been on my mind a lot lately, Cole needing some extra attention. A couple of days ago, I came up with the perfect idea. I need to figure out a day that will work for both of our schedules and check if the Evergreen Inn has availability.

An evening away is just the thing we need.

Typing in the inn’s name, I hope there aren’t too many results. For the life of me, I can’t remember what city we ran out of gas in. It takes a moment for the page to populate. When it does, it’s the first one on the list.

My mouse hovers over the name, but I see something strange that makes me pause.

The link to the inn is in purple and in a small font beneath the website’s description are the words, You’ve visited this page 3 times. Last visit: 7/08/21.

Something feels off and I try to think back to our night at the inn. However, I can’t recall when we stayed there.

I grab my phone where it’s plugged into the nightstand and search the group chat, knowing that we told the guys that we ran out of gas that night. I type the word inn and the results pop up immediately. The date in the chat says the twenty-first of July—Cole visited this site two weeks prior to us staying there.

Goosebumps break out over my body and I feel sick. I don’t know why, but my gut tells me to dig.

I pull up the browser’s search history and find July eighth to see what else he searched. Most of it is mundane. Emails, recipe links, and the search for the inn.

The exact search reads inns near Clayton, Ga. My heart speeds up. Then I notice the other searches. Gas stations near the Evergreen Inn Clayton, Ga. My lip quivers and I can feel tears pricking at my eyes as I try to make sense of what I’m reading.

These searches were weeks before we even went on our day trip to North Carolina.

I hear footsteps coming down the stairs. My fingers fly to the mouse as I hurry to close all the screens. I push out from the chair and stand as Jessie comes into view.

“Good morning,” I say, a little too high pitched.

Her face scrunches. “What are you up to?” She asks suspiciously, looking around me at Cole’s computer.

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