Wildfire (Maple Hills 2)

AURORA IS REALLY, REALLY DRUNK, which means I’m back to keeping my distance.

While Xander has assured me that people drank alcohol when he was here last year and nothing happened, I’m still choosing to stay away from the chaotic drinking game that appears to be half Truth or Dare, half Never Have I Ever, depending on which side of the campfire circle you find yourself on.

Our cabin is one of eight counselor cabins that borders the lake, giving me the perfect vantage point to watch what all the other staff are doing, while also mind my business with my book.

My love for reading started when I was a kid and my dad would be in a bad mood because like most gamblers, he’s shit at gambling. Reading was the most fun I could have while making the least amount of noise, and I always wanted to avoid drawing attention to myself when he was likely to start an argument over something.

It feels full circle to be the thing keeping me out of trouble as an adult.

I know to everyone else it makes me seem boring, but so far I love being here, and aside from the obvious reasons, that’s something else that makes me want to not be sent home. I can try not to worry about what people know or think about me, which is something I struggle to put to the back of my mind when I’m at college. I probably won’t see half of these people again, and that’s what I keep telling myself when I’m trying to be myself and get involved.

There’s one person I might see again, though, and she’s currently drinking directly out of a liquor bottle and laughing loudly. It doesn’t feel authentic, though, but more like for show. That’s a recurring thought about Aurora, about how happy she portrays herself to be, with big smiles and bigger laughs—and yet sometimes it seems forced.

I felt like the world’s biggest asshole earlier when she walked toward me, presumably to get me involved, and as soon as I saw the tequila bottle in her hand, I walked in the other direction toward my cabin and away from her. I’ve caught her looking over here a few times, but when she spots me looking back at her, she quickly focuses back on the game.

Grabbing my water bottle from the railing beside me, I stretch my legs and head to the water machines near the main lawn. It’s weird not having to worry about accidentally falling over a dog, and I miss my little shadows when they’re not around.

Jenna says I should feel honored to be the chosen one, and I do. I haven’t ever been anyone’s first choice, so I’m grabbing on to it with both hands. Even if they are dogs.

I’m walking past the empty kids’ cabins on the side of the main lawn when I hear footsteps on the gravel path. Aurora’s cheeks are pink when she catches up to me, eyes glassy. “I freaking hate running,” she pants, supporting herself against her knees as she tries to catch her breath. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting a drink. Is everything okay?”

She nods, standing up straight before immediately starting to sway. “Everything’s great. I love my life.” She doesn’t look like she loves her life; the way she says it is slurred and high pitched, unnatural and uncomfortable. I don’t know what happened between work this afternoon and now, when she looks one drink away from being the drunk girl who cries.

“Are you sure you’re oka—”

“You’re not joining in.” She stumbles forward, regaining her balance quickly and walking toward me until she’s close enough I could touch her if I wanted to. The smell of the fire lingers around us and it’s a welcome change from being assaulted by my own memories of her shampoo. Her lower lip wobbles as she takes a sharp intake of breath. “Is it me? Did I do something wrong?”

“No. I don’t want to get into trouble by drinking,” I explain honestly. “And you’re really, really drunk. You should probably go to bed; we have water-safety training tomorrow and it’s late.”

She’s still swaying and I can practically hear the cogs in her head turning while her brain wades through the tequila she’s tried to drown it with.

I recognize the familiar sounds of dog collars jingling and paws against gravel. Deciding not to wait to find out who they’re with, I grab Aurora’s arm, quickly pulling her toward the darkened space between the cabins. “Someone’s coming,” I say when she looks up at me alarmed.

This would be a really bad time to discover some of the less cute creatures that no doubt roam this camp at night.

I move us into the shadows as quickly and quietly as I can, practically carrying Aurora as she giggles. Yes, she thinks it’s funny. “Stop laughing,” I whisper. She leans forward, burying her face in my T-shirt in an attempt to smother the amused noises escaping her. It’s not enough, and when she lets out a little snort, I put my hand over her mouth gently. “Shhh.”

