Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
L ast night was … a lot. I’d never wanted to kiss a woman more in my life while simultaneously wanting to run from her. Cricket confuses the hell out of me, or more accurately, my own feelings confuse the hell out of me.
I manage to avoid her by spending the morning with the fan fiction club.
To my surprise and relief, I find myself enjoying the collaborative nature of the work as well as the creative process.
I may not have watched Supernatural , but I know enough about Sherlock to contribute.
Of course, Fiona insists on showing me social media clips from Supernatural , allegedly to give me a better understanding of the show, although I suspect she simply likes ogling the actors.
When the Internet connection acts up and we’re forced to abandon what must be the fortieth reel of two admittedly good-looking guys exchanging quips, I act disappointed.
When the activity block ends, I walk outside to heavy cloud cover and my phone bleeps with a weather alert for heavy rain, which Cricket must’ve also received because she cancels the evening’s fireside chat.
Everyone decides to cram into the Danger Zone cabin.
I’m not a fan of crowds in tight spaces, so I opt to go back to my cabin.
Avoiding Cricket may also be a factor in my decision.
I catch sight of her entering the cabin with Stefan as fat raindrops begin to fall. No one’s outside at this point, which makes it the ideal opportunity to snoop in Cricket’s office. I make a beeline for the vacant cabin.
The moment my hand makes contact with the doorknob, I freeze.
This camp is all she has in the world. The last connection to the family she lost and the only connection with the one she created for herself.
My client doesn’t understand any of that, not that he’d care.
If it doesn’t involve dollar signs, he isn’t interested.
But I am.
Very interested, if I’m being honest, and it’s a problem. Cricket’s need for this camp conflicts with my need to secure this deal. To become the youngest partner in the history of the firm. To be on equal footing with my siblings and make my parents proud.
Still, I can’t do it.
I release my grip on the doorknob and abandon my plan. I want to make Cricket laugh again, not cry. Maybe another Chucky prank will mend the fence I built between us last night.
I return to my cabin and retrieve Chucky. She won’t expect to see him in her filing cabinet a second time. I only hope someone is there to witness the moment when it happens.
I sneak back into the office and open the drawer of the filing cabinet. I pose him with a glimpse of his arms and head sticking out and hear a crunch of paper as I adjust his position.
Shit. I hope I didn’t rip anything important. I yank Chucky from the drawer and feel around the bottom. The files are so tight, it’s like trying to fix a paper jam in the printer.
With delicate precision, I manage to extract the paper from the drawer. Relief ripples through me when I see it’s all in one piece, quickly followed by another emotion when I realize what the document is.
A smoking gun.
I scan the details and immediately shift into lawyer mode. I know exactly what this is and what it means for both Cricket and my client.
I wish I hadn’t stepped foot inside this office today.
My throat tightens as I consider the options.
I’ve only known Cricket for a blip in time, yet I feel like I’ve known her forever.
If only I could figure out a way to satisfy us both.
If I turn this over to LandStar, it would destroy her.
Standing here right now and confronted with this reality, I realize that I don’t want Cricket to be even a little sad or disappointed, and I certainly don’t want to be the reason for it.
That woman deserves full-blown happiness handed to her on a silver platter.
Based on the state of her files, I doubt she knows this document exists, let alone its implication. I fold the paper and stuff it in my pocket before repositioning Chucky. As soon as I finish, I rush from the office, feeling more like a criminal than a prankster.
I hurry back to my cabin and pull out my laptop to try to focus on work.
The Wi-Fi is even worse than usual, if that’s possible.
I assume it’s the approaching band of bad weather.
I give up and focus on the files on the hard drive.
I click open the LandStar folder and start reviewing the files related to the camp, not because I intend to exploit a loophole.
Instead, I’m looking for that magic answer that solves both our problems. It’s probably wishful thinking, but I’m a determined guy.
The upside of being raised by pushy parents.
Maybe I would’ve become driven and determined without their constant pressure—who knows?
I hear a downpour outside as I revisit the client’s brief, the reasons for wanting this land in particular, and what LandStar intends to do with it.
The location makes sense. The camp sits on a gorgeous piece of property.
You can’t beat the lakeside setting and acres of pristine forest. It would be a shame to cut down Endor Forest to make space for tennis courts.
