Page 1 of Camping with the Boss (Pride Camp 2025 #9)

Chapter One

Canyon

I duck as the baseball whizzes by my head and slams into the wall behind me. My brother still has a great arm. “Get up, River.”

He pulls the pillow over his head, muffling his words. Not that it matters. I already know what he’s going to say. “Fuck off.”

I close my eyes, exhaustion weighing me down. Or is that guilt? I wallow for a second. That’s all I allow myself. “You’re going to get fired.”

“Good.”

I leave him to it. He’ll get up. He has to.

Our house is quiet except for Taffy meowing pitifully at my feet.

After getting her breakfast, I stare at the coffee pot, urging it to brew faster.

I finally give up and pour myself a cup before it’s finished.

River complains that we should get the pods and a coffee maker that uses them.

But it’s not like he makes the coffee. Pods—and the coffee makers—are expensive and bad for the environment.

It used to be more about the environment. Nowadays, it’s all about the money. I sip my coffee, enjoying the first few hits before setting it aside and cracking my knuckles. No sense in putting it off. The numbers won’t magically change.

When River and I were kids, back in a simpler time, a circus came to our small town. My brother loved the high-wire acts. Anything with adventure or danger. He’s the risk taker. Still. And he takes enough risks for both of us.

I liked the elephants. The clowns.

The jugglers.

I was so enamored that I taught myself to juggle. My mom finally banned me from doing it inside the house. She probably wouldn’t appreciate the baseball-size holes in her walls.

But she’s not here. And it’s my house now.

Just not for long.

No sense in focusing on the past, so I concentrate on the numbers instead.

How can I juggle them today? The mortgage or the car? We can’t afford to lose either. But one more missed payment could result in our car being repossessed, according to the frequent calls from the bank. I can make a partial payment if we only eat ramen for the next two weeks.

I rub the spot on my chest. Right over my scar. It won’t help. Nothing will. We’ve been in this hole too long to dig our way out. The sick feeling in my stomach is always present, lingering like a persistent cough that never seems to go away. I can’t fix this.

What’s the point anymore? Why keep trying? Eating ice cream and binging Disney Plus sounds like the perfect way to start the week. It won’t cure anything, but maybe I can chase this feeling away for an hour or two.

Then I remember we can’t afford ice cream. Or streaming services.

And watching the live-action Beauty and the Beast for the hundredth time won’t fix anything. There are no princes or fairy godmothers or dwarves to make things better.

Not all stories have happy endings.

Take care of your brother. My mom’s words haunt me. It’s not just that I’ve failed. It’s the pure epic-ness of my failure. Nothing is getting better no matter what I do. And if River gets fired? We’re screwed. My job is not enough for us to live on.

“River!” I load all my frustration into his name. “Get up, now!”

“Chill, bro.” His voice comes from the doorway. I didn’t even hear him get up. He strolls into the kitchen like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “You’ll give yourself a heart attack.”

“River,” I say with warning in my voice.

“I’m twenty-five, Canyon. I can take care of myself. You don’t have to do this.”

Then prove it. But that thought adds to my guilt. Because this is all my fault. “I know.”

He laughs. “Sure you do.” As he grabs his coffee, I notice the way he’s dressed. Basketball shorts. Tank top.

“Are you going to work like that?”

He doesn’t face me as he doctors his coffee. But his back straightens. “It’s a retreat. No one’s wearing suits.”

“Right, but…” Guilt slams into me again. I don’t know anything about this work retreat other than it’s a week-long retreat. Has he talked about the details? Not that I remember. But it’s not as if I asked. “Are things getting better with Mr. Darian?”

“My bosshole?”

“Is there another one I don’t know about?”

He laughs. “Funny, Can.” He turns and leans against the kitchen counters—baby blue because that was Mom’s favorite color. And Dad gave her anything she wanted. “You might be getting your sense of humor back.”

“Don’t count on it.”

“Everything’s fine. I’ve got it handled.”

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “If you don’t want to talk about it, just say so.”

“Nothing has changed, Can,” he says with a snort.

“The guy’s still an asshole. Why does he have to be a dick to everyone?

We get it. ‘You’re the boss.’” He uses half an air quote because he’s not letting go of his coffee.

“The word at the office is the board’s forcing him to do this retreat.

Team building or some such shit. Honestly?

I’d rather be hit in the head with a Tarik Skubal fastball. ”

“That would kill you.”

“Exactly. Kill me now.” He groans. “Five days, Can.”

