Page 23

Chapter Thirteen

Canyon

My plan to lead the team in a game of Truth or Dare immediately falls apart.

Gathering around the campfire is optional and several campers decline.

Although their reasons vary from being tired to needing a break from the drama, it’s interesting that the ones not participating are mostly those we suspect of hiding something.

Al and Owen. Vivian and Carol. George. And Sheila, but she actually looked exhausted.

We make s’mores. It’s a rule. You have a campfire.

You have to make s’mores. There are only nine instead of the usual fifteen, so we’re in smaller groups around the fire.

I’m sitting closer to Wade than is probably necessary, but I don’t care.

We only have two more days. And I’m not ready to give this up.

Once the retreat is over, everything will change…

or go back to normal. Wade and I will go our separate ways.

But now, the soft night sounds, the crackle of the fire, and the flickering flames lure me into a happy place.

River and I always loved this part. Telling stories around the campfire.

Or playing games. Dad was the worst at telling ghost stories.

He’d get them all mixed together. Mom would tease Dad for forgetting the most important part, and River would take over.

So many good memories. I’d pushed all of them away.

“Are you okay?” Wade touches my shoulder, his hand only lingering a second. His eyes are intent on my face.

“Yes.” And surprisingly, I am. “Just remembering good times.”

He nods at the others roasting marshmallows and laughing. “Do we have a backup plan?”

“Let’s share camping stories.”

His eyes soften for a moment. He really shouldn’t stare at me like that if we want to keep this thing between us secret.

“What are we doing?” Ander asks, and Wade grimaces. The rest of the group gets quiet.

“I thought we could share our favorite camping stories,” I say loud enough for everyone.

Ander claps his hands while darting a look at Wade. “This is going to be fun!”

“Ander…” Wade says in a warning tone.

“Can I start?” Jet asks, leaning forward in his chair.

“Yes,” Wade says, darting a look at his brother. “Go ahead.”

Ander’s smile grows bigger.

“Growing up, my family went camping every summer. But no cabins. We slept in tents, and Mom cooked over a fire. There was something magical about sleeping under the stars and eating eggs and bacon right from the fire.” He smiles at the memory, and it reminds me of River. “That was always my favorite part.”

Emotion clogs my throat for a second. It could also be from the smoke. “My mom would cook whatever fish we caught that day. Mostly catfish. River and I would compete to see who could get the most.”

“Who won?” Lydia asked.

“My dad. He was terrible at ghost stories but an exceptional fisherman. Between the two of us, River usually caught the most.”

“You let him win.” It doesn’t sound like a question. Wade is studying me like he knows me.

But he doesn’t. And I don’t know him. Not really. I need to remember that. It’s only been two days.

“We went camping all the time. And rafting. And boating. My parents loved the outdoors. Always looking for the next adventure.” My laugh turns into a choked-off sob as I push back the memories of their last adventure.

The one they didn’t survive. My throat is tight, and I blink back the tears as I stare at the fire. If I look at Wade, I might fall apart.

It’s been ten years.

He squeezes my wrist. “Go ahead, Ander. I know you’re dy— You can’t wait to embarrass me. Let’s get it over with.”

Everyone’s focus shifts to Ander, and the tightness in my chest loosens. I take a deep breath, inhaling the scents of Wade’s sweat and body wash and the smoke from the fire.

“We usually camped once or twice a year starting when I was young—probably three or so—and ending—” He cuts off and swallows.

Everyone knows the rest of that sentence.

Ending when a distracted driver killed both his parents.

Jared squeezes his arm and Ander gives him a grateful smile.

Then he clears his throat. “Sorry. It’s been a while, but it still takes me by surprise sometimes.

I was seven and Wade was nine on the last trip we were on, and we were all sleeping—in tents—and this scream wakes me up.

We all rush to Wade’s tent. It was—” He laughs and wipes his eyes. “I can’t?—”

“It was a squirrel,” Wade says. “A killer squirrel.”

Ander struggles to catch his breath. “You were—it was only—” He holds his hands about six inches apart, one over the other.

“I woke up, and that squirrel was staring at me,” Wade says, then mumbles the rest, “with murder in his eyes.”

Everyone’s laughing now. I grin at him and pat his arm.

“It’s okay, Wade. We believe you.” I can’t keep the warmth from my eyes.

He did this. Turned the focus on himself for me.

