30. Casey
thirty
Casey
M y fingers ached from gripping the steering wheel. I hadn't even started the engine, but sweat already beaded along my hairline, threatening to drip into my eyes. Five days. Five fucking days until summer ended and I'd be back at Oregon State, two and a half hours away from Matt—if I could even make the drive, which this practice session was quickly proving I couldn't.
"Casey, you're strangling the wheel," Oliver said from the passenger seat, his voice methodical, as always. "The Prius has power steering. It's not like Dad's ancient Subaru."
I loosened my grip, hair falling into my eyes as I bent my head forward. I'd been trying to learn to drive properly for two weeks now—ever since Matt and I had said those three words to each other. I love you. Words that made everything more complicated, more terrifying, more real.
"The car practically drives itself," Oliver continued, pushing his glasses up. "Automatic transmission, lane assist, backup camera—"
"I know what features a Prius has, Ollie." My voice came out sharper than intended. "You've only given me this lecture four times."
Oliver sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Then maybe the fifth time will be the charm, since clearly the information hasn't penetrated enough to stop your panic attack."
I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. Oliver meant well. He'd been surprisingly supportive when I'd confessed my plan to drive up to see Matt on weekends once the semester started. Supportive in his own way—which meant practical solutions rather than emotional reassurance.
"Try turning it on this time," he suggested, his voice softening. "That might help with the actual driving part."
I pressed the power button, feeling the electric engine hum to life beneath me. The dashboard lit up like a spaceship console, numbers and symbols I'd memorized but still found intimidating. This should be easy. I'd had my license for years, but living in Portland and then on campus with Oliver meant I never needed to drive. I walked, biked, took a rideshare. Anything to avoid getting behind the wheel. The thought of regularly making a solo trip on mountain roads to Eagle Ridge made my stomach clench. But I needed to do it. For Matt.
"Good," Oliver said, in the same tone he'd use to praise a particularly slow child. "Now put it in drive and ease off the brake."
The vast, dusty parking lot stretched before us, empty except for a few staff cars parked near the lodge. Perfect for practice—nothing to hit except patches of overgrown grass, the occasional rock, and my brother's ever-thinning patience.
I shifted into drive and the car moved forward with barely a press on the gas pedal. My heart jumped to my throat.
"Too fast," I muttered, tapping the brake harder than necessary. The car jerked, and Oliver gripped the armrest.
"You're going three miles an hour," he said, checking the digital speedometer. "At this rate, you'll reach Matt's cabin by next Tuesday."
Matt. His name sent a flutter through my chest that had nothing to do with driving anxiety. I couldn't imagine leaving. Couldn't imagine mornings without waking up to Matt's sleepy smile, his long brown hair falling loose around his shoulders, blue eyes still hazy with sleep.
I pressed the gas a little harder, trying to focus on the present. The car picked up speed, and I tensed again, over-correcting as we approached a clump of grass poking through the gravel.
"Jesus, Casey, it's grass, not a land mine," Oliver said as I swerved to avoid it.
"I know that," I snapped, hands trembling as I straightened the wheel. "I just—fuck, I don't want to damage the undercarriage."
Oliver snorted. "On grass? You do realize Matt drives his SUV through actual creeks, right?"
The mention of Matt's off-road adventures only heightened my sense of inadequacy. Matt was everything I wasn't—confident, capable, at home in the wilderness. What did he even see in me? In five days, the bubble of our summer romance would pop, and reality would set in. The thought made me press the gas harder than intended.
"Whoa, easy!" Oliver yelped as we picked up speed.
Ten miles per hour felt like fifty, and for a second, I felt a flash of something like confidence. I could do this. I could drive to see the man I loved. I could—
"Rock!" Oliver shouted, pointing to a basketball-sized stone at the edge of the clearing. "That one will fuck up the undercarriage."
I panicked, jerking the wheel hard to the left instead of gently steering around it. The Prius responded with alarming enthusiasm, skidding slightly on the loose gravel.
"Brake! Gently!" Oliver's knuckles had gone white on the armrest.
