by Hays, Casey
“So.” His hand falls over my knee, warm. “Does this mean yes to a movie?”
I smile, sliding my fingers over his. “I hope it means a lot more than that.”
“Me too.” The rhythm of his voice holds me captive. It’s strange, but I almost feel like I’m hearing it for the first time. Maybe my ears haven’t adjusted to the silence after the noisy ride. “And… I want to tell you something. Later.”
I barely catch his smile, but his voice is serious enough to bristle the hairs on the back of my neck. I hold a cautious breath and squint at him.
“That sounds scary.” My smile peeks at him. “You’re not a serial killer, are you?”
His grin answers. “Well, I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you, I suppose.”
“Ooooo… clever.”
Before I know what’s happening, he sweeps an arm around my waist right where I sit and gathers me to him in one fluid movement. I spread my fingers across his chest, unwilling to break our connection just yet. Because, I’m no fool. Once Frankie gets here, the project will take precedence over every other move. So I take these few extra seconds.
I think for a minute that he’ll kiss me. He doesn’t. He just studies me as if he’s never seen anything quite like me—in a good way. I don’t say a word to break the spell. I just focus on his gold-flecked, green eyes and concentrate on breathing.
That’s how Jonas and Frankie find us when they pull into the area. Caught up in each other’s arms with our raw feelings on display. I quickly twist out of Kane’s embrace, but not before I slide my hand the length of his arm and tangle my fingers with his. Jonas hops out of his truck, a knowing smile plastered across his face, but he keeps his mouth shut.
“We’ve got some stuff to unload,” he grins, thumbing at the bed of his truck. “Wanna give me a hand?”
He skirts around his truck to pull open the cover. Kane winks at me and drops my hand to follow him. Frankie rounds the front end, a high-tech camera hanging from her neck like a clunky piece of jewelry. Her frizzy hair is pulled away from her face in a low ponytail, and the strap of her duffle bag lays diagonally across her chest. In her left hand is a tripod, in her right, a computer case.
“So this is the place,” I say, skimming the trees around us.
“Yep,” she whispers, her excitement evident. “I reviewed the video. There’s a picnic table to the left of the couple. And it looks like the lake was behind the cameraman, so that gives us some direction.”
I nod.
“Where do you want the tent, Frankie?” Jonas hollers. Frankie sweeps the area. Jonas points to a small opening in the trees. “How about there?”
“That’s fine.”
She shrugs out of her duffle bag and drops it to the ground. The place is deserted of campers. Then again, it is a weekday.
“Mrs. Nelson was gracious enough to lend me the photography lab’s camera.” She removes the cap and peers in, adjusting the lens before she drops to a squat and unzips her duffle bag. “You didn’t tell Kane anything, did you?”
“No.” I add a streak of defensiveness into my tone.
“Well, don’t blame me for being suspicious.” Her voice carries a huge amount of sarcasm. “Looks like you two have moved to the next level after all.”
I can’t hide my smile. “You noticed, huh?”
“I noticed on Saturday,” she confirms.
I tilt my head. “How?”
“Your eyes gave it away at breakfast,” she shrugs. “When you told me about your little kiss, I really wasn’t surprised.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
She digs a bundle of cords from the camera case and stands. “Why would I tell you something you already know?”
I ponder her reasoning. So everyone around me was aware of my feelings before I was. That’s typical. Of course, my every conversation over the last couple of days should have clued me in.
“Is that weird?” I cringe. Frankie lugs up her duffle bag and flings it over one shoulder.
“For me? Yes.” She trudges off to the spot where Kane and Jonas lay out the tent. I huff and hoist up my pack to follow her.
“Frankie, I’m serious.”
She fiddles with the tripod, juggling the laptop until I reach out and take it from her.
“Let’s just say it’s going to take some getting used to,” she concludes.
I toss a glance at the guys. The clinking of a hammer rings out as Kane beats a spike into the ground while Jonas skims over an instruction guide for assembling.
“For all of us,” I agree with a sigh.
