CHAPTER FIFTEEN
REECE
Tell me the surprise. Pleeease, Cam pleads for the thirtieth time, bouncing in the passenger seat.
Nope.
I smirk, adjusting my grip on the wheel as the Porsche hugs a curve along the shoreline highway. The early morning light glints off the ocean, casting sparkles across the water like its trying to seduce the coastline.
The engine growls beneath usa mechanical purr that vibrates through the seats and up my spine. Nothing compared to the way Cams moans reverberate through my chest when shes under me, but its a close fucking second.
Just one hint? A single syllable? Morse code? Ill take anything.
You know what Im discovering, Morales? There are a lot of ways to make you squirm. Im adding surprises to my mental list, right after shower water pressure and that thing with my tongue that had you screaming in Spanish.
Youre the worst.
Thats not what you said last night.
She smacks my arm, and her laugh is a shot of pure dopamine to my veins.
Im thrilled to be behind the wheel of this car againa replica 58 Porsche 356 Speedster model like Tom Cruise drove in Top Gun but Im even more excited about what Ive planned for today. For her.
The sun beats down, turning everything golden and warm, but the breeze rushing through the open top of the convertible keeps us coolor it would if my blood wasnt running hot whenever I look over at Cam.
I steal another glance at her. The wind whips through her hair, loose strands escape from the ponytail she tied up with a scrunchie. That damn scrunchie she didnt have yesterday to fulfill my dirty fantasy. My hands grip the wheel tighter, knuckles white with the effort it takes to not pull over and drag her into my lap right this second.
Christ, get it together. Your dick can wait. This is about her.
Never in my life have I felt anything like this before. Cam has suddenly become my whole world. This feeling clawing at my chest is an epiphany? An addiction? A braingasm?
I want to be with her every second of every day. Not just inside her though fuck yes, that too but next to her. Watching her. Getting her to laugh. Making up for all the time I spent belittling her work instead of recognizing what was right in front of me.
But does she feel this too? Or am I only convenient? A vacation fling? I mean, she made that pretty clear yesterday by repeating that Aunt Deb ladys life philosophy, Why settle for one flavor when you can taste the whole buffet. Maybe shes not interested in anything serious, but imagining her with somebody else makes it hard to breathe.
Pleeeease tell me, she interrupts my spiral. Is it a puppy? A new lens? A lifetime supply of patience for dealing with your grumpy ass?
Its something you deserve. The least I could do to make amends.
Thats a long list, Dare.
Im well aware.
As I take the final turn, Cams rapid-fire chatter dies abruptly. I pull to a stop, the vintage engine purring a final time before I kill it. Before us
Lahainacharred remnants of a once-vibrant community. Burned-out storefronts. Blackened foundations. Condemned shells of homes. The air itself is different hereheavier, carrying the lingering scent of char despite the months that have passed since the fires.
The destruction is staggering, sobering, and suddenly my master plan feels woefully inadequate.
Are we livestreaming here?
No streaming today. Were taking the day off. I shift to face her. Today youre teaching me how to be a documentary filmmaker.
Im sorry, what now?
I take her hand in mine, craving that connection like a lifeline. This isnt some stunt. Its not a PR move or content for the channel. This is for you, Cam. Im trying to know everything about youyour dreams, your passions. I want to understand it. To understand you.
Her face flickerslike a secret she didnt mean to sharesharp and real enough to stop me cold. She blinks, and poof, its gone. Her smile slides back into place, but its shaky now, as if it has to work overtime to hide something.
So is that why were wearing matching cargo pants and white T-shirts?
The outfits were a last-minute addition, I admit, kissing her knuckles. Dont be jealous if I look sexier than you in your filming uniform.
The truth is more pathetic. I spent half the night texting Kai for help. I swallowed my pride and asked him to connect me with locals who could guide us. And I begged the resort concierge to find me cargo pants identical to hers by morning.
