Chapter Thirteen Maren #3
Maren looked toward the bonfire, where Truth Toss continued in bursts of laughter and applause. The weekend was still alive. Her work was still good. The kiss had been real. The post had been wrong. All of those things could exist at once, even if Paige would hate the mess of it.
The clean part.
Maren took a breath.
“I want the video down,” she said. “No public statement yet.”
“Okay.”
“And I want to go back.”
Griffin’s brows lifted slightly. “Now?”
“Yes.”
“You do not have to.”
“I know.”
“Do you want to?”
She looked up at him.
The answer surprised her with how steady it felt.
“Yes. Because if I disappear, everyone else gets to decide why.”
Griffin nodded once.
“Then we go back.”
“We?”
“If you want.”
Maren studied him.
He had said if you want, not I’m coming.
She loved that a little.
Absolutely not.
She did not have time to love anything.
She had a bonfire game, a crisis, a cousin, an unposted carry clip, and a man who kept saying sentences that rearranged her internal furniture.
Still.
She held out her hand.
Griffin looked at it.
Then at her.
A small, private smile touched his mouth.
He took it.
Not for the camera.
Not for the crowd.
Not because a prompt told him to.
Because she offered.
They walked back toward the bonfire hand in hand.
Maren could feel people notice before they reached the clearing. The soft shift in attention. The quick glances. The whispers that tried to dress themselves as silence.
Her pulse kicked.
Griffin’s thumb brushed once over her knuckles.
Not a message to everyone else.
To her.
Are you okay?
She squeezed back.
Not entirely.
But enough.
Ava saw them first.
Her face softened with relief. Nate’s shoulders dropped beside her. Tyler sat on a bench holding a marshmallow stick like a reformed man and looked so guilty Maren almost felt bad for him.
Almost.
Denise stood near the prompt table, eyes sharp. She gave Maren one small nod.
Handled.
Maren nodded back.
Then she stepped to the center, still holding Griffin’s hand.
The clearing quieted.
Not dramatically.
But enough.
Maren reached for the microphone.
Griffin’s fingers started to release hers, giving her the moment.
She did not let go.
His eyes moved to her face.
She lifted the microphone and looked at the crowd.
“Tiny pause for a tiny reminder,” she said, voice bright but not brittle. “Truth Toss is about choosing what to share. It is not permission to take moments that do not belong to you.”
The clearing went very still.
Maren’s hand tightened around Griffin’s.
Her voice stayed steady.
“So if you filmed something private tonight, delete it. If you see something posted without permission, do not share it. Bad ideas are fun. Taking someone else’s choice is not.”
Ava began clapping.
Nate followed.
Then Denise.
Then the team.
Then the crowd.
Maren breathed through it, surprised by the force of the applause, surprised more by the fact that it did not feel like pity.
It felt like agreement.
Griffin stood beside her, hand in hers, saying nothing.
Letting the words be hers.
Exactly hers.
When the applause faded, Tyler stood slowly.
His face was uncharacteristically serious.
“I would like to say,” he said, “that I have learned something tonight.”
Cooper looked suspicious. “Careful.”
Tyler nodded. “Consent is not only for kissing. It is also for content.”
The entire clearing froze.
Then Maren burst out laughing.
She could not help it.
Ava covered her face.
Nate doubled over.
Griffin’s hand tightened around hers like he was trying not to lose it.
Cooper closed his eyes. “Unfortunately, he is correct.”
Tyler pointed at him. “Growth!”
The clearing erupted in laughter, but the tension broke cleanly this time.
Not erased.
Released.
Maren handed the microphone back to Nate and finally let go of Griffin’s hand, mostly because keeping it forever seemed like a decision that required paperwork, courage, or at least fewer witnesses.
He looked down at her.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
Maren looked around.
At Ava smiling near the snack shack.
At Denise watching like a proud general.
At Tyler apologizing to three different people at once.
At Paige near the back, arms crossed, expression unreadable but much less certain than before.
At the bonfire. The lights. The game. The weekend she had built and nearly let other people take from her.
Then she looked at Griffin.
“No,” she said honestly.
His eyes softened.
“But I am still here.”
His smile was small.
Real.
“Good.”
Maren’s phone buzzed.
She looked down, bracing.
It was a comment on the official account’s latest post, the behind-the-scenes safety segment Denise had pinned during the chaos.
Maren read it twice.
Then once more.
Griffin leaned closer. “What?”
She turned the screen toward him.
The comment said:
I came for the almost-kiss drama, but stayed because whoever is running this account knows exactly how to make people care.
Maren’s throat tightened.
Griffin read it.
Then looked at her.
His voice was low enough that only she heard it.
“They are right.”
Maren held his gaze.
For once, she did not smile to hide what that did to her.
For once, she let him see it.
And the terrifying part was not that Griffin Hayes saw too much.
It was that, when he did, Maren wanted him to keep looking.