I’m not sure how much I can trust him, and I’m positive I’m going to end up with a broken heart, but for now, in this moment, I—care about Wade more than I should.

The stories continue, but it’s hard to focus. I can’t tell Wade how I feel. But I can show him.

Afterward, we’re in our room in the cabin, and Wade, freshly showered, slips under the covers and pulls me into his arms.

“Thank you.”

He brushes my hair back and smiles. The affection in his eyes steals my breath. “I’m sorry about your parents, Can.”

“Thank you. Again.” I roll my eyes, and he laughs. “I—same. You were so young when you lost your parents.”

He shakes his head, but not like I was wrong.

More like he didn’t want to discuss it. I expect him to change the subject.

“It was hard,” he says, his gaze dropping.

“I wasn’t able to deal with it fully as a kid.

I was in shock, and after Uncle Frank died, my shock turned to fury.

” He shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve been angry ever since. ”

His face feels warm against my palm as I cup his cheek. If there was a way I could take away his pain, I would in a heartbeat. I brush my lips over his. Just once.

His breathing changes and his throat clicks as he swallows. “Until now. It’s been so long since I felt happy or cared for. Thank you.” He kisses me, but instead of a pause or a quick beat, this kiss is more. It’s the start of something. “I need you, Can.”

I whimper at his words and the way his mouth feels on my skin. He kisses me again, and I open myself to him. My mouth so he can deepen the kiss, our tongues sliding together. My arms to hold him. My legs to give him access to whatever he wants. My heart—even knowing it could destroy me.

“Tonight is about you, Can. I want to take care of you. Just tell me how. I can blindfold you, use restraints, control you completely so you’re dependent on me to feel good.” Each word stokes the fire burning through my body. “Or I can worship every inch of your body. Tell me what you need.”

Love me.

But I can’t say those words. As much as I love the thought of being stripped bare, punished, and left with no choice in anything, tonight, I want something that will hurt much more. His gentle touch. His tenderness.

Wade gives me what I ask for, making love to me so sweetly it hurts.

And when he’s deep inside me, our bodies slick with sweat and he’s barely holding on, I memorize every detail.

Every freckle on his shoulder. Every moan.

Every intense stare as he holds my gaze as long as he can before squeezing his eyes shut and gasping out a shuddering breath. My orgasm hits, stealing my focus.

And then it’s over, and we smile and enjoy the buzz of good feelings while it lasts. But way too soon, Wade is sleeping and reality returns. This thing between us is temporary, no matter how real it feels. I know what I have to do.

Enjoy this while it lasts and prepare myself for when it inevitably ends.

Thursday, June 12 th , 8:30 a.m.

By the next morning, my resolve to help Wade figure this out gets stronger. It’s one thing I can do for him.

Especially after he gets a message from Steph.

“What’s wrong?” I ask when he frowns at his phone instead of elaborating.

We’re walking to the main hall for breakfast.

“Nothing.” At my glare, he squeezes my arm right above the elbow. “I don’t want you to worry.”

“Oh. Perfect. That fixes everything. No longer worried,” I say, not even trying to hide the frustration in my voice.

“I—hold on.” He takes my hand and leads me off the path and behind a big oak tree. I’m rehearsing my argument in my head—do you trust me or not?—when I’m pushed against the tree and kissed. I melt—until I remember.

I push him away. “Stop trying to distract me.”

“I’m not. I swear. I’m just not good at sharing…”

I raise a brow at that. “I’m aware.” And I ignore how much I like when he gets possessive. “Stop stalling.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Meredith knows about the fight. She’s somehow keeping tabs on us. God, she probably knows everything.”

“Everything?” That comes out a little high-pitched. I clear my throat. “Everything?”

His hands gently grip my biceps as he leans in and brushes a quick kiss across my lips. “I don’t think she knows about us. But someone has been feeding her information.”

“Who do you think it is?”

He takes my hands and squeezes. His thumbs brush over my fingers as he seems to think about my question. “A week ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I would have said my brother. But I’m not sure if I believe that anymore.”

I nod. Now that I know him better, I can’t see Ander doing it. He hates Meredith as much as Wade. “Al?”

“Maybe. He’s a likely suspect.”

I hate that someone would do this to him. Which is funny since a few days ago, I thought he was the jerkiest bosshole ever. And now I want to protect him. “I’m going to figure this out, Wade.”

He traces the side of my face. He’s always touching me, which is a surprising but welcome revelation. “Sweetheart, you don’t need to do this.”