I gotta keep a few things to myself to maintain some dignity.
Climbing out of the car, I circle around and pop the trunk open. Today, Im your assistant.
Cam comes over and her eyes pop at all the equipment Ive packed. Camera bags. Tripods. Extra batteries. Mics. I dont know what documentary filmmaking actually requires, so I rented one of everything.
Wait, are you wearing womens pants?
I start unloading gear from the trunk, passing her a lightweight camera bag. If youre asking if these pants are tight in the crotch, the answer is yes. I adjust myself with zero subtlety. So dont do anything to turn me on, because seriously, there is no room down there.
A mischievous gleam lights her eyes. Never breaking eye contact, she bends over to check one of the bags, her butt mere inches from my hands. And then she fucking winks at me.
My palm connects with her ass before I think twice. The sharp smack is satisfying in ways I cannot articulate. Sonnets should be written about that thing.
Oh, you want to be a little troublemaker? I give her another slap, slightly harder this time. Ill remember that when we get back to the resort.
I start distributing equipment between us, stuffing memory cards, lens wipes, and a collapsible reflector into my many pockets. I see why you like these pants. You can fit everything in here. Is this what women are always complaining about? The pocket inequality thing?
Its a genuine feminist issue. The patriarchy doesnt want us to have storage options because then we wouldnt need men to carry our stuff.
I grab her by the belt loops, pulling her against me. Her softness meets my hardness in all the right places. Your ass in cargo pants when you work is art in motion. I press my lips to hers, drinking in her sweetness. I will do my best not to stare at it all day. I kiss her again, deeper this time, my hands finding their way to the curves in question.
She makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a moan that shoots straight to my groin. Shit. These womens pants were not designed for arousal.
Reluctantly, I release her, shouldering a camera bag and grabbing the tripod. Okay, boss. Where to first?
I watch her transform into work modeshoulders straightening, eyes scanning the landscape with purpose. Goddamn, Id follow this woman anywhere.
We walk in silence down Lahainas once-bustling main street, the weight of destruction draping over us like a heavy blanket. The bones of the battered town remainfoundations stripped to concrete slabs, steel beams sticking out like fractured ribs. Blackened doorways leading to nowhere. Some buildings still stand, but theyre beyond scorched, hollowed out by the fire that tried to erase them.
Lahaina is no longer the town from the postcards.
The streets are eerily quiet but not empty. The hum of machinery rumbles in the distance, workers clearing debris, rebuilding what they can. A woman sweeps ash from what used to be her front porch, despite there being no roof above her anymore. A group of men reassemble the wooden beams of a storefront, their movements slow and steady.
Ive seen destruction before. Hell, Ive caused it intentionally, for videos.
But this? This isnt content. This is real.
The folks here are trying to pick up the pieces of their life.
This is why I wanted to come, she says finally. The news cycle has moved on, but this placethese peopleare still living in it.
She gestures toward the town, toward the workers, toward a man hammering boards into the remains of what might have been his storefront.
People lost everything. Homes, businesses, family histories passed down through generations. She shakes her head. Most are still displaced, stuck in temporary housing, not knowing whenifthey can ever come back. Sadly, with the towns infrastructure being such a mess, many wonder if its even worth trying.
We round a corner and halt dead in our tracks.
Before us stands the famous banyan tree.
Sacred.
Majestic.
Haunting.
Grieving.
It looms proudly and defiantly behind the skeletal remains of the Old Lahaina Courthouse. The behemoth, with its massive trunk and sprawling limbs, once boasted a canopy spanning nearly an acre. Now diminished by the scars of fire, large sections of its once-lush foliage are gone, branches blackened and twisted. Yet somehow, against all odds, green shoots emerge from the less-damaged areaslife finding a way in the face of devastation.
Its a symbol of hope and resilience, I murmur reverently.
Youre right. And you just discovered the start of our story. Her confident gaze locks on to mine, seeping into my soul. Lets dive in. I want to get some sweeping wide shots and drone footage of the town.
