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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

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HAL, HEAR ME OUT !!! ghost coming home to wis wife on Easter, he thought he wouldnt manage to come back home in time, but Price dismisses him earlier, so he decides to surprise her by making a egg hunt for her, something she always said she liked to do when she was little, I KNOW THIS IS A SPECIFIC REQUEST, FEEL FREE TO DENY DEARIE, i just really love easter loool (and simon too)

love ur works, hal ❤

A Good Man

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Self-deprecating thoughts, allusions to Simon's past & trauma, delving into his psyche, angst, but a lot of fluff, Simon's POV

A/N: I knew I had to get this out before Easter actually came around so here it is early, Anon! This was an adorable request. Enjoy and have a happy holiday! <3

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it.

Skin shredded; showing every tear and rip with a thinly veiled sense of pride along with a detailed description of every bullet wound and burn. Rope tears along the forearms and red stab marks over the visible spine of his back. Tattoos that depict skeletons and war. He couldn’t tell you every life he had ended, but he could name names until his tongue went black and fell off; though he spared you the details.

Simon Riley was a devil incarnate. Dead-eyed and robust of body. Muscles wound with promised death and the trigger finger to prove it. His life was measured in an hourglass, the sand cascading down like the blood from his knife after a kill; it would stop flowing, one day – abrupt and final. Simon Riley was a demon, a monster. Simon Riley was a Ghost.

A ghost with an impeccable memory and a deep love for the woman currently on the living room couch.

The man blinks, slate eyes taking in the steady rise and fall of your chest with a slow melting of his shoulders. He had a doubt that you had planned to fall asleep with the Tv on – or the floor lamp, for that matter.

Its golden light slipped over your form, and he traced the flow of it as the voice of the news anchor went in one ear and out the other. Gradually, a hand slipped to the balaclava over his head as your lips let loose a grumble, nose nuzzling the feather pillow.

Simon often found himself watching you sleep when he was home; how your face would lose all tension in those brief intermissions between oblivion and awakeness. When his own nights were restless, it helped to know that at least someone was at ease, especially if it was you. The fabric slips from his tired visage, the mess of blonde locks atop his head sticking this way and that; layered with the gleam of grease. As the black face-paint stains his sockets and spreads with a swipe of a stiff palm, the ever-constant cloud over his head peels back but for a brief moment of peace.

His bag was still in the foyer, holding three months of dirty clothes and gear hostage in its zipped space; stained, and bloodied. The man himself wasn’t much better.

It had been a long few months.

Hooking the balaclava onto the belt of his cargo pants, Simon bends down on an achy knee, a grunt in his throat sounding off like a boar. Scarred fingers go to brush your cheek, though no words exit his mouth, no whispers of adoration. Just a glimmer in his eyes, a release of that furrowed line in the center of his forehead that seemed permanent these days.

Staring, the faint twitch of his lips is the only tell at all that he was content at all, feeling your skin as a feather would slide over water. He takes down a breath.

There were few instances that Simon fully remembers from his childhood – most displaced in the back of his mind with a barbed wire fence and a door with no keyhole – though there is one he refuses to lock away. His mother. He can’t help it, and before he can stop himself the words are spilling directly from his heart to his mouth.

Hell, he really must be tired.

“She’d of loved you, Sweetheart.” It’s like he’s startled by his own voice, head pulling back and walls going back up, but that delicate glimpse was enough.

A gravel voice and manchester accent bleed together to form some piece of the puzzle that was his pure adoration for you; small cardboard cuts and divots that had been given over to create a picture. Simon Riley was a ghost, yes, the Ghost, but he was never that when he was home.

He was just Simon to you.

Blue eyes study the small smile that blesses your face when the man runs his fingers into your hair and attentively separates knots; your body unconsciously molding to his touch. With a kiss on your forehead, Simon chooses to not wake you. It’s late, the man reasons, and he knows how hard it is for you to sleep when he’s gone. Almost as hard as it is for him when he can’t feel your weight on the opposite side of the thin mattress he’s cursed with in the barracks.

Against his better judgment, he’d learned to love your contact; your presence next to him and the way you fit into his arms.

As gently as he’s able, the black ink of his tattooed arm slips under your shoulders, pushing between the cushion and your limp body to lie still. The other hooks around your knees, and with a pause to make sure you weren't going to wake up, Simon lifts you as easily as a piece of paper. Your weight lays comfortingly against his chest, shallow breath hitting his neck and he thinks for a moment just how it was possible to love something more than you can love anyone else that came before.

“Simon…” Your voice brings goosebumps to his forearms, his fingers tightening over the shirt he now recognizes as his own clothing you. A smirk runs over his face.

Lips caress his pulse, a nose taking in his scent of canvas and sweat; a tinge of barely restrained corruption, a soul more damaged than a window shattered into a million pieces.

How can you stand it? How could your body instinctively lay into him and give redemption willingly?

Simon grips you ever closer, using his own body heat to lull you back to oblivion. He didn’t have an answer – probably never would – but that didn’t mean he wasn’t forever grateful.

But he was a stiff man; a stoic one.

He slips through the bedroom door, navigating in the dark as if his eyes had built-in night vision, and hums out, “it’s me. Go on – back to sleep now, Love.”

Air communes with a soft grunt, and Simon watches from the side of his vision as your lids flicker open and closed. As desperate as the fight is, it’s over fairly quickly when he lowers you to the sheets, cupping your head and setting in on the pillow.

Soft fingers wrap his lower arm, and with trapped breath, Simon watches your lips connect to the pale skin of his wrist before your form once more goes slack; ever the stubborn one to greet him even half-gone. Weak mumbles stuck forming ‘welcome home’ and ‘love you’ on a lead tongue garble to nothingness like a gargoyle’s stone speech.

“Hmm.” The Lieutenant smirks as the area tingles, preening like a bird. There are many things to say to you, but he settles with a mumbled, “Don’t hog the sheets. Gotta go take care of the mess first, copy?”

You don’t answer, of course. With a delicate pet on your head, Simon exits the room silently to take a shower and organize his gear; closing the door behind him only halfway so he can still keep an eye on you as he passes. Ever the neat partner, he wouldn’t go to sleep until all were in their proper places – clothes in the washer, knives and various licensed weapons in the nightstand, and paperwork in the office.

There was a sanctity in this. A way to get rid of the lingering adrenaline of being on Base or in the field – deterioration of the mind but in such a way it would be described as a boil to a simmer.

All of it is uneventful.

He enters the kitchen with only a white towel around his waist sometime later, flicking on the lights and running his fingers through his damp hair before bee-lining to the fridge. If there needed to be a list made of the things he loved the most, it would be fairly short – only three.

One, you, two, the adrenaline rush of a good deployment, and, finally, your food.

Simon would listen to Johnny’s rambling for days if it ended with an excellent heaping plate of whatever you cooked for supper.

Opening the fridge, the man’s eyes widen, shimmering with azure glass.

“Fuckin’ hell, Sunshine,” he breathes to himself, hand reaching inside the box with fervor, “you’ve been busy, then, eh…? Bloody feast in ‘ere.”

The Lieutenant drags out a heaping plate of steak and potatoes – a side of greens covered in plastic and a sticky note on top.

‘Save for Simon.’

The food didn’t look older than a day or two…did you save him some of your meals every once and a while just in case he would show up?

He grunts, re-reading your chicken scratch with a swelling of his chest and a foreign heat on his cheeks. Simon moves to the oven, preheating it and placing a cooling rack on a metal pan over parchment paper. Damned if the man would mess up your masterpiece; he’d reheat it properly.

With minimal noise, he waits for the meat to be done and settles on placing the potatoes in the microwave with the greens for time's sake. Standing in the kitchen, his eyes gradually fall closed, their weight heavy. But his ears perk at the faint pitter-patter of bare feet.

The sneaking arms around his waist don’t startle him, and with a sigh on his lips, Simon feels you melt into the curve of his open skin. A head connecting with his spine.