Fish stops at the spot Aurora and I just vacated, staring toward the darkness and, therefore, us. I’m holding my breath, my heart hammering so hard I’m surprised Aurora can’t hear the thud, thud, thud. I’m mentally running through all the excuses I could possibly give, realizing that being in a dark corner of the camp alone with a drunk girl is far more alarming than talking to one. Then Fish barks and I swear my heart stops beating all together.

“Stop it, noisy girl,” Jenna chastises, clicking her tongue at the puppies to follow her. “Fish, come on,” she says, and whistles. I wait until I can no longer hear the gravel before finally letting myself breath properly again.

“Ow, fuck!” I snatch my hand away from Aurora’s mouth. “Did you just bite me?”

“You forgot I was here.” Like that could happen. “You’re good at that.”

How did I end up here when I was purposely trying to stay out of the way?

“Come on, Edward Cullen. Back on the path before something bigger and scarier than you decides to bite me.” It’s like guiding a toddler as I hold both her arms to lead her through the dark and back into the lit-up path.

“Russ, I feel sick,” she mumbles.

“Do you need some water?” She nods, and there’s a very real possibility she’s about to barf on me. Leading her toward the porch steps of the cabin labeled Raccoon, I sit her down and jog toward the water station. It doesn’t take me long, but she’s paler when I get back. “I don’t feel good,” she moans into her hands.

“I’m not surprised. You drink like a fish. Here,” I say, handing her my water bottle.

She looks up, her green eyes fixed on me between slow, long blinks. “I drink like a dog?”

“What? No, I didn’t mean—never mind.” She guzzles the water, wiping the excess from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand and offering the bottle back to me. “Do you want me to walk you to your cabin?”

Nodding, Aurora holds out her hand and I gently tug her to her feet; her fingers intertwine with mine and she begins to lead me toward her cabin, which is in a different section from mine.

We’re halfway there when she suddenly stops, pulling me to a stop, too. “Do you want to go skinny dipping?”

Jesus Christ. “You need to go to bed.”

“I don’t want to go to bed.” Her bottom lip juts out and she reminds me of Stassie and Lola when they’re drunk. It’d be cute if I weren’t so stressed.

“Well, you have to,” I say, dragging her along.

“Make me.”

“I’m not going to try and make you.”

“You’ve gotten me into bed before, it shouldn’t be that hard for you.”

I should have stayed reading my book. “If you don’t go to sleep, you’re going to feel like death tomorrow and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

“My dad is to blame for all of my problems, so that’s not true, is it?” As drunk as she is, there’s something clear and certain about the way she says it. It’s a feeling I can relate to, but I think trading daddy issues is the exact opposite of what I need this summer. It’s definitely the exact opposite of what I need right now, dealing with a drunk person. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, mister. You’re not the boss of me.”

“But you just told me to make you. I know I’m not the bo—” I stop talking because I’m arguing with someone who probably isn’t going to remember any of this tomorrow. “Is that why you’re so drunk? Your dad’s done something?”

“It’s his birthday.” She looks at her watch, squinting. “Is that a twelve or two? Was his birthday. I arranged for a gift to be delivered. Silly, silly Rory, always expecting too much and trusting the wrong people.”

“And he didn’t like it?”

“He didn’t open it. I spoke to his assistant, Sandra, no, Brandy? Brenda. I spoke to Brenda because he didn’t answer my calls and it was still in his office.” She shrugs and her whole demeanor changes again. It’s like every time she talks about something that makes her unhappy, she forces herself to look happy. “His girlfriend and her daughter took him to Disneyland as a surprise. He fucking hates Disneyland. He never went with us when my mom took me and my sister. But anything Norah and Isobel want they get, and I just have to exist in their shadow.”

“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say, but we reach cabin 22 and she begins to climb the steps. Thinking back to Xander and Clay’s wrong cabin accident, I keep hold of her hand. “Is this definitely yours?”

“Yup.” She points to the fairy lights decorating the porch. “Cabin two-two. Angel number.”

I stop on the bottom step, letting go of her hand. “Angel what?”