For hours, we work together filming different areas, moving through the ruins of Lahaina as if were documenting a war zone. Which, in a way, we areMother Natures war against this historic town. With each new location, Cam becomes more and more of a different person, someone Ive not fully seen before.
See how this shot captures both the ruins and the ocean behind them? She points to the viewfinder. That contrast tells a story without saying a word. Paradise and destruction in the same frame.
I nod, absorbing her words like the student I am today.
We move to a different spot where an elderly man is sorting through whats left of his shop. Cam approaches him with gentleness, explaining what were doing. To my surprise, he agrees to talk.
For intimate moments like this, she whispers to me, we need close-ups. They reveal emotion, vulnerabilitythe human element that connects viewers to the story. She demonstrates, focusing tightly on the mans weathered hands as he holds a charred photo frame, the one and only item he could recover from his business of thirty years.
Later, as were filming B-roll along what once was a main thoroughfare, Cam sighs in frustration.
Id like to do a tracking shot that follows the length of the street, showing the progression of damage, she explains, but I dont have a dolly or any of the proper equipment.
I scan our surroundings, eyes landing on an abandoned skateboard propped against a partially standing wall. I hold it up triumphantly.
How about a DIY solution? You sit on this, Ill pull you, and you can get your shot.
Her eyebrows shoot up. That could work.
I position the skateboard on the smoothest part of the road, and Cam sits down, camera balanced carefully in her hands. Ready when you are, chauffeur.
Hold on tight. I grab the front of the board and begin walking backward, pulling her along as smoothly as I can. She watches through the viewfinder, hands steadying it despite the bumpy ride.
Great! she calls out. Just like that! Keep this pace!
Theres a stupidly satisfying rush in helping her nail the scenebacking her vision instead of forcing mine. When we finish the tracking shot, she turns to me, all lit up and grinning, and Im wrecked. I feel pride, sure, but theres something deeper, something Im not ready to name.
I thought I knew Camila Morales. I didnt. I only knew the version who pointed a camera at me. But this woman? Shes a freaking revelation.
***
Perfectnow hold that angle. I need to frame the shelter with the mountain in the background, Cam instructs, her body bent slightly forward in concentration.
I hold the reflector panel and do my best impression of a statue. Almost done?
Dont move. At all. And no breathing!
Sweat trickles down my spine, dampening my ridiculous womens cargo pants that have squeezed my junk into oblivion. You realize Im not a tripod, right? I have basic human needs like blinking and eventually rescuing my balls from the chokehold of these pants.
Quit fidgeting, Cam whispers, not looking away from her viewfinder. Youre making the light bounce.
Im not fidgeting. Im adjusting this fabric sauna. Totally different.
Were standing outside a metal box masquerading as a homea FEMA-issued temporary housing unit. I dont know what I was expecting. Its a single-room structure, one of a dozen crammed into a repurposed elementary school parking lot. The walls are thin. The roof is corrugated metal, the kind that turns a storm into a percussive nightmare. A clothesline is strung between two trees, kids T-shirts and towels swaying in the breeze.
This is home for the Akana family now.
Kai really came through with this connection. He didnt simply hand us some random contacthe sent us to his actual longtime friends. Pono and Hina Akana werent just homeowners. They owned a gem among Lahainas most beloved family businesses: Paradise Burger Hut, right on the waterfront. From what Kai told us, it was a local staplea place where you could grab the best beach burger in town and people knew your name.
They lost everything.
Their restaurant and their home. Their kids have been uprooted, their employeeswho were basically familyare struggling, and theyre drowning in bureaucratic bullshit, working out whether they even can rebuild.
You think were intruding? I whisper to Cam, suddenly unsure about this whole endeavor. These people have been through hell. The last thing they need is cameras in their face.
