Chapter Nineteen
One Canoe to End It All
Jordan
‘Remember when I mentioned I didn’t do so well in large bodies of water?’
Rod turns to me sceptically at the conclusion of that statement. ‘You’re serious? This is a lap pool, Curly.’
So maybe it’s a lap pool. But it’s fucking huge.
I glance spitefully at the canoes lined up at the corner of the pool.
The kids are already screeching excitedly as they put their stuff down in the bleachers.
This has been an undertaking; we (mostly Rod) swim-tested them on Wednesday, and now, Friday, we’ve caved and decided they need a moment off the field to reset before we kick it into overdrive to prepare for the cross-camp.
I meant it as a joke when I suggested we have them canoe on my first day at camp.
I did not expect Rod and Benny to take my idea to heart as an outing for the kids.
‘That is so wild,’ he continues. ‘You know all these kids can swim on their own, right? See those green wristbands? Don’t tell me we need to get you a “red for rookie.”’
‘No!’ I snap self-consciously. My water issues are a weakness that I am decidedly most ashamed of.
When you spend your whole life on land, doing land things, you don’t spend a lot of time in the pool.
It’s Oklahoma. We prepare for tornados, not hurricanes.
I never wanted to get in the water, and Mom never made me.
And honestly, I never really thought about it.
I could do plenty of great things on land, including but not limited to hanging onto a bucking horse for a solid eight seconds (most of the time).
I’d actually seen several of those signature Oklahoma tornados from the front row.
Water didn’t really occur to me as a problem.
At least, not until now, here: struggling to get my head in a game of Canoe Battleship.
‘Let’s go, guys!’ Benny calls from down by the canoes. He waves an arm, gesturing to us to join. It’s time.
I throw my hair into a topknot, cinched together by a way-too-small hairband, peel off my camp shirt, and toss it in my tote bag so I’m wearing only my fuchsia one-piece bathing suit, as does Rod beside me.
Oh, sure, I’ve seen it all, but I’m not immune.
His triceps flex as he pulls the shirt over his head, revealing ultra-defined back muscles, shredded arms, and a perfect six-pack of abs.
That silver pendant glitters around his neck, a little oval that looks a lot like my gold one.
He smirks when he catches me looking. I don’t hide it. I don’t stand a chance, not when he’s a literal work of art. His eyes sweep over me in one quick movement.
‘Is my horse fear more or less logical than your water fear?’ he asks as we fall into step with the kids, walking down the steps of the bleachers.
‘Less,’ I immediately decide. ‘So much less. Water is a logical thing to be afraid of.’
‘You really don’t get along well with large bodies of water, huh?
’ The teasing in Rod’s eyes softens. Something very new enters them.
Something a lot softer than the usual glances of sheer longing we exchange.
As we approach the bottom of the bleachers and take the walkway running right along the border of the pool, he gives me a gentle nudge at my waist. I’m confused, until he guides me to the left, and continues walking to my right, closest to the water.
Did he just sidewalk-rule my water paranoia?
I can’t help sneaking a peek at him with a semblance of awe.
My chest is all warm and fuzzy when I think about that simple movement, taking the potential fall for me.
Protecting me? Maybe that’s a stretch. But the little feeling that worms its way into my heart when I think about the sentiment is a hell of a lot more than physical.
‘Alright, campers, we’re gonna go canoe by canoe!’ Benny proclaims. ‘Three to a team!’
‘COACHES VERSUS KIDS!’ one particularly feral camper yells and, before we know it, it’s a war cry among our young charges.
The lifeguard on duty is very poorly concealing a grin.
Benny looks absolutely horrified. I agree.
These kids are going to sink us – literally.
The objective of the game is to dump as much water as possible into your opponents’ canoe until it essentially capsizes, and now that we’ve been dragged into the game, it promises to be a blowout match.
Even though we will inevitably lose, I can’t keep away from the water much longer.
‘You guys are on!’ Rod shouts back. They erupt into cheers. He just beams, crossing his arms over his strong chest. ‘We gotta make them regret this, guys.’
‘We’re so sold,’ whispers Benny before unhooking the first canoe from its ropes and shoving it into the water. Then, to our wild crowd, ‘First three campers!’
We manage to get all our kids in the water in ten boats. Ours is the eleventh, which Benny lowers into the water till it hits with a satisfying slap. Benny holds up a big paint bucket. ‘Who’s going to be our attacker? Rod?’