I’m so immersed in my mental gymnastics that I almost miss the stream of water sliding under my door.
I set my laptop on the bed and peer out the window.
The area outside my cabin looks like a swamp.
I throw my belongings into my duffel bag, including the expensive shoes on my feet, and exit the cabin barefoot.
Water splashes around my ankles as I wade farther inland toward drier land. The flooding seems concentrated around my cabin, probably because I’m farthest from the other cabins and closest to the lake. I’m soaked to the bone by the time I knock on Cricket’s door.
“Holy crap, Charlie! Get inside!” She practically yanks me forward and slams the door behind me. “What are you doing?”
I set my duffel bag on the floor. “My cabin is starting to flood.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re kidding me. That’s not good.” She turns toward the window. “The cabin closest to you is on an incline. It’s probably okay, but I’ll check with Ben.”
“If you can get through.”
She gets through. Ben’s cabin is fine. She types a message in the group chat and asks everyone to remain in their cabins for their own safety and to leave at the first sign of flooding.
“I guess it’s you and me tonight, roomie,” Cricket chirps.
My gaze drifts to the one and only bed in the cabin. “Why don’t I bunk with Adam?”
“Chewy will bark at you all night like you’re an intruder.”
“Stefan?”
“Vikings don’t share cabins.” She picks up my bag and moves it to the other side of the room. “Relax, Charlie. It’s one night and we’re both adults. No need to make it weird. We’ll dry out your cabin tomorrow and you can return to your self-imposed isolation.”
“I wasn’t isolating.”
“Sure you weren’t.” Cricket’s phone buzzes, breaking the tension. Probably for the best. She taps the screen. “Hey, Gloria. Everything okay?”
I can’t hear the words, but I can tell from Gloria’s tone that everything is not okay.
“I’m sure she’s fine, but if it would make you feel better, I’ll see if I can find her.” Cricket’s eyes meet mine and she mouths the word ‘Buffy.’
I understand the problem before Cricket hangs up. The sugar glider is outside in the deluge. With that small body, her wings are likely vulnerable during a downpour.
“I’ll let you know when I find her.” Cricket tosses me a look. “Buffy flew outside and hasn’t come back. Gloria is worried sick.”
“I heard your end. Let’s go. I’ll help you.”
She blinks. “You want to help me?”
“Why not?”
“You came here to get out of the rain.”
“I know how important Buffy is to Gloria. Besides, I’m already soaked. Where’s your flashlight? We’ll flash a Bat Signal.”
“Good thinking.”
She dashes to the corner of the cabin and grabs the light from underneath a chair. “Let’s go!”
The rain is even worse than when I arrived at Cricket’s cabin. The downpour has become torrential. There’s no way Buffy could glide in these conditions.
We run toward the woods, calling Buffy’s name and splashing muddy water everywhere.
If I were an animal, where would I hide to ride out the storm?
Childhood memories bob to the surface. I was obsessed with animals as a kid.
I read every zoo plaque and watched every nature program I could find.
It was only when I was old enough to play sports that my interests were squashed by my parents.
I have a distinct memory of being enthralled by a David Attenborough episode on National Geographic.
My father marched in and turned it off, ordering me to go outside to practice throwing and catching because he wasn’t raising any tree huggers.
I remember the shame I felt, as though I’d been caught watching porn.
My parents weaponized shame against all three of their kids, but they needed to use it less with my siblings.
Michael and Lizzie were far more likely to fall in line before any shaming was necessary.
Cricket switches on the flashlight and aims it the dark sky. I let loose a shrill whistle and yell Buffy’s name. Raindrops pelt my face. If I look in the mirror right now, I have no doubt my skin will be covered in red splotches from the intensity.
“I can’t see anything,” Cricket says.
I turn to look at her. “That’s because you need windshield wipers on those glasses.”
She takes them off and attempts to stuff them in her pocket, but her fingers are too slick. The frames fall straight into a fast-moving stream of water.
“Your glasses!” I rush to retrieve them, but I’m too late.
“Leave them. It’s fine.”
“You won’t be able to see.”
“I can see fine, Charlie.”
“Who wears contact lenses and glasses at the same time?” My face snaps to hers as the realization slams into me. “You don’t need them to see.”