Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
Carnival jingles curl overhead, light as spun sugar, and synchronising with the consistent chime of game bells.
“That was insane!” Aspen’s giggle is lost to the crowd, her balance unsteady as we stumble off the Fireball. She loops her arm around mine, and I grin.
“I know!” The world tilts under my feet like the rides still pull me sideways, and the air is thick with burnt oil. “I can literally feel my heart in my throat. Solid ten.” For an hour we’ve let the boardwalk swallow us whole, chasing every spin, drop and loop like it’s our sole purpose for being.
When Aspen mentioned the “annual carnival” I expected something half-decent, sure—a handful of rides, overpriced snacks, the usual—but this? Colour me impressed.
“Definitely a ten,” Aspen affirms. She glances at her phone, then pauses mid-scroll. “Guess which merry little band finally decided to show up?”
“They’re prompt.” Not. Reese promised he’d be here ages ago, but clearly, his definition of soon runs on a different clock.
“Come on. Let’s meet them half-way.”
We weave through the crowd, winding our way up the boardwalk.
The sun has started its descent, and the last of its glow bleeds into the sky while the boardwalk sparks alive beneath it.
As the shadows deepen, the kaleidoscope of lights intensify in luminosity, providing an idealistic backdrop for the array of extravaganza before us.
Local bands spill music from mini stages, game stalls ring simultaneously with cheers and curses, and food vendors line every corner, sending the scent of funnel cakes, caramel, and fried everything swirling through the breeze.
Grove Bay really doesn’t play around.
“I see them. There.” She points, but there’s no need; it’s far too easy to pick the three out in a crowd. They tower over most people, attracting more than our attention.
For some reason, it’s Carson who steals mine. Maybe it’s because this is the first time seeing him since I practically melted into him. Or maybe it’s because Dylan’s words still linger in the back of my mind.
His cap conceals the upper part of his face, but when a foreign flutter stirs in my stomach I know he’s looking. It’s weird, but over the weeks I’ve grown accustomed to the weight of his eyes. To the point where I almost feel bare in his vicinity without them.
Aspen bumps me. “You good? You’re looking flushed.”
“Huh?” It takes a second for the words to set in. “I do? I think I’m still on an adrenaline rush.” Right? There’s no way I’m blushing. “And it’s warm,” I tack on.
Yeah. That’s it. The summer heat, only amplified by the masses. Nothing an iced drink can’t settle.
“Yo,” shouts a familiar voice. “Is that my two favourite girls? Hell yeah!” Reese crosses the space in a few strides, then slings his arms around both of us with zero warning. “How’s it going, ladies? Been having fun?”
Aspen shoots him a look. “Don’t act like you’re not late.”
“Aw, cmon,” Reese counters. “I said I was sorry.”
“Fine,” Aspen sighs, all fake surrender before beaming up at him. “We’ve already hit the best rides, so if you missed out, that’s on you.”
His features soften. “That’s alright.” He turns to me, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “And you, Bri? Don’t tell me you’re tapped out already.”
“Definitely not. I don’t know what I was expecting, but certainly none of this extravaganza.”
“Grove goes all out for their festivals.” That’s a voice that guided me back to reality last night.
My eyes fly forward, finding Carson a few steps ahead with Dylan to his right.
Even though his hands are buried in his pockets, there’s nothing casual about his stance.
His muscles stretch beneath fabric and the carnival lights throw gold along his jaw.
Everything about him is hard to overlook and I swallow as our eyes connect.
The cold reserve he so frequently regarded me with at the start is long gone, but I can’t decipher what replaces it.
Although, there’s that flutter again.
What’s wrong with me? I’m acting out-of-sorts and I need to snap out of it before someone notices. “Do they hold them often?” I manage. “Festivals?”
A nod. “Yeah, they do all kinds. Harvest fairs, parades, art markets…” His voice slows. “Music.”
That rights everything again. Music. The only thing coming close to bleeding some colour back into my life. Carson must’ve gauged that after last night; it would explain the matching gleam in his eyes… an almost smile.
“Remember Hallowfest the year before?” Thankfully Dylan speaks before I can turn into a creeper with a staring problem. “That was hilarious. Reese was squealing like a little bitch.”
“Oh my gosh! I remember that video,” Aspen laughs. “Dylan isn’t even exaggerating; the jump-scares got you so good.”
“Nope. Never happened. Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He jostles me against him. “They’re trying to emasculate me in front of you, Bri. Don’t fall for their tricks.”
