: Chapter 14

I DIDN’T THINK THERE WOULD ever be a time where I’d voluntarily apply JJ’s advice to my life and actually benefit from it, and yet here I am.

“The only person who knows you’re not confident is you” is something he said to me to be confident with women, but I’m currently applying that to everyone, and surprisingly, it’s working. Unnecessary worry is a mentally exhausting process, and by definition, there’s no logic to it. All it does is make me feel alone, even when I’m surrounded by people.

The team has settled into a comfortable routine with all our campers, and Aurora and I have settled into a comfortable routine when we’re not with the kids. Every time I walk her back to her cabin it gets harder not to kiss her good night, especially when she looks like she’s thinking about it, too, but I’m grateful for her making an effort to keep us out of trouble.

I think I’m grateful.

I’m enjoying breakfast with Emilia when the woman always on my mind comes stomping toward us. She sits down beside her best friend and huffs. “Never again. I mean it. I will pay. I will fake my own death. I don’t care about the consequences.”

Hiding my laugh with my coffee mug, I check over my shoulder to make sure there are no listening ears from the kids still eating breakfast. Xander sits down beside me, his plate suspiciously loaded with bacon. I lean in, whispering, “Stop feeding the dogs.”

He keeps looking at his plate as he shakes his head. “You’re not my mom. I don’t have to listen to you.”

“Surely it wasn’t bad,” Emilia says to a still scowling Aurora, also fighting a laugh.

All our campers sleep in one cabin and we each take turns sleeping in there to supervise overnight a couple of times a week. There’s always a senior like Jenna available overnight for emergencies, so as long as your kids aren’t acting up, it’s easy.

Maya was feeling sick yesterday, so Aurora volunteered to cover the night shift, incorrectly thinking she would be with Xander. When she realized she would be with Clay, she looked like the world was ending.

Yeah, petty me was happy about that.

“Sure it was bad, Emilia,” she grumbles. “He told me he doesn’t mind cuddling if I’m scared of the dark. I know he’s joking, but he’s so much funnier when he’s not trying to be funny.”

Emilia’s eyes roll. “What did you say?”

“I told him I sleep stab.” I almost choke on my coffee. “Which I thought was the end of it, but he started telling me it sounded like there was something under my bed and for me to wait on his while he investigated.”

“You gotta admire the creativity,” Xander says. “Being a douche bag is difficult in this day and age, but here he is, hustling.”

Aurora’s eyes lock on him murderously. “Jessica was coming to ask me to get her teddy that’d fallen down the side of her bed and overheard Clay joke that it could be a murderer under there and she started screaming. Then everyone else started screaming. I’m surprised you didn’t freaking hear it. My ears are still ringing. It took, like, two hours to get everybody back into bed and calmed down.”

“I slept like a baby,” Xander says, taking a bite of his toast.

“I didn’t. You snore,” I grumble into my coffee.

“Damn,” Emilia laughs. “I just thought the kids were all tired and gloomy because of how long the line is to call home for Father’s Day.”

My shoulders instantly sag; it’s Sunday.

Aurora looks like she was told she has to pair with Clay again and I feel the same. It’s a day. I know it’s just a day, but it’s one that feels extra loud and extra in your face when you don’t have a good relationship with your dad.

One of the activities earlier in the week was making Father’s Day cards for the kids to send home, and even though I knew it was coming, I still feel caught off guard.

Xander starts laughing. “Easiest way to work out who has daddy issues. Tell them it’s Father’s Day. What a bonding moment for us all.”

“Speak for yourself,” Emilia quips. “My dad is the best guy I know.”

“And I, just this second, decided not to spiral today, so share your misery with someone else, thank you very much,” Rory adds, giving him a sweet smile. “I will spiral later, alone, like a regular person. Or if I’m feeling really adventurous, I’ll bottle it up and bury it deep down, letting it erupt at a much later, more inconvenient time.”

“What can we do today with the kids?” I ask, changing the topic to avoid being dragged into this conversation too much. “What do they love the most?”

“Paint dodgeball,” Xander and Rory say in unison.

Her eyebrow raises as Xander whispers, “Did we just become best friends?”

Aurora grabs herself breakfast while we work out what we need and Clay and Maya join us, immediately on board with our plan. Sundays are usually pretty chilled out; after a week of constantly scheduled activities everyone’s tired, so we plan more low-key days and it means everyone has energy for the Sunday barbecue and evening event, which is usually movie night or a show.

Nothing sounds low-key about paint and dodgeball being in the same sentence.

When everything’s arranged, Xander and I take the kids back to their room to clean up for the inspection. Brown Bears are currently in the lead in the camp rankings, which my colleagues have attributed to me and my need to keep things tidy.

Cleaning is more of a habit than a hobby. My dad’s moods were often unpredictable when I lived at home; his gambling losses made him irritable and it often felt like he was trying to pick an argument. I hated getting into trouble, so I did what I could to prevent those arguments from happening.

I did my homework as soon as I got it, sometimes even during breaks at school. I constantly had odd jobs around our neighborhood so I never had to ask him for money. I kept everything spotless so he never had a reason to complain about things being untidy.

None of it ever mattered. After a loss and a drink, my dad could find an argument in an empty room, but the habits have stayed with me. Now they’re going to help win some pizza. Go figure.

The morning moves at its usual Sunday slow pace. We set up five-aside soccer for the kids with energy, and puzzles and crafts for the others. I spend more time watching Aurora excitedly run around cheering on her players than I do trying to make the origami dove I’m supposed to be working on.

