Chapter 15
Lawson
“You think she’ll be safe?” Laura asks, worrying at her lip as Wendy bounds down the porch steps toward my truck, her bag for the weekend in tow.
“She will be.”
“Kids do stupid shit,” my ex counters.
“They do,” I agree. “But Wendy has a smart head on her shoulders. She’ll be fine.”
“Dad,” Wendy calls, clearly excited and wanting to go.
“Oakley and I will be there to keep watch,” I remind Laura. “Plus another half dozen adults.”
She nods, rubbing both temples for only a second before dropping her hands. It’s a habit that means she’s stressed. Probably about a million things other than Wendy attending a summer camp, but this is the stress right in front of her, so it’s what she’s focusing on.
“I still don’t know why Oakley volunteered to go,” she mutters.
“Because he loves Wendy,” I point out. “And nature.”
And I might have suckered him into it so I wouldn’t be alone during the trip, not that I admit that to my ex-wife.
She shakes her head a little, disapproval clear on her face. She’s never tried to stop Oakley from being close with Wendy. Not once. But she doesn’t understand it.
I think, mostly, she doesn’t understand me and him.
“We’ll be back Sunday evening,” I tell her, heading down the stairs.
“Lawson. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Me?” I ask, turning back around to face her. “What would I possibly do?”
“With Oakley there, who knows.”
“He’s not a bad influence,” I say a touch hotly. “He’s just…”
Fun.
I don’t say the word, not wanting Laura to take it as me saying she’s not. Luckily, she simply gives me a wave, dismissing me, before calling out to Wendy. “Be safe! Love you.”
“Love you, too,” Wendy calls back, urging me on with her own wave forward.
I meet her at the truck, getting in the driver’s seat while Wendy buckles herself in. “Got your sunscreen?” I check.
“Yep.”
“Bug spray?”
“Yes.”
“Underwear?”
“Obviously,” she says in annoyance. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Chuckling, I pull out of the driveway and get us on the road. My bag is already packed and sitting in the back seat, camping gear taking up a portion of the bed. We drive straightaway to Oakley’s house, finding the front door open and the man himself preparing the last of his things.
“Hey,” he calls out, giving Wendy a wide smile as she exits the truck ahead of me. “Ready for some camping?”
“You got the marshmallows?” she asks.
Oakley puffs out an indignant breath. “Please. You gotta ask?”
Wendy grabs the box Oakley nudges her way, full of what looks like fireside snacks. Oakley locks his front door, a grin on his face as he meets my gaze.
“Been a long time since we’ve gone camping,” he notes.
The last time was a good five years back, a trip just the two of us took where Oakley proceeded to ply me with so much whiskey I ended up sleeping in the buff. I woke with a good few mosquito bites on my ass.
“No whiskey this time,” I say sternly, raising an eyebrow. “There’ll be kids.”
He huffs. “I’m well aware this is a PG trip. Here.”
I catch the rolled-up sleeping bag Oakley tosses me, carrying it down to the truck as Oakley follows with his hiking bag over his shoulder. We stuff all of it in the bed beneath the cover that will keep it dry.
Wendy climbs into the back seat this time, giving Oakley the passenger spot with more leg room. “Who’s looking after Bell?”
“My parents,” Oakley answers, buckling in. “And you know my mom will spoil her rotten. She’s in good hands.”
Wendy appears happy with that, settling into her seat with her phone already out in front of her.
“We ready?” I ask my companions.
Oakley shoots me a wicked grin. “Ready.”
It takes forty-five minutes to drive to the campsite geared toward middle- and high-school-aged groups. Several of Wendy’s classmates are already here, and she makes an impatient sound as I look for a parking spot. The moment the truck stops, she’s out the door.
“Kids,” Oakley mutters. “Guess we’re the pack mules, then, huh?”
I don’t argue it, only grab Wendy’s bag from the back and shove it at Oakley’s chest. He huffs a laugh, taking it with him out the door, the two of us grabbing what we can of our supplies. Arms full, I check in with the group leader who’s been running this summer camping trip for years.
“Liv,” I greet.
“Lawson,” she says in turn, giving Oakley a nod. “Good to see you outside the classroom. And hey there, Oakley. I hear you’ve returned to us?”
