Chapter Sixteen
Then
Thirty-Seven Days Before the Fire
Saturday night came slowly, and I was itching to get to the beach and see Trevor.
I’d barely had a moment alone with him since our hike, but tonight felt like it might be the night.
At bedtime, the girls had been particularly rowdy.
But they’d been going and going for hours—today had been the kayak regatta on the lake, followed by a movie night out on the pavilion.
Chelsea had volunteered to help Wes clean up, leaving me to solo lights-out duty.
I wasn’t as tough on them as Chelsea was, so it took longer than usual.
I sat at the foot of Kendall’s bed while the whole cabin complained and laughed about sunburns and mosquito bites and which boys had looked at them today.
By the time I started my nightly tradition of reading one chapter of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe—because even very cool thirteen-year-olds secretly love bedtime stories—the girls grew silent.
It only took a few pages before the snores started in earnest, and I snuck quietly out the door.
When I made it to the beach, I spotted Trevor talking to Steph and Margo. Steph noticed me first and called out, “Finally, Little G!” while waving both arms in the air, as if I’d somehow be able to miss her.
Before I’d even sat down in the empty Adirondack chair, Trevor was pulling out the same flask he’d brought on our hike, pouring some into a Solo cup.
“Cheers,” he said, handing it to me. Our fingers brushed, and I smiled at him, and it was just the two of us for a long, perfect moment.
“So, anyway, Trevor,” Steph drawled, a knowing laugh in her voice. “Remind me where you live in Atlanta.”
“Little Five Points,” he said, taking a sip from his drink.
Steph and Margo locked eyes. “You’re kidding.”
“Oh, God. Don’t tell me that’s where you two are moving. You’ll burn the whole neighborhood to the ground.”
Steph threw her head back in a cackle, while Margo whacked Trevor on the arm.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Trevor said with a grin, rubbing at the spot where Margo had hit him. “Seriously, that’s awesome.”
“Where is that?” I cut in, not wanting to get left behind in the conversation. I knew it was pathetic, but with this talk about them living in such proximity, I was being crushed by a wave of jealousy.
Steph’s head swiveled toward me. “Wait, have you never been before?”
“Well, I mean I’ve driven through the city plenty of times. And my dad lives in Marietta. So I’ve been there, I guess, but—”
“Not the same at all!” Steph said, slapping a hand on the arm of her chair so hard that her drink wobbled. “Well, that settles it. You have to come visit in the fall.”
A giddy sort of hope raced through me. “Seriously?”
“Are you kidding? Of course. Let’s plan it tomorrow when I’m more sober. You can stay with me—Margo will be in Europe still, but we’ll do another trip when she’s back. Right, M?”
There was the slightest moment of hesitation before Margo nodded. “Of course. It’s a must.” But there was no sincerity or enthusiasm in her words.
I swallowed the brief surge of unease that slithered up my esophagus.
“Okay, so, Trevor,” Steph said, giving him the full weight of her attention again. “You went to UGA, right?”
He nodded and leaned back slowly, crossing his arms behind his head. On his bicep was a constellation of freckles I hadn’t noticed before.
“Let me guess: Hospitality, right? You feel like a hospitality guy to me. You’re so good with, like, everyone. You probably want to open some fancy hiking lodge or something.”
Trevor laughed lightly, clearly bashful from the compliment. “I thought about it, for sure. But no. I was an English major.” He laughed again and shrugged when Steph raised her eyebrows. “I just love books. Even more than hiking, actually.”
“Wait, I didn’t know that,” Margo cut in, leaning forward and flipping her hair behind her shoulders. “I’m working on a novel, you know. Did you ever take Christenson’s fiction class?”
For a little while, Margo and Trevor talked about books and writing and the University of Georgia, while Steph periodically interjected with outrageously overconfident opinions—she didn’t read anything besides magazines, so when Margo asked Trevor his thoughts on Stephen King’s Carrie, Steph thought they were talking about Sex and the City.
“She’s such a bitch,” she said, deadly serious. “I’ll never forgive her for what she did to Aidan.”
Trevor, to all of our surprise, happened to have several very strong opinions about SATC—a girl he’d dated freshman year had made him watch the whole series with her—which he promptly began to debate with Steph.
My head swiveled between them like I was watching a tennis match, their voices steadily rising as each got slightly tipsier and more indignant.
I’d forgotten the second of weirdness with Margo, and my ribs were sore from laughter when I saw the blond shock of Wes’s head coming down the path.
His eyes were scanning the beach, likely for me.
Chelsea was next to him, her features tense.
She’d barely arrived and she already looked miserable, like she wanted to disappear.
The rush of feelings took me by surprise, but I quickly made sense of it: I was disappointed. And a little annoyed. To see my oldest friends.
Part of me felt guilty. But a larger part of me was certain that I didn’t want to share tonight with them. I was simply having too much fun talking to Steph and Margo and Trevor, listening to them reminisce on college and the strange, beautiful world outside of Dread’s Cove.
With a pang in my gut, I had a flash of the three of them, when they were all living in Atlanta.
Meeting for drinks after work, or grabbing brunch at some cute café.
Going to visit Trevor at the brewery. Him pouring them free drinks, chatting across the bar.
I wanted it; I wanted to be there, too. Badly.
Because I wanted to leave Dread’s Cove. Not someday, not theoretically—but at the end of this summer.