They want their story told, Reece. Thats why they said yes. Cams voice is steady, confident. And were not here to exploit them. Were here to listen.
Before Im able to respond, the door swings open and a lanky teen boy freezes mid-step, his eyes going comically wide.
Holy shit! Youre Reece Dare! he yelps, then immediately clamps his hand over his mouth. Sorry about the language, he adds, glancing nervously behind him.
I fight back a grin. No worries, man. Ive said way worse on camera.
His face lights up as if Ive handed him the keys to a Ferrari. Ive seen all your videos! The double-back flip into the foam pit while eating a burrito? Legendary! And the vid where you spent twenty-four hours in that shark cage? My friends and I tried to build one in my cousins pool with PVC pipes!
Keoni, who are you talking A woman appears in the doorway, her eyes tired but kind. She gives us an apologetic smile. Im so sorry. He gets excited.
Mom! Its Reece Dare! Keoni bounces on his toes. Hes YouTube royalty!
Cam shoots me a smirk. Royalty, huh? Should I bow, Your Majesty?
Stop encouraging him, Morales.
Keonis attention shifts to Cam. Wait, youre his girlfriend! The girl from the waterfall video! His cheeks flush slightly. My friend Marco rewatched that video fifty times.
Great. The kids seen me with my tongue down Cams throat. Not the first impression I was going for.
Come in, please. The womanHina, according to Kaiushers us inside. Dont mind the mess. Were still figuring out how to fit all of our belongings.
Mess is a generous description. The space is meticulously organized out of necessityevery inch serving multiple purposes. A couch thats clearly a pull-out bed. Plastic bins stacked as makeshift shelves. No photos, no knickknacks, nothing but a general vibe of a life put on hold.
The air inside is stuffy, tinged with the sharp scent of fresh carpet and the lingering ghost of a delicious meal that was cooked hours ago. An air conditioning unit rattles in the window, fighting a losing battle against the Hawaiian heat.
A curtain serves as a room divider, and through a gap I spot a little girl with two perfect braids, her dark eyes wide with curiosity as she peers at our equipment.
Nalani, come meet our guests, Hina calls softly.
The girlmaybe six or sevensteps out cautiously, holding a stuffed turtle against her chest like a shield. She lingers slightly behind her mother, half-hidden, her small fingers curled into her moms floral-print dress, ready to duck out of sight if needed.
A man emerges from the kitchen area, wiping his hands on a towel. Pono Akana, he introduces himself, extending his hand. His grip is firm, his eyes scanning minehes sizing me up. Kai says youre filming a documentary? About Lahaina?
I gesture to Camila, whos already adjusting her camera settings. Actually, shes the documentary filmmaker. Im her assistant.
Ponos eyebrows lift slightly, a flash of respect crossing his features. Good to hear Kai wasnt making things up. He said you wanted to tell real stories, not just get disaster footage for clicks.
We want to understand what families such as yours are facing, Cam says, stepping forward with a voice so tender, my heart surges. The struggles that dont make the headlines. The reality of rebuildingor trying to.
Well, weve got plenty of reality to share, Pono says with a hollow laugh and tired eyes. Come sit. We dont have much space, but weve got stories.
We settle into the cramped living areaCam and me on a worn loveseat thats seen better days, the Akanas clustered together on the pull-out couch. Keoni perches on the arm, while Nalani tucks herself against her mothers side, turtle still clutched protectively to her chest.
Cam sets up two cameras on tripods with smooth efficiency. The first positioned to capture the family, the other angled to include both us and them in the frame. Im impressed.
Reece, in that one video the boy starts eagerly.
Keoni, no. Let them prepare before you bombard Mr. Dare, Hina says.
No worries. I grin at the kid. Shoot me a question.
Did you actually jump your motorcycle over a swimming pool full of snakes? Or was that fake? My friends and I have a bet.
Rubber snakes, I clarify. My insurance wouldnt cover real ones. But dont tell anybodyruins the magic.