“Sure have,” he says, smile in place. “Still running these kids ragged?”
“Whenever I can,” Liv says gamely. As our high school’s PE teacher, it’s in Liv’s job description to keep the kids active. “We’re in campsite B this year. Remember where it is?”
“I do,” I confirm. “All right if we get our tent pitched?”
I ignore Oakley’s snort.
“Sure thing,” Liv says, marking something on her clipboard as another set of students joins the group. “I’ll be following with the kids as soon as the stragglers arrive. Head on back.”
With that, I catch Wendy’s eye, getting a quick nod in return before she goes back to talking with her friend Chloe.
Oakley keeps pace with me as we walk through the short wooded trail toward campsite B.
Another of the adult chaperones, a parent named Dan, gives us a wave from where he’s readying the boys’ cabin.
There are two side by side, one for the girls and one for the boys.
Usually, a parent or two stays in each, and the rest of us chaperones sleep in tents.
I don’t mind that. It’s quieter, at least.
“Don’t you think it’s odd that we’re still so stuck on gender?” I ask Oakley.
He drops one of the bags in his possession to the ground, an eyebrow raised. “I’m gonna need more info.”
“The cabins,” I explain, waving a hand that way.
“For all the strides we’ve made, we still split kids up into boys and girls.
Our society has such a deeply ingrained gender dichotomy, we don’t even think about it half the time.
And what about the folks who fall between or outside of it? It’s isolating.”
Oakley nods slowly. “I don’t disagree with you. Stevie struggled with that often. Which bathroom to use. How and when to safely present themself. Not everyone in the world is understanding. Or kind.”
I let out a quiet breath. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“Bring up my ex?” Oakley asks, an amused lilt to his voice. “You didn’t. I did. And it’s fine, Law. I can talk about them, you know.”
I eye my friend as I unroll our tent. “Does it still hurt?”
He takes a moment to answer that, and my chest feels tight as I wait.
I busy myself with the tent prep as Oakley kicks rocks and sticks away from the patch of grass we’ve chosen.
Finally, he says, “Not really. It did for a while, but now… Now it’s like the memory of a bruise. Not really there at all.”
I nod. Thinking about Stevie isn’t something I particularly enjoy.
“You’re still pissed at them,” Oakley observes.
“Yes,” I admit.
He stops what he’s doing, hands loosely on his hips as he gives me his full attention. “Why, Law?”
“Because…” God, how do I even explain it to him? “Because they hurt you to begin with. In big ways and in small ones. And that’s not something I can ever forgive.”
Oakley’s blue-and-brown eyes hold mine, the expression on his face one I have a hard time putting a name to. “You forgave me.”
“It’s not the same thing. And of course I did. You’re you.”
“God, Lawson. I have never in my life met someone as loyal as you. If I asked you to help me bury a body, I’m fairly sure you’d do it.”
“I’d ask some questions first,” I tell him.
The look he gives me is full of mirth. “Of course you would. We gonna pitch this tent or what?”
Nodding, I toss Oakley some of the metal supports, and we get to work.
Not ten minutes later, our campsite adjacent to our group’s cabins is ready to go, sleeping bags and backpacks inside our tent.
We make a return trip to the truck to grab the rest of our supplies, including the snacks Oakley brought.
By the time we’re back at campsite B, the kids have arrived.
Liv directs them with ease, everyone stashing their things inside the cabins, picking out bunks, putting on sunscreen or bug spray as necessary. Oakley and I help another of the parents with their own tent, the woods here shaded enough we’re not sweating too badly by the time we’re done.
“Ten bucks says we find some kids sneaking away for you know what before the weekend is over,” Oakley whispers.
I swat his chest. “I’m not taking that bet. Behave.”
He chuckles.
Once everyone is ready, we head as a group to the mess hall for dinner, the campground offering meals for outings like this. The food is…edible.
The energy in the room is excited, all the kids part of the to-be-senior class, every face one I recognize whether from teaching them myself or seeing them in the school halls.
I give Oakley a nudge when one student in particular stands on top of his seat to act something out for his friends, the returned laughter raucous.
“Oh, boy,” Oakley murmurs. “Do we need to keep an eye on that one?”
“Might.”
“Think he’ll cause trouble?”
