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Chapter Ten

Wade

As Canyon readies the group, his gaze is on everyone but me. He’s been quiet since our impromptu make-out session. Is he changing his mind?

The message from Steph this morning had been a wake-up call. Meredith was digging into Tim’s case again. The case was settled out of court months ago. Why would Meredith need to go through it again now? There could only be one reason. She figured out the truth. And she plans on burying me with it.

I hated leaving Canyon this morning, but I needed to look over those files.

Steph gathered everything, and we met in Plevna.

There wasn’t much. That was part of the problem.

George was Tim’s supervisor and supposedly documented everything.

But the evidence of George’s continued concerns with Tim’s work performance wasn’t there.

The most damning evidence in Tim’s favor was an email from George that stated Tim had made improvements and he no longer had concerns. That was right before Tim was fired.

I felt hopeful yesterday, but the progress we made now seems superficial. I still have someone—possibly more than one person—on my team feeding information to Meredith. Nothing in the files gave me the answers I needed.

I’m back where I started. Not knowing who I can trust on my team.

Meredith has complete control over everything.

I rub my wrist, suddenly back there.

Meredith’s hand is on my wrist as she leads me to her office. My uncle’s office before he died. I try to wiggle free, but her hand tightens. Her ice-cold eyes look past me to my brother. No words needed. If not me, then him.

This is not a new threat, but I choke on how unfair it is. Ander is only nine. Too young. His hands are baby-smooth.

But I was his age when Uncle Frank died, and an awful thought flashes through my mind before I can stop it.

It’s his turn.

The guilt and shame are immediate and wrapped in righteous anger, which burns more than my hands as she punishes me.

I’d do anything to protect my brother. Gladly take any punishment.

But I can’t undo that fleeting thought that says otherwise.

Wishing my brother harm, even for a second, will stay with me forever.

Added to my guilt already piled high, but not high enough to completely erase my anger.

Anger at our parents. The distracted driver. Our uncle for marrying a monster dressed in sensible clothes and a caring facade and then leaving us with her.

My anger serves a purpose. It shields me from the pain…gives me something else to focus on.

No. It fuels my pain into something more. One day, I won’t be eleven and powerless. One day, I’ll be the one in control. And my aunt will be the one hurting.

“Wade.”

The voice is distant. Someone grabs my shoulders, and I jerk away. But it isn’t Meredith.

It’s Ander.

He steps back, holding up his hands, hurt flashing briefly in his dark eyes. I’ve seen that look many times. I’ve caused that look too many times.

Add it to the pile. Soon, my guilt will tower over me. Crush me.

“Sorry, Ander—” I shake my head. Not able or willing to explain.

“Where were you this morning?” he asks in a clipped tone.

I shake off the past and focus on his words. “I told Jared?—”

“Yeah. I was there.”

I can’t deal with this. My team is looking to me to lead them. And Canyon is too quiet. “Then why the hell did you ask?”

He leans closer. “Because I don’t buy it, Wade. What’s going on?” His voice hardens. “Where did you go?”

“Fine. As long as we’re sharing secrets.” I keep my tone even. Fuck him. “You’ve been trailing after Jared like a lost puppy. Let’s start there.”

“Why do you have to be such a dick?”

My heart races as anger bursts through my defenses, making everything hazy. I choke back my scathing response—his betrayal. Siding with Meredith—and my stomach churns with guilt. I’ve yelled at people from time to time. Never Ander.

He stumbles back. Can he see it in my eyes? My face? I’m no longer able to hide it. Hurt flashes through his eyes. No, pain. Always pain. His eyes drop to my hands.

They aren’t balled into fists like I expect. My thumb is pressed into my palm so hard they’re both white, my fingers almost purple. The pain finally registers. I flex my hands and my fingers tingle. I take a deep breath. “Ander?—”

He jerks his head, rejecting my attempts to fix this. “Tell Canyon I’ll be back to help.” He turns away. “I need a minute.” His voice is rough, gravelly, like the sound of his bike on the road by our old house, full of starts and stops.

I hate Meredith. Nothing new. But today, I feel raw. And part of it’s from my meeting with Steph this morning. I know that. We’re back to this again. Every mistake I’ve ever made unveiled for the world to see.

It’s easier to breathe after Ander shuffles away. My team needs me. It’s why we’re here.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Wade. Do your duty. Rule number three. No regrets. Regrets are self-indulgent .