His laugh hits me hard. Its the first genuinely joyful sound Ive heard all day.
Cam gives me a subtle nodwere ready.
Thank you for welcoming us into your home, she says, her tone taking on a quality Ive never hearddirect and intimate without being intrusive. Can you tell us about Paradise Burger Hut? Kai said it was special to the community.
At the mention of their restaurant, Ponos expression transforms, as if someone switched on a light inside him. It was our lifes work. Started with my fathers recipes fifteen years ago. Nothing fancyjust good food made with aloha.
The best burgers on the island, Hina adds, pride momentarily eclipsing the exhaustion in her voice. Thats not only us saying itwe won Best of Maui five years running.
And the most insane milkshakes, Keoni interjects. Wed make these monster creations with, like, whole slices of cake on top. People would take pictures before they even tasted them.
Social media was good advertising, Pono nods. Tourists would come in with photos on their phones, saying I want this exact shake.
It was more than a restaurant, Hina says softly. It was where the community gathered. First dates, marriage proposals, baby luaus
Our employees were family, Pono adds. Some had been with us since opening day.
Cam nods encouragingly. And it was also your home?
We lived above the restaurant, Hina confirms. Everything we owned was in that building.
Now its all gone, Pono says, the light in his eyes dimming. Fifteen years of our lives. Up in smoke in less than an hour.
The air in the room thickens, heavy with loss and memory. Nalani hugs her turtle tighter. Cam lets the silence breathea technique Ive never mastered. On my channel, silence is the enemy. Dead air means lost interest, viewers scrolling away. I fill every second with jokes, commentary, action. But Cam knows to pause, giving the moment the weight it deserves.
I find myself holding my breath, not wanting to disturb the magic.
We had twenty minutes to evacuate, Hina continues finally. The smoke was already so thick, we could barely see. What do you grab when your whole life is on fire?
I took the cash box and our wedding album, Pono says.
I grabbed the kids birth certificates and baby books, Hina adds.
I got my PlayStation and external hard drive, Keoni admits, looking slightly embarrassed.
I brought Wiggles, Nalani speaks for the first time, her voice small but clear as she holds up the turtle.
The simplicity of their answers hollows me out. Twenty minutes to decide what matters. Twenty minutes to grab the fragments of a life youre leaving behind.
What would I save if my life was on fire? My YouTube awards? My phone? My fucking DareWare merchandise?
Whats been the most challenging part of rebuilding? Cam asks, her focus steady even as Im having an existential crisis two feet away.
The waiting, Pono says without hesitation. Insurance claims in processing limbo. FEMA applications. Building permits. The whole systems backlogged; everyones overwhelmed.
And while we wait, life keeps happening, Hina adds. The kids need school supplies. The car needs repairs. We must pay rent while we are trying to rebuild.
Do you know when youll be able to start reconstruction? Cam asks.
Pono and Hina trade a silent exchange, thick with unspoken truths.
Were still deciding if we should, Pono says carefully, his voice low. The lands still there, but restoration costs are astronomical. Insurance covers only about forty percent. Taking out loans means debt we might never escape, especially if
If what? Cam prompts gently.
If the tourists dont come back, Hina finishes. If were the only people who rebuild. A restaurant needs a community to survive.
What about your employees? I catch myself asking, unable to stay quiet. Are they waiting for you to reopen?
Ponos expression tightens. Some found other jobs. Some left the island entirelyhousing prices being what they are. You cant keep people waiting on a maybe someday promise.
We feel responsible for them, Hina adds. These people trusted us with their livelihoods.
But you arent helping anyone if you drown while trying to save them, Pono says with the resignation of somebody whos had this argument with himself many times.
My throat constricts. I have three hundred employees who depend on my channels success. Its why I keep churning out the same content, why I agreed to marry Astrid, why Im going along with this fake girlfriend plan. At least I still have a platform.
