Chapter 9 Beth
Beth
We leave Carlo's and walk for maybe ten minutes, the narrow dirt path winding deep into a dense canopy of old-growth pines. I fall into line behind Arthur and Mason, who use their phones to light up the trail ahead, with Knox bringing up the rear.
"How much farther?" I ask, taking a sip of what remains of my horchata.
"Almost there," Arthur calls back over his shoulder.
A branch hangs low across the trail ahead of me, right at face height. Before I can duck or shift my horchata to my other hand, Knox reaches past my shoulder and pushes it aside.
"Thanks," I say.
"My pleasure." He lets it swing back.
It's a small thing, but my brain snags on it.
Probably because my baseline for comparison is Grant.
Whenever we hiked, he always walked five paces ahead of me, completely checked out.
Once, I stepped wrong on a loose rock and nearly rolled my ankle; his only reaction was to turn around and get angry at me for slowing him down.
The path dips, and Arthur's phone flashlight catches long curtains of willow hanging across the trail. He stops, gathers the branches in one hand, and holds them aside.
"Through here," he says.
I walk past Mason, duck under Arthur's arm, and the woods open up into a massive, sprawling clearing that nature has completely swallowed. Looming against the night sky, framed by towering pines on all sides, is a colossal movie screen, twisting vines creeping up its rusted metal support beams.
"The old drive-in," Arthur announces, his voice dropping a little in the quiet of the clearing. "Nature pretty much took it back."
Knox steps up beside me. "And now you're in on our spot."
Mason doesn't say anything, he just heads straight for a cinderblock concession stand sitting in the center of the overgrown lot. Bolted to the side of the building is a heavy iron ladder, set at an easy, slanted angle.
He climbs up first, his shoes clanging softly against the metal rungs. Arthur follows, and Knox gestures for me to go next. It’s an effortless climb, and once my head clears the roofline, Mason reaches out, hooking a large, warm hand under my elbow to steady me as I step onto the roof.
I catch my breath, looking around. The forest forms a dark, protective wall around the lot, and through a gap in the trees beyond the giant screen, you can see the wide, silver expanse of the lake shimmering under the moonlight.
The view stops me dead in my tracks.
"We found this spot years ago," Arthur says, dropping down near the edge of the roof and letting his legs dangle over the side. "Never saw anyone else out here."
We settle in along the ledge. I wedge myself next to Arthur, who is on the far left. Knox sits cross-legged on my right, and Mason drops down on Knox's right.
I slurp the last of my horchata, and for a while, we just sit in the dark, enjoying the sound of the wind moving through the pine needles.
"So, whaddya think?" Arthur asks, his voice pitched low.
"Honestly?" I say, stretching my legs out in front of me. "It's really peaceful. Makes me realize how loud everything else has been lately."
Arthur reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a dented silver flask. He takes a slow sip, his eyes studying my face in the moonlight, and then holds the flask out in my direction. "How so?"
I accept the flask. Whiskey. Hell of a kick. I hand it back, the burn settling warm in my chest, and wipe the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. "I wouldn't even know where to start."
Beside me, Knox shifts quietly, his attention entirely focused on me.
"I mean," I start, staring out at the vine-choked screen, letting out a long exhale. "Well, let's just say I've been looking at flights to Washington lately."
"Washington?" Knox asks softly. "Why?"
"Some relatives I can stay with for a while," I say, scooting an inch back from the ledge and pulling my knees tightly against my chest.
On the far right, Mason suddenly shifts his weight and look at me. "Wait," he says, his deep voice slicing through the quiet. "You're actually thinking about leaving?"
"I mean, I'm incredibly grateful to have Maren, Harper, and Luna here. And my shop, for that matter. But..." I trail off, searching for the right words. "The problem is, I feel like I just sorta ended up here. And I can't tell if I'm staying out of resilience or inertia."
Mason lets out a rough, heavy breath. He looks out in the distance, his jaw set.
"Grant is an idiot," he rumbles.
My head snaps toward him.
"I'm serious." Mason leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "I know you moved here for him and he repaid you by—" He stops himself, shaking his head. "He's an idiot."
