Chapter 29
Riley
The camp’s energy is off the charts. Yesterday, instead of my morning run, Dom and I went to help in the main house and get everyone situated.
There was some sort of issue with the permit for the Mess Hall, someone quit, and then Griffin showed up, and Lilly has been on my ass about it. But overall, it’s been good.
It feels good.
The kids give this place its energy back, and we’re only missing Willa, who said she would come if she was needed, but Lilly hasn’t asked her yet—waiting to see if we can pull it off without having her move her life just for the summer.
It’s as complete as it’ll feel without Mom and Dad here.
It’s crazy to think about them not being here anymore—not because I don’t believe it, but because they’re in the bones of this place.
Although Dad’s heart lived on the east side with the cattle, summer camp was where Mom’s was. This place is lifeless without them, and the kids add the spark back. We need to make it.
For them.
It’s late, but the art supplies are finally being delivered, and I wait by the shed, hyping myself up about this whole thing.
Yes, yes, I’ll have to stay up to organize them, but I did it.
I ordered them, they will be here, I’ll organize them, and Lilly will give me a pat in the back, a good job, and maybe a smile for good measure.
I’m hoping Dom finishes soon, and he can—eek!
I’m off the ground before I can finish my sentence.
“Do you have a carrying kink? What is it with you and picking me up all the time?” I ask him as he chuckles, putting me back on my feet.
He spins me, turning me to face him, his beautiful eyes locking on mine, and I swear, I see a flicker of something more than lust in them.
I don’t let myself go there in case it’s all in my head.
There’s no way he feels like that, right?
I’m too flighty and wild and chaotic, and he’s all measured, confident, and steady.
“Oh, I get it. You like sweeping me off my feet, huh?” I wink, hoping for a smile, which he freely gives. I lace my fingers behind his neck, peering up at him through my lashes. “Miss me?”
“Nah.” He tsks.
“Yeah, right.”
He dips to kiss my cheek, his beard tickling me before his lips touch. “I did.”
He doesn’t need to pick me up literally; he has me swooning simply by freaking existing.
I pull him to me, kissing his lips before taking a step back and leaving some space between us.
I know how he feels about people knowing about us, whatever this is, and I don’t want him to be uncomfortable.
Especially when two bouncing bright lights shine near us as the roar of an approaching delivery truck intensifies.
“Thank you for coming. It would have taken me forever to take care of this on my own.”
“No problem.”
We walk side by side to the back of the delivery truck, but as soon as the door opens, my stomach drops. Those cannot all be for here, right?
“Mrs. Banks?” the delivery, a guy I’ve never seen before, tall and broad-shouldered, says.
“Miss, but yes, that’s me. Which ones are mine?” I point at the towers of boxes taking over half of this truck.
The delivery guy glances over his shoulder into the truck, then back at me with the kind of sympathy I’ve gotten my entire life after my parents’ deaths.
Fuck.
“All of them.”
I laugh.
Actually laugh.
Because there is no way. “No, seriously,” I say, waiting for him to grin back.
He doesn’t; instead, he pulls a clipboard against his chest and checks the invoice. “Fifty boxes. Assorted paints, clay, canvases, paper rolls, easels, brushes, and other materials. Signature required.”
I stare into the truck again.
Fifty.
“Why,” I whisper, mostly to myself, “does it look like I accidentally ordered an entire art school?”
Dom leans beside me, one hand braced on the truck as he looks inside. Even he goes quiet for a second, which feels like confirmation that this is not normal, right? Maybe they’re packed with lots of fillers.
The driver clears his throat and offers me the clipboard. “Where do you want them?”
I sign with a shaky hand. “At this point? Straight into the river, please.”
Dom laughs under his breath and takes the clipboard from me before handing it back. “We’ll handle it.”
The driver nods once and then immediately starts unloading the first box onto the lift gate.
I grab the nearest one.
And nearly throw out my back.
“Oh my God,” I gasp. “What is in this, cement?”
