Page 35 of Camp Bliss
But no. It was yesterday. Just last night.
“Um…” I look down and notice absently that our knees are touching. Water is still dripping off Zach. Some lands on me, he’s so close. I don’t have the strength to scoot back. Instead, I focus on drawing up the conversation. What Josh said to me. “Josh was complaining. Letting the stress of all this get to him.”
I flick my gaze up to Zach to get a read on what he’s thinking. He’s frowning, as usual, like he disapproves. His gaze is too intense to hold for longer than a second, so I look down again.
“He kept making this stupid joke about running away to a tropical beach and living off our money.” I huff a laugh, but when I look back at Zach, he’s not laughing. Not even cracking a smile.
Nope. He’s glaring.
“What do you mean, hekeptmaking a joke? What did he say?”
What if we just skipped town with the money instead?
I bet we could get a really nice place somewhere, like, in Belize or Ecuador.
With some smart investments, we could make that $850,000 last a real long time, baby.
And then later….
On the couch…
Asking me if I’d run away with him.
I shake my head because he wasn’t serious.
He wasn’t.
“He…” I throw my hands up, dismissing the ridiculous thought. “He asked if we could just take all the money and live on a beach somewhere. That with the money we have for this place, we could get someplace cheap in Central or South America.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head again. “He was just blowing off steam.”
Zach’s hard face hardens more. “Was he?”
“Of course he was,” I snap. This is Josh we’re talking about. Myboyfriend.Hisbest friend.
Zach nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. He stands, and it’s only when he lets go that I realize he’s had his hands on my shoulders this whole time.
Without their grounding weight, I feel weirdly untethered.
But when I look up at him there’s nothing grounding about his expression. Water’s dripping from his clothes, his hair, and in any other circumstance, this moment might be funny. But it’s anything but. He’s looming, and I’m not a fan. I scramble to my feet and face off with him even though he’s a solid ten inches taller than me.
“I think I need to show you something,” he says, still glowering. “Come with me.”
And without another word, he turns, picks up his shoes and shirt off the dock, and in soggy socks, squelches back to Josh’s still-running truck.
I wipe my eyes and try to make sense of this whole day, but that’s too much. Instead, I just focus on getting back to the Polaris.
“C’mon, Russell.”
* * *
I shouldn’t besurprised when Zach drives past his cabin, then the lodge, and then pulls up in front of our cabin. My heartbeat stirs at the thought that we’ll open the door and find Josh there, safe and sound, with a reasonable explanation for where the hell he’s been all day.
Please, Josh. Please be there.
Zach is waiting outside of the truck, rubbing a rumpled towel that’s been in the back seat for God knows how long over his shaggy, wet head. His shirt is back on, sticking to him where his skin is still damp.
He lifts his chin toward the cabin’s door. “Go in. Tell me if anything looks off.”