Rod doesn’t turn down his proposed post. He accepts the bucket with a knowing smile. Benny effortlessly hops right into the canoe first, picking up the ‘shield’ (a literal yoga mat). The water sloshes along its sides as he finds a good spot, patting the space in front of him. ‘C’mon, guys.’
‘Wait, so you’re dumping the water and you’ve got the shield!’ My voice comes out just as panicked as I am when I gesture to Rod and Benny respectively. ‘So I-I can be the ref!’
‘Not quite.’ Rod shoots me a pointed glare and presses something into my hands. ‘You’re long range.’
I look down. It’s a tube water blaster, the kind where you push and a jet of water comes out the top. Long range my ass.
‘I guess I know how you felt with that horse now,’ I practically shudder as I get into the canoe with one unsteady foot. The boat wobbles beneath me. Not exactly the reassuring feeling I need to get into the water.
Fingers brush my waist from behind me.
I suck in a breath. I feel like the world’s most colossal idiot, but Rod guiding me isn’t the worst thing in the world. Any excuse for him to touch me, actually. Those are the finer things in my life.
We eventually get all situated in our canoe. Immediately, the campers start booing and shaking their respective water guns at us.
‘Does anyone have any last words?’ asks Benny, raising his whistle to his lips.
‘These kids are going to kill us,’ I say.
We aren’t the first boat to go down, which is a good sign.
After taking out about five canoes, we nearly eat it at the hands of Jake, Josh, and Nathan, but sink them instead.
My fear of water fades into the background when the thrill of the competition takes over.
Buckets fly everywhere, canoes thump against canoes, and campers are absolutely screaming.
At the end of it, we are left head-to-head with the Middle School Girl Canoe, consisting of Lyla and two of her sixth-grade friends.
We don’t stand a chance. Our canoe capsizes before we can even get our shield up, and the Middle School Girl Canoe is dubbed the champion.
The gentle lap of water against the wood of my canoe threatens to put me to sleep.
Since when? Maybe Canoe Battleship cured my oceanic woes.
But more likely, it’s that my brain is busy being hyper-alert because of something else.
I roll over to my belly in the canoe, and peer out at the six-foot-plus Greek god in his own canoe across from me.
He lies on his back with … is that his phone? A smile traces its way across his face.
‘We get the entire pool to ourselves after getting absolutely demolished by children,’ I call out, ‘and you’re watching TikToks?’
‘What?’ Rod’s head snaps over in surprise. Holy shit. He’s not holding his phone.
‘Oh my gosh.’ Now I’m the one who can’t help but smile. ‘Is that a Kindle?’
‘Don’t be mean.’ Rod tucks his e-reader out of sight in defence and, even from feet away, I can see the bridge of his nose going guiltily red. ‘I like it. Reading, I mean.’
‘Really?’ My next words are, in fact, rapid-fire ammo. ‘I feel like I don’t know all that much about you.’
My big mouth. Should I correct with some shitty statement about how people aren’t supposed to know much about one another in casual relationships, anyway?
Whatever I say, it’d be a lie. Something in my chest aches to know more about him.
The reading piques my attention. His family’s farm, his fear of horses, his daughter. It all does.
Fuck. I need someone to pinch me back to reality.
Beyond ‘casual’ isn’t really a Gutierrez capability.
Our taste in men certainly isn’t. And yeah, it’s nice being free of the ranch, doing whatever I want with whoever I want, but that’s just all it is.
It’s fun. Making it more than that never ends well.
Except stupid Rod decides he wants to go and toe the line, because he says, ‘I feel like I don’t know all that much about you, either.’
My guard goes up right away. My fortitude, my oversize boxing gloves. I’m ready to snap. ‘I …’
Rod’s canoe is close enough now that he can touch the side of mine. His dark, deep eyes lock onto mine. ‘Tell me something,’ he says. ‘And you can dump a bucket of water in my canoe. After I get the Kindle out of here,’ he adds quickly.
I purse my lips. Tell me something hasn’t really been my style. Ever. But it’s something about him that provokes the words anyway. ‘Um.’ I trace a groove in the wood of the canoe. ‘I only like to eat my mac n’ cheese in bread bowls.’
‘Weird.’ He grins, tapping my bucket. ‘Go ahead.’
He can’t be serious. He’s leaning back in his canoe, sliding his Kindle reader onto the deck before coming back my way. I dunk my bucket in the water, coming up with a very full dose of ammo that I need both arms and a forceful grunt to lift.