Dom takes it from my hands like it weighs nothing. “Clay, probably.”
“I was joking!”
He sets it down in the shed, and I’m so glad it’s as organized and clean as it is now, so at least I have space to put all of these. He reaches for another while I stand there, blinking at the growing mountain now forming inside the shed.
There’s just no way.
I look at the clipboard again, and my heart leaps out of my chest.
No.
No.
No.
I didn’t order five of each; I ordered fifty of each.
FIFTY.
“Hey,” Dom whispers, hand on my elbow, stopping me from my spiral. I search his eyes for comfort, but he’s not a mind reader. He can tell I’m losing it, but not why.
He raises an eyebrow as I stay silent, invoice in my hand—an invoice I glance at again to make sure I’m seeing this correctly. I didn’t order enough for the camp. No, I ordered enough for the neighboring counties too.
“Okay,” I mutter. “I fucked up.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine, whatever it is,” he says. I don’t have the mental capacity to spiral over him being so cool, calm, and collected right now, but it’s certainly a choice for him to pretend to be walking on a cloud while I’m unraveling.
I shove his shoulder. “We’re in spiraling mode right now, sir, and you are being very unsupportive.”
“I’m sorry. I was trying to lighten the mood.” He shakes his head. “Don’t seem to know how.” His demeanor changes back to the Dom of the first few days I met him—shoulders back, brows drawn together, turmoil in his eyes.
I reach for his face, taking it in my hand. “You’re doing fine. Sorry.” I take a deep breath, mimicking him.
“Let me finish carrying the boxes in, and then we will figure it out,” he adds and leaves me with a courteous nod.
For the next twenty minutes, we fall into a rhythm. Dom lifts, carries, and sets down. I sort through the boxes and my bewilderment.
He silently fixes my terrible stacking system without uttering a word, staying close enough to touch. I pretend not to notice.
I pretend I’m not on the verge of losing it and breaking down in tears.
We continue our rhythm, him stacking each box carefully as I reorganize the supplies.
The pile beside the worn easel I’ve been dying to use grows into something absurd—boxes of watercolor paper, giant tubs of paint, bundles of brushes, glitter that somehow leaked from one carton and now sparkles across the dark floor like an art supplies crime scene.
We’ve gotten everything out, and I’m standing in the middle, taking it all in, trying really hard not to panic. But headlights swing around the corner, a familiar truck pulling up in front of the shed, making my stomach drop before the engine even shuts off.
“No,” I whisper.
Dom straightens beside me. “What?”
I look out as the driver’s door slams.
No. No. No.
There’s no time to fix this before Lilly sees, and it’s my head.
Lilly storms across the pasture in her typical put-together fashion, her fury sharp enough to cut glass. Her eyes sweep over the boxes, the spilled supplies, then land directly on me.
And just like that, I don’t have to guess it. She will definitely kill me.
This is the straw that broke the camel’s back.
“What,” she says slowly, “is this?”
I stand up, brushing dust off my hands. “Art supplies. I told you they were being delivered today.” Deflection and delusion, Riley, deflection and delusion.
She offers a humorless laugh. “I can see that, Riley.”
Dom shifts subtly beside me, not stepping in but close enough so I feel him.
His presence says I’m here.
Lilly points at the mountain of boxes. “I saw the invoice just now, and I knew there had to be an error, right? Because this is thousands of dollars. Thousands of dollars we do not have. You were supposed to take care of it, not put us into deeper debt.”
“I know, but it's for the camp.”
“For how many camps? Are we supplying other camps? This is ridiculous,” she snaps.
My spine stiffens. “For the program.” It can be true. I just need to rearrange the schedules again. I can do it.
“The program?” She throws her hands in the air. “We are one staffing disaster away from closing for good, and you decided now was the time to buy enough paint to cover the state of Tennessee?”
