Page 42

THIRTY-SIX

Tate

When the morning sun finally filters through the old curtains of the cabin, I instinctively reach for her across the sofa bed.

But all I feel is the empty blanket beside me.

No Lauren.

I sit up, scanning the cabin, memories of last night flooding back.

The way she kissed me, like she’d been waiting for it as much as I had, left me wishing that we weren’t just acting out a scene.

But then she admitted she was trying not to want more.

What did that mean? Was she fighting her feelings for me—and if so, why?

And she apparently just left without a word. That’s not how I expected our last day of the family reunion to go. This week has felt like a respite from reality, but what I didn’t expect was how it would leave me wanting things I’ve never wanted before.

I get up and pull my dry shirt over my head. Lauren’s jacket is gone too.

When I step outside, I spot her coming down one of the hiking trails, carrying doughnuts, coffee, and something that suspiciously looks like a computer under her arm.

“Did you find my computer?” I blurt before she reaches me.

“Yeah, I wanted to confront Bart about the break-in,” she says as she walks over to me and holds out a doughnut.

“By yourself?”

“Of course by myself,” she says, sitting on the porch steps. “I’ve been inspired by Kyara, who goes up against warriors twice her size.” Then she tosses me a small grin.

“How’d you do it?” I say, taking a bite of my doughnut as I sit next to her.

“I walked up to him at breakfast and said that if he wants to compete in paintball today, he needs to stop illegally entering your cabin and stealing stuff.”

I stop chewing. “You seriously said that? In front of your whole family?”

She nods. “Then I demanded your computer back.”

I put my doughnut down. “And he just gave it to you? That doesn’t sound like Bart. I thought he’d at least make me fight for it.”

“Well, both my uncles and Dad backed me up, and then he had no choice.” She bites her lower lip. “But he did announce to the family that I was staying in your cabin.”

I almost choke on my doughnut. This wasn’t the impression I wanted to leave on everyone. “What did they say to that?”

“Well, I told them we weren’t sleeping together.”

“Oh, good,” I say, letting out a breath. “For a minute I thought I was going to be in serious trouble with Granny.”

“She was the worst of all. Told me she’d already figured it out, then winked at me and told me to have fun.”

I bury my face in my hands. “I’m never showing my face at breakfast again. Tell me they’ll forget about this in a few months.”

“My family forgets nothing, Tate. This story will be told at every reunion for the next fifty years.” Then she hands me my computer. “I still need you to check that Bart hasn’t put a nasty virus on your computer. Not that I think he’d know how.”

I lift the lid and type in the password. My document appears, showing the latest changes, as well as the rewritten chapters before he stole it. “Everything’s here,” I say, relief rushing over me.

She gives me a look, her cup halfway to her lips. “Just so you know, I think Bart has a target on your back for paintball today.”

I shrug. “I’d take a bullet if it means I get this back.” I snap the lid shut.

“Well, you haven’t been through a round of paintball with Bart yet.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve played with the hockey guys before. Rourke is ruthless.”

“Yeah, but is Rourke a sharpshooter?”

“No,” I say, then turn to her. “Is Bart?”

“In his spare time, he adores playing paintball. I think our best strategy is to stick together today.” She stands. “Ready?”

I put my computer next to me, then rise to my feet. “Before we leave, I wanted to talk about last night.”

Her eyes flick away, like she’s trying to look anywhere but at me. “I want you to know that I’m not holding you to any promises after this week. The shelter will get the donation now that I’ve fulfilled the requirements of the foundation.”

I frown, shaking my head. “What do you mean?”

She starts messing with the ring on her finger again. “I know that once we go back to real life—me as your PR manager—things will be different. They’ll have to be.”

She’s doing it again. Pulling away, creating distance between us like last night didn’t happen. She’s been hurt before, and now she’s protecting herself the only way she knows how.

“Sunny,” I cut her off, stepping closer. “Look at me.”

When she finally meets my gaze, I cup her face gently in my hands.

“We don’t have to decide anything right now.

But I need you to know something.” I brush my thumb across her cheek.

“I’m glad last night happened. Because it was the best kiss of my life, and I haven’t been able to think about anything else since. ”

She searches my face like she’s trying to figure out if I mean it. “Better than your ex?” she asks quietly.

I laugh, because there’s no comparison. “Lydia and I—that was nothing like what I feel when I’m with you.” I take her hand, lacing our fingers. “I will never forget that kiss, Sunny. And I’m not pretending it didn’t happen. Because I meant every second of it.”