Groans come from my team seated at the picnic table as Canyon explains the upcoming activity.

He laughs. “It’s not that bad. We were scheduled to do these yesterday. But honestly, you guys weren’t ready.”

“We’re still not ready,” Al says loudly. It’s his main setting. Some things never change.

“Are you ever ready?” Owen asks.

Everyone laughs, but it’s subdued, as if they suspect something more is going on. Al complaining isn’t new. Owen getting pissed about it is.

Canyon catches my gaze and frowns.

Is he worried they’ll revolt? And an image of them standing on the picnic tables and shouting for a revolution flashes through my mind.

“Next week,” Al says, folding his arms across his chest. “I’ll be ready then.”

This time, the laughter is more hesitant. Wavering. Next week, we’ll be back in the office. Owen stands and takes a few steps away from the group, his eyes on Al.

I pull myself up, but before I can intervene, Canyon’s eyes snap to mine and pin me to the spot. A warning not to interfere.

Crossing my arms, I lean against the small building that holds sports equipment for the camp. No problem. I’ll just wait here. Useless.

“Trust fall exercises can feel scary, but I’ve seen you all come together as a team in the past few days. You’re ready.”

There are still a few grumbles as Canyon leads the group over to a grassy spot behind the ball pit.

This could go very wrong. I try to keep the concern off my face as I follow my team.

Is there any way to stop this without upsetting Canyon?

Not likely. The last time I intervened, he’d been furious.

In my face. Strong and beautiful. And our kiss had been unexpected.

Not the kiss itself—that seemed inevitable—but the intensity.

The need for more. I stumble on the uneven ground and catch myself.

“Problem?” Jared is walking beside me. He smirks as if he knows what I’m thinking. Was I staring at Canyon? Probably.

“Nope. You?” I raise a brow at my old friend. I will find out what he’s been up to with my brother.

He looks away. “We should…talk,” he says, all amusement gone from his voice.

“Hurry up, bossman,” Canyon calls from the other side of the ball pit. At least he’s no longer calling me bosshole.

Jared looks past me, and I follow his gaze. Ander.

Now I’m pissed all over again. “What?—”

He shakes his head. “Later. I promise we’ll talk.” And then he jogs off toward the main hall.

I tuck that all away as I reach the others.

Canyon breaks everyone into pairs and weaves through the groups until he’s standing next to me. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean? Nothing.”

He turns to face me with his hands on his hips. “Get it together, Wade. I need you to be a hundred percent on this. Your team is falling apart.”

Then he stomps away. I’m not proud of the fact that I watch him. Appreciating the way the anger sways his hips.

Al stands off to the right as Canyon explains the activity. Al glares, but not at Canyon. At a tree in the distance. His face, his neck, the line of his body are all so still it seems intentional. As if it’s taking everything he has not to look at anyone.

Vivian and Lydia go first. No issues. Although Vivian brushes her clothes off and steps quickly away from Lydia. Is this really building trust?

Canyon nods and says something encouraging, but his fist rubs against his chest, almost absently. Something he only does when he’s upset. Or emotional.

Carol and Sheila go next, and it all goes fine. Canyon’s shoulders relax. “Next.”

They mill around, staring at each other but not talking, which is odd in itself. After a moment, I realize none of them are looking at me. Purposefully. It’s too absolute to be anything different. What did I do? Is Canyon’s frustration contagious? Did he infect my team?

“Fine,” Canyon says, huffing. “I’ll choose. Jet and Dillian.”

The tension from the other night still seems to be there as they glare at each other. Jet shoulders past him when they change positions, which suspiciously looks more like a shove than an accident. “Sorry.”

We might be at camp, but they are still working. This is their job. Not middle school. I barely move, but Canyon’s stand-the-fuck-down look effectively glues me into place.

He’s good at censoring his words. But not his expressions. I relax. Not willing to fight. Not about this anyway.

It goes smoother after that as couple after couple fall back into each other’s trusting arms. Could I do that? Yes. With every member of my team? No. My brother. No way in hell. And that makes me sadder than it should.

“Owen and Al.”

Owen’s right hand balls into a fist and Al takes a half-step toward him. It seems more confrontational than I’d like for a trust fall. Are they seriously going to fight? Jesus.

“Relax, guys. You need to get closer.”