“Don’t worry,” Frankie adds. “We got used to Jonas and Devan; we’ll get used to you two.”
“Does that mean you approve?”
She glances at me over her shoulder. “Would it matter?”
I lift a brow. “I don’t know.”
At that, she comes to a halt and turns around. “Look, Jude. If it matters what the rest of us think, you should really reconsider what you’re doing.”
I’m taken aback, and all I can do is clutch the laptop against my chest and blink. She grabs a hold of my elbow and squeezes gently.
“And if it doesn’t matter, you’ll never seek my approval again. Your heart won’t allow it.”
She offers a firm nod and tromps off to set up her gear.
Thirteen
Kane and Jonas decide to go fishing while Frankie and I spend the rest of our daylight hours scoping out picnic areas. We find no concrete evidence worth noting, although Frankie snaps a few pictures here and there when something piques her interest. As far as I’m concerned, we’ve got nothing. Not one clue that a Fireblood has ever been to this part of the woods.
At dusk, we circle back to camp and meet up with the guys. They didn’t catch a single fish big enough to eat, so Jonas fries bologna for dinner. I don’t join them around the crackling campfire. I climb straight inside the tent and zip up.
Through the mesh netting, I watch the edges of the bologna curl up as it browns. Frankie’s borrowed camera now sits on the tripod, a green, record button blinking furiously as it picks up our every move. Kane slouches in a camping chair, legs stretched out in front of him. He flashes me a grin, and the orange glow of the fire dances in his eyes. Jonas reaches into the cooler beside him and pulls out bottles of water. He hands one off to Frankie and tosses another to Kane across the fire.
“You want a water, Jude?”
I unzip the tent’s front flap just long enough to catch the tossed bottle and shrink back inside. Tiny flying insects flit around the campfire. I’m not taking any chances at being accosted by a single bug.
“We could probably use a little more firewood,” Jonas announces.
Kane stretches and comes to his feet, leaving his own bottle of water stuffed in the cup holder on the arm of his chair.
“I’ll get it.” He peers in at me through the netting. “You want to come with me? You have on enough repellent to keep away every insect within a hundred mile radius.”
I smile. “Do I smell that bad?”
“Terrible,” he winks.
My gaze returns to the dance of the tiny insects. “I think I’ll stay in here.”
“Okay.” He straightens and shoves the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. “Your loss. I’m a lot of fun in the forest. Remember?”
“Go,” I laugh.
He clicks on his flashlight, and his feet crunch off into the underbrush.
“So what are you trying to capture with that thing anyway?” Jonas nods toward the camera perched on the tripod and focuses on Frankie. I perk up.
“That is classified information,” Frankie chirps, her chin jutting out in bold defense. “On a need to know basis.”
“Well.” Jonas squats by the fire, flipping over the slices of bologna with a pair of tongs. They sizzle. “Given that we’re out here protecting you from the dangers of the wildlife, I need to know.”
Frankie is not particularly happy about the guys
’ presence, even though it was her call to allow them to come. She balances the laptop on her knees while the camera, connected to a jumble of cords that crawl out of the side of a small generator, keeps watch from the top of the tripod. She thought of every possible thing we could need, including a small pair of infrared binoculars. Hopeful that we’ll leave here with some evidence, she concentrates on her computer screen, ignoring Jonas completely.
“Come on, Frankie.” Jonas pauses in tending the meal, wrist dangling over one knee. Frankie clicks a few keys, not answering.
“Give it up, Jonas,” I say drily from my safe zone. “It’s useless.”
Jonas climbs to his feet and faces the camera. He spins the bill of his cap to the back, clears his throat, and dons his best anchorman voice, using the tongs as a mic.
“This is Jonas Cameron reporting live from Spooner Lake where there have been a series of mass murders reported over the last several weeks.”
Frankie stops typing to listen. I stifle a laugh.
“Frankie Melmack, head forensic scientist, has agreed to lead the investigative efforts to apprehend said killer. Sadly, she is unable to share any pertinent information at this time. Stay tuned for hourly updates.”
