Never Will I Ever

Fourteen

Avery

Things with Kaleb are far less tense the following morning.

I’m not sure what I was expecting to happen. I knew going into it, he’s not exactly the type to make a bunch of flyers and staple them to every available surface about what I’d told him. After what I did last year—and after how he turned me in for it—outing me would be the last way he’d retaliate.

But bare minimum, part of me still expected a fair amount of animosity between us. Maybe some awkwardness lingering in the midst of the dissipating tension.

Yet instead, when I gather my half of the kids from the bathhouse and drag them to the lodge for breakfast, I’m greeted with a sight I could’ve never imagined: Kaleb offering a slight nod and a smile from where he’s seated between his brothers at one of the dining tables.

And my stomach starts doing gymnastics because of it.

Loading my plate and heading toward an empty table, I make every attempt to keep my gaze away from his side of the table. One little heart-to-heart doesn’t make all the bullshit from the past automatically disappear. Like I said last night, at the very least, it’s a step in the right direction.

“You seem to be in a good mood this morning.”

Glancing up, I find Elijah sliding onto the bench beside me, his tray loaded with two bowls of…oatmeal, of all things.

I shrug while taking a sip of my orange juice. “Just another day.”

“Nope,” he says, shaking his head. “Something’s different.”

Realistically, I know there’s zero chance Elijah can just tell I’m gay. Admitting it aloud to one person, even if it’s for the first time, doesn’t automatically put a flashing neon sign over my head that reads homosexual crossing for everyone to see.

But even that sound bit of logic doesn’t stop my stomach from swirling in panic while I slowly set my glass back on the table.

“Uh, I’m not sure—”

“You didn’t shave.”

I glance at the kid, cocking my head. He’s right, I didn’t shave this morning. But I’m not quite sure how he made the leap from not shaving to me being in a good mood.

“Uh. No, I didn’t.”

He nods while chewing the bite of oatmeal he just shoved in his mouth, waiting until he swallows to speak. “Makes sense. I’d be happy if I didn’t have to take a razor to my face every day too.”

My lips twitch into a grin.

God, this kid.

There’s something to be said about how unabashed he is, at least around me. While he might have a shyness about him when it comes to the kids his age, that seems to disappear when the two of us talk. He says the first thing on his mind without a second thought.

It’s refreshing.

Fuck, maybe there’s a lesson for me to learn from him too.

A sudden burning on the side of my face has my attention shifting from Elijah, subconsciously moving toward the source. Sure enough, Kaleb’s eyes are already locked on me, and when our gazes collide, the slightest smirk pulls at his lips again. Not the devious kind that would make me wonder what sort of evil plan he’s concocting in his head. It’s the kind that two people share when they know something no one else does. Like an inside joke.

Or in my case, the secret I’ve been harboring since puberty.

And while it’s terrifying to have this kind of trust in someone else, I can’t keep myself from returning his grin.

Because I was wrong about Kaleb LaMothe; that much has become blatantly obvious.

He didn’t owe me the time of day, let alone becoming the person I’d bare my inner shame and resentment to, but he took it on anyway. Then he offered to bear the weight of more of it, should the need arise.

More than anything, I wanna thank him for listening to what I had to say.

An idea begins taking form while Elijah does his best to interrogate me about the activities for the day. There’s a small break in our schedule—an extra hour between lunch and our afternoon playing a game of kickball with our kids—and it may be the perfect opportunity to put this plan into motion.

Everything falls into place after our morning hike to the viewpoint over the lake, and once the kids are situated in the dining hall for lunch, I seize the moment and sneak away.

It’s a quick ten-minute drive to the gas station down the road, and I’m in and out with a six pack of beer, a few random odds and ends, and a full tank of gas less than five minutes later. Probably not a smart move on my part to leave without telling anyone, but hey, how does the saying go? Better to ask for forgiveness than permission?

Once I’m back at camp, I slip from the car and make my way to Kaleb’s cabin. Knowing my luck, he’s probably in there, taking the little bit of extra time we’ve been given to relax. Yet when I peek in the window, I find it’s dark and empty inside.

