Chapter Sixteen Ella
Chapter Sixteen
Ella
We pull off the road just before dusk.
The light is thinning, the sky washed in that flat gray that makes everything feel closer than it should. The trees crowd the clearing, their shadows stretching longer than feels reasonable. Claudette gestures vaguely toward the space beyond them, excitement rolling off her.
“Trust me,” she says. “I read about hidden, off-the-grid places like this.”
Every word tightens something under my skin.
“And what exactly do people do in these hidden, off-the-grid places?” I ask, eyeing the treeline suspiciously.
Her grin widens. There’s a spark in her eyes that instantly puts me on edge.
“Fun things,” she replies, punctuating it with a wink.
Cat turns the engine off but doesn’t move right away. She sits there, listening, head tilted slightly as if the air itself might give something away.
“I don’t love it,” she says calmly.
“I’m not going,” I add. “Remember? I’m avoiding people. I can’t afford someone taking photos and uploading them to social media. Tiero would find me in a heartbeat.”
“Ella has a point,” Cat says. “I’ll stay here with her. We might even get reception for the television. Jonah should be playing today. But don’t let us stop you.” Her lips twitch. “Something tells me this is more your thing than ours.”
Ignoring the last part, Claudette snorts. “I read he lost that match, and the tournament you stopped to watch the other day.”
“So?” Cat replies, instantly defensive. “He’ll bounce back. He isn’t number one for nothing.”
“Well, he didn’t show it in that final,” Claudette presses. “Apparently his nerves got the better of him.”
She taps her fingers against her lips, eyes drifting to the motorhome ceiling as if Jonah Linford himself might be projected there.
“You know,” she says thoughtfully, “he’s too highly strung. He needs balance. Something other than tennis. Maybe a girlfriend.” She pauses. “Or a boyfriend, if he’s so inclined.”
The clatter of falling keys breaks the moment.
Claudette turns, searching for the source of the noise, just as Cat plants her hands on her hips.
“Jonah Linford is not gay,” she declares. “Have you looked at him? He’s too alpha.”
Claudette and I exchange a grin. Someone definitely has a crush, even if she wants to deny it.
“So you think there are no gay alpha men?” Claudette asks innocently.
“I’m sure there are,” Cat says. “Just not Ford.”
The exchange feels like watching a tennis match, volleys flying back and forth. My head moves between them as I track it.
“Ford?” I ask.
“It’s Jonah’s nickname,” Cat replies.
“Does he drive a Ford?” I wonder aloud, just as Claudette winds her up again.
“He’s never been photographed with a woman,” she points out. “That suggests that…”
“No,” Cat cuts in firmly. “It suggests he’s focused.” Then she turns to me. “And no, he drives a Maserati. Ford is short for Linford.”
Claudette and I bite our lips, failing miserably to hide our smirks as Cat passionately defends the tennis player.
“Well,” Claudette says, already reaching for the door, “I’m looking forward to the first photo of him with someone on his arm. And good luck to her… or him trying to break…” She pauses, snapping her fingers. “What did you call it? Ah yes. His focus.”
She laughs, swings the RV door open, and hops down.
“Byeee, girls,” she sing-songs, sauntering off toward the trees as if she’s heading to a garden party instead of disappearing into the woods.
Cat and I step outside too, stretching our stiff limbs. My gaze follows Claudette’s retreating figure until the shadows swallow her whole.
Without meaning to, I start cataloging details. Being on the run is probably making me paranoid, or, as Cat would put it more kindly, situationally more aware.
But the tire tracks pressed deep into the dirt are hard to ignore. So is the trampled grass bending in the same direction. Laughter and music drift through the trees. Too much of it.
“It sounds like hordes of people,” I say, only half-pretending I’m not relieved to stay behind.
Cat hums in agreement. “Yep. Let’s see if we can get the TV to work.”
I wake the next morning and stretch my arms over my head before rubbing my tummy to say hello to Peanut.
Closing my eyes again, I enjoy the peace and quiet.
Hang on.
Normally, Claudette’s light snoring fills our little home on wheels.
My eyes fly open and I turn toward the bed Claudette uses.
It’s empty. She didn’t come home.