I shrug. Koda isn’t a bad kid at heart, but he feeds off attention from his friends. If they push him enough, he may find himself in a situation he shouldn’t be in. It’s happened before, both at camp and at school.
Oakley subtly rubs the knuckles of his fist into his open palm, and I bark a laugh before clearing my throat.
“We do not physically reprimand the kids,” I say quietly, smacking his thigh, although I know he’d never do that.
His smirk is all playful.
When dinner is done, we return to our campsite.
The first night is about settling in. Tomorrow and Sunday, the kids will have plenty of time to play in the lake or explore via hiking around the camp’s trails.
But tonight, Liv lets them do their own thing, chatting and playing yard games and sitting in groups around the fire pits starting to burn.
I check on Wendy every once in a while. Can’t help it. But I don’t bother her, knowing embarrassment comes easy for them at this age.
Oakley takes a seat near me, the two of us in front of one of the fire pits. There are sturdy logs surrounding the area. Not the most comfortable to sit on, but they get the job done.
He knocks his knee into mine, the ingredients for s’mores near his foot. “Want a marshmallow, Teach?”
“Roast one for me?” I ask. “You know how I like ’em.”
His lips twitch as he reaches for a stick.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he answers, tone light. “Not. A. Thing.”
“Oak…”
“No, really. It’s nothing. Whatever your Royal Highness wants, he gets.”
My body flashes hot, the teasing smile on Oakley’s face not helping one bit. He didn’t outright call me princess, but he might as well have. It doesn’t feel like he’s mocking me. Oakley would never be cruel like that.
But even so, I don’t know how to process the comment that so ardently reminds me now of sex.
If he were anyone else, I’d assume he was flirting with me.
“Well,” I say, voice a little rougher than I’d like, “you burn my marshmallow, and it’s the dungeon for you.”
Oakley sputters a cough that turns into a laugh. His voice is whisper-soft when he speaks, cognizant of the kids around. “Jesus, Lawson. You got some sorta kinky playroom I’m unaware of?”
“What? ’Course not. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Oakley continues to laugh at my put-out expression. Christ, this man.
Despite myself, I smile as I shove his shoulder. “Get my mallow going.”
He tosses me a salute. “Yessir.”
As the marshmallows heat, Oakley passes the s’mores supplies around. A few of the kids start roasting their own marshmallows, others eating chocolate plain. Liv offers Oakley a thanks he looks pleased by.
Oakley likes to help others. It’s a quality I’ve always admired about my friend.
Not many people are as goodhearted as him.
Oakley pulls my marshmallows off the fire once the outsides are perfectly browned—not burnt—and the insides are gooey all the way through. They’re exactly how I like them, and I tell him as much, earning a beaming grin that has me feeling a surge of fondness for this man I’ve known all my life.
It wasn’t the same these past few years he was gone. But now… Now everything feels as it should.
Liv herds the kids indoors at eleven, much to their verbal complaining. But they comply, heading to their cabins or the nearby bathrooms to get ready for bed. The adults take care of the messes left out by the fires before putting the flames out.
Oakley and I wait until all of the kids are inside their cabins and everyone has been accounted for before using the cement-walled bathrooms and retiring to our tent.
He lets out a big sigh as he drops onto his stomach atop the sleeping-bag-padded ground, the man looking like a wet noodle in the dark.
“All right?” I check.
“Mm. Just tired. I’m usually sound asleep by now.”
I give the side of his ass a slap, an action that has his head whipping my way. “Buck up, cowboy. These kids will be up at dawn and not down again until midnight.”
“’Scuse you, I can handle it.”
“Can you?”
“I got this. If anything, I’m surprised you’re not complaining about the late hour.”
“I’m complaining on the inside,” I assure him.
That has him chuckling as he rolls onto his back.
With a grunt, he curls upright to tug off his shirt, the clear window at the top of our tent giving me just enough moonlight to see him by.
It’s warm enough he doesn’t cover himself with his sleeping bag, and neither do I.
I lie beside him in the dark, watching the gentle ebb and flow of his chest, his hands resting on his stomach.
Part of me aches to bridge the distance between us. To rest within the curve of Oakley’s arms, where everything is familiar and quiet. I don’t ask it of him, knowing I’ve asked far too much lately.
But boy do I ache.