Chapter 14 #2
I drove home with the windows cracked, the late afternoon light slanting through the trees, trying to let the familiar roads settle me.
Riverside Pines came into view, the river flashing silver through the branches.
I slowed the car without meaning to, my foot easing off the gas as the shape beside my trailer came into focus.
A second trailer. Not Matt, who said he’d meet me when I got off work. It was Levi.
He stood between the two trailers, sleeves shoved up, dark hair mussed like he’d run a hand through it one too many times. He was crouched near the stabilizer jacks, hands working with calm, practiced ease as he cranked the mechanism into place.
I should have looked away.
I didn’t.
There was something about the way he moved, unhurried and deliberate, that made it impossible not to watch.
The flex of his forearms as he adjusted his grip.
The steady pull of muscle under fabric when he leaned into the work.
My stomach tightened, a small, inconvenient flutter I tried to ignore.
If anything, it got worse the longer I watched him.
The concentration in his face. The quiet strength of him in motion.
The roll of his shoulder as he adjusted his position. Those hands…
Heat crept up my neck, slow and unwelcome. My chest felt too tight for how still I was currently sitting. Every second I stayed there, watching him, something in me sharpened, awareness folding in on itself until it wasn’t just noticing anymore.
It was wanting.
And I couldn’t seem to look away long enough for it to fade.
My heart kicked hard against my ribs. Not from fear. From something warmer. Something that felt dangerously close to relief—and want. I pulled into my spot and cut the engine, sitting there for a second longer than necessary, trying to get my bearings.
That trailer was close to mine. Too close.
Our bedroom windows were side by side—mine with the crooked blinds and his parents’ trailer with a square window that lined up almost exactly with mine.
I had a brief, mortifying flash of realizing how thin those walls were.
How easily sound traveled in this place.
I stood there for a moment just looking at it, trying to work out the logic.
His parents’ trailer. Here. In the same campground.
In the spot directly beside mine, close enough that I could have reached out my window and knocked on his.
That wasn’t a coincidence—this campground had at least thirty plots, and the odds of random placement landing us wall to wall were laughable.
But it also wasn’t something I could confront without admitting I’d noticed, which meant admitting I cared, which was its own problem entirely.
What was he doing? What was he actually doing?
I opened my door, the gravel crunching under my boots. Levi looked up immediately.
Relief flickered across his face so fast I almost missed it, followed by something warmer. “Hey,” he said, pushing to his feet. “You’re home.”
“Yeah,” I said faintly, gesturing between the two trailers. “Is that your parents’ trailer?”
He smiled. “Yup.”
My brain scrambled to catch up. “Why is it right there?”
“Because that’s the only level spot,” he said easily. A pause. “And because it’s close.”
Our eyes met. Held. The air between us felt thicker. Charged. Like the space between our trailers was nothing compared to the space between what we were saying and what we weren’t.
I swallowed. “Matt asked you?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Temporary. Just to keep an eye on things.”
Temporary. I turned that word over, not entirely convinced by it.
Matt had pulled Levi into this—into my situation, my mess, my ongoing and apparently visible inability to hold things together—without telling him why, without asking me first, without apparently considering for one second what it would mean to have Levi Barrett parked five feet from my front door every single night.
I made a mental note to have words with Matt.
Several words. Possibly in a raised voice.
I searched Levi’s face. “He didn’t tell you why.”
“No,” Levi said honestly. “And I didn’t ask.”
That surprised me enough that I forgot to be annoyed for a second. “You didn’t?”
He shook his head. “If you wanted me to know, you’d tell me. And if Matt thought I needed details, he’d give them.”
Something tightened in my chest at that, at the quiet trust baked into his words.
No interrogation, no conditions, no making me justify the situation before he’d agree to show up.
He’d just shown up. Because Matt had asked him to, yes, but also because that was so specifically and painfully Levi that I didn’t know what to do with it.
And now he was going to be here. Every day.
Right there, through a wall thin enough that I’d already been mortified by the implications.
I could see his window from mine. I was going to have to think about that every single morning when I opened my crooked blinds, and that was—that was a lot. That was genuinely a lot to process.
I was going to kill Matt.
“I’m not here to interrogate you,” Levi went on, gentler now. “I’m just… here. Whenever you need me. Consider me your friendly neighborhood fireman. Ready, willing, and able to do whatever you need.”
I looked at the two trailers. At the narrow strip of gravel between them.
At the way his shadow stretched toward mine in the fading light.
Part of me wanted to tell him it was fine, I was fine, everything was fine, I had it handled—the same reflex I always reached for.
But I was tired, and he was here, and Matt had apparently decided that was how things were going to be, and maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have to fight every single thing.
“Okay,” I said quietly. “Thank you.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Okay?”
“For now,” I added. “I reserve the right to panic about this later.”
A corner of his mouth curved. “Fair.”