My mouth falls open. “I didn’t just—”
“No, because this is what you do,” she cuts in, voice rising. “You make impulsive decisions, and then everyone else has to scramble around, cleaning them up.”
That lands harder than I expected. I knew she would flip, but the venom she’s spitting is enough to cause harm.
It’s meant to harm me.
It isn’t about the boxes.
It’s never just about the boxes.
I fold my arms across my chest, trying to hold myself together. “Yes, I know it’s a lot of money. And if I’m being honest, I messed up, okay? I accidentally ordered way more than I thought.”
“I’d say.” The words hit like a slap. I can’t hear my own thoughts, let alone anything that’s coming out of her mouth, because all at once, I’m not standing in the middle of a shed surrounded by art supplies.
I’m fourteen again.
Being told I’m reckless.
Too emotional.
Too irresponsible.
Too much.
Lilly takes a step closer, voice tight. “You cannot keep acting like this place is some passion project where consequences don’t matter.”
And there it is. Behind everything she’s saying is the real reason why she’s mad. She doesn’t believe in me.
Dom steps forward, but I lift my arm to stop him, which he does, and I appreciate it more than he’ll ever know. If I’m ever going to demand people treat me fairly, I need them to understand I can do things, and that includes standing up for myself and taking accountability for my mistakes.
I laugh once, but it comes out thin and broken. “Wow.”
“Riley—”
“No.” My throat burns. “You know what? You don’t get to talk to me like I’m some reckless kid who’s ruining everything. I made a mistake.”
“I’m trying to protect this place,” she adds, opening her arms, like she needs to remind me what’s at stake. “And I’m trying to save it.” She stares at me, breathing hard. Can’t she see I’m trying too?
“So am I.” I drop the mask, the one I carefully put in place so people won’t see how terrified I am. But right now, I need Lilly to see it. I need her to see me.
“I made a mistake, I’m owning it, and I am going to fix it.”
“How? I can’t add one more thing to my plate,” she replies. “This is always the case with you, Riles. You show up, you mean well, but in the end, you don’t pay attention, and it ends in disaster. I can’t fix one more thing, and I don’t think you can either.”
“Then don’t. Maybe I’ll return them or something.”
“And then have no supplies for the things you already set up for this week or next?”
“I guess that won’t work, huh?”
She shakes her head in her usual disapproving tone.
“I’ll figure something out. I’ll fix it.”
“How?”
I don’t fucking know, but I can’t tell her that. She’s making me feel like a two year old getting scolded for painting on the walls, and Dom is here to witness it all.
“I will figure it out, or I’ll leave and never come back.”
I’m expecting a gasp.
A scream.
A plea of no, don’t go, we’ll figure it out.
But that’s wishful thinking. “Fine. You have two weeks.” She looks at Dom and then back at me.
“I’m not even going to ask. Just try not to take him down with you.
” She storms out, not even telling me what would happen if, in two weeks, I don’t figure out a way to bring the money in to pay for all these supplies.
The words should make me feel better. Instead, they make my chest ache even more, because she didn’t mean fine as in she trusts me, but more like she doesn’t believe I’ll be able to fix it.
Fine, you can leave.
Fine, I don’t need you.
No matter what I do here, no matter how hard I work, no matter how much of myself I pour into this ranch, she still sees me as the problem.
And I’m starting to believe that maybe I am.
She drives away, and I don’t know how long she’s gone by the time I shake myself from my stupor.
“Riley,” Dom whispers as I rush back and throw myself into organizing the rest of the supplies, as if the giant amount will change just because I’m rearranging. I ignore him. If I open my mouth again, I will fucking cry.
Everything was going fine for once in my life, so of course, things exploded.
Again.
“Everything will be fine. I’ll figure it out,” I reply, continuing with my mindless task.” I flash him a half smile, one he either takes because he can’t tell it’s not real, or one he chooses to accept for what it is. I don’t want to talk about it now.
I don’t. Not now.
If I let myself go there, to the arena of despair, I won’t know how to ride my way out of it.