‘You asked for it!’ I shout as I push the bucket so all the water smacks both Rod and his canoe.
He is soaked. He just laughs in disbelief, hair dripping down the front of his face. His toned muscles glisten with a sheen of water owing to my attack. Okay, so I’m not opposed to this game at all. ‘Nice shot,’ he manages.
‘Your turn.’ I toss the bucket to the back of my canoe. ‘Give me one thing about yourself, and you can get me back.’
‘Shit.’ Rod pushes his wet hair off his forehead. He closes his eyes in thought. ‘Uh … I think the Kindle gave it away. But I really love to read. I have for a long time. I majored in English in college.’
‘English?’ I echo. I definitely don’t know a smidge about him.
He nods. ‘I’m doing my master’s in education. I wanna teach it. Lang and comp.’
‘You know what? All due honesty. From what I’ve seen so far, that tracks. The teaching bit,’ I tell him. ‘The English, I didn’t see coming.’
‘What, did you think I was in finance or something?’ he cackles as he fills up his bucket. Oh, great. Here it comes.
‘Well, isn’t Colt—’
In one fell swoop, a wall of water crashes over me, and my boat tips dangerously. ‘That was extra!’ I insist through a mouthful of water. ‘That was so extra, Rod!’
‘For the English thing,’ he quips, taking a dramatic bow. ‘It’s the game! You’re next.’
I harrumph a little, but I can’t be all too mad. An English teacher. In no realm of thought would I ever have conceived of that being his life’s work: the English language. I guess I can give him another little fun fact.
‘I only ever wore one pair of socks when I was on the broncs.’
Rod blinks a moment, and then his cheeks puff out, and he bursts into laughter. ‘What?’
‘Stop it!’ I give his canoe a little push, and he just goes on cackling. ‘It was a green pair. They were lucky, I’ll have you know. Every time I wore them, I always lasted the eight seconds.’
‘You know, that’s the one thing I still can’t believe.’ Rod sits back with a sigh and gently anchors himself with a hand to the corner of my canoe. The aggressive lapping of the water slows as he meets my eyes. ‘What’d you call it, saddle bronc?’
I nod. ‘Rough stock.’
He smiles a bit, but still with an air of inquisition. ‘Why?’
‘What, why?’
‘You were playing lacrosse, right? I don’t think I gotta tell you how fast things can go south if you sustain an injury.’
I hum. His words are familiar, and they pluck at a part of my chest I’ve held tight to for a while.
My mother would say the same thing. Struggle to understand why both.
‘I guess I could say it’s cool,’ I reply as I run over the next sentence in my head, ‘but I think it was because I liked the risk. It kind of felt the way being here does.’ The water suddenly feels way more still than it had been before.
I’m not sure if I love how quiet things have become, but Rod listens intently.
‘I used to feel untethered when I was up there, even though I was hanging on for dear life.’
I break the silence with a wary chuckle, and Rod, bless him, does the same. ‘That does make sense,’ he says. ‘But I hope you know I can’t dump a bucket of water in your canoe for that.’
A wet wave of hair falls in front of his face as he passes his bucket my way, big brown eyes locking on mine. ‘Go ahead.’
‘This feels like cheating—’
‘What if …?’ He looks up in thought, then back at me with a grin that could light up a pitch-dark room. And then the menace reaches over and rocks my boat – literally – so hard I think I’m going to tumble right out.
‘Oh, you and your …’ That’s enough for me to retaliate. I come in hot with the next bucket of water.
With a yelp, Rod reaches for his own bucket. ‘Is this war? Are you going to war with me right now?’
‘You invited this. And no. This is worse than war.’ I grab the front of his canoe and, with a modicum of effort, am able to pull it towards me. He drops the dumb paint bucket, eyes wide, as I clamber into his canoe and push mine away. ‘It’s a coup.’
‘Not afraid of “large bodies of water” any more?’ Rod’s confusion breaks into a grin, and he chucks the bucket to the side, into the pool.
‘Just pleasantly distracted by something else at the moment.’
It is quite pleasant. He pulls me up onto him, and I straddle him with my legs on either side. Our lips crash against one another’s, a habit, an addiction.
The worst part about addictions, though, is that you have to keep coming back for more. And no matter how badly I want to, eventually, I’ll have to stop.
I usually can. I’ve stopped before.
It’s usually easy.
Usually.