“Thought I brought you back to bed?” He whispers, flesh melding to you like hot iron, a scarred hand resting over the one that’s on his abdomen.

Your nose nestles into the burns over his back, and even if you couldn’t see it – the sudden sweep of vulnerability is nearly heard. You lay a kiss and think no more of it, but Simon shivers with beautiful agony; eyes gazing off.

“...Erm,” you groan, fingers tracing the build of his ribs, “needed to hold you.” Your breath stills – half-asleep. “You’re…here?”

Simon chuckles, hearing it echo off the walls.

“I’m ‘ere, Love. Few more bloody cuts,” he breathes, “but I’m here.”

“Good. Missed you.” A second of kisses and distant blue eyes. Muffled yawns into his flesh. “Didn’t think you’d be back in time for Easter.”

Simon twists, aware of the delicate fold of his towel, and lifts your fatigued form onto the counter, settling you down so you don’t fall sideways. He blinks down at you, cupping your cheek when your neck gets too heavy to hold up. Your lids rapidly move, your nose scrunched at the overhead light and the man knows you’re only awake because he’s home.

He utters out to you, faces close, “The Old Man let me off early,” and lays a peck to your forehead, holding his lips there for a long second. Mutters into your skin, “prickly bastard’s been antsy – hasn’t had a good drink in weeks. Was about ready to strangle someone.”

She’s warm.

His body slots itself between your legs, one arm around your back and the other placed on the counter. Simon’s forehead falls to your shoulder, and with a groan of satisfaction, he feels your fingers go through his locks; itching at his scalp dreamily.

“...Dunno whether to thank him or send ‘em to a therapist.” You whisper, kissing his neck, unable to keep your hands off each other for a mere second.

“Better to place money on the both.” His grumbled words are barely heard. “I’ve got two weeks ‘fore they need me back.”

A soft hum is all he gets before the timer goes off and he takes down a breath, forcing himself to peel back from you and grab his supper.

By the time the both of you are in bed, he’d nearly forgotten about your comment, and as he stroked your hair and felt you bring him closer under the covers, he remembers. He’d asked Price to give him two weeks on account of the holiday you’d loved so much – Easter – and had used the Captain's deteriorating attitude as a pry. It had been easy enough, the two had known each other for a long time. They knew their breaking points.

Sometimes living around a handful of other men formed unbreakable bonds of brotherhood, and while that was true for 141, it was also a pain in the ass. People long for home at the end of it – a soft touch and sweet kisses. There’s only so long you can go with yelling orders into the same faces and playing Poker in a shitty safehouse.

Simon never thought he’d be worthy of it, a home, but here he is regardless and here he would stay. And he knew Easter was your favorite time of the year, and he also knew that Easter was…tomorrow. His dead eyes widened.

The plan formed quickly, his strategic mind helping as it always does, and as he snuck out of bed and laid his lips to yours in a tiny kiss, a shirt was tossed on along with boxers. You never heard the door to the garage door opening, just snuggled back up to the pillow and an old t-shirt he’d placed in his spot instead; inhaling his calming scent.

—

When the sun had risen an hour ago and Simon had finished with heavy fingers. Groaning, the back of a hand meets a forehead, trying to swipe away sleepiness as one would a fly. But he says nothing, feet hitting the floor as he enters the kitchen, an object held in his palm that was quickly stashed in the breadbox.

This was childish, he knew, not at all like the deadly Lieutenant of TF-141. Like Ghost. The boys would tease him relentlessly if they found out.

“Simon…?” Your voice draws him back, and with a look over his shoulders, he finds you wrapped in the comforter like a mouse. “What are you doing out here?”

The lie comes easily.

“Fixin’ breakfast.” Your eyes flicker to the open breadbox, eyebrows furrowing. A smirk grows and you walk over with a laugh living in your expression.

“I don’t even trust you to toast bread, Love, go sit down. You’ve been stuck on rations for too long.” Simon only steps back, gazing over your head and seeing your hand pause. “I’ll make us some…”

He watches as he loves to do, memorizing the parting of your lips and the recognition lighting like a shy fire. The man smiles then, and it is a delicate thing; an expression not tainted with sarcasm or deception.

Your hand delves into the box and pulls out a plastic egg softly as if it would snap in two.

It’s cheap, made of thin plastic and fading in colors of the shade of pastel pink. Chipping. There’s nothing inside of it, just a bare piece of holiday joy that never meant too much to anyone beyond children. But with how you’re staring up at him, Simon thinks all the searching in the bins from the garage was worth it.

“What’s this?” Your voice wraps him close, and your hand holds the object close. Simon shrugs, digging deep into your vision.

“I’ve the faintest idea, Sunshine.” The giggle flies to his cold heart and he pulls you to his chest to still the raging of it. “My guess,” he raises a stiff brow, “intruder broke in, yeah?”

“Did this intruder have ears and a pink nose?” You ask, noses brushing. “A hop in his step, maybe?”

“Hell if I know,” Simon grunts, eyes flickering away before he can break before you. “Best get my gun just in case – you’ll ‘ave to find the rest ‘o the bastard things, though.”

You kiss him then, and he captures the back of your head, holding you to him as if you’d disappear if he let go. He doesn't know what you did to possess him so, to make his thoughts be only of you even when he’s halfway around the world. Were you an angel? A shred of light made physical? Perhaps an embodiment of all the good in the universe?

Simon had no answer, as he usually did when it came to you, and you sighed into him, whispering redemption to his soul.

You said you loved him, and he said it back with every ounce of him that was untouched by death. And then you pulled from him with a laugh that could throw away darkness and disappeared with promises of finding the remaining eggs. Like a loyal hound of hell, Simon followed, pulling on the comforter to slow you down so you don’t trip. He would always follow.

The vision of a good life starts with a view of the present. Who you choose to care about; how you make meaning of nothing but a shared morning and a memory of youth. Simon does not remember much of his childhood. Most of the memories are displaced in the back of his mind with a barbed wire fence and a door with no keyhole. Cast away.

Coated in fear and lies.

Some days he asks how he can still call himself Simon Riley – it’s the name of a dead man, after all…and then he looks at your beaming face, and his question is answered as fast as it was thought up.

You deserve Simon Riley, not Ghost. Not a devil incarnate or Dead-eyed. A demon, or a monster. If there was even a shred of purity left in him, that was what he knew beyond doubt.

Simon Riley was selfish, he admitted, and he was loathed to leave you…so here he would stay. Hiding easter eggs and giving veiled hints when you were close to one near the planted flowers in the backyard. There was a simplicity that the man bathed in – the blatant enjoyment of a plain life.

With a chuckle in the back of his throat, Simon pushes off the back porch and makes a comment about how you were closer to the dead bird you had buried in the garden bed than an egg. A flick of your middle finger leaves him smirking, and he splays a hand over your back, angling your body farther north. The kiss left on his stubbled cheek makes him warmer than he wants to admit; cold eyes soften.

If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it…but he was trying to be damn near close. Until then, the ring he had bought would stay in his office.

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foreveralwaysanauthor · 9 months

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Camp Wanamaker (Ch 7/10)

August 13, 2023

Notes - First of all, Eleanor, I just want to say that I got the notification for your next part as I was getting in bed last night, and if forcing myself to not read it yet wasn't torture enough, I made myself finish this chapter so I'd have that as a reward. I'll probably have to read it in the morning now as I'm exhausted tonight, but I am so excited to get into it! You have no idea! Second, there are so many scrapped versions of this chapter, it's insane! I really just wanted to focus on the relationships and how they work. I was going to post this yesterday, but ended up deleting most of the last part so that I could really focus on the ending. In the end, this chapter is, probably, one of the most easter-egg-filled ones I’ve written so far, and I’m immensely proud of it.

Chapter 7 - Lay All Your Love On Me

For the first time in two weeks, silence permeated the air of Camp Wanamaker. It wasn’t unusual, per se, to have some semblance of quiet after the campers left the grounds, but after getting used to the noise and excitement that filled every open space of the camp, the silence was almost too much for many of the workers. Thankfully, the silence hadn’t been there for long as rain filled the area. A week of nothing but rain and cloudy, dreary days had been forecasted for the majority of New Hampshire as a storm from Nova Scotia loomed closer and closer to the coastal state.