What would I do if I lost everything overnight? Would I have this same dignity? This same concern for others?
Cam continues asking questionsperfect questions that unlock layers of the Akanas story that I wouldnt have thought to explore. The endless insurance paperwork. The community support that materializes in surprising ways. The challenge of maintaining hope.
I watch, mesmerized, as she builds trust with this family. She understands when to push and when to pull back. When to let emotion fill the space and when to redirect to facts. Shes not just collecting soundbitesshes weaving together the complex reality of what it means to be a family that loses it all and keeps going.
This is Cam in her element, and shes fucking magnificent.
How badass would my content be if Id recognized her talent earlier? If Id seen her as more than camera girl? Jesus, am I as bad as Gordon?
Why do you do all those crazy stunts? Keoni suddenly asks me, jolting me from my thoughts.
The question catches me off guard. Uh views, I guess. People like watching crazy stuff.
No, but, um, why? Arent you scared youll die? His eyes are wide, genuinely curious.
I laugh, running a hand through my hair. Sometimes. Thats part of the rushdoing things that scare you.
Did you always want to be a YouTuber?
I glance at Cam, whos studying me with undisguised interest. Great. An audience for my existential crisis.
No. It started with my best friend, Blaze, and me goofing around. Then this one video went viral, and suddenly people wanted more. Bigger stunts. Wilder pranks. I shrug. Before I knew it, I was selling shirts, releasing energy drinks, and all this crazy stuff. Now, its this big company and I have all these people who work for me. Definitely not what I expected.
Do you still like it?
I hesitate, acutely aware of how absurd my career seems in this contextin this tiny prefab unit where a family is fighting to rebuild a life that actually matters.
I mean, I used to be obsessed with it, I say finally, the unfiltered truth slipping out. Now I dont know. Half the time it feels as if Im just filming stuff to remind people I exist.
Keoni considers this with surprising seriousness. You know what would be really cool? If you used your channel to help people. Like, you have millions of followers, right? Imagine if they all did something small to help. That would be massive.
Keoni, Hina warns gently, shooting me an apologetic look.
Its okay, I assure her.
Can you help us? Keoni asks directly, his eyes full of unmistakable hope that makes my stomach drop, like I stepped off a ledge I didnt see coming.
The question paralyzes me.
Can I help? I have money, sure. I could write a check right now to cover their rebuilding costs. But thats a single family, and there are so many others. Plus, I cant fix all the bureaucracy and red tape that keeps them stuck in this position.
And my platform? Millions of followers who watch me do dumb shit for laughs. Would they care about the struggles of Lahaina? I cant see them donating to a GoFundMe. Theyd just scroll past to the next viral challenge.
My entire brand is built on superficial entertainment. My audience comes for the adrenaline, the pranks, the stuntsnot real issues requiring actual attention spans.
Im drowning in my questions when Cam speaks up.
Were going to do what we can to make sure people hear your story, she says with quiet conviction. Thats the first stepbreaking through the noise, making sure youre not forgotten.
The certainty in her words both impresses and intimidates me. She knows exactly what to say, exactly what matters. Meanwhile, Im still trying to figure out if anything Ive ever made has mattered at all.
What have I been doing, really? Entertainment that evaporates from memory as quickly as the next video can load. Whereas Cams capturing real stories about real people facing real challenges. Content that actually fucking matters.
Why would she tie herself to somebody like me? A jackwad who jumps off cliffs for views.
Oh my God, wait! This emptiness Ive been feeling isnt burnout. Its not Gordons relentless demands. Hell, its not even the grind of day in and day out filming.
Its the cold, hard fact that I cant outrun. None of it has ever meant a damn thing.
And watching Cam todayseeing her connect with people, tell their stories with dignity and care I want that. I want to make things that matter. I want to use my platform for a purpose bigger than myself.
Something in me has shifted, irreversibly. I can not go back to creating the same empty content.
But will people believe I genuinely want to help? Will she?