Bingo.

I quickly pull the note I’d penned before heading off to the store and tuck it in with one of the bottles, the glass holding it in place.

Thanks for hearing me out.

Cheers to starting over.

— A

My original idea was to just leave it at his door for him to find, but since it’s broad daylight, there’s a good chance one of the kids will see it. I’m not looking to blow up this newfound truce with Kaleb by bringing illicit substances on the premises, and kids finding the alcohol and ratting him out to Colin would be a surefire way to do just that. Or worse, they could decide to claim it as theirs, and we’d have a whole different set of issues on our hands.

Erring on the side of caution, I pull out my master key and shove it into the lock. Trespassing is a better option at this point, and all I can do is hope the sentiment outweighs the crime.

I quickly slip inside and leave the six pack and note on the chair in the corner of his cabin—which is somehow appallingly clean—then sneak out again before anyone notices my presence.

Maybe he’ll be upset with me for breaking the rules, or maybe he won’t care in the slightest. It’s a toss up with him. But at the very least, it’s a white flag. A symbol of peace.

I just hope it’s enough.

We’re out on the make-shift kickball field an hour later, and truthfully, this might be the first time I’m somewhat in my element since arriving at camp three weeks ago. Something about a set of bases and a pitcher’s mound immediately puts me at ease, and even though it stings knowing I’ll never set foot on one competitively again, I’m still looking forward to it.

Plus, if it gives me a chance to be better at something than Kaleb for a change, then I’m all for it.

Kaleb and I each chose a captain to pick teams, and to my surprise, he calls Tyler to be his. I’d have assumed he would choose one of the twins, who look rather irritated by their brother picking someone else over them.

Then, likely shocking no one, I chose Elijah for mine.

Well, maybe Elijah was a little stunned by it, because the kid is frowning at me from behind his glasses as he walks over to me.

“Why did you do that? I’m always picked last for this kind of stuff.”

I had a feeling that may be the case, since he’s one of the least athletic of the group. But I wasn’t prepared for the words to leave his mouth, nor the way they’d hit me like a suckerpunch to the gut.

Resting my hand on his shoulder, I lean down to eye level with him and offer an encouraging smile. “Because I think you might make a better leader than a follower.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Just a feeling.” I shrug before letting my grin turn a little devious. “And wouldn’t it be nice to be the one who picked the kids on the winning team?”

His eyes light up and he nods, a matching grin spreading over his face.

When I rise back to my full height, I immediately feel Kaleb watching me. He’s wearing a curious expression as our gazes lock, and I may as well be a piece of glass beneath his analytical stare.

He silently holds me there, almost in a magnetic field I can’t break out of, before I shake it off to glance at Elijah, who’s taking turns calling out names of the kids he wants on our team. And while I can’t read his mind, I know he’s never felt this important before. I can hear the pride and confidence in his voice with every name he calls.

Like a natural-born leader.

The corner of Kaleb’s lips lifts in the slightest smirk as his attention returns to me, and he nods ever so slightly. His approval sends warmth flooding through my extremities, and a smile tugs my own lips up.

The teams are finalized a few minutes later, and with our separate teams, Kaleb and I assign a kicking order and field positions.

The entire group, regardless of which team they’re on, is buzzing with excitement as we head into the first inning. The kids really seem to be enjoying the change of pace from all the hiking, fishing, and kayaking.

Or maybe that’s just my own bias talking.

To keep things fair, Kaleb and I take on the role of pitching for our respective teams, and with my team in the field first, I take my place on the pitcher’s plate.

It’s bittersweet, feeling the rubber beneath my feet again, knowing this is likely the only capacity I’ll be in this position again. A sense of longing curls in my stomach at the thought, but as Colton comes up to the plate as the first kicker, I push it aside and do what I do best.

Well, I take it easy on them, of course. After all, they’re just kids.

A couple even get a decent kick off me before my team manages to round up three outs, and we’re swapping positions for our chance to kick. On my way in, Kaleb holds out the clipboard we’re keeping score on in exchange for the ball.