Many of the camp’s staff were glad the clouds had waited for the campers to flee the area before unleashing their downpours, while others were simply glad to receive some form of reprieve from the scorching temperatures and chokingly thick humidity. Those with breathing difficulties had found safety in buildings with air conditioning units throughout the weeks, but as everyone adjusted to the cool rain, the metal window fixtures were found to be practically pointless.

As the familiar, chirpy rhythm of an almost too-upbeat eighties song echoed over the speakers as a wake-up call, Mick looked up from the novel she had been reading for well over an hour. Rolling her eyes with a smirk, she softly began singing along to the lyrics as Dead or Alive’s mega-hit song You Spin Me Round (Like A Record) played throughout the camp. She wasn’t too surprised by the choice as Vivien’s grandfather had played a majority of eighties hits over the last seven weeks of camp, but as Miles stumbled his way out of his room looking as though he would break the camp’s announcement system if given the chance, it seemed as though not everyone was as thrilled by the choice as she was.

Watching as Miles grumbled a greeting to those on the couch before making his way down the hallway toward the kitchen, Mick shook her head and returned to her book. She often wondered how he had managed to survive without Vivien’s coffee concoctions first thing in the morning. She could recall making coffee runs for him early on in their friendship, bringing him three cups of coffee throughout the workday just to get him functioning properly. Now that he had Vivien personally making him some of whatever blend she normally fixed for herself in the morning, he was drinking a bit less and still getting through just fine. Granted, even if Vivien’s mystery blend had tasted like nothing more than watered-down dirt in a mug, she was sure Miles still would have drunk it. He needed caffeine to function and, if that meant chugging his way through disgustingly mud-like sludge in a cup, Mick knew he would do just that to get some semblance of alertness.

As the main character of her book, Beatrice Prior, followed the tour guide through the Dauntless compound, Mick distantly overheard Vivien and Royce snickering in the hallway as they made their way to the living room from the kitchen. She couldn’t hear most of what they were saying, but she could guess it had to have something to do with Miles as Royce mentioned something about the flavored creamer they would have to replace sooner rather than later. As the pair made their way through the living room, prying Bentley from his spot on the couch as they went, Mick looked up from her book, making sure the young trio stayed out of the rain as they headed outside to sit on the porch swing.

It wasn’t odd for them to sit outside while it rained, but Mick knew they had a tendency to sit on the steps or on the sand near the deck, letting the rain soak them until they looked more like drowned possums than anything. The last thing she wanted was for one of them to get sick on their week off. However, much to Mick’s pleasure, they simply took their places on the porch swing and began reading together. Grateful that the screen door allowed her to observe them from a distance, Mick hummed softly to herself before returning to her book. After a while, Riven joined them outside and Mick’s senty-like watch fell as she relaxed further into the couch’s cushions. The kids were safe with Riven around; that was all she needed to know.

They wouldn’t have long to sit around and relax before breakfast, that much she knew, but the draw of her book was too strong to fight. After spending the last week standing in for a girl named Hayden who suffered a case of sun poisoning and could barely move, let alone act in their murder mystery plot, Mick felt she deserved a break. She wasn’t an actress and, despite how welcoming and reassuring everyone had been when she joined them in the mess hall for a quick practice every morning, the week had been nothing but stress for her. Getting thrown a new script after dinner every day and having to put on a good show for the campers wasn’t as easy as everyone else made it out to be.

Mick didn’t look up again until the couch shifted, the newcomer’s weight tilting her slightly to the right. Glancing at Miles from the corner of her eyes, Mick placed her index finger between the pages of her book as a bookmark and closed it, leaning her head on Miles’ shoulder as he leaned his head back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The two sat in silence for a while, the only noises in the area being the heavy droplets of rain and the occasional chirp of the kids’ voices. With everything going on, a majority of the camp’s staff hadn’t had the opportunity to sit in relative silence, but to Mick, it felt like something more meaningful than that.

She and Miles had known each other for over three years at that point and, despite the time they spent with everyone else, they hardly had the time to spend one-on-one time with each other. With how busy everyone was that summer, she wasn’t surprised that they couldn’t find the time to just relax and hang out, but even before the summer started, Miles was always with the kids or Carrie, spending little time with Mick or Butchy. She wasn’t one to complain as she knew the kids were Miles’ top priority, but she sort of missed being able to sit around on the couch, talking with Miles, or playing video games with him like old times.

Granted, it wasn’t just with Miles that Mick felt this way. Though she would hate to admit it, she had begun to feel rather lonely. She would never voice her feelings, though. Everyone had so much on their plates already and, if she were to unleash all that had piled up in her head, it would only add to the mounting levels of stress everyone was already under. That was the last thing she wanted. For the time being, she would simply have to suck it up and deal with her emotions on her own. She could handle herself. Besides, even if someone were to call her out on her behavior, she could easily blame it on her period; it was almost a week later than normal anyway and wouldn’t be an outlandish excuse.

Just as she was about to lift her head from Miles’ shoulder, she felt him shift, his head lifting from the couch and his arm pulling out from under her to wrap around her shoulders. As she brought her arm around her makeshift brother’s middle, a light pressure to her hair had Mick tightening her grasp on him. Miles sighed as he asked, “Are you feeling alright?”

Shrugging minutely, Mick breathed, “Just tired.”

Miles lightly squeezed Mick’s shoulder and rubbed at her upper arm as he snickered, “That’s supposed to be my job, Mickie.”

Allowing her eyes to close, Mick chuckled airily, “In that case, it sounds like you’d better put in for unemployment because I’m taking your job today.”

Miles allowed himself to smile, but as he peered down at the younger girl, he could feel his expression falter. Dark circles inhabited the usually tan skin under Mick’s eyes, her normally sun-kissed skin appeared paler than normal, and her lips were drawn together in a tight line. He had seen her like this before when she was sick, but as far as he knew, Mick hadn’t been sick for almost a year. She was far healthier than most people Miles knew and her immune system was something of an impenetrable fortress, so for her to look physically ill and drained of color, something had to be wrong. Granted, her appearance could have been due to stress or lack of sleep, but it still worried Miles all the same.

Just as he was about to voice his concerns, Butchy entered the room, tucking his cell phone into his back pocket as he smiled at the pair on the couch. Before the older of the two bikers could greet them, Miles raised his free hand and gestured for him to stop. Once Butchy had stilled by the end of the couch, an eyebrow raised questioningly toward his long-time friend, Miles pointed toward Mick before silently asking if she was okay. Butchy shrugged, not having spent much time with his wife in the last week due to their conflicting schedules. Leaning to the side slightly and taking a better look at Mick’s appearance, however, Butchy regretted not setting aside time for her sooner.

Meeting Miles’ worried gaze once more, Butchy opened his mouth to greet them when a certain blonde stepped into the room from the hallway, calling out a chirpy, “Good morning!”

As Mick’s eyes peeled open, Butchy attempted to act as though he had just entered the room, taking a place on the couch as his wife and Miles gave greetings of their own to Carrie. As Mick sat up to give Miles and Carrie the opportunity to spend some time together, Butchy watched from the other side of the couch, making sure she was moving well enough and checking to see if he needed to help her in any way. His wife settled in with her book as Carrie curled into Miles’ left side and, while Butchy would typically make some snide remark about her or try to goad her into an argument of some sort, he couldn’t find it in himself to try. Despite Carrie’s clipped remark about how quiet it was that morning - a sign that even she had noticed Butchy’s silence - he couldn’t bring himself to care. His focus was solely aimed at Mick as she turned from one page to another.

