Chapter 29
The Malibu Angel they're signing up to watch you do yoga. "
Wait... Is that a thing?
No. He's drunk.
I ignore him.
"I don't want to lead you on, Cynthia," I say, turning back to her. "I don't really have the money for my own studio yet. But I'm working on it. Thanks for the card."
"Well," Cynthia says, drawing my attention back.
"that's actually why I wanted to talk to you.
I have an investor looking to fill an empty unit in Malibu.
It's been sitting vacant, and they're eager to work with someone who can prove their clientele.
They'd be willing to help with the startup costs through a loan. "
I freeze. "Are you serious?"
Her wide smile lights up the dimly lit campsite. "I am! But hey, let's not ruin tonight with business talk. How about we grab coffee next weekend and discuss it more?"
"That would be..." I struggle to find the words, feeling a mix of disbelief and elation. "That would be a dream come true. I mean, the studio. But coffee with you sounds nice, too."
She laughs. “We’re friends. I’m happy to hook you up, Andrew.”
I nod, slipping her card into my back pocket and silently telling myself not to get my hopes up. But if this works... Cynthia might just be an angel.
I notice Vince slip away from the group, and I know exactly where he's headed: the same path to the beach I always take.
The weight of that conversation he wants to have has been pressing on my chest all week, a heavy stone lodged beneath my ribs.
Every morning run, every shared laugh, every casual text has felt like borrowed time before the inevitable.
In the quiet hours between midnight and dawn, my mind has replayed every possibility, each one worse than the last.
He's going to sever our friendship, cut me off with those gentle eyes turned cold.
Or worse—he'll tell me I've made him uncomfortable, that my feelings have twisted something pure into something awkward and unwanted.
I've been rehearsing my goodbyes, my explanations, my apologies for wanting more than I should.
But I have my own confession burning a hole in my pocket, a fragile hope I've been nursing all week.
Finally, after days of unanswered calls and dead-end messages, Samantha's voice came through the phone line.
What she agreed to has been my secret weapon, my desperate attempt to stitch together what I tore apart.
Now, as I watch Vince's silhouette recede toward the beach, I can only pray it's enough to mend what I broke.
Wait.
I suddenly notice Aubrey hasn’t been at my side.
The campsite bustles as usual; Gary's friend group is massive, which is why he always reserves the group site. To my relief, I see Aubrey talking with Frank at one of the tables.
I jog over to Todd, who sits next to Wayne with a beer in hand. Leaning closer so he can hear me over the noise.
“Hey Todd, can you do me a huge favor?"
Todd shoots me a skeptical look. "Depends.”
"Can you babysit Aubrey for a bit? I need to talk to Vince real quick, and I promised Aubrey I wouldn't leave him alone."
Todd groans and exchanges a look with Wayne, who smirks knowingly before taking a sip of his beer. Wayne rarely says much, but when he does, his deep voice with a hint of a Southern accent is always worth hearing.
Todd sighs dramatically. "Andrew, honestly, I'm kind of over Aubrey's drama. He can be a big boy, you know? No one should have to babysit him. He’s in his twenties, acting fifteen."
"I promised him," I insist. "You'd be doing me the favor, not Aubrey."
Todd rolls his eyes.
"You know what? Never mind," I say quickly, deciding not to waste any more time convincing him.
I spot Gary nearby and tug on his elbow. "Hey, can you watch over Aubrey for me? Just for a few minutes. Make sure Eli stays away, and I'll be right back."
Gary frowns playfully. "Where are you running off to, hun?"
"Don't make fun. Can you please help me?"
"Fine," Gary sighs with exaggerated drama, though a teasing smile lingers on his lips. "But when you're done sneaking off for your secret make-out session with Vince, I expect details."
I roll my eyes. "You and I both know that's not what's going to happen."
"The making out, or you looping me in on it?" he smirks.
Before I can retort, Frank chuckles, but his amused expression falters as his gaze shifts behind me. "Uh, Gary."
My stomach drops. I turn to see what he's pointing at and spot it. There’s a scene unfolding at the drink table.
Eli has found Aubrey.
Eli is wearing a green hoodie and his usual battered leather jacket, has his tattooed hands covered in black gloves and a beanie pulled low over his black hair.
Aubrey, on the other hand, is inexplicably wearing a wool blanket as a makeshift jacket over his bare chest and nothing but a pair of jeans and unlaced boots.
What the hell happened to his shirt?
The first thing Eli does is tug at the blanket, yanking it off Aubrey and tossing it to the ground.
Aubrey, who already looks on edge, claps his hands over his ears and bolts.
Eli follows, grabbing Aubrey's arms to pull his hands away from his ears while shouting something I can't make out. Aubrey retaliates by shoving him back.
It escalates in seconds.
Now they smack at each other, yelling loud enough to draw the attention of nearby campers. Aubrey's face is flushed—whether from the chilly air or frustration, I can't tell.
I don't have time to dwell on the ridiculousness of it. My mind races, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing.
"Sorry, Gary," I mutter, already stepping away. "Looks like the Aubrey situation needs an intervention."
Gary sighs as he glances toward the chaos. "I'll take care of it," he says, handing Frank his whiskey before heading toward the parking area where Eli and Aubrey now argue.
I follow Gary's line of sight and freeze.
Eli storms over to Aubrey's battered red truck, shouting something about slashing the tires. The words "pocket knife" barely register before I see him pull it from his jacket. Aubrey wails and scrambles after him, grabbing Eli's arm with both hands to stop him.
Panic flares in my chest.
Gary breaks into a run, and I do too, my pulse pounding in my ears.
We barely reach them in time—Aubrey's boot connects with Eli's wrist, sending the knife skittering into the undergrowth.
"You little—" Eli lunges, his voice a low growl as he grabs Aubrey's shoulders. The fight ends almost before it begins; Eli has him pinned in seconds, Aubrey's face pressed against the dirt.
"He's trying to kill me! Gary! Andrew!" Aubrey's voice cracks, but he manages to wrench the beanie from Eli's head and send it flying into the same bushes. A small victory, but it costs him.
Eli's face darkens. He yanks Aubrey up, his grip like iron on Aubrey's arm.
"You want to join it? Let's see how you like the bushes, then."
"Let go of me, you psycho! Get your hands off me!"
"Oh, I’ll let go—"
"Andrew!"
"Eli!" My shout dies in my throat as Gary steps between them.
His fingers clamp onto Eli's ear, twisting with practiced precision. Eli yelps, dropping Aubrey like a hot potato.
Aubrey stumbles forward, right into Gary's waiting arms. He buries his face in Gary's shoulder, his body shaking. Gary holds him, whispering words too soft for us to hear.
Eli is still fuming, clutching at his ear as he glares at Gary. Cynthia and Frank arrive, stepping between the two before things can escalate again. The air between them crackles with unspoken threats, but Gary's firm grip on Aubrey's shoulder and Cynthia's calm presence create a barrier.
I let out a shaky breath, my own pulse still hammering in my ears.
That scene has earned me some time. Aubrey is in good hands now, surrounded by enough people to keep Eli at bay.
I turn away, the sounds of their confrontation fading as I begin the ten-minute walk to the beach.
The path winds through trees that sway in the growing wind, their branches like skeletal fingers against the darkening sky.
With each step, the campsite noise recedes, replaced by the steady rhythm of the waves ahead.