After dinner, Cat and I played cards, because of course there was no reception for the television in the middle of nowhere. When Cat went to bed, I stayed up reading, waiting for Claudette to return, but at some point I must have fallen asleep.
I jump out of bed and pull on warm clothes, the chill in the air making me move faster. My hopping around as I try to get into my jeans wakes Cat, and she yawns lazily.
“Claudette didn’t come back,” I say. “We need to find her.”
A flicker of worry crosses Cat’s face, but she shakes it off almost immediately.
“Relax. She probably got lucky and stayed out for the night.”
I haven’t considered that, but Cat could be right. Claudette is easygoing and adventurous. A spontaneous hookup in the woods might very well be her thing.
I nod slowly. “Yeah. But the night’s over now. She’s had her fun, and we need to keep moving. Let’s go get her.”
“Fine,” Cat says, swinging her legs out of bed.
What follows can only be described as interpretive dance, performed entirely while trying to force frozen denim over uncooperative thighs.
“Brrr. This is criminally cold,” she mutters. “Why couldn’t you get off a cruise ship in the Caribbean?”
“Because it wasn’t on the same continent as Atlanta.”
She squints at me as she ties her boots. “Details.”
We open the door and immediately regret it. An icy wall of cold air slams into us.
I briefly consider slamming the door shut, cranking the heater, and pretending Claudette is a myth we made up. But our wild friend takes priority.
I yank my beanie down and tighten my scarf. My breath puffs out like I’ve taken up chain-smoking in the last five minutes as we follow the path Claudette disappeared down the night before.
We walk in silence, broken only by the crunch of leaves and distant voices. The music is quieter now, muffled, tired. Everyone out there is probably nursing a wicked hangover.
The path rises, and when we crest a small hill, I stop so abruptly Cat nearly walks into me.
“What the hell is that?”
Below us, a field spreads out, littered with tents. Dozens of them.
“Ohhh,” Cat breathes. “I’ve read about these.”
“These what?”
“Illegal festivals. Set up in the middle of nowhere so no one with authority or common sense can interfere.”
We head down the hill, following a path that’s seen far more foot traffic than I’m comfortable with.
A sudden grunt erupts to our left.
We freeze.
Oh god. Please don’t let this be a bear.
Then a high-pitched moan joins in.
“Who’s your daddy?”
“Uh. Oh.”
We crouch and peer through the brush.
Half-hidden by foliage, two people are tangled together. Naked. A balding, spindly man has a young brunette bent over a fallen tree trunk, enthusiastically going at it.
My brain offers up exactly one thought.
Aren’t they cold?
I regret not bringing gloves, but at least the rest of me is reasonably insulated.
Cat stifles a laugh and points at the man’s feet. Bright yellow socks.
So apparently he is cold after all.
I’ve seen porn. Shocking, I know, given my goody-two-shoes reputation. But never live. The one time I walked in on Rhia and Lex, I closed my eyes immediately. Some images don’t need to live rent-free in my head.
This one certainly doesn’t.
There’s nothing sexy about it. Just awkward, exposed enthusiasm in the wrong climate.
We both avert our gaze and slip past them, moving deeper into the trees.
Claudette really is a wild card. Usually, that’s exciting.
Today, not so much.
I’d rather be alone on the road, where the most exciting surprise is bad coffee.
What if Tiero has put a bounty on our heads? We have no idea what’s happening out there. Neither Lex nor Cat’s boss Carl has been in touch since Lex called about the RV.
No news is good news. Right?
The breeze rustles through the colorful leaves as we push forward, until the trees thin and a clearing opens ahead.
Cat walks a few steps in front of me, then suddenly bursts out laughing.
“Oh. You have got to be kidding me.”
I step up beside her and nearly choke.
“This is a nudist camp?” I whisper. “In this weather?”
People wander freely through the clearing. They come in all shapes and sizes. And they’re all very naked and seemingly unbothered by the temperature.
We retreat back into the trees. I sigh, my breath fogging in the cold air, and accept the absurdity of our situation.
“How are we supposed to find Claudette in there?” I ask, shifting my weight as leaves crunch under my boots. “We can’t go in clothed. We’d stick out like neon signs in a monochrome landscape.”