By the time the breakfast notice echoed through the grounds, Carrie and Miles had left the cabin to sit outside with the kids, leaving Butchy and Mick to their own devices. Butchy was almost certain that Miles would use the time to tell the others that something wasn’t quite right with Mick - his brotherly instincts toward the young woman too strong to fight - and he was grateful for the peace and quiet all the same. Mick either hadn’t noticed their solitude or simply hadn’t voiced her opinion on the situation, but either way, it allowed Butchy to move across the couch and get a closer look at his wife’s condition.

Apart from her tired outward appearance, Butchy couldn’t be sure if anything was wrong. She hadn’t coughed or sneezed, she hadn’t rushed to the bathroom to be sick, and she wasn’t shuddering from a cold shiver that nobody else seemed to have. If it weren’t for her skin taking on a pale, sunken-in appearance, he wouldn’t be worried. She looked exhausted and Butchy hoped that it was just that - exhaustion. He hoped it wasn’t something serious. He wasn’t quite sure how he would handle it if it was something more than that.

Regardless, as the call for breakfast came through over the speakers and the others came inside to grab raincoats or umbrellas, Butchy watched as Mick tucked a sticky note into the book she had been occupied with and rose from the couch, making her way toward the coat rack where she grabbed her trusty poncho. Butchy was quick to follow her, hoping to keep an eye on her as much as he could until he could figure out what was wrong. He would give her a few days and check in with her to see how she was holding up. Maybe she just needed to take a break and recuperate from the stress of the previous week. Yeah, Butchy thought to himself, maybe that was it.

Weathermen were good liars. Anyone in the northeastern United States could tell you that. It seemed as though all the news companies decided to band together one day and lie to everyone about the weather for the rest of human existence. If they forecasted hurricane-force winds or strong thunderstorms, the most any New Englander would feel were some light breezes or a drizzling of rain. It was when they reported sunshine that you knew something was up. Unless you were already dealing with a heat wave, you knew that smiling cartoon of a sun wearing sunglasses on the television screen would be taunting you with the idea of a nice, warm, sunny day.

The ever-changing, New England weather was nothing new to Hayley Mays. She had grown up in New Hampshire’s bipolar weather; her skin thickening with the winter cold and tanning with the summer sun. Almost all of her thirty-eight years of life had been spent either swimming in the nearby lake or shoveling snow out of her neighbors’ driveways with her sister. And she had done both of those things in the same week more than once.

Hayley had grown used to the weatherman’s constant lies. Brian Strzempko and his pack of lies greeted her nearly every morning when she would go downstairs for breakfast at her parents’ house, spouting off about the expected hail or “three inches” of snow. Every morning, she would roll her eyes; someone needed to get that man a ruler. Nowadays, Hayley and Charlie would get their news off of their phones and, even though Hayley still refused to believe whatever the forecast was, she knew Charlie still had the false hope that whoever made the forecast would be right. Granted, Charlie wasn’t from New England and presumably trusted the meteorologists back in Virginia.

Hayley had been fairly surprised when she discovered in college that the news anchors in Virginia didn’t lie nearly as much as they did in her home state. When she had questioned Charlie about it, her - at the time - twenty-year-old friend was confused, but it was obvious that the confusion had quickly washed away after she moved to New Hampshire a handful of years down the road. Regardless of the weathermen and the lies they fed the people, Charlie still checked her weather app religiously and Hayley still wondered why.

Take that Monday, for example. The forecast called for a party-cloudy day with a high of eighty-one degrees - a simple, sunny day with low humidity. Despite Hayley’s discrete eye roll as her beloved wife read out the forecast over their morning tea session, Charlie had chosen to wear her finest pair of overall shorts and a pink, frilly tee with lace lining. Hayley, on the other hand, kept it simple with a pair of gray shorts she’d bought from the men’s section for extra length and a shirt from an old bowling alley she had worked at, keeping her clear plastic, raincoat wrapped around her waist for the inevitable downpour.

She wasn’t going to admit defeat as they touched down on the pine-needle-laden ground, the sun blaring down overhead. Even as the sun rose higher and the heat began to grow, Hayley refused to hang her coat up. As she and Charlie parted ways - Hayley busying herself with painting while Charlie worked with the playhouse staff to set up for the next two weeks of play practice - she handed her trust raincoat to her wife with a knowing smile and a bid of good luck and made her way to the art barn.

Having gotten quite used to the presence of her biological daughter’s best friend, Hayley offered Bentley a gentle smile as the boy looked up from the lump of clay he was attempting to shape. “How’s it coming, little man?”

“It’s not,” Bentley sighed as Hayley approached him. “I was trying to make a coffee mug for Miles but my foot hit the pedal while I was smoothing it with the spatula thing and I ended up stabbing a hole in it and it caved in on itself.”

“Yeesh,” Hayley cringed, examining the blob of clay on Bentley’s tray. “Starting from scratch again?”

“I’m gonna try,” Bentley nodded, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

Pushing the boy’s hair from his face, Hayley grabbed an extra elastic from her wrist and secured his hair in a little bump before pressing a kiss to his forehead with a smile of encouragement. “Well, you know where to find me if you need help.”

“And I probably will,” Bentley chuckled.

Hayley nudged the teenager as she began walking away, “You and I both know that isn’t true. You’re an incredible artist, Ben.”

“Thanks, Aunt Hayley.”

Hayley’s hand froze as she searched the drying racks for the canvas she had been working on recently. It wasn’t often that Vivien’s friends called her by anything more than her first name or “Vivien’s aunt” - save for Riven, who had always claimed he considered her the aunt he never had. While she welcomed the term with ease normally, this was the first time Bentley had chosen to do so. Turning to smile at the young boy, Hayley watched as he worked on the clump of clay before him, having already moved on from the conversation.

Taking in a breath, Hayley hummed softly and pulled her canvas from the racks, setting up an easel near the window so that she could watch the weather change and keep an eye on the youngest boy at the camp. While they worked, Hayley found herself listening as the young boy to her left began humming old songs, occasionally joining him when she knew the tune. Whether he noticed or not, she didn’t know, but the small, wordless interaction brought a smile to her face all the same. Just as they worked their way to the chorus of Elvis Presley’s famous “(You’re the) Devil In Disguise”, a deep growl of thunder rumbled overhead, signaling a storm inbound.

Glancing out the window at the playhouse where everyone began carrying things inside to keep them safe from the rain, Hayley snickered softly to herself, “Told ya so.”

“Huh?” Bentley wondered, looking over from his seat.

Hayley shook her head with a smile, “Just something I said to Charlie this morning.”

Shrugging, Bentley returned to his work and Hayley glanced out the window once more, watching as her wife hastily grabbed a piece of plastic from one of the nearby picnic tables and pulled it over her shoulders, tugging the hood over her head in disbelief as she began instructing her fellow staff members on where to put everything. Hayley grinned as she returned to her painting, allowing the gentle pattering of rain on the roof to ease her back into her work. However, it wasn’t long before the door of the art barn swung open and slammed shut once again, revealing a rather soaked Makana Birch.

As the girl turned to rest against the door, wide-eyed and out of breath from running, Hayley got a good look at her. The girl’s cheap, knock-off Converse squelched puddles on the hardwood floors, her hair clung to her skin as though it had been glued down, and her shirt would have been see-through if it wasn’t red, but that wasn’t what caught Hayley’s eye. Instead, it was Mick’s pair of recently tie-dyed, terry cloth shorts that clearly didn’t get rinsed out well enough as they dripped a myriad of colors down the girl’s legs. It didn’t seem as though Mick noticed the issue as she stared up at the ceiling and fought to catch her breath, but Hayley quickly realized Bentley had seen it as well.

Before Bentley could say anything, Hayley stood from her seat and put a hand on his shoulder, lightly shaking her head when he looked up at her. Nodding understandingly, Bentley watched as Hayley crossed the room and grabbed a towel from the closet where they kept some backup umbrellas and rain ponchos along with the cleaning supplies. Handing Mick the towel, Hayley made sure she was breathing well enough before asking, “What happened to you?”