"You should put that quote on a throw pillow," I say.
The corner of his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile, but close.
"You belong here as much as anyone, you know," Knox says beside me.
"And practically speaking, if you bolt, we're back to being Lakeview's rejects.
" A quick smile touches his lips before his expression sobers.
"More seriously though, you'd be leaving a place you like, and that doesn't feel like a win. "
Arthur leans back on his hands, watching me. "Here's what I'm thinking. You spent a year living inside Grant's version of Lakeview. And no offense, but that version sounded pretty bleak. So it's not exactly shocking that you're thinking about leaving."
I narrow my eyes at him. "Are you about to pitch me on something?"
"I'm about to offer a counter-proposal," he says, spreading his hands like a man unveiling a modest miracle. "Before you pack up for Washington, let us show you the real Lakeview. The spots that have made plenty of city transplants fall in love with this place and never look back."
"Like this?" I gesture at the overgrown drive-in.
"This is a start." He grins. "But there's more. Give us until Ben's wedding. That's enough time to either make you fall head over heels for this town all over again—" He pauses. "Or give you every justification you need to actually leave. Either way, you'll know you gave it a real shot."
"So you want to make this a regular thing," I say. "You three showing me around?"
Knox leans in. His hazel eyes catch the moonlight, steady and entirely serious. "Doesn't it seem like a great way to spend your time?"
I look out at the silver reflection of the lake in the distance, trying to figure out why the idea makes something flutter and tighten in my chest at the same time.
The last time I made plans that stretched across months, they were with Grant.
Talking about the trips we'd take, the life we'd build.
.. and I know exactly how those turned out.
But these three aren't Grant.
"Okay," I say. "We're pretending to be a pack anyway. Might as well commit to the bit and go on some actual dates to the town's best-kept secrets."
Arthur's whole face lights up. Knox gives a single, satisfied nod, like a deal has been closed. Even Mason's aura seems lit by a sudden satisfaction.
"And to think we had a whole pragmatic talk about what we'd do in case you bolted," Arthur says, taking another pull from the flask.
I chuckle. "You did?"
"It was mostly just Knox worrying we'd instantly revert to social ruin," Arthur teases. "But honestly? Hearing you open up your heart like that and all... the whole 'social ruin' threat feels kinda trivial."
Mason, who has been quietly turning a loose chip of tar paper over in his hands at the end of the line, finally flicks it off the edge of the roof. "Yeah, things will go how they go," he rumbles, his voice casual.
Then the air shifts. A sharp gust of wind sweeps out from behind us, whistling over the roof. Since my back is completely exposed to the open air, the wind cuts right through my thin layer of clothes, making me shiver.
Mason stands up from his spot on the ledge without a word.
For a second, I think he might say it's time to head back.
Instead, he steps behind me and lowers himself, sitting so close I can feel the phantom heat of his spine radiating against mine.
We aren't touching, but his broad frame instantly eclipses the biting wind, replacing it with a wave of radiating body heat and the smell of. .. cedar?
Suddenly, my skin flushes hot. I have the sudden urge to lean my head back against his shoulder and just inhale, which is highly confusing.
"Thanks," I manage to say instead, in a voice that I hope sounds normal.
But the shivering doesn't stop. This is strange, because I don't feel cold anymore. If anything, I'm suddenly warmer than I've been all night.
Arthur moves closer on my left, wrapping an arm loosely around my side. The contact is solid and warm, and a new scent hits me: herbal and rich and darkly sweet. My thoughts immediately begin to blur at the edges.
And before I can process what the hell is happening, Knox mirrors Arthur from the other side, shifting in so his arm settles across my back, his thigh pressing against mine.
A third scent layers in, something warm and resinous, and the combination of all three smells is doing something to my higher brain function that I should probably be concerned about.
I should say something. Make a joke. Establish, clearly and firmly, that whatever we're doing is a purely thermoregulatory arrangement.
But I don't. Because my brain is turning to warm soup.
I am almost completely boxed in. The cold wind is entirely gone, replaced by an intoxicating wall of body heat and delicious scents.
And the last thought that rises to the surface of my rapidly dissolving mind is: Good.