“I don’t know…” I crane my neck, teasing. “I kinda believe them.”
Reese tosses out a remark but I don’t catch it, distracted by Carson’s sudden frown. It’s locked onto the man at my side. I blink, half-convinced I’m imagining it, but no, it’s real.
If Reese notices, he doesn’t let on. “C’mon. I’m itching to get on these rides now that I know you two have been having a blast.”
We slip into the back of the line for Wipeout, a steel beast spinning people skyward before hurling them back down at dizzying speed. Dylan and Reese fall into banter, their laughter threading through the clatter of machinery and shrieks.
Carson, though, keeps a step behind. When I glance over my shoulder, I notice he’s somewhere else entirely, brows furrowed, eyes distant.
It’s about a minute later when there’s a tug on my tank strap. Just enough to draw me back.
I glance up, smiling as the solid line of his arm brushes mine. “Hey.”
“Hey.” His voice is even, but his eyes less so, roaming between mine. “Didn’t see you this morn—afternoon. Dylan said you left around one?”
That’s not all Dylan said. But I leave that part out.
“Yeah. I didn’t mean to sleep in. I’m usually up at the crack of dawn.” I wrinkle my nose. “Sorry.”
“Dont apologise,” he grunts. “I overslept too. Your parents get in okay?” On the surface it’s casual, but the twitch of his arm betrays something more.
I nod, slowly.
His eyes shift to the ride, then back to me, grey pulling in like a current now. “Come over if you’re ever alone in that beach house again.”
Come over. He offers it like it’s nothing, but my pulse spikes like it’s everything. It’s not just come over that lands; it’s alone.
Truth is, I’m always alone there. Even when my parents are home, it’s all smoke and mirrors. If they’re not slipping away into rooms to avoid me, they’re acting fine-and-dandy like there’s nothing to avoid.
Carson’s place is different. It shouldn’t be but somehow it is. I’ve slept there. Laughed there. Sat at a table full of people who actually see me. And, more than anything, I’ve felt wanted there.
So yeah, the offer is tempting. On paper, it makes perfect sense to accept. But off paper? Off paper, it’s a different story. There’s a jittery feeling climbing the underside of my ribs, and I might not have a name for it but I know it reeks of trouble.
The exact kind I’m not equipped to handle.
So I keep it simple. I shrug. Let him take from that whatever he wants.
I should know that Carson isn’t one for half-assed answers. “Give me your word.” Not a request. When I stall, he adds, “Aspen won’t mind you staying with her.” Something flickers across his face, hidden behind a tight press of lips. “I’ll worry if you don’t.”
It’s ridiculous how fast that undoes me. He’ll worry. That’s all it takes. Maybe because we’ve come too far for me to pretend that doesn’t mean something.
“Okay.” I blow out a breath. “I will.”
“Good.”
Before he can say more, Reese hollers across the crowd. “Come on, you two!”
The next hour slips past in bright streaks and blurred laughter. We spin on Wipeout, rocket into the sky on Double Shot, and stagger off Tornado. Dylan’s fearless. Reese is worse.
Carson, though… Carson’s unshakable. Nothing can rattle him.
I’ve seen proof of that in the way he takes on the ocean, but strapped in opposite to him on Double Shot made it undeniable.
While I clung desperately to the restraints, he was laughing.
At me. I couldn’t hear it over the rush in my ears, but it was there in the faint crinkle of his eyes, the dip of his dimples.
Now, every time the carnival lights flare against his face, I find myself looking longer than I should, hoping to see it again.
I’m halfway through sipping my drink with gusto when I feel that tug again. He pulls me back, but this time his hand doesn’t let go. It slips beneath the strap, curling warm at the base of my neck.
Our eyes lock. I keep my expression true, refusing to falter under the surety of his touch. Why would I? We’re so far past the threshold of casual contact; I was literally folded into him last night.
And yet. I can’t help marvelling how good it feels.
“Have you tried lavender essential oils?”
The question is so left-field I don’t immediately register the familiarity of it. “What?”
“For your panic attacks.” His thumb shifts against my skin. “They say inhaling it before bed helps.”
“I—” What? “How do you know that?”
“I read it.”
It’s only his hold that keeps my legs from faltering. He… read it? As in searched it online, for me?
The air in my lungs shifts, and I have to angle my frown at the wooden slats below. “I’ve tried that before. It doesn’t work.”
“How about—” he lists a couple of things like he’s checking off boxes in his head.