Wrapping the soft towel around her shoulders, Mick sucked in a breath and explained, “We were cleaning the pool and got the town’s all-call about some potential tornados in the area. Noah and some of the others took off to warn the people in the music hall and dance studio while I put everything away. This is my first stop.”

“And your last,” Hayley commented, prying Mick from the door and ushering her to a chair that had enough dried paint on it that it could probably be kept in an art exhibit.

“What do you mean?” Mick asked, using the ends of the towel to dry her face slightly as Hayley led her away.

This time, it was Bentley who answered as he wheeled his seat over toward Mick, “You look like you’re bleeding a rainbow out of your shorts.”

Moving the towel from her face, Mick looked down and let out a shocked breath as she took in the state of her legs. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she whined. “I just made these shorts two days ago!”

Bentley attempted to hide his smirk as he said, “Now they look like the inside of a bag of M&Ms when you hold it too long.”

Mick let out a disgruntled noise as she dropped into her chair, examining her stained skin with a look of disdain. “How on earth am I going to get this off?”

“We’ll try some petroleum jelly,” Hayley spoke calmly. “That’s how I used to get hair dye of my skin. If it doesn’t work, we’ll get some rubbing alcohol or acetone. We’ll find a way to get it off.”

Mick heaved a sigh, glancing at her hands to make sure she hadn’t gotten dye on her fingers before running them through her hair, pushing clinging strands from her face. “I think I’m going to go back to the cabin. Maybe a shower will get some of it off.”

“Maybe,” Bentley commented. “I’ll bring some acetone just in case.”

Mick brushed him off with a wave of her hand, “I should be fine. I think there should still be some under the sink from when Vivien painted Miles’ nails while he was sleeping.”

Hayley let out a snort of laughter, “He sure has his work cut out for him with that kid around.”

Mick nodded, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips as she rose from her chair. Handing the towel back to Hayley, she sighed, “I’d better go before everyone crowds the place. I’ll see you guys later.”

Though Hayley looked ready to argue for the girl to stay until the rain lightened, Mick made her exit quick, clicking the door shut behind herself before running down the path toward the beach. Making her way toward the front of the building, Hayley watched Mick run toward where the sand and grass met, keeping an eye on her until she disappeared from sight. “Hm,” she hummed to herself as she slowly turned toward Bentley, “did she seem alright to you?”

Bentley shrugged as he folded the chair Mick had sat on and set it aside. “She was probably just upset about her shorts.”

Hayley nodded thoughtfully; it was plausible. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

When Butchy arrived back at the lodge Monday night, his wife was nowhere to be found. Despite reassurances from both Bentley and Hayley that Mick had returned safely to the wooden cabin, he didn’t allow himself to relax until he saw her silently leave her room. He had followed her to the kitchen area, hoping to figure out why he hadn’t seen her, but she simply explained that she’d had a rough day and wanted time alone to breathe. After spending three years with his now-wife, Butchy understood the silent signal he had been given and allowed her to return to her room with the Hot Pockets she had heated in the microwave. The last time he had seen her that night was when he hesitantly knocked on her door to wish her a good night.

The fog that flooded the area on Tuesday morning brought with it the first sign of sunshine. The distant rays that glowed through the dense fog cast hazy shadows over most of the campground. Although the glowing ball of fire in the sky tried its hardest, it wasn’t quite strong enough to break through the thick clouds and the lingering fog. With more rain forecasted to come in the next few days, it was no surprise that the sky remained gray despite the rising sun pushing its way over the horizon.

Butchy sat on the edge of his bed as he took in the ominous fog that covered the lake like a thick blanket on a cold winter morning. Rainwater from the roof sloshed through the clunky white gutter pipe that rattled against the outer wall of his bedroom, but Butchy paid it little mind. He had listened to it every day it rained and the sound felt more like background noise than an annoyance. As he rose from his bed, Butchy smiled to himself. He was sure that, if Vivien’s grandfather chose the right song, it would feel like they had stepped onto the set of some sort of summer camp, slasher movie from the eighties. Then, just as quickly as the thought had come into his mind, it left as he heard the faintest click from outside his bedroom.

Inching his way to the door, Butchy slowly turned the handle and pulled the door of his room open just enough to see a head of wavy, caramel hair go through the archway into the living room. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand and sighed softly; he didn’t want her to feel ambushed first thing in the morning. Hoping to give Mick some time for herself, Butchy wasted a few minutes tidying his already fairly neat room and putting a few clothes in the hamper he would be bringing to the laundry all too soon. After checking his clock once more, Butchy tucked his cell phone into his pocket and grabbed a book from the dresser he had left by the door before heading into the hallway and making his way toward the living room.

Sure enough, Mick had tucked herself into the corner of the couch as she seemed to do almost every day, her nose buried in a book as she curled herself as close as she could to the back of the couch. The only light she had came from a small, clip-on lamp that Mick had bought ages ago at the dollar store - a cheap, plastic little light that just barely held its angled shape and flickered like a strobe light at a rave if she dared to shift her hands anywhere near the clasp - but after using it for so long, she had grown accustomed to the cheap light and its idiosyncrasies. Butchy had tried to replace the little lamp for her so she wouldn’t have to fight with it so much, but she had stated more than once that she was fine with it and would continue to use it until the light gave out on her. As Mick flipped a page and the light objected to the movement, Butchy heard her muttering a plea for the lamp to continue doing its job as he leaned against the archway.

“You know,” he began, a smile on his face as Mick lifted her gaze from the flickering light before her, “one of these days, that little thing just might electrocute you.”

Mick rolled her eyes, a small grin appearing on her face as she retorted, “If that were to happen, my gravestone would say I died doing what I loved.”

As he approached his wife, Butchy let out a breath of a laugh, “Ah, so you love books more than me?”

“No,” Mick replied with ease as she sat up, allowing Butchy to fill the space between her back and the arm of the couch if he desired, “but if my headstone said that and I died while I was ‘doing you’, that might change the meaning a little bit.”

“Maybe a little,” Butchy agreed as he slid into the space his wife offered him. Once they had relaxed into a comfortable position once more and Butchy felt Mick let out a slow, deep breath as she reclined against him, he asked, “How are you feeling this morning?”

Tucking her makeshift bookmark into the novel in her hands, Mick sighed and set the book aside, “Tired.”

“Did you not sleep well?” Butchy asked. Before Mick could answer, he added, “You could have come to my room for the night; you know that, right?”

“I know,” Mick reassured as she shifted, peering up at her husband, “I think it’s just the weather dragging me down. The heat and humidity were bad enough, but the rain the past few days has just added to it. Now, I feel so drained and I don’t know how to push past it.”

As Butchy threaded his fingers into Mick’s hair, a familiar tingle of electricity coursing up his arm at the contact, he took in a deep breath. He never liked to see Mick upset, especially when he had no idea how to help her. He couldn’t change the weather for her, he couldn’t alter her emotions, and, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t read her mind to figure out what was truly bothering her. Although he could feel the slightest hint of uselessness seeping into his skin at the idea of being unable to help his wife, Butchy swallowed thickly and pushed his thoughts aside, pushing a smile onto his face as he wondered, “Why do you have to push past it?”

“What do you mean?” Mick questioned, her eyebrow lifting ever so slightly.

“The last few weeks have been nothing short of overwhelming for you,” Butchy stated. “You’ve been an archery instructor, a lifeguard, and an accomplice to a made-up murder while also dealing with an absurd amount of children and heat. Why not just take the week to relax and let yourself recover?”

With a sigh, Mick shook her head, “I have to get the pool ready; I can’t take time off like that when they need me.”

“You and I both know that the other lifeguards are more than capable of getting everything there ready.”

“I also have to help with setting up everything in the playhouse this week and making sure everything moves the way it’s supposed to on stage.”

“And I’m sure that the kids would be willing to help if we asked them to,” Butchy tried.

“I can’t ask that of them,” Mick said. “Besides, I promised I would help - I can’t just not show up.”