She bites her lip. “What about when you got that text last night? Was it her?”

I frown, confused for a second before I remember. “That was just the team group chat. Leo sent another meme about Rourke’s dating disasters. Trust me, Sunny, the last thing I was thinking about during that kiss was anyone else.” I tip her chin up. “You had my complete attention.”

Then I give her hand a squeeze. “Now let’s go win this paintball competition.”

By the time I’ve stowed my computer and we reach the lodge, the family is already gathering for the annual paintball competition, a beloved tradition that, according to Lauren, has been passed down since the early 2000s when her uncles got into reality survivor shows on TV.

Uncle Ray insisted years ago that renting equipment was “for amateurs” and proceeded to outfit the entire family (minus children) after finding a paintball warehouse going out of business.

The only person who packs their own equipment is Bart, who shows up with a custom paintball gun. Clearly, he stayed at the reunion hoping he could somehow win Abby back, though it’s obvious to everyone but him that the ship has sailed.

He saunters up to me, his gun slung over his shoulder. “When I didn’t see you at breakfast, I thought you’d chickened out. Gone back to your little minor league hockey team.”

I give him a smug smile. “Lauren and I were just enjoying breakfast at our cabin. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Bart snorts. “Like that cabin is romantic. ”

I step closer. “At least I’m taking care of her. Something she hasn’t had in a very long time.”

Bart scoffs, but his shoulders stiffen enough for me to know it landed. “We’ll see how well you fare today, Foster,” he growls, before stalking away.

Within minutes, the family has gathered around the picnic table, everyone checking their weapons and equipment.

Aunt Karen steps in front of the group. “Let’s go through the rules before we start.

You are eliminated once you’re hit. No headshots.

And no shooting within ten feet. That’s a penalty.

And you absolutely cannot take off your face mask, no matter how uncomfortable. Safety first! Okay, are you ready?”

The whistle pierces the air, and Lauren and I sprint into the woods together. She ducks behind a tree and I join her, peeking to make sure no one has followed us.

“I’ve reconsidered the plan. I think we should split up,” she says, catching her breath. “If we’re together, he can take us both out at once. But apart, at least one of us has a chance.”

“That’s actually pretty smart,” I say.

“You doubted me?” she says.

“Let’s just say I enjoy being proven wrong when it means I get to watch you win.”

She flashes me a smile before she disappears into the trees, leaving me to drop flat behind a fallen tree trunk. From this vantage point, I have all day to wait for my next unsuspecting victim. I take down Uncle Ray first, then Uncle Bobby, and eventually, Lauren’s dad.

After that, the woods go eerily still. I rise, keeping low, weaving my way back toward the main path near the cabin, my eyes scanning for movement. A single shot echoes close by, along with a scream, and then a stick snaps close by. Someone’s coming toward me.

I lift my gun, my finger on the trigger, when Lauren stumbles out from behind the brush.

“It’s you,” I exhale, lowering my gun. “I almost…” I am st artled as I take her in. Her face is pinched in pain, every step an effort as she limps toward me. “Hey,” I say, racing toward her. “Are you hurt?”

She nods, and I crouch low, fingers trailing carefully over her arm, then to her side, before I reach her legs, searching for the source of pain.

I lift her pant leg and that’s when I see it: a welt the size of a half dollar, angry and red, already swelling on her lower calf. The paintball left a perfect dark circle surrounded by inflamed skin that’s already starting to bruise. I roll the cuff higher, and white-hot anger shoots through me.

I’ve taken plenty of paintball hits during team bonding with the Crushers, but a hit this close on exposed skin? That’s going to hurt for weeks, and whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing.

“You don’t take a shot that close unless you’re trying to cause damage,” I say.

“It’s fine, Tate,” she says, but the pain on her face says otherwise.

“No, it’s not,” I snap. “It’s the first rule of the sport. You don’t shoot someone’s exposed body, especially not at close range. Who did this to you?”

She hesitates.

“Was it Bart?” I ask.

She doesn’t respond.

“He’s done,” I say, my hands clenching into fists, my voice low and dangerous. “Nobody hurts you and walks away from it.”

“He found me hiding in the woods,” she says. “I stumbled over a stick, and my gun went flying. When I went down, my pant leg rode up, and he took the shot while I was still on the ground.”