She spins around so quickly she almost loses balance, but the walk here, the water, and the short period without a tequila bottle in her hand has helped sober her up a tiny amount. “Why have you stopped?”

“We aren’t allowed to go into other people’s cabins.”

She huffs, her hands landing on her hips like somehow I’m the one in the wrong here. “Nobody cares about those rules. Nobody cares enough to punish me.”

“I care about them, Rory. And you’d understand that if you weren’t so drunk.”

She drags me up the steps, and I reluctantly follow. “Come in, please.”

“I’ll stand in the doorway,” I say firmly, which is a waste of breath, because she pulls me over the threshold anyway. “Aurora, I can’t be in here. I need this job.”

“I liked it when you called me Rory.”

“Rory, get into bed, please. Lie on your side in case you’re sick.” To my surprise, she kicks off her shoes and throws herself down onto her bed. “Good girl. Okay, good night.”

“Wait!” she shouts as I turn to leave. “I’m hungry.”

It really is like being with Stassie and Lola. “I can’t do anything about that right now. I’ll get you breakfast in the morning.”

“No, you won’t.” She wiggles under a blanket, and while her sleeping fully clothed isn’t ideal, it is not something I’m prepared to tackle. “Tomorrow you’ll go back to hating me.”

My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out at first. “I do not hate you.”

She yawns and begins to lose the fight to keep her eyes open. “Will you wait until I fall asleep, please? It won’t take long.”

I’m still stunned she thinks I hate her, even though it’s probably drunk babble. “Sure, why?”

“Because it’s easier to wake up and you’re not here than it is to watch you leave me.”

I sit on the edge of her bed, mulling over her words, scrambling for a plan to untangle the mess I’ve created for myself starting tomorrow. It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep and I’m instantly jealous, because I know I’m going to be up all night wondering if it would have been easier to watch her leave after we hooked up. Or was it easier to find her gone?

BREAKFAST IS QUIETER THAN NORMAL with Aurora missing, and I hate it.

She’s practically a Honey Acres expert, after coming here as a camper for so many years, and she spends so much time during meals when we’re all sitting together answering questions about what it will be like when the kids are here.

Emilia sits down with her food and gives a vague answer about Aurora feeling sick and not wanting breakfast, not revealing that she’s definitely hungover.

I wait until everyone is deep in conversation about the pros and cons of semester-abroad programs before slipping away and setting off toward cabin 22 with a bottle of orange juice and some granola bars.

Aurora is already standing on the porch when I get there, and the way her face drops when she sees me stings. I hover at the bottom of the steps. “Hey. I brought you breakfast like I promised.”

She accepts reluctantly, looking at my offering like I’m a cat that just dropped a dead mouse at her feet. “Thanks.”

“I wanted to see how you’re feeling. Emilia said you’re feeling si—”

“Russ, what are you doing?” she asks, cutting me off.

“I said I’d bring you breakfast last night. You probably don’t remember, you were pretty drunk.”

“No, I mean here. Now.” She shakes her head, dragging her hand through her hair. “You’re either super nice to me or you avoid me. And now you’re here, being sweet, and I don’t know if you’ll be like this all day, and I’m tired of wondering what I’ve done to make you not like me.”

“I do like you. I’m sorry, Aurora. I do like you.”

She sits on the top step, setting her breakfast beside her. I can sense her frustration growing. “You’re nice all the time, but it’s with everyone but me, Russ. Everyone. I’m so tired of being treated like that when I’m at home—”

The guilt fucking sucks. The last thing I want to do is make things harder for her, especially when she’s totally right. I have made an effort with everyone but her. The first thing I should have done after my call with JJ yesterday was apologize to her. Instead, I sort of hoped it’d just blow over and we could both ignore it. I should have known it wouldn’t work like that. Spending all your time with a group of people in an isolated place makes everything feel bigger and more intense, even after only a short time, and I know that’s only going to increase as time goes on.

I know I need to be honest with her, so she realizes I’m the problem not her, but the words just won’t come because I’m a coward.