I stomped on the brake, and we lurched to a stop. My heart hammered in my chest, blood rushing in my ears. This was ridiculous. I was twenty-two years old with a college degree nearly completed. I could organize LGBTQ+ rallies, debate conservative professors into silence, and handle homophobic trolls online. Yet a simple drive reduced me to a sweating, trembling mess.
"Maybe this was a mistake," I whispered, hands still locked on the wheel.
Oliver exhaled slowly. "Casey, you're overthinking it. Driving is mostly muscle memory. You just need practice. And I know the accident you had when you were sixteen was scary, but that old lady you hit was fine."
"She was in a wheelchair! I'm a horrible person," I whined, and I could tell Oliver instantly regretted mentioning the incident that had started all of this.
"It was an accident," he insisted. "She came out of nowhere."
"In a wheelchair?" I shrieked, though I was secretly grateful that he was defending me. "What if I never get good enough to drive up here? What if—" I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. "What if I can only see Matt during holidays? What if he meets someone else who can actually navigate a fucking parking lot?"
There it was—the real fear bubbling up.
Oliver's expression softened slightly. "Matt's crazy about you. Anyone with eyes can see that."
"For now," I said, the words bitter in my mouth. "But long-distance is different. And I don't know how to do this, Ollie. Any of it."
"You're catastrophizing again," he said, using our mother's favorite therapy-speak. "One step at a time. First step: don't hit stationary objects."
I tried to laugh, but it came out as a choked sound. My vision blurred with tears I refused to let fall. Five days left of waking up in Matt's arms, five days of his laugh, his touch, his reassuring presence. Then back to textbooks and lectures and wondering if what we had was strong enough to survive the distance.
"I just can't," I said finally, unbuckling my seatbelt with a shaking hand. "I can't do this right now."
"Can't what? Drive? Or think about leaving?" Oliver asked quietly.
I didn't answer, just pushed open the door and climbed out, needing air that wasn't filled with my brother's concerned gaze and the suffocating reminder of my ineptitude.
"Maybe you're just not cut out for driving if a clump of grass flusters you," Oliver called after me, voice edged with exasperation. "We can find another way to get you up here."
I kept walking, tears now flowing freely down my cheeks. Behind me, I heard a strange mechanical sound, then Oliver's panicked yelp.
"Fuck! The car! You didn't put it in park!"
I turned just in time to see Oliver sprinting after the slowly rolling Prius, his arms flailing as he raced to catch it before it hit a tree at the edge of the lot. The absurdity of the moment—my careful, methodical brother in full panic mode—would have made me laugh any other time, especially as he yanked open the door and dove inside, his feet still sticking out as he did something to stop the car.
I wiped away tears with the sleeve of my oversized sweater, a thrift-store find that was my favorite, and turned towards the camp lodge, not wanting to wait around for Oliver's safety lecture. I jogged up the stairs to the lodge, wondering if Matt was around. The main hall was empty as campers were all off doing afternoon activities or day hikes. It smelled of pine cleaner and yesterday's coffee, with undertones of the pancakes that had been served at breakfast. I trailed my fingers along the wooden paneling, feeling every groove and knot.
Like everything else about this place, I'd been wrong about the lodge. Wrong about the camp. Wrong about the tall, muscular director with his man bun and easy confidence whom I'd stereotyped as just another straight outdoorsy lumberjack.
Now, months later, the thought of leaving him made my chest physically hurt, like someone had replaced my lungs with concrete. Which was ridiculous. I'd had relationships before. But never one that had peeled back my layers so efficiently, never someone who made me feel both seen and safe.
I paused near the administrative wing, my thoughts interrupted by the sound of voices coming from behind a partially open door. Matt's office. I recognized his deep timbre immediately—clipped and focused, his "director voice" that was so different from the soft, lazy drawl he used in private.
"—can't ignore these numbers, Sutton." Matt's words drifted out. "We're running too close to the margin."
I shouldn't eavesdrop. But my feet had already stopped, my body angling unconsciously toward the door. I caught a glimpse through the gap—Matt's broad shoulders hunched over his desk, his hair pulled back severely, Sutton's lanky frame pacing behind him.