Butchy tried not to sigh. It was times like these he wished he could make Mick see things through his eyes. Her determination to help people was something he adored about her, but it was also one of her greatest faults. She tended to spread herself paper-thin and would refuse to back down from any commitments she had made despite the overbearing stress that would mount on her shoulders. It was something he was trying to work with her on as she realized just how much of a toll it was putting on herself. However, Butchy knew that now was not the time to try to work things out as she seemed adamant and unwavering.

Instead of arguing his point with Mick, Butchy allowed a small grin to tug at his lips as he pulled her head down, resting her ear over his chest. “Alright,” he relented, “but we’re still going to get some extra help.”

“Why?”

“Because you and I are taking the day off on Saturday,” Butchy said. “We’ll hop in the truck and get away from everything for a day. How does that sound?”

“Heavenly,” Mick breathed.

“Good,” Butchy sighed. “It’ll give us both something to work toward through the week.”

Mick let out a long breath, shifting to lie on her stomach as she brought her arms around her husband’s middle, “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” Butchy muttered as he pressed a kiss to Mick’s hair. “You know I would do anything for you.”

“Mhm,” Mick hummed, nodding against Butchy’s shirt as she squeezed him. “And I would for you.”

With their books seemingly forgotten in favor of the comfort they absorbed from the other person’s presence, Mick and Butchy relaxed on the couch, curled up in the corner as they waited for the sun to rise. After an hour or two, the announcement system would crackle to life with some song off of the hastily thrown-together playlist Vivien had sent her grandparents after the first staff meeting seven, almost eight weeks prior. For the time being, they had each other and that was all that mattered. There was no need to rush the morning along. Besides, by the time everyone else chose to pry themselves from their blankets and join them in the living area, they would most likely be invested in their novels; still curled close to each other, but far more relaxed as they squeezed each other's hands before turning a page and celebrated the end of a chapter with a kiss.

Despite Mick trying to convince Butchy to leave well enough alone, he had still asked the kids to help out with the duties Mick had signed herself up for. With Bentley and Royce helping in the playhouse and Vivien dragging Noah and his girlfriend into helping her at the pool, things seemed to finish a lot faster than they normally would have. By noon on Wednesday, everything in the playhouse was set for the upcoming performance, and the pool had been drained, cleaned, re-filled, shocked, and prepped for the upcoming weeks. With nothing else to do for the rest of the day, Mick was stationed with Vivien and Riven in the main office, the three of them trying to figure out what the next week would bring.

It wasn’t odd for the three to be pulled aside and asked to help in the office as they were three staff members who had grown up in the camp and knew what most kids wanted. However, as the mid-week rush of phone calls from eager parents practically glued Riven to the chair by the phone as he reassured everyone that their payments had gone through and that their children were on the roster for the upcoming weeks, the task of figuring out something to do for the next week or so was left solely on the shoulders of two brunettes.

“We can’t just do water balloon fights every day of the week, Viv,” Mick argued with a roll of her eyes. “Not only would it get boring after a few days, but it would also be a pain in the ass to clean up.”

“Not if we got those reusable ones off of TikTok!” Vivien tried. When she took in the unwavering look in Mick’s eyes, she sighed and scratched the idea off of her list, “Fine. How about doing a gold rush?”

“We did that last year,” Mick sighed, tapping her pencil on the table. “Five teenagers got into a fight in the makeshift saloon and we had to bring two of them to the emergency room with broken body parts.”

“Okay,” Vivien breathed, crossing out yet another of her ideas.

“How about we do a monster mash?” Mick suggested, resting the eraser of her pencil next to the idea. “We haven’t done that in a few years.”

“And with good reason,” Vivien snickered. “Remember that kid who dressed up like a Demogorgon and snuck into Kittery Cabin in the middle of the night? Grandpa and Nonna had to deal with calls from angry parents for weeks afterward because of all the nightmares the kids were having.”

“Guess we can cross that off too,” Mick muttered as she blocked off another idea. After scanning her list again, Mick crossed off a few more ideas and sighed, “I think that’s all of my ideas. Please tell me you have something good on yours.”

Vivien hummed thoughtfully, looking over her list and sighing as she crossed a few off the list. Bringing everyone figure skating or horseback riding wasn’t the greatest of ideas, water balloon dodgeball was off the table, they didn’t have enough time to put together a Ninja Warrior course, game show weeks never went well, and junkyard wars always ended up with broken friendships as everyone fought to have their machine made a certain way. With everything else crossed off, Vivien was left with a total of three ideas on her extensive paper, and, to her dismay, only one of them seemed good enough to be used.

“Well,” Vivien drawled hesitantly, “the carnival is coming to Laconia next week.”

“The carnival?”

“Yeah,” Vivien nodded, “you know, like with the Ferris wheel, the Round-Up, and the Yo-Yo? Someone always gets sick after one of the Pharoh rides and the whole place has this overwhelming smell of fried dough, snow cones, and popcorn?”

Of course, Mick knew what she meant. She had been to the carnival every year for as long as she could remember. Whether it was riding in the spinning pumpkins or zipping along on Rockstar Racers, Mick had always enjoyed the local carnival. Taking everyone to the carnival for the week would be a fun break from the norm and, in theory, it could work. Every camper was supposed to have money on them for excursions and, even if the camp needed to pitch in to get some kids into the fairgrounds, it wouldn’t be an outlandish amount of money.

Slowly, Mick nodded. “We’ll have to run it by Chief and Nonna first to see if they’d be up to it, but I think that just might be our best shot at having a plan for the week.”

Holding her hand out palm-up, Vivien beamed as Mick high-fived her. “A week full of rides, fried food, and children screaming at the tops of their lungs.”

With a soft chuckle, Mick nudged the girl as she asked, “You plan on being one of those screaming children?”

Vivien shrugged as she tugged her elastic from her hair, “For one reason or another, yeah.”

“What do you mean?” Mick wondered as she picked up her pencil and wrote Vivien’s idea on her notepad.

Vivien sighed as she pulled her hair into a ponytail, “Well, I’ll either be screaming because of the rides or because of the insane cramps I’ve been getting. Either way, there will be screaming.”

“Did you take anything for them?”

“Tylenol,” Vivien confirmed.

“But it isn’t touching it?”

“Nope.”

“You could have asked me for some,” Mick sighed. “Me or Carrie. We would have given you something.”

Once again, Vivien shrugged, “It doesn’t really matter. I’ll work out some and drink extra water and I’ll be fine. Besides, it’ll be over in three days anyway.”

“That’s it?” Mick asked as she rose from her seat. When Vivien nodded, Mick scoffed, “You lucky little shit. My period lasts at least a week.”

Vivien smiled, chuckling as she stood and followed Mick to the door, “Yeah, well, I don’t get my period often at all, so it usually hits hard and then goes away after maybe two or three days.”

“Oh,” Mick breathed. “Do you have an IUD? I heard that those stop your period.”

“No, I just don’t get them a lot,” Vivien admitted. “I don’t need birth control anyway.”

“Be grateful you don’t yet,” Mick sighed. “When I was testing the waters, I tried one that basically destroyed me. When you start looking around, make sure to check the side effects before you jump in.”

Although Vivien nodded, she let out a breath before swallowing and admitting, “You know, I don’t think that will be a problem for me.”

“Maybe not,” Mick shrugged, “but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”

“I know, it’s just…” Vivien stalled as her voice drifted off, her fingers twisting nervously in the strings of her hoodie. “I won’t need birth control.”

Mick stopped, turning to the younger girl with a smile that looked as though she knew everything going through the young brunette’s mind. “Vivi, I know you and Royce aren’t there quite yet - and to that, I applaud you both - but there may come a time where that could change. If it does, you’ll need to be looking into those things.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Vivien said with a shake of her head. Stepping close to the older girl, Vivien reached out a hesitant hand, slipping her fingers into Mick’s hand as she lowered her voice and admitted, “Mickie, I won’t need it because I can’t get pregnant.”

As though she had been caught in a game of freeze tag, Mick stood still, looking over the girl before her with wide eyes. “What?”