“—and I came here to escape those feelings and work on myself. I don’t know what I’m doing, but whatever it is I’m doing a totally shitty job so far, so I don’t need you making it worse by blowing hot and cold for the rest of the summer. If you only want to try to be my friend some of the time, I’d prefer you to just, I don’t know, just don’t try. Ignore me all the time; it’ll be easier to cope with.”

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to start talking. “Rory, I messed up. I’m sorry. When you walked out and didn’t leave your number or say bye, I thought that was your way of telling me you didn’t want to hear from me again,” I say calmly, trying to suppress the feelings of embarrassment. “Then we were dropped into this situation together and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I get that I shouldn’t have assumed and I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

Her jaw is hanging open as she looks at me from the step. “I know I’m hungover, but did I just hallucinate and hear you say the reason you’ve been like this since we got here is because I left? When you wanted me to leave?”

“I didn’t want you to leave. What are you talking about?”

She stands quickly, the steps making us about the same height, giving me the perfect view of how confused her face is right now. “You were in the bathroom for so long. You were waiting for me to go. I heard you talking to someone so I left.”

“I was talking to myself, Rory. I was hyping myself up to ask you out, which is something I hoped to never have to admit out loud to you. But I’d rather embarrass myself than have you think I’m the type of guy who would wait in a bathroom for you to leave.”

“Oh my God.”

“I never do the one-night stand thing and I thought we had fun. I wanted to see you again, but you’re so out of my league and—”

“Oh my God.” She drops back to the step and this time I crouch down in front of her as she hides her face in her hands. “Miscommunication. Russ, we did the miscommunication thing. You made me a miscommunicator!”

This conversation is too much to process. “A what?”

“We could have just had a conversation. This is not the kind of main character moment I’m looking for in my life!” She groans loudly, peeking at me between her fingers.

Reaching forward, I wrestle her hands away from her face so she has to look at me. Her head tilts to the side as she takes me in, her expression falling somewhere between frustration and relief. “I’m sorry, Rory. I always fuck everything up. I mean it when I say I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“If you hadn’t avoided me last night, drunk me would have probably asked why you were acting weird during Truth or Dare, loudly and with an audience, so we’d have gotten to the bottom of it one way or another.” Her left hand is still holding mine, but her right is drawing patterns across my palm. I know I should stand up and leave now that we’re both on the same page, but lack of self-control is clearly a Callaghan trait.

“Drunk you nearly got us caught by Jenna last night.” I sigh. “I can’t promise I’m going to be around when you’re being reckless, Aurora. I really need this job and I can’t risk being fired, so if it happens again, please don’t think I’m avoiding you.”

She groans again, this time accompanied by a dramatic eye roll, but her fingers keep dancing across my skin. “I don’t think I’m going to drink anymore anyway. But nobody ever actually gets fired, Russ. People break all kind of rules while they’re here and nothing ever happens.”

The memory of how soft Aurora felt beneath me invades my brain.

Think with your head, not your dick, Callaghan. “I don’t want to test that theory.”

“But testing the theory is the fun part.” She smiles at me, a real one that makes a little line appear at the corner of her eyes. “And the trick is to not get caught.”

Her eyes burn into me and I should look away, but I can’t. They travel down to my lips, then back to my eyes, her teeth sinking into her lip.

I want to kiss her.

She looks like she wants to be kissed.

It takes every shred of restraint not to lean in, especially when she’s looking at me like that. Sighing, I force myself to remember why I’m here and what I’m avoiding. “I just want to peacefully coexist with you and stay out of trouble, Aurora.”

She shrugs, dropping her hands into her lap as I stand. “That’s fine. I’m supposed to be working on myself or something anyway. It was really clear in my head, now it’s kind of fuzzy. I should probably get back to doing that.”

“I need to go before someone comes looking for me. I don’t want them to think it’s weird we’re here alone. I’m sorry again, I’m glad we’ve cleared this up.” It’s an oddly formal response to a personal revelation, but the longer I’m around her the easier it becomes to want to test her theory.

Thankfully she doesn’t call me out. I watch as she unscrews the orange juice and holds it up to me. “To our peaceful coexistence.”