“You have a big, fat crush on Rory,” Michael, a ten-year-old who apparently doesn’t know how to read the room, says. “You keep watching her.”

“That’s inappropriate,” I reply, suddenly very focused on my origami. “Rory is my friend. I’m watching the game.”

“You didn’t say you don’t have a crush on her.”

“I also didn’t say I did.”

He lets it go for now and I quietly breathe a sigh of relief that Michael’s parents are actors and not lawyers, like some of the kids here who are really good at debating.

When it’s time to usher everyone back into the dining hall, my dove is finally folded. Maya and Xander start leading the group for lunch, but I hang back to tidy up the various half-completed games and craft projects littering the table.

“Let me help you,” a soft voice says, coming up behind me.

“I’m good, don’t worry. Take a seat,” I say to Aurora. “You must be tired.”

She sits down in front of the half-finished jigsaw, staring down at it before starting to disconnect the pieces. “This is how I feel about you sometimes, y’know.”

I’m looking at her; the apples of her cheeks are pink from running around all morning, her hair pinned back out of her face, showcasing the extra freckles decorating her nose after three weeks in the sun every day. She keeps taking the puzzle apart bit by bit, putting it back into the box. “Like you want to put me in a box?” I joke, unsure what she’s talking about.

“No, like you’re a jigsaw puzzle and I have all the outside pieces but I haven’t worked out how all the inside ones fit together yet.”

“I made something for you,” I say, changing the subject quickly. “It’s not very good. I was distracted watching you miss the goal every time.”

Her shoulders shake as she laughs. “I’m so bad. I’m literally a goalie’s dream.”

“You are.” She finally looks up as I put the paper dove down in front of her. “Speaking as a goalie, that is.”

She picks up the dove, holding it in her hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world even though it’s terrible. “I love it. Thank you, Russ.”

THE RULES OF PAINT DODGEBALL are the same as regular dodgeball. The difference is your ball is actually a sponge, which you dip into one of the many paint mixtures dotted around the grass before launching at your opponents. Each round has a color to make it clear who’s in and who’s out.

Given the fact my opponents are mainly children, coupled with my long history of athletics, it didn’t occur to me to be worried about getting covered in paint. But as the sponge hits me square in the chest, green paint spraying out from the impact, I realize my certainty was misplaced.

Aurora’s expression is victorious as she shakes the excess green paint from her hand. The girl has an arm on her, which is fucking hot. I’m not ready to explore how her ability to beat me turns me on.

“I thought you were good at blocking stuff,” she yells from the other side of the centerline.

“I told you I have no talent!”

“I can think of a few things you’re very talented at.”

I’ll take her thinking I’m good in bed over being good at paint dodgeball any day of the week.

Leaving the court, since she knocked me out, I take a seat next to Maya, who’s also covered in various paints. “When did eight-year-olds get so competitive?”

We watch everyone continue the game. My eyes close for a second as I turn toward the sun, loving the heat on my face. That’s when something wet hits my leg. Snapping my eyes open, I immediately spot Rory smiling.

Maya laughs, handing me a towel. “She’s gonna give you two away.”

My stomach sinks. “We’re no… There’s nothing to give away.”

“Sure, mate. Sure.”

THE COMMUNAL BATHROOM IS BIG enough for both me and Aurora—several more of us in fact—and yet we’re standing so close to each other I can feel the heat radiating from her body.

“It’s no use,” she groans, wiping the wet cloth across her neck over and over. “I’m destined to look like a colorful dalmatian forever.”

“Come here.” Lifting at her waist, I sit her on the counter and take the cloth from her hand. Her knees slide apart, letting me step between them as I gently tilt her face upward, giving me access to the parts of her painted different colors. “They really got you good.”

As soon as the kids realized how good Aurora was, she became their biggest target. She hums as I slowly clean along her jawline, and when I move down her neck, she shivers. Her cheeks flush pink, but we both ignore it and whatever it might mean. “How are you today?” she asks, ending the silence between us.

“You don’t like silence, huh?”

“You don’t like answering questions, huh?”

“Okay, you got me there. Today was, uh, honestly easier than I was expecting. Being distracted helps, I think. What about you?”

“Same. I think all I’ve ever really wanted was for people to want to spend time with me. Because my dad just doesn’t, no matter which way people sugarcoat it, and my mom wants to spend time with me but—” I move her face slowly, tilting it to get the other side of it. “I can’t describe it without sounding horrible. Like, I don’t know. She suffocates me sometimes and it’s too much. But the kids want me around because they think I’m nice, and as pathetic as that sounds, it means a lot to me.”

“It’s not pathetic.”

“And they can’t leave.” She forces a laugh. “So that’s good.”

“You deserve people in your life who make you feel good, Aurora.”

“You make me feel good.”

She turns back to face me, her pretty green eyes staring up at me through her long eyelashes. I want to rub my thumb along her bottom lip, kiss her, see if she tastes as good as I remember. She hesitates, but I recognize the look on her face. The one she gets when she wants to ask me something, but doesn’t know how to.

“Just ask me, sweetheart. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

“It doesn’t matter. We should get back to the barbecue before someone gets the wrong idea. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

Aurora slides forward until her body is flush with mine and I take a step back, a few seconds later than I should have, but I deserve credit for doing it at all. My hands link with hers as I help her hop down, but then I let her walk past toward the exit.

“Rory,” I call, turning and leaning against the counter she was just sitting on. She stops by the door, watching me with interest. “You make me feel good, too.”