I exhaled, the tension easing just a fraction. “Aggie’s going to knit you a sweater, you know.”
“I’ve accepted my fate,” he said solemnly. “Good thing I’m fond of high-quality knitwear. You’ve met my gram. She keeps me well supplied. I’m always ready to add to my cardigan collection.”
I laughed despite myself. And then I caught myself looking at the window and felt the unease stir again, low and insistent. But beneath it, something more. Something that felt like possibility.
“I’m, um, going to leave you to it. I’m tired.”
“Okay. Later, Becca.”
“Yeah, later.”
I closed the door behind me and leaned against it for a long moment—just breathing.
Levi’s presence was quiet and steady. I knew Aggie was already winding down and knitting inside hers. The world was still turning.
I slipped out of my jacket and set my bag down, my eyes drifting to the window that now looked oddly framed by another set of panes directly beside it. My jaw loosened, slowly, unwillingly. I’d half-expected the trailer to feel different. Violated, or emptied out, or smaller than before.
But it was still my trailer. Crooked blinds. My stack of books on the table. The mug I’d left on the counter yesterday morning—still there, handle pointing the same direction. The porch light was on. Matt must have replaced the bulb while he was checking the locks.
I let out a sigh when someone knocked on the door, light and brief.
I crossed to it. Through the narrow window, the white hair, the yellow cardigan, the flashlight already switched off in one hand. I opened the door.
“Just checking on you, honey,” Aggie said. Not a question.
“All good,” I said. “Matt went through everything.”
She nodded, looking past me into the trailer with the same calm sweep she gave the whole campground on her evening rounds. Taking stock. Finding it satisfactory.
“Good thing your brother keeps such good company. Nice to have a firefighter like Levi on the campground, don’t you think?”
My throat tightened slightly, but she was already turning away.
“Get some sleep, sweetheart.”
And then she was gone, heading back to her Airstream like she hadn’t just rearranged the air in the room.
I stood in the doorway a little longer than necessary.
Through the narrow gap between our trailers, a light was on in Levi’s window.
The porch light was on and working. Aggie was twenty feet away. I spun, taking in my space, and for the first time in two weeks, I didn’t check the locks twice.
I picked up my phone.
Matt said he was still at the station. If anyone could make sense of the quiet that felt heavy, it was him.
I opened Messages.
Me: Made it inside. Levi is here. You sure everything is okay?
The reply came quickly enough to make my heart skip.
Matt: Didn’t find anything obvious. Nothing tampered with, nothing moved. I even tried every door and lock. You’ll be okay.
I exhaled, the tension in my shoulders easing just a little.
Then another message:
Matt: Even though I didn’t find anything. I’m still worried. Don’t argue. You don’t want to stay with me, that’s okay. I understand. Levi will be there to keep an eye on things.
Matt was stubborn. Relentless when he liked someone. Protective when he loved someone. And he wasn’t wrong to be concerned.
Me: Okay. Thanks. I appreciate it.
Matt: Next time I come over, I want to listen to the podcast from that night.
Me: I don’t see the point. I told you everything. But, okay.
I flipped on the lamp near the couch. The light filled the room, and for the first time in hours, I let myself think about sleep.
I locked the door, set my phone on the nightstand, then changed into an oversized T-shirt.
Through the thin wall, I heard the soft scrape of gravel.
The low murmur of Levi’s voice was followed by the metallic click of something being adjusted.
The door of the camping trailer opened. Closed. Opened again.
He was still out there.
Still setting things up.
Still here. For me.
I crossed to the bedroom window and pushed the curtain back just enough to see the edge of his trailer.
The light inside glowed warm against the dark.
Close enough that if we both opened our windows, we could talk without raising our voices.
Close enough that we could climb through and be in each other’s beds.
The thought should’ve made me nervous. Instead, it settled something deep in my chest.
Matt had said Levi volunteered. That he didn’t need details, just the direction. That he trusted him. I trusted him, too. More than I wanted to unpack right now.
I got ready for bed then slid in, pulling the covers up to my chin. It was early, and I hadn’t eaten dinner, but I was exhausted. Outside, Levi’s footsteps shifted again. Then quiet.
A door shutting.
A pause.
And then nothing but the steady hum of Riverside Pines at night.
I stared at the ceiling for a moment, waiting for my mind to do what it had done the last few nights—spin, replay, question, imagine worst-case scenarios.
Instead, I listened to the faint sound of his trailer settling. To the low rumble of his voice, maybe on the phone, maybe just clearing his throat. To the comfort of knowing that if something moved outside, it wouldn’t just be me hearing it.
It was ridiculous that this—him being ten feet away—made the difference. But it did. I turned onto my side, facing the wall that separated us.
“Goodnight,” I whispered, even though he couldn’t hear me.
Or maybe he could.
The last thing I registered before sleep finally pulled me under, was the steady glow of his light through the crack in my curtains.