“My mom took me to the doctors before summer started to see about birth control because Royce and I were spending the summer here,” Vivien stated. “Something about her knowing what the staff members get up to when the adults aren’t looking.”

“Understandable,” Mick breathed. After all, she knew all too well just how easy it was for counselors to sneak off when they had nothing better to do.

Vivien shrugged, “Yeah, well, when I brought up to my doctor how irregular my periods are, she decided to run a few tests to see if there were any underlying things going on. They tested me for endometriosis, a few autoimmune disorders, and a bunch of other stuff while they were at it.”

“And?”

“And they found I have PCOS,” Vivien admitted. “It won’t kill me or anything, but it causes infertility. They put me on a medication to test how it works on me and, while I still won’t get pregnant if it helps, it should make things a bit easier as time goes on.”

Mick nodded as she took in the information. Then, with a tentative look in her eyes, she asked, “You’re okay with not having kids?”

“They’re cute and all, but to be honest, I never wanted them,” Vivien chuckled. “I’d rather be the cool aunt who babysits, spoils them silly, and sends them back to their parents. Besides, I only recently started getting more confident in how I look, and the idea of my stomach expanding and having to push something the size of a bowling ball out of my vagina sounds horrifying to me.”

With a chuckle, Mick shook her head before sending a smile Vivien’s way and wrapping an arm around the teen’s shoulders, pulling her close as she began walking toward the office door. “You’d rather be the auntie, huh?”

“Only the coolest auntie to ever walk the face of the earth,” Vivien agreed. “I’d take them to the mall and to the movies, teach them to skate, and do all the fun stuff with them that their parents don’t wanna do.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

Mick snickered, squeezing Vivien to her side as she opened the door to the front desk, “Well, then you’ll have your work cut out for you once the rest of us start popping out kids left, right, and center.”

Vivien let out a snort, “Did they not make you watch that nightmare-fuel movie in school because, believe me, you won’t be popping anything out of anywhere.”

Rolling her eyes, Mick nudged Vivien into the office and allowed the conversation to drop as the younger brunette made her way to where Riven was sitting, talking on the phone with someone neither of them could make out. From the look of it, however, Mick had gotten the better end of the deal as Riven ran a frustrated hand through his hair. As Vivien perched herself on the desk and began taunting Riven by mimicking whoever was on the phone, Mick smiled, shaking her head at the girl’s antics as she pulled out her phone. Unlocking the device, she sent a quick message to Vivien's grandmother about the idea the girl had proposed before switching to the conversation she had been having with her husband.

After rereading the last messages they had sent each other, Mick smiled to herself and brought up her keyboard before typing, ‘How do you feel about having a movie night with everyone? We can get some popcorn, string up a sheet in the living room, and just spend time together.’

The response came quicker than she had anticipated as her phone pinged. ‘Sounds good to me,’ Butchy had typed. ‘Might have to wait until tomorrow, though. Someone fell from the rock wall and we’re waiting on an ambulance.’

‘Does it look that bad?’ she tapped quickly.

‘Worse,’ was Butchy’s first response. ‘We’ll probably have a staff meeting on safety once they get back from the hospital.’

‘Oh yay,’ Mick typed, hoping her sarcasm came through loud and clear. By Butchy’s quickly sent laughing emoji, she guessed it had. ‘Guess we’ll pick out a movie tomorrow then.’

‘Guess so,’ Butchy replied. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ Mick quickly sent. ‘It happens. I’ll see you after.’

‘Ok, love you.’

‘Love you too.’

The overpowering stench of charred popcorn filled the air as the window above the kitchen sink was pushed open. Most of the cabin would smell the blackened remnants of the buttery snack within a few minutes if they couldn’t already and, although the window was open, it wouldn’t do much to rid the log cabin of the overwhelming smell. While Royce was immensely glad he was the only one close enough to have to face the full force of the stench, he still felt as though it choked him, resulting in him taking a quick gulp of air before making his way to the microwave.

Quickly opening the silver and black box, Royce grabbed the bag by the corner and hastily closed the microwave before making his way to the window where he held the bag of decently scorched popcorn outside to air out. He could have easily taken it out the back door, opened the bag, and thrown the inedible food out on the grass for the birds and squirrels, but he wasn’t sure they would take it either. The only thing he was sure about was that he was going to have to avoid the kitchen for a few days until the smell no longer permeated every inch of the space.

For once, the horrendously burned food wasn’t due to Mick’s dad attempting to cook and he was almost positive that he was going to end up being the focus of his friends’ teasing for a while as a result. One thing Royce could never manage to properly make in the modern world was popcorn and, despite Vivien’s many efforts to teach him not to trust the instructions on the backs of the bags, he simply couldn’t manage to make a bag without burning some. If it had been something like Jiffy Pop where he could make the popcorn on the stove like they did back home, he would have been fine. However, the modern world had changed and, although the stovetop popcorn was still available in stores, not a single shop in Sanbornton kept them in stock and he wasn’t about to make anyone take the trip out to a bigger store just so that he could make popcorn. After all, he wasn’t even supposed to be in charge of the popcorn.

Miles had originally been tasked to make the snack as he had some magical knowledge as to how to add butter throughout the bowl without it all getting soggy and gross. However, as he was pulled away to help Butchy and Vivien hang up the sheet in the living room, Royce was left monitoring the bag of now-burnt popcorn. Thankfully, two other bags had already been made up, but Royce wasn’t sure anyone would want him searching through the cupboards for another packet that would just end up charred.

Before he could attempt to bring the bag back inside and dispose of it, a voice from the hallway got his attention. “Royce?” a voice he knew all too well asked. Rolling his eyes, Royce turned to see Carrie entering the kitchen with her nose crinkled in disgust. “Is everything okay in here?”

Royce took in a deep breath and sighed before pulling the burnt popcorn inside and tossing it in the trash, “Peachy-fucking-keen.”

“What happened?” Carrie asked as she reached for the refrigerator door.

“Have you lost all sense of smell or something?” Royce questioned, sarcasm filling his tone.

Grabbing the tray of jiggling Jello cups from the shelf in the fridge, Carrie tried not to sound snippy as she replied, “I can smell the burnt popcorn, but I wanted to know if everything was alright.”

“It’s fine,” Royce sighed. “I’ll just have Miles make a new one when he’s done with whatever he’s doing.”

“They’re trying to figure out how to hang up the sheet without it falling down again,” Carrie chuckled as she set the tray of Jello cups on the counter. “If you want, I can make up the next bag if you want to take this out there and try helping them.”

Although Royce could have easily said no and pushed off the blonde’s offer with a snarky response, he didn’t particularly feel like starting a fight, especially not when Miles had recently praised him for working so well with Carrie in the playhouse. In all honesty, the pair had spent little time together as Riven kept him distracted, but the way Miles had smiled when he sang Royce’s praises that night made him feel as though he was doing something helpful. If sucking it up and dealing with Carrie’s, well, everything would make Miles happier with him, he could manage. Stepping up to the counter, Royce eyed the jiggling snack with a raised eyebrow as he asked, “What even is that?”

Carrie smiled as Royce glanced her way, prepared to explain, however, her words remained in her throat as an excited squeal brought their attention to the doorway of the kitchen. “Jello shots!” Mick sang.

Royce glanced down at the cups before asking, “Like, alcohol shots?”

“Not all of them,” Carrie commented as Mick grabbed a handful of spoons from the drawer. “Most of them are just Jello and juice.”

“These ones, however,” Mick began as she grabbed a cup with a tiny, toothpick flag sticking out of it, “have vodka.”

“And you guys can’t have them,” Carrie added.

Mick shrugged, “Technically, they can if they get permission and don’t plan on leaving camp, but I doubt Miles would want them getting drunk.”

“Not like we’d want to anyway,” Royce said with a small smirk.

“Good,” Mick commented, placing her handful of spoons on the tray. “Were you taking these to the living room?”

Before Carrie could say that she was planning on doing just that, Royce said, “I can. Do you want me to?”

