Page 15

CALLIE

R yder’s avoiding me again.

And this time, it’s worse.

Because now I know what his hands feel like on my skin. I know what his voice sounds like when it isn’t armored in protocol and silence. I know what it’s like when he lets go.

And now he’s walking around like it didn’t happen.

No glances. No banter. Just clipped commands and tight jawlines.

So I follow him.

Out past the cabins, down the slope to where the lake’s starting to turn purple with the setting sun. He’s pretending to do an inventory check on the gear shed like it requires military-grade focus.

“Hey,” I say.

Nothing.

“Ryder,” I repeat, louder. “Talk to me.”

Still nothing.

So I do what any emotionally repressed camp counselor with a rage kink does.

I kick over the nearest paddleboard.

He turns fast, like he’s ready to fight, but stops when he sees me. Really sees me.

“What the hell was that?” he growls.

“Your attention-grabbing intervention, ” I snap. “Now that I have it, let’s go. Talk. Right now.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Like hell there isn’t.”

I march closer, arms crossed. “You think you can just shut down after everything? Pretend it didn’t happen? Avoid eye contact like we’re awkward teenagers who bumped knees at prom?”

He says nothing.

His jaw flexes.

So I push harder.

“Look, I get it. Control freak. Big scary lake. Monsters under the surface inside your head, too, probably. But that night”

“That night was a mistake,” he says.

The words hit like a slap.

But I don’t back down.

“Bull. Shit.”

“It distracted me,” he snaps, stepping forward. “I let it. And now the riptide’s surging even when the skies are clear, and kids are seeing glowing eyes in the water. I don’t have room for mistakes right now.”

“Oh, so I’m a mistake now?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to.”

We’re toe to toe now. His breathing’s sharp. So is mine.

“You hide behind this ‘must protect everyone’ routine like it’s noble,” I hiss. “But it’s not. It’s a shield. A big, shiny ‘do not feel anything’ excuse.”

He glares. “And you? You joke your way through every crisis like none of it matters. Like if you just smile hard enough, nothing can touch you.”

“Maybe because I have to,” I shout. “Because if I stop laughing, I’ll break in half!”

That shuts him up.

For a second.

“You don’t take anything seriously,” he says quietly. “Not this camp. Not what we’re facing.”

My throat tightens. “You think that? After everything I’ve done for these kids? Everything I’ve risked ?”

“I think you bury your fear so deep in sparkles and sass that you forget how to be real.”

“And you think fear’s the same as weakness.”

He doesn’t deny it.

He just looks at me.

Wounded.

Like I peeled something open he wasn’t ready to show.

“I found something,” he says finally, voice low. “Last night. In the lake.”

“What was it?”

“A relic. From my tribe. It shouldn’t be here.”

I breathe in slow. “That’s why you’re shutting down.”

“It means the rift is opening,” he says. “It’s not just magic anymore. It’s intent. And if I let my guard down, if I let you in, someone might die.”

I reach for him before I can stop myself, fingers brushing his wrist. “Ryder…”

He steps back.

I let my hand fall.

“Screw distance,” I say, voice cracking. “I’m not the danger here. I’m the one who swims beside you when the water gets dark. And you know that.”

He doesn’t answer.

But his eyes say everything.

He knows.

And it’s killing him.

“You think you can just keep pushing me away,” I say, stepping forward again, “and that I’ll just bounce back like one of Jason’s stupid pool noodles.”

“Callie”

“No. You don’t get to say my name like that. Like it still means something if you won’t let it.”

His jaw tightens again, but there’s something in his eyes now cracks. Big ones. Like if I press just a little more, the truth will come pouring out.

“I never asked for this,” he mutters.

“You think I did?” My voice is sharp, cutting. “I was supposed to come here, have a weird little summer job, teach kids to float, and maybe kiss someone normal. Not you. Not this.”

“That’s the point,” he says through clenched teeth. “You deserve normal.”

“I deserve the truth, ” I snap. “I deserve someone who won’t slam every damn emotional door in my face just because his feelings scare him.”

He turns away, breath ragged. “You don’t understand what loving me costs. ”

“Oh my gods, Ryder,” I say, tears now threatening but not falling. “It’s not a curse. It’s not some ancient monster prophecy. It’s you. And me. And this. And maybe, yeah, it’s messy and terrifying but that doesn’t mean you get to run from it just because it’s not on your daily checklist.”

He doesn’t move.

So I do the stupid thing.

The brave thing.

I grab his shirt and yank him around to face me.

“I’m here, ” I say, barely above a whisper. “I’m scared, too. But I’m still here. And I’m not going to stop fighting for this just because you keep trying to shut it down.”

His eyes meet mine, blazing.

He opens his mouth like he’s going to argue again.

But nothing comes out.

Because there’s nothing left to say that hasn’t already been shouted.

We just stand there.

Breathing.

Buzzing.

Breaking and wanting all at once.

He turns and walks away.

I walk back to my cabin with my arms crossed tight, not because I’m cold, but because if I don’t hold myself together, I might splinter all over the pine needles.

The path is empty.

The frogs are loud.

And every step feels heavier than the last.

By the time I reach my bunk, I don’t bother with the lights. I just flop down on the mattress and stare at the wooden ceiling like it owes me answers.

What am I doing here?

This was supposed to be a fun detour. A reset. Campfire songs and floating glitter rings and a few cute crushes.

Instead, I’m knee-deep in monsters, heartbreak, and some ancient water magic that might eat us all.

And worse?

I let myself feel something real.

And I let him matter.

I close my eyes and press the heel of my hand to my chest.

It’s still tight there.

Still hurting.

And I don’t know how to make it stop.