“Very funny,” Frankie retorts.
Jonas takes a showy bow and squats to flip a piece of bologna. Frankie resumes her typing for one second before she looks at him again.
“Okay, look…” She sets the laptop carefully onto the ground and clasps her hands between her knees. “I appreciate your willingness to tag along and ‘protect’ us from the dangers of the forest.” She quotes with her fingers while nodding at Jonas’s shotgun propped against a nearby tree.
“I believe the term I used was wildlife,” he corrects. I do laugh then. Frankie ignores this completely.
“That does not entitle you to know the specifics of this very important endeavor. Therefore, I will not disclose any information that may inadvertently compromise it. You’ll know soon enough when we’re ready to present our findings.” She rests her gaze on me through the window. “And I trust that you are in agreement.”
I lift my hands in defense. “Hey, I haven’t said a word,” I assure. “You’re the boss, Frankie.”
She relaxes. Jonas and I exchange an amused glance.
“Fine,” Jonas concedes, stacking bologna on a plate and passing it to Frankie. She sniffs it, clearly disgusted. “But just know that informed bodyguards are much more effective.”
“Noted,” Frankie answers.
“Chips in that box,” Jonas points. “Plus jerky, trail mix, and a few cupcakes.”
Frankie lugs the box closer and selects a bag of trail mix, electing to put the bologna aside. She resituates the computer on her lap, pulls earbuds out of her pocket, and plugs them in, tuning us out completely. Earlier, she told me that if she set an audio recorder to a higher frequency, we might just be able to hear things. I'm not quite sure what we're supposed to hear, or—since I’m the skeptic in all of this—whether we’ll hear anything at all. But I keep that to myself.
When he’s certain Frankie can’t hear him, Jonas shoots me a curious glance. The firelight turns half his face orange while the other side remains in shadow.
“You want to tell me?”
“Unh-uh.” I shake my head emphatically. He laughs and pokes at the embers.
“So you and Kane, huh?” He grins.
That was a quick subject change. I can’t deny that I saw this coming. I try to hide my smile. No use.
“Be honest with me.” I click on my flashlight, click it off. “You really don’t think it’s a mistake?”
He sits back on his heels and hones in on me, glancing at Frankie before speaking. She’s lost inside her own head.
“Honestly…” He hoists himself up and makes his way to the tent, unzipping and ducking in with two plates. “I like the idea of you two together.”
“Really?” I tilt my head. “Why?”
He plops down next to me, hands me a plate, and secures the flap. The firelight lends just enough light for us to see each other. Cross-legged, he digs a packet of ketchup from his jacket pocket and squirts it all over his bologna pieces.
“Do you remember when we were ten, and we rode our bikes all the way to Washoe Lake just to see if we could?” He digs through a pile of pickles on his plate and situates them on top of his bologna before rolling the pieces into tight logs.
I smile at the memory. “Yes. It started raining. I lost my shoe in the lake.”
He laughs and untwists the cap on his water bottle. “Your mom was so mad when we got home.”
“Well, it was a brand new shoe.” I fold a piece of bologna in half. Jonas breaks open a bag of chips and passes it to me.
“Oh yeah. Sure.” He grins. “That’s why she was angry. She didn’t waste a minute calling my mom, either.”
“What’s your point?”
He leans forward on his knees, both hands gripping the bottle. “You forgot something.”
I search my mind for a missing piece. It took us a good hour and a half to get there. We felt so independent… and a little scared. The rain didn’t start falling until we were halfway home. I caught a bad cold, which is the only reason my mom didn’t take it out on me more severely.
“Your shoe showed up on your porch the next day,” Jonas reminds me.
I blink, remembering. That’s right. It did. Jonas is silent, tossing me a knowing look. I lean back, catching on.
“Are you saying... Kane went back for my shoe?”
Jonas lifts his water to his lips. “Well, it wasn’t me.”
