Chapter 4
Mitch
The anchor’s been down a while, the boat swaying in that slow, steady rhythm that always makes me think of summers past. Luke swore this was the better spot—farther from the cabin than we usually come—and he wasn’t wrong. The fish have been biting.
Still, my head hasn’t been in it much.
I kissed Callie last night.
The thought’s been looping in my head all morning—quiet but constant, impossible to shut off. It’s not even the kiss itself as much as everything that came with it. How natural it felt. How easy. How hard it is now to sit here and pretend nothing shifted.
I’m suddenly hyperaware of her in a way I wasn’t before.
Every laugh. Every movement. The way she leans toward Macy, the way the sun catches in her hair.
I keep having to remind myself not to stare, not to give anything away.
Because if anyone notices, if anyone says something, I’ll be awful at lying about it.
Callie and Macy are side by side with a plate of apple slices and peanut butter balanced between them, their quiet chatter mixing with the soft slap of the water.
It’s not secretive talk—just the kind of half-whispered conversation girls have when the air feels lazy and the day doesn’t demand much.
Maddie’s stretched out on the back deck like she doesn’t have a care in the world, her sunglasses tilted just enough to catch the weak sun between the clouds.
The tackle boxes are open, lures scattered like confetti. Someone’s radio crackles faintly from another boat way out across the water, carrying over the breeze. Everything smells like lake water and sunscreen and a little like childhood.
Brad’s in the water, arms hooked through the middle of a neon green tube, bobbing there with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other like he’s got nowhere to be.
Luke nudges something with his foot, then bends to grab a stray Croc off the boat floor. He lifts it up, turning it over in his hands.
“I got an idea.”
Callie groans immediately. Maddie laughs.
Luke juggles the Croc once. “Whoever can throw it through the middle wins.”
Brad lifts his head, squinting at him. “And if you hit me, you lose.”
“Bummer,” Macy says, grinning.
Luke doesn’t even wait. He tosses it, lazy and short, and it splashes into the water a good two feet in front of the tube.
We boo him.
For a minute, we actually try to play it right.
The Croc gets tossed again and again, by each of us.
Splashing wide or bouncing off the water just short of the tube.
Maddie almost gets it through once—close enough that we all yell.
Luke’s hyperfocused, that competitive football player in him determined not to miss.
He’s locked in, but when he finally tosses, he misses by only a few inches to the left.
“You guys suck,” Brad laughs, retrieving it again.
“It’s harder than it looks,” I argue as he tosses it back.
I hand it to Callie, but Luke snatches it before she can take it.
“One more try,” he says.
He steps back, pulling his arm behind him like a football and sending it forward fast. It nails Brad square in the face.
“Dude!” Brad grunts, water sloshing as he ducks back.
We all lose it.
“That was close,” I laugh, already grabbing the other Croc off the deck.
At the same time, Luke peels both of his off his own two feet. And then we’re both whizzing Crocs at Brad’s head like footballs.
“Yo!” Brad curses through a laugh, cigarette still hanging from his mouth as he shields himself with the tube. Half his beer spills into the lake.
The girls are cracking up.
Macy scoops up an apple wedge slathered in peanut butter and lobs it at him. It lands in his hair, sticks for a second, then slowly slides down into the water.
“Who was that?!” Brad yells.
“Not me!” Callie laughs.
Maddie’s doubled over. Macy’s covering her mouth, barely breathing. Callie’s laughing so hard she has to hold onto the boat.
The float bobs. The Crocs drift. And for a few minutes, it’s just sun and water and stupid laughter—the kind of moment that’ll come up years from now out of nowhere, and we’ll all laugh like we’re right back here again.
Then Luke squints at the horizon.
“Hey, someone check the radar,” Luke says suddenly. He props his rod against the side and squints out toward the horizon. “Don’t like the look of that.”
We all follow his gaze. Off in the distance, the clouds are thicker, darker, rolling in slow. The mood shifts enough to cut through the haze of the afternoon.
I pull out my phone, thumb hovering while the radar loads at a snail’s pace with the terrible service out here.
Luke’s rings first. He glances down. “Pappy.” He answers, brows drawing together. “Yeah, we’re out… Really?” A beat of silence. “Damn it.”
He hangs up and sweeps his eyes over us. “We gotta go.” His finger circles in the air—the signal. Time to pack it up.
Brad is already moving. He plants a foot on the rail and works the anchor loose, rope squealing as he drags it up, lake water pouring off in sheets. The rest of us reel in our lines, snack plates shoved aside, rods thudding into holders.
The lazy, golden rhythm of the afternoon is gone, replaced by urgency. But even as we move, the nostalgia lingers. The lake. The clouds. The feeling that this is another summer story we’ll look back on—getting caught in a storm.
Brad hauls the anchor the rest of the way up, muscles straining, water spilling down his arms. At the same time, Luke’s already back at the wheel, firing up the engine.
Everyone’s moving quickly, like muscle memory—I wrestle with the tube, water dripping onto the carpet, while Macy slams the cooler lid shut; Callie and Maddie shove everything else into the storage under the seats.
It’s quick, practiced, the kind of unspoken teamwork that only comes from many summers spent doing this together.