“Feel free to double check my math,” he teases over his shoulder while heading onto the field.

I frown and glance down at the paper.

His team didn’t score at all, so I’m not sure what math he could possibly—

My eyes land on a note scribbled near the top of the page in what I’ve come to recognize as Kaleb’s handwriting.

Apparently, pitching skills in baseball translates to kickball. Who would’ve thought?

I smirk, glancing up to find him already grinning at me while bouncing the ball at the pitcher’s plate—almost like he’s preparing for a game of dodgeball instead.

Chuckling to myself at his antics, I return my attention to his note and scribble out a response while my kids take their turn kicking.

That sounds an awful lot like a compliment. You feeling okay? Not having heat stroke or something? I’d hate to win by forfeit.

I keep my expression stoic as I hand off the clipboard to him between the next half-inning, making sure to underline and bold the three runs my team scored this at-kick.

It’s childish to pass notes to each other like this, I know that. But the amount of time we have without a billion sets of preteen ears around is limited, so if I want any sort of private conversation with Kaleb—even one tossing playful jabs—then this is how it’s gotta happen.

And once we hit three outs and I’m handed the clipboard again, I find myself giddy to see what he’s written next.

The only way you’ll beat me in kickball is in your dreams.

I snort as I read the message, shaking my head before calling out that Liam, Jared, and Max are the next three up to kick.

The inning is so quick, all three of the boys getting out one after another, I don’t even have a chance to write out a reply before passing off the clipboard to Kaleb. Though, from the smug grin on his face, part of me wants to whack him upside the head with it instead.

A few more innings pass without much excitement, both with regard to the game and the little taunting notes from Kaleb. It’s not until the top of the fifth inning that I notice him scribbling on the paper, a small smirk on his lips.

Call me crazy, but something tells me it’s not the score he’s grinning at, despite his team coming from behind to tie the game during this at-kick.

When I head back in for our turn to kick and Kaleb hands me the clipboard, I have to force myself not to check what it says the second it’s in my hands.

My willpower lasts all of three seconds.

Found something interesting in my cabin after lunch.

My stomach twists in a knot of anxiety as I reread his message a couple times, noting that the butterflies may as well be a swarm of hornets at this point.

Clearing my throat, I call out the kicking order for my team while scribbling out a flippant response.

Oh, don’t tell me. A spider? No, maybe a raccoon?

My mind races through the possible reactions I’ll get from my olive branch, creating a swirling whirlpool of nerves in the pit of my stomach. They don’t dissipate in the time we’re on offense either. They might actually grow in all the time it takes for Kaleb’s team to round up three outs, but not before my team earns two runs.

With the score at 5-3—my team in the lead—we head back onto the field for the last full inning. My team is jacked up with excitement, feeling the high of a potential win, and as much as I’d love to share their enthusiasm, I’m trying to keep my lunch from making a reappearance when I offer the clipboard to Kaleb.

His eyes sparkle with mischief as he takes it, and unlike me, he reads the note on the spot before I can even walk away. His expression turns impish as he shakes his head, muttering a playfully sarcastic, “You’re hilarious,” just loud enough for me to hear.

The smallest amount of relief sinks down to my bones.

He’s not mad about my tiny stint of trespassing, which was my main concern.

But with those extinguished by his banter, I’m able to focus on leading my team to another shut-out half-inning. It’s a close call at one point, but with Elijah and Max working together to get Colton out in one helluva double play, we manage to maintain our two-run lead.

“I don’t know if I should be annoyed or impressed,” Kaleb muses during our hand-off.

Laughing, I offer him a quick, “Why not both?” before heading in, reading his note on the way.

You planning to make me drink alone?

There’s those stupid butterflies again, which are equally as annoying as the stupid grin pulling at my lips, no matter how hard I try to keep it from forming. But what really has me struggling to keep my composure are the vibrations running through my body strong enough to register on the damn Richter scale.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“What are you smiling about?”