That earth-shattering realization hit me full in the face. It was no longer a maybe, the way it had been when I’d talked to Steph about it.
Leaving was what I wanted, after all.
I stood up, so quickly that I almost toppled my cup that was resting precariously on the arm of my chair. Trevor reached out easily and stilled it, looking at me with wide eyes. His cheeks were flushed and adorable.
“You’re not leaving yet, are you?”
“I was just going to grab a beer.”
“I’ll go with you,” he said. Despite the existential crisis I was currently having, I couldn’t help the stupid grin that spread across my face. His hand rested featherlight on my lower back, and I reveled in the laughter I heard from Steph as we walked away.
When we got to the cooler at the edges of the party, I fished out a Pbr, grateful for the shock of cold against my skin.
It was terribly hot, despite the late hour, and the humidity felt like a living, breathing thing, pressed up against me on all sides.
Trevor must have felt the same way, because as we stood there, he pulled off his shirt.
Which of course caused my first sip to go down wrong.
My hand flew to my chest in embarrassment as I sputtered.
“Baby’s first drink?”
“Shut up,” I said, forcing myself to take another sip to prove that I could.
“No, I get it. It’s just your body rejecting shitty beer. Happens to me, too.”
“Pbr is the best of the shitty beers, and you know it,” I said, pointing a finger at him.
“You are so woefully naive. Come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’ve got a cooler back at the cabin. We’ll get you something better.” He held his hand out, and I hesitated.
These past few days, the air between us had felt different.
There was an electrical current between us, thrumming with hope and desire and something even deeper.
But I still wasn’t sure exactly what was happening, or what it meant.
Maybe it was the old-school, Southern girl in me, but I wanted some admission of feelings or intentions before I just let him hold my hand in the dark.
I was worried it was too good to be true.
And fine, maybe I also didn’t really know what I was doing. Wes had been my first boyfriend, my only boyfriend.
So I brushed past him in the direction of his cabin. I didn’t see him smile so much as sense it as he fell into step beside me.
The walk was short, but the woods grew quiet quickly, and it felt like Trevor and I were the only people in the universe.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked after a minute.
“What do you mean?”
“Your thoughts sound pretty loud.”
I was glad it was dark, and we were side by side; he couldn’t see the look on my face.
He’d be able to see everything. Because he was doing funny things to my brain, and my chest, which would heat whenever he’d pull himself out of the water.
When his eyes would crinkle, and he would glance over at me, and I could see the amusement on his face, the warmth between us. It was distracting. It was incredible.
I was beginning to realize why it had been so easy with Wes, for so many years. He hadn’t been the love of my life; he’d just been safe. I’d never needed to let him all the way in. He hadn’t asked me to. Things between us were always, always comfortable, for better or for worse.
Trevor was different. I wasn’t comfortable with Trevor—I was on fire.
The cabin was darker than I’d expected, not even a light left on in the hallway. He closed the door behind us, and for a tenth of a second, I could feel how alone we were.
My heart was beating so hard it was painful.
Then the light flicked on, and the spell broke.
God, I needed to get a grip. Trevor wasn’t even looking at me, but already heading toward the large Yeti that doubled as a table, taking up a comical amount of space in the center of the cramped room.
He flipped it open, then pulled out a can and tossed it my way.
He stood up and crossed his arms, and after a moment, I realized he was waiting for me to try it. I sighed, loud and dramatic, before appeasing him.
“Well?” he asked before I’d even swallowed.
I smacked my lips, feigning deep consideration. “Tastes like a Pbr.”
He made a face of mock horror. “Your palate is entirely unrefined. We’ll have to fix that.”
I made a show of swishing it around in my mouth. “Yeah, this tastes exactly the same.”
He put his hand over his heart like I’d broken it, but his eyes were sparkling.
He pulled out two more beers, opening one immediately and putting the other in his pocket. When it skimmed his stomach, he jumped, surprising himself at the shock of cold against his bare skin.
I laughed, and for a second, we were both watching each other, and the air was impossibly thick.
“What do you want to do?” Trevor said, his voice soft and thoughtful in that same way it had been outside, when he’d asked what I was thinking.
There was so much in that simple question. What did I want to do? With my future—with the tall, ridiculously cute boy standing in front of me.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
I rolled back on my heels, my face warm. “What are we doing? Like, what exactly is going on here?” I gestured between the two of us.
He crossed toward me slowly, and I clocked his every movement.
The heavy thud of each footstep. He stopped just in front of me, pushing the hair back behind my ears, his fingers impossibly delicate on my face.
His eyes were clear, and heartbreakingly gentle.
“We’re getting to know each other. We’ve got another month to see what happens. Isn’t that enough?”
He leaned forward so that his forehead rested against mine. He smelled like the lake, like sunshine and sweat and mint, and I wanted all of it. I wanted to drown in him.
And that’s when I began to understand. It wasn’t just about leaving; it was this feeling that I was desperate for. The thrill of the unknown. Whatever it took to feel like this—empowered, emboldened, wide-awake—I would do it.
“That’s enough.”
I closed my eyes, and he chuckled. I never did find out what he was laughing at, because the front door swung open, interrupting us. I spun around, my hand flying to my chest.
It was Wes, out of breath like he’d run all the way here. His eyes flickered between us more than once before finally coming to rest on me. “Your mom’s looking for you. You need to come with me right now.”
All the air left my lungs. “Is everyone okay?”
“I don’t know yet. Two campers are missing.”