“You can’t quit?—”

“I fucking know, okay?” He slams his cup down, sloshing coffee on the counter. “Stop mothering me.” He storms away, and I hear the door to his room slam shut.

That went well.

I need a different job. One that pays more. But the thought of starting over—I can’t do it.

I’m stuck. No. That implies there’s no movement at all. I’m moving. It’s just backward. While the rest of the world moves forward.

One good internal scream, Canyon. That’s all you get. Then the pity party is over. Done. Do what you have to do.

The scream would have been more satisfying aloud, but it still helps. I pay the bills I can. I’ll figure this out. I have no choice. Another month or two of this, and we’ll be penniless. And we’ll lose our home.

I stand and stretch, clearing my mind of numbers, bills, and worries. Just keep going. It’ll work out. River will get overtime during the retreat. That will help.

I almost wish I didn’t have Mondays off. I need something to distract me.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Alex. No doubt in my mind. The school she works at is on a four-day schedule with Mondays off. And no one else ever visits. We live in an old farmhouse on the edge of town. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Boring, according to River. But who needs excitement? Not me.

Pulling the door open, I shoo Taffy out of the way. She loves to greet visitors with her special brand of charm.

There it is. The hiss.

Alex shakes her head. “I think River conditioned your cat to hate me.”

“Good morning, Alex.” I open the door wider to let her in while I keep Taffy from running out. She wants to escape in the worst way. I know the feeling. “And you’re not special. She hates everyone.”

“Everyone but you.”

“Eh, debatable. Sometimes I wake up and she’s right in my face like she’s contemplating the best way to get rid of me.”

Alex laughs, tucking her long brown hair behind her ear as she heads to the kitchen. Once she has her coffee, we sit at the table. She starts right in. “There’s a farmers’ market today in?—”

“No thanks.”

She gives me her patented I’m-tired-of-your-shit look. As a school resource officer, she’s got it down to a science.

And really, I can’t blame her. I’m tired of my shit too.

“You need to get out of this house, Can.”

“I go places.”

“Picking up an order from Gerbes every Friday afternoon doesn’t count.”

“I go to the library on Wednesdays.”

She sighs and places her cup on the table. As if she’s preparing for battle. “You need to start living.”

“Now you sound like River. I’m living.”

“You’re existing.” Her eyes go soft, and I don’t like it.

“Stop. Don’t even say it.”

She studies me with that shrewd look she gets when she’s interrogating a youth over a missing iPhone. I brace myself. “You see your doc regularly, right? Does he tell you to limit your activity?”

“There are some things I can’t do.” I shrug, wishing there was a way out of this conversation.

“But they fixed your heart. Your surgery?—”

“More than one.” My voice is tighter than I want. But she makes it sound like a walk in the park instead of many years of surgery. And pain. And therapy of every kind.

She puts her hand over mine and squeezes.

“My point is, you’re good now, right?” I just nod because good is a relative term.

But she’s trying to help, and I appreciate the effort.

“Come with me. We don’t even have to buy anything.

Just look around. Afterward, we can have lunch at that Greek place you like. My treat.”

I’m already shaking my head. “I can’t. River has that work retreat.” I hold out my hand to stop her words. “You know how he is. If I’m not here…” My voice trails off.

“He’s not a kid anymore.”

“You don’t understand.” My throat is tight as I hold in the rest of my words.

“I do, Can. After your mom and dad died—” She swallows, and that soft look is back.

I blink back the sudden pressure behind my eyes. “He needs me.”

“It’s been ten years, babe. He’s not a scared fifteen-year-old.” She squeezes my hand again and sits back, grabbing her coffee.

“He was never a scared fifteen-year-old.” I joke, and she gives me a sympathetic smile for my effort.

“All I’m saying is you need to let him grow up. He needs that.”

But then what? This is who I am. What I do.

I shut my eyes at my pathetic thoughts. Am I the one holding River back?

Pressing my fist against my chest, I smile at my best friend, hoping to erase the worry lines on her forehead.

“You’re right. I need to let him make mistakes.

Just not this one. He earns twice as much money as I do. ”

I parent River because I love him and it’s my job to take care of him. I also do it because I’m dependent on him and the money he brings in. Which is so much worse.

“Stop it right the fuck now.”

I let out a mock gasp. “It must be serious if you’re resorting to strong language.”

Alex snorts. “Fuck off.”

The tension breaks and we both laugh. Taffy looks at us as if we’re complete idiots. She’s not entirely wrong.