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Chapter Eleven

Canyon

I rush into the bathroom and sink against the closed door. The relief of escaping the chaos and my own failure overrides my hesitation at getting dirt everywhere. My ragged breaths fill the room and I belatedly check that no one else is here.

Leaning over the sink, I splash water on my heated face. It’s at least ninety degrees, and with the Missouri humidity, it’s pushing closer to ninety-five. No wonder everyone’s on edge.

What the hell is going on with Al and Owen?

No one wanted to do trust falls, but I pushed them into it.

I was just following River’s plan.

My mind is a mess. This thing with Wade.

Worrying over my brother. Where is he? But I can’t really blame River for leaving.

I’m less tense than I was a few days ago, but it’s a constant reminder of life before our parents died.

The rustle of leaves. The popping of the campfire.

The taste of roasted marshmallows. Even the impromptu campfire songs.

Mom tortured us with that crap for years, but now I would gladly endure it all again for her sweet smile and watchful eyes. “Don’t overdo it, Canyon,” she would say. “The doctors…”

And then Dad’s voice. “He can’t just hide from life, Liv. He’s fine. We’re all fine.” But Dad was wrong.

The grief hits me hard. And I know it’s due to everything.

River disappearing. Being here surrounded by memories.

Wade’s team. Are some of them rooting for me to fail?

Some of them clearly don’t want to be here either.

And they have this shared knowledge that I don’t have.

Every word seems to be laced with secrets.

From me. From Wade. From each other. The man needs a month-long retreat to work through all this crap.

And then there’s Wade. He’s the most overwhelming thing of all.

At night, in his arms, it seems clearer somehow.

His commanding voice. My body willing to obey his every wish—or not, just to see that fire in his eyes as he reprimands me.

During the day, it gets hazy. This is my boss, even if it’s temporary.

River’s boss, which might also be temporary.

He’s a grumpy asshole, and the rules he has for himself are borderline abusive.

I clutch the edge of the sink. But it helps.

His aunt is evil, and pointing my frustration and rage at someone deserving feels freeing.

Tucking that all away, I focus on getting cleaned up. Not that I want to go back out there, but I’ve been through worse. Fighting campers and an overprotective, confusing bosshole are still easier than having doctors monitoring every single thing I put in my mouth.

I jump in the shower. The water hides my tears and soothes my prickly emotions.

I towel off and quickly pull on my underwear and shorts.

No sense in dragging it out. I’m almost dressed when the bathroom door whooshes open, and I squeak in surprise, my heart pounding as I clutch my shirt to my chest. The flimsy curtain shielding me from view feels wholly inadequate.

“Can?” Wade. Thank God.

The surge of relief is dizzying, and I grab the tiled wall to keep upright. “Over here,” I say as if my feet aren’t visible under the drawn curtain. As if my breathing isn’t a clue as I suck air in and out to avoid another panic attack.

“Thank God,” he mutters as he pulls the curtain open and then closes it again just as quickly.

I huff out a laugh, feeling a little better. “What are you doing?”

“I should have asked—I’m not—sorry.” The pain in his voice stops the teasing comment on my lips. He doesn’t usually ask permission. Show no weakness. Another rule. Another scar. I’m not a violent person, but if his aunt was bleeding and dying, I’m not sure I’d stop to help.

I feel strangely vulnerable. “You can come in.”

He opens the curtain gently this time and his gaze roams over me as if assessing me for injuries. He reaches out but doesn’t touch me. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I take his hand and press it against the side of my face. Needing a connection. “Really. Nothing bruised but my ego.”

His eyes are still worried. “I fired them both.”

“Wade—I hope you’re kidding.”

He laughs, and his shoulders relax. “No. But then Jared and I discussed it. We agreed that finishing this retreat is punishment enough.”

“Thank you anyway.”

“For inappropriate firing?”

“For defending my honor.”

He snorts. “That makes me sound medieval.” He shakes his head but then stops, staring at my—oh God.

I spin around. “I need to finish getting dressed.”

“Can, I’ve seen them already.”

“That’s different.” I pull my shirt on quickly, my cheeks hot with humiliation. “That was at night, in low lighting. The fluorescent lights in here are way too bright.”

Wade doesn’t care. I know that. Then why does it still bother me?

“Ssh. It’s fine.” He kisses me, and it’s sweet—sweeter than I deserve.

Arguing alerts us right before the door opens. But instead of pulling the curtain closed, Wade pulls me into the shower. Unless they look in, they shouldn’t be able to see us.

“What do we do?” It sounds like Carol from HR. There is no Carol in HR. The quip is automatic, but instead of dwelling on old TV shows, my mind identifies the sharp, high-pitched voice of the person with her. Vivian. Why are they in the men’s bathroom?

“Stop crying.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re whining. And it’s getting on my nerves.”

Carol sniffs a few times and takes a shuddering breath. “What do we do?”

Footsteps clack on the floor and Wade wraps his arms around me and pulls me farther in. Will Vivian check the actual showers?

Her steps retreat, and I sag against Wade’s strong chest. Wrapped in his arms, surrounded by the scent of his sweat and bug spray, I feel almost safe.

“Nothing,” Vivian says, her voice firm. “We do nothing. It’s none of our business.”

Is she talking about us? I no longer feel safe.

Carol squawks in disapproval. “It’s stealing, Vivian. And it’s wrong. We have to report this.”

“For Christ’s sake, Carol. We need proof. Once we get it, then I’ll take care of it. We just need to make it through this goddamn retreat without killing anyone or getting fired. So don’t say anything. Got it? Or so help me God, I will take away your—” The rest is whispered and I don’t catch it.

Carol gasps. “You wouldn’t.”

“Fucking try me.”

They leave after that, and Wade leads me out of the shower. He checks the room. “It’s clear.”

“I feel like we’re in a James Bond movie. We have legitimate reasons for being in here.”

He nods, but not like he’s processing my words. His eyes are on the door. “What in the hell?”

“Someone’s stealing from…the company? Stealing from you and your family?” The idea of someone on his team betraying Wade makes my heart ache. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing. For now.” The layer of condensation on the mirror drips, hiding his expression. But the set of his shoulders, his measured breaths, and his flat voice tell me all I need to know.

Wade’s mask, the one I’ve worked hard to break through, is now firmly back in place.