Startled by the question, I glance over to find Elijah trying to sneak a peek at what I’m looking at.

Shit.

Despite my recent efforts to quell the shaming voice inside me, the instincts shaped by it are still very much alive. Which is why I end up tucking the clipboard beneath my arm to hide the exchanges…and let the lie fall from my lips with ease.

“That we’re winning, obviously.” I motion toward the field with my chin. “Any chance I have to beat Kaleb at something is gonna make me happier than a kid on Christmas morning.”

Apparently, so does flirting with him.

Disgusting.

I wince and put up every mental block I can as the word bounces through my mind like a pinball, and instead, focus on the grin Elijah’s now wearing.

“Thanks for making me captain.”

I chuckle. “You don’t have to thank me. The way you’re playing proves I was right; you’re a natural leader.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t ever play like this when I’m not captain.”

“Because you’ve never been this confident.” When his brows crinkle in confusion, I elaborate. “Being picked last blows, right? You don’t feel very good about yourself when that happens, so why would you feel like you’re going to play well? But when you feel important and valued, like as a captain, you’ll play like you belong. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy either way.”

Elijah studies me for a moment, mulling my point over in his mind.

“Confidence,” he echoes, the word clearly tasting funny on his tongue from his expression.

“Believe in yourself, kid. You belong here.”

There’s a beat of silence before he floors me by whispering, “So do you, you know.”

I’m caught off-guard by the simple earnestness of the statement, and it has my heart squeezing behind my ribs.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the chance to thank him, because cheering breaks out on the field and draws my attention back up. Kaleb’s team is rushing toward home plate, clearly having just found their last out for the inning, and I haven’t even written back to Kaleb.

Quickly updating the score, I write the first thing I can think of before tucking the pen beneath the metal clip.

Is that supposed to be an offer?

Kaleb eyes me with piqued curiosity when I hand it to him, and I do my best not to look every bit as nervous as I feel. Because, now that I have the chance to actually think about the message I just wrote, I realize just how flirty it sounds.

Fucking hell. There really should be a rule book for this kinda thing.

Flirting With The Frienemy 101 , sure to be an instant bestseller.

Tamping down my worry, I focus on getting three more outs, and more importantly, securing a victory for Elijah’s first time as a captain. Luck is on my side, it seems, because it only takes three kickers to get three outs, and the game ends with my team still on the field.

Despite winning, there are a few gripes from the kids who miss out on another chance to kick—Max being the loudest, as always—but the boys are all in good spirits. Winning and losing teams alike, they congratulate each other with high fives and handshakes, and Colton even asks if we can have a game once a week.

“We’ll see,” Kaleb says with a laugh before motioning toward the field. “But for now, I need a few of you to gather the bases. The rest of you, head back and clean up for dinner.”

The kids break off, nearly ten of them heading back onto the field while the rest make their way back into camp. I’m about to follow the latter group, if only to make sure they don’t get into any mischief unsupervised, when Kaleb calls out after me.

“Reynolds! Can you read these instructions about the activity list for tomorrow while I wait on these guys?”

I frown as he tosses me the clipboard, wondering why the hell he’s wanting me to look at the activity list when tomorrow is our day off. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, but the words die on my lips when, right there at the top, in his neat, all-caps handwriting, is a message.

Use that key again tonight, and you’ll find out.

I’m not sure when he had the chance to read or respond to it, but it’s right there, staring me in the face. Reading over the note two more times, I do my best to analyze the subtext of the nine words written there.

Is he…flirting back? Or is this just him accepting my offer to bury the hatchet and being friendly?

When I glance up, I find he’s already turned to let the kids stack the bases in his arms. He laughs animatedly at whatever the group of them are yammering on about, completely oblivious to me watching.

Another wave of vibrations hits me, spreading warmth from my chest all the way to my toes, and reviving the swarm in my stomach along the way.

Regardless of his intent, my body’s reaction is clear about one important thing: I’m in way over my fucking head.

And there’s a part of me—no matter how small—that’s enjoying every minute of it.