Cat wrinkles her nose as she studies the tent city.
A throat clears behind us.
We both jump.
When I glance over my shoulder, I have to blink a few times before my brain catches up.
Claudette.
Where did she even come from? I answer my own question when I spot a narrow, half-hidden path behind her.
Then my eyes land on her again. She’s completely naked except for a small shoulder bag which hides nothing.
“Why are you guys wearing clothes?” she asks, giggling at our stunned expressions.
“Where are yours?” I manage, still flustered.
“Behind a tree,” she says, strolling past us like this is the most normal morning routine in the world.
Wow. She really owns her body. Not even a hint of embarrassment.
“Claudette,” a man calls from somewhere behind her.
She turns, her face lighting up, and heads straight toward a group of nudists. They open their arms wide, clearly gearing up for a group hug.
How quickly does this woman make friends?
Cat and I watch, fascinated.
“It’s hard not to look at their bits,” I whisper.
“Yes,” Cat murmurs solemnly. “Shield your eyes.”
“Ugh. How can she hug these naked strangers? All their bits are going to touch.”
I watch in horror as Claudette goes all in, no hesitation, full commitment.
But that’s Claudette. She doesn’t do anything by half.
I cringe. “She’s not hugging me again until she’s taken a very long shower and scrubbed herself.”
Cat bites her lip, fighting laughter.
“I’m serious,” I tell her.
“I know you are. Claudette is…”
She doesn’t get to finish.
Screaming erupts from somewhere in the camp, followed by the roaring of what sounds like motorbikes.
“Shit,” Cat mutters, grabbing my hand and bolting toward Claudette.
The group hug explodes into chaos, her new friends scattering in every direction.
“Claudette, come on,” Cat yells over the noise. “We need to get out of here.”
She grabs Claudette’s hand and starts dragging her along.
Out of breath, Claudette tugs against her grip.
“You need to let go of me,” she pants. “I have to hold my boobs when I run. They swing too much. I don’t want a black eye.”
Despite the fear and confusion, and the fact that I have no idea what’s happening, that image makes me laugh.
How the heck do I end up in situations like these?
Branches whip at my arms. My breath comes sharp and fast, my lungs burning. I don’t know where we’re going, only that Cat does, and I trust her instinctively.
Behind us, engines rev harder. Someone yells something I can’t make out. Feet pound the ground.
We break through the treeline and skid to a halt.
Relief surges through me when I spot our motorhome. It lasts exactly half a second.
A man steps out from behind it, crowbar in hand, eyes wild and furious. Cat shoves us behind her without hesitation. I stumble back, heart slamming against my ribs.
The man lunges.
Cat moves faster than I think is possible. She sidesteps, grabs his wrist, and twists hard. The crowbar hits the ground with a dull clang. Her knee comes up. He folds with a grunt and collapses into the dirt.
Claudette and I stare at her, open-mouthed.
“Wow,” Claudette says, clearly impressed. “I need that party trick.”
So do I. The Freemont training looks more appealing by the day.
Cat doesn’t linger. “Keys,” she demands.
I fumble them out of my pocket, hands shaking. She’s already in the driver’s seat by the time I scramble into the back with Claudette.
The engine roars to life, and we tear away from the clearing just as the first quad bike bursts into view behind us.
Cat doesn’t look back. She drives like someone who understands momentum, corners, timing. Like the road itself is another pattern to solve.
We hit the open road and leave the chaos behind.
“Who was that?” I ask, finally noticing how much my hands are shaking. “Why did they attack the camp?”
I glance down at my stomach. I really don’t enjoy these adrenaline rushes. They can’t be good for Peanut.
“Probably the farmers who own the land,” Cat says, flooring it. “I wouldn’t be thrilled either if I found a bunch of nudists partying on my property.”
She glances at Claudette in the rearview mirror and immediately looks away.
It’s only then that I notice that Claudette is still naked.
“Put on some clothes,” I shriek.
She only laughs.
“Oh, darling. Lighten up.”
I shoot her a playful glare as she rummages for her bag.
This trip is definitely creating memories.