"The renovations put us over budget, I know," Sutton replied, his voice carrying the hint of his Southern upbringing. "But the increased capacity will pay off eventually, and I think we can make it work, can't we?"
Budget problems? My stomach twisted. Matt hadn't mentioned anything since the confrontation with Walter, but was he still secretly worried?
"Eventually doesn't help us now," Matt said, and I heard the strain in his voice. "We need new ideas for revenue streams if we want to keep this place running."
A chill ran through me despite the warmth of the morning. If the camp closed, Matt would have to find another job. He might move away from Eagle Ridge altogether. Our tentative plans for weekend visits would become impossible even if I mastered driving.
"The Oregon program could be the answer," Sutton said. "A full new business plan. And in the meantime, the Yamadas have pledged a donation."
"It might not work. Everything could still fall apart." Matt's voice was tense in a way I didn't usually hear from him.
Fall apart. The words hung in the air like a prophecy. My mind raced, connecting dots that might not have been there. Had my presence at camp somehow contributed to these problems? I'd pushed for several changes to the traditional program—more arts activities, explicit LGBTQ+ inclusion, alternatives to the hyper-competitive sports events. Matt had implemented all of them, seemingly enthusiastic about my ideas.
But what if those changes had driven away traditional campers? What if conservative parents had pulled their kids out, taking their tuition payments with them? What if my relationship with Matt had somehow become known, causing problems with the more traditional families?
"—ruin the camp's reputation with certain demographics," Sutton was saying as my attention refocused.
My blood ran cold. Certain demographics. That had to be code for the conservative families who'd been sending their kids here for generations.
"I know the risk," Matt replied, his voice tight. "But I can't keep pretending—"
"I'm not suggesting you pretend anything," Sutton cut in. "But we can't always rely on alternate funding, so we need to be strategic about how we approach any changes. It's going to be hard work."
"Dad wants to look over everything tomorrow," Matt said. "I need concrete numbers by then. And a contingency plan if the Oregon plan falls through."
Oregon. My heart stuttered. Was Matt considering moving the camp's operations to Oregon? That made no sense. Unless... unless he was thinking of following me there? The thought sent a surge of guilt through me. I couldn't let Matt uproot his entire life, his family's legacy, just for me. Not when it was clearly causing financial strain.
"This place means everything to me," Matt continued, his voice dropping so low I had to strain to hear it. "It's my heritage, my responsibility. I can't be the one who ruins it."
But what if I was the one ruining it for him? The insidious thought wrapped around my heart like barbed wire. Matt had never made me feel like a burden, but that was Matt—selfless to a fault, always putting others before himself.
I heard chairs scraping against the floor and stepped back from the door, but not quickly enough. It swung open, revealing Matt and Sutton frozen in surprise at the sight of me lurking in the hallway. Matt's face, already tense from their discussion, shifted into something softer when our eyes met.
"Casey," he said, a smile breaking through his serious expression. "I was going to find you after this meeting. I've got some exciting—"
"I'm sorry," I blurted out, the words tumbling over each other. "I'm sorry for ruining everything."
Matt's smile faltered, confusion replacing it. "What? You haven't ruined anything—"
But I couldn't bear to hear his kind lies, couldn't face the possibility that he was sacrificing his family's legacy to chase me to Oregon, couldn't stand the thought that my progressive ideas had damaged the camp's reputation with its core clientele.
"I'll fix it," I promised, although I had no idea how. "I won't let you ruin your life for me."
Before he could respond, I turned and fled, pushing past the heavy wooden doors and into the blinding morning sunlight. Behind me, I heard Matt call my name, his voice tinged with alarm, but I kept moving, my feet carrying me automatically toward the lake.
The water stretched before me, a sheet of glass reflecting the surrounding pines and distant mountains. This view had become my thinking spot over the summer, the place where I'd first admitted to myself that what I felt for Matt was more than attraction or infatuation.
I dropped onto a weathered dock, my legs dangling above the water. The tears I'd been holding back now flowed freely, blurring the perfect reflection below. Five days left, and I'd managed to discover that I was possibly the worst thing that had happened to Camp Eagle Ridge's finances. That Matt might be contemplating some desperate plan to stop my wild ideas from destroying everything his family had built.