I let this new bit of information sink in. My mom was puzzled when she found the shoe. It was clean and dry, no hint that it had taken a swim. She asked me about it, but I had no idea. A few days later when I was feeling better, I met Kane and Jonas at the end of my drive with orders from my mother not to leave the neighborhood. Neither one of them ever said a word.
I frown. “You never told me.”
“I wanted the moment to be significant.”
Frankie pauses in her typing to sneeze. Just a short pause, and the keys are clicking again. The breeze picks up, and I catch a whiff of pine floating on the air. Jonas shoves half a piece of his rolled bologna concoction into his mouth.
“So now is significant?” I ask.
He chews, swallows. “Yeah, well, what ten-year-old would risk going all the way back by himself to save a girl’s stupid shoe unless she mattered?” He rests his gaze on me with a shrug. “I had to make sure you knew you mattered before I spilled it.” He pauses, lifts another piece of bologna.
I soak up his words. I get it now… what Frankie meant about what people might think. Funny thing, nobody had a problem with it but me. I’ve been my own obstacle, even as I’ve tried to convince myself—and Kane—that dating could ruin our friendship. What I failed to recognize is that it might just strengthen it instead.
“I can’t believe he found my shoe.”
Jonas shrugs and shoves the whole slice of rolled bologna into his mouth. A clatter of wood hitting the ground indicates Kane’s return, and we both peek out at him. He rearranges the pieces, sets one on the fire, and stokes it. Standing, he takes a long drink of water. I follow his every move before I shift toward Jonas.
“Maybe we do make sense,” I whisper.
His grin sends this reassuring chug through my heart. He slaps a hand over my knee and squeezes. And in that moment, I know that I’m done seeking validation. I want this, and I’m taking it.
“I’m going to get a cupcake. Because, you two might want some privacy. Am I right?”
I roll my eyes and blush, but I’m pretty sure the firelight camouflages the latter. Plus… he might be right.
He clambers out, and I crawl to the sleeping bag in the far corner to kick off my shoes and finish my dinner. A flap separates the tent into two compartments. For now, it’s tied back with strings, leaving the area open.
Outside, Kane eats. He and
Jonas talk softly, and I wonder if they’re talking about me. Two seconds of listening proves they aren’t. Frankie jumps up to readjust the angle of the camera and settles back into her seat, tapping away on the laptop. She is in the zone, and apparently doesn’t need anyone at the moment.
It’s a little chilly since the sun set. I zip my jacket and crunch on a potato chip. It’s loud inside my head. My cell phone vibrates in my pocket. I check it. It’s a text from Devan.
HAVING FUN YET?
We discovered earlier that the campground has minimal service, enough to allow texts but not calls. I quickly type in my answer.
LOADS. YOU’RE MISSING OUT.
She sends a smiley face.
NO CAMPING FOR THIS GIRL. EVER. PLUS, CHEER PRACTICE IN THE MORNING. I’LL BE THINKING ABOUT YOU FROM THE COMFORT OF MY BED.
I smile. YOU’RE TOO KIND.
The battery on my phone is fifty percent depleted. I turn it off to save the rest and shove it into my jacket pocket. I glance out the window, watching Kane, and a giddiness washes over me. The breeze catches his curls, blowing them into a mess on top of his head. He leans forward, elbows on knees, and nods at something Jonas says. Jonas lifts his cap, runs his hands through his blond hair before adjusting it back into place. Kane tosses a glance toward the tent, and my heart lurches.
Kane O’Reilly. Is this really happening? He likes me; I like him back. It’s so… surreal.
I feel a little stupid letting my emotions dictate, but I just want to bask in this feeling—just for a little while. Who would have ever thought it would be Kane who made my butterflies dance?
Kane!
I fall back against my pillow with a smile and hug my arms to my chest. I’m slightly blown away by the truth of it, and I wish he’d hurry up and get in here.
I’m not sure how long I lie here before the sound of the zipper invades my ears. Briefly, I open one lazy eye and watch Kane crawl in. He secures the flap and stretches out flat on his back on the sleeping bag beside me. I hold deathly still.
“I know you’re awake,” he whispers.