In less than a minute, the deck is clear. Bob Seger hums quieter through the speakers as the engine roars to life and Luke eases the throttle forward. The boat lurches, spray lifting off the bow as we cut across the water.
Luke’s locked on the horizon, jaw tight.
“Come on, hurry up,” he calls, though we’re already working like a team.
The cabin is still a ways off, tucked back in the cove where the flags on the dock usually wave like a welcome.
For now, it’s just us and the wide-open lake, the dark clouds chasing behind, and the rush of wind in our faces.
The laughter and chatter are gone, replaced by a nervous kind of energy, but even that feels like part of it—the memory of racing a storm home on a summer afternoon.
The wind whips harder now, pulling at Callie’s hair. She brushes it out of her face, glancing my way just long enough to twist my chest. One look, and it’s last night all over again—the kiss, the way it shifted something between us.
Thunder cracks, loud and close enough that it echoes off the water. The girls screech and I even jump, just a little.
“Great,” Luke mutters, pushing the throttle forward another notch. “We’ll make it before it hits.”
“I don’t know, man, that sounded close,” Brad says, dropping into a seat after shoving the anchor down into the well.
“Just hang on,” Luke replies. “We’re fine.” And he pushes the throttle forward.
The rain starts as a mist, cold against my arms, seeping in fast. Callie shivers, rubbing her hands down her arms. Without thinking, I grab the towel crumpled on the seat beside me and flick it open.
She doesn’t hesitate, just slides down next to me.
Together, we pull the towel around our shoulders, edges overlapping, pressed shoulder to shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Her damp hair brushes my cheek. Neither of us says a word, but the warmth between us has nothing to do with the towel.
Luke accelerates, the rain coming down harder. “Hold on!”
“Someone turn on ‘Thunderstruck’!” Brad shouts over the roar of the motor and the wind whipping past us.
I laugh. Luke even cracks a grin through the tension of the entire situation.
The girls don’t.
Maddie grabs the side of the boat, shooting Brad a look. “Not funny!” she yells, not amused in the slightest.
We all grip something—rails, seats, each other. The storm’s chasing us. What started as mist turns into sheets of rain, drenching us in seconds. Thunder crashes overhead, rattling the air so loud it feels like it’s splitting the lake in half.
Luke’s flying now, the boat bouncing hard over the chop as he grips the wheel with both hands. Water sprays from every angle—rain from above, waves smacking the sides of the boat, wind lashing it all into our faces.
We don’t talk anymore. There’s no point.
Everyone huddles down, pressed shoulder to shoulder on the benches.
Callie’s tucked against me under the towel, our knees knocking, her wet hair plastered against my arm.
Brad’s got Maddie and Macy pulled in close, their heads down, arms wrapped around themselves.
Luke’s throttle doesn’t ease, not for a second. The boat roars across the water, lightning flashing against the dark sky, thunder chasing it a breath later.
“Ready?!” Luke shouts over the engine.
Brad and I move to opposite ends—he takes the front, I take the back. The second Luke gets close enough to the dock, we both jump, rain hammering our faces as we grab for the ropes and tie it down as quick as we can.
The lightning cracks, bright enough to make the whole lake glow for a split second. The girls screech.
“Go!” Luke yells, helping the girls out.
The three of them sprint up the dock, holding their towels around them as they tear for the cabin. Laughter and shrieks mix with the storm.
When we finish, we jog up the dock and toward the house, rain pouring so hard it’s like walking through a wall of water.
Brad teases the girls, “It’s like the start of a scary movie.”
“Shut up, Brad!” Maddie yells.
He laughs.
“Want me to tell a scary story over candlelight?” he presses.
“No!” all the girls yell, and I can’t help but laugh.
Inside, the cabin feels like a whole different world—warm light, the smell of old wood, blankets already being pulled out of the chest by the door. The girls are dripping puddles across the floor, laughing through their shivers as they peel soggy towels off and toss them onto hooks.
“Someone start the fireplace,” Maddie says, teeth chattering.
Macy’s already wrapped in a quilt, tugging it tight around her shoulders. Luke wraps his arms around Maddie, saying something about knowing how to keep her warm.
I glance toward the hall that leads to the bedrooms. Callie disappears into her room.
I don’t mean to follow, but I drift that way, looking for a dry shirt myself, when I catch the bedroom door cracked an inch. I stop before I even realize it.
Through the gap, I see her.
Her back’s to me, bare, skin pale and glistening with rain, bikini top dangling from her hand. She’s reaching into her duffel, digging for something dry to pull on. For a second I can’t breathe. Her hair, still wet, hangs down in tangled waves, sticking to her bare skin.
I should turn away. I know I should. But the sight roots me in place, something hot and guilty burning through the chill the storm left in my bones. Last night’s kiss slams into my head all over again, harder this time, now paired with the image of her like this, unguarded, unknowing.
My foot creaks on the old wood floor. She startles, half turning, and I jerk back like I was burned, pressing against the wall, heart pounding.
The door clicks shut a moment later.
I run a hand over my face, a mix of sweat and soaked hair dripping down my temples, trying to steady myself before I head back out to everyone like everything’s fine and normal.
But the truth is, I saw her. And I can’t unsee it.