“I need to grab the sherbet and a big bowl for Charlie’s infamous punch, so yeah, that would be great,” Mick said with a brilliant smile.

The girls watched as Royce took the tray from the counter and headed out of the room with a small smile tugging at his lips. Once he was gone, Mick turned to grab the sherbet from the freezer and Carrie reached into a nearby cupboard for a bowl. Glancing over her shoulder at the brunette who was elbow-deep in the freezer, Carrie asked, “How do you do it?”

Pulling herself and a plastic tub of orange sherbet from the freezer, Mick’s head lilted to the side as she asked in return, “Do what?”

Gesturing toward the doorway, Carrie clarified, “Get Royce so at ease around you. I swear, he must think I’m some cartoon villain or something.”

Mick let out a soft chuckle as she hefted the tub onto the counter, “You’re probably not far off.”

Carrie sighed as she placed a large bowl on the counter, “I mean, Bentley is finally starting to warm up to me, but Royce still can’t stand me unless someone’s there to break things up.”

Taking in a deep breath, Mick grinned as she admitted, “Well, if it gives you any comfort, I know the feeling.”

“You do?” Carrie questioned. When Mick nodded, she asked, “How? They both adore you.”

“They do, yeah,” Mick nodded. “But I’m not talking about them.”

If Mick’s previous confession hadn’t confused Carrie already, her new statement certainly did. “If not them, then who?”

Mick chuckled, “Normally, I’d say ‘like father, like son’, but since they’re brothers…”

“Miles?” Carrie asked incredulously. It was hard to imagine Miles being anything but the brotherly figure in Mick’s life. The two got along so well that, if Carrie hadn’t known the relationship between them prior to meeting Mick, she would have guessed they were related by some extension. She couldn’t picture the oldest of the Murphy brothers being anything but protective and loving toward the brunette before her.

With a nod, Mick smiled, “Bingo.”

“But you two are like siblings.”

“We are.”

“What happened?”

Mick chuckled as she pushed herself to sit on the countertop, “Well, as I said, it was a lot like what’s happening with you and the boys. I started dating Butchy when I was almost eighteen and, by that time, Miles had been living with Butchy and Lela for almost a year. They were as close as close could be, but then I came along.”

Leaning on the counter and looking up at the brunette who was normally right around her height, Carrie asked, “Did he not like you?”

“At first, we were fine,” Mick admitted. “We were friends - the four of us. Then, when things between me and Butchy started to change, Miles grew overprotective of him and Lela and began pushing me aside.”

“I can’t imagine that lasted long,” Carrie chuckled.

“Longer than I would have liked,” Mick mused. “Maybe half a year at most.”

Carrie nodded slowly; it seemed as though Miles was the easiest of the brothers to rope in. “How did you manage to make it to where you are now?”

“Not easily,” Mick snorted. “He fought me tooth and nail while all I wanted was for us to go back to the way things were. It wasn’t until I showed up at their door, bloody and bruised, that he finally stopped.”

“What happened to you?” Carrie pressed. “I mean, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but-”

Mick’s laugh cut the blonde off, “I don’t mind. It was actually kind of dumb. I was playing volleyball with some of the surfers and, when I dove for the ball, it bounced off of my arms and slammed into my face. It looked a lot worse than it was, but I insisted I would be fine after cleaning myself up, so I went to Butchy’s house to see if I could clean up and use their first aid kit.”

“That must not have gone over too well,” Carrie mused. Lela on her own probably wasn’t bad - she would have probably allowed logic to drive her into helping her friend once the panic wore off - but Carrie could only imagine the chaos that came from having both Butchy and Miles fussing over Mick’s bloodied face.

“About as well as you’d expect,” Mick shrugged. “Miles opened he door, took one look at me, and all of a sudden, it was like a switch had been flipped. He pulled me inside, led me to the couch, called for Butchy and Lela, and started trying to stop the bleeding while he questioned me as to what had happened. After that, things calmed down considerably and now we’re practically family.”

“I can’t imagine Royce and I getting to that point,” Carrie breathed. “I think he’d probably enjoy seeing me all broken and bloody.”

“Yeah, no,” Mick snorted with a shake of her head. “Royce may not like you yet, but he certainly wouldn’t want you to get hurt. He might not react quite the same as Miles would, but he would still try to help. He knows how much you mean to Miles.”

Though Carrie wasn’t entirely sure she believed Mick’s hopeful words, the thought was nice. If the situation was reversed and Royce had been injured, she would try to help him despite how strained their relationship was; she could only hope he would do the same for her if she needed him to. “Maybe you’re right.”

Mick hummed as she pushed herself off of the countertop and grabbed the tub of sherbet, “Well, let’s hope we don’t have to find out anytime soon.”

Carrie chuckled, nodding as she grabbed the large bowl she had taken from the cupboard, “No injuries for me, please.”

“Yeah,” Mick nodded as she led the way out of the kitchen, ready to finally sit down and watch a movie with the group that had gathered in the living room.

Despite the light rain showers that came in short bursts throughout Friday morning, the sky began to clear after lunch, bringing brilliant hues of blue through the breaking clouds. Warm breezes brushed through the camp as many staff members donned their swimsuits and spent the afternoon on the beach or in the lake. A select few had taken to dragging some of the canoes and kayaks from the boathouse to cruise around the lake while the majority either tanned or swam through the cool lake water.

The sunshine didn’t last long, however, as gray clouds decorated the horizon by the time everyone was preparing to head to dinner. While most chose to wrap towels around their already drenched swimsuits so they didn’t have to worry about getting any more wet on the way back to their cabins from the mess hall, others chose to change into dry clothes and keep an umbrella or rain poncho with them on their walk to the mess hall.

As groups formed and friends began talking about everything and nothing all at once, Riven made his way to the end of the line and grabbed a tray for his food. Although Erica and Jade were with him, spouting off about midnight swimming and a game they wanted to play soon, Riven’s mind had wandered. Once the summer was over, he officially had nothing to do. He had done an eight-week college course and gotten his photography degree online before the summer started, and his job at the tattoo shop in Laconia was infrequent as he was still in training. Once the summer was over, the only thing he had to do was train on the ice.

Sure, he could have taken a job at his dad’s car dealership, but he didn’t exactly like being there every day. It was insanely boring sitting at a desk, helping people pick out cars. How his dad managed to do it almost every day, he didn’t know. His dad was adamant that he didn’t need help paying the bills, but his weekly photography job for the local paper was more than enough to cover the cable and electric bills he had swapped into his name without his dad’s knowledge. It was the least he could do. However, with not having to do much work to get paid and practically nothing else to do, Riven wondered just how boring the rest of the year would be.

Riven sighed as he took another step forward; at least he had the band and their little Dungeons and Dragons party to keep him busy. Without them, he would be bored out of his mind all the time. With Jade and Erica working at the mall, it was easy for Riven to snatch Vivien and drive her to the mall for a quick session while the others were on their lunch breaks, but with the school year starting and Vivien taking on a joint year to graduate early, those days of fighting magical beings while sitting around a sticky booth in the food court would be coming to an end.

Sure, they still had their weekends where they could sit in Erica’s apartment and play a bit of their campaign or settle down in Riven’s basement to practice their music for the concerts they had yet to play, but it just wasn’t the same as the summertime hangouts they used to have.

Maybe he would ask the girls to meet him in the music hall to go through some of the songs he had been working on. Normally, he left the songwriting to Erica as that was her specialty, but he had written a few songs himself here and there. Maybe they would feel up to spending some time playing music like they used to. Hell, everyone could be there for all he cared. He just wanted to do something before the summer ended and everyone went back to business as usual.

As Riven stepped up to the first section of the buffet displays, a hand waved in front of his face, jolting him from his thoughts. “Yo, dipshit, are you in there?”

Turning toward Erica with a raised brow, Riven asked, “What?”

"You were spacing out there for a while," Mick mused as she rounded Riven in search of some waffle fries.

"Yeah," Erica confirmed.

“Mick and Bentley said you guys are having a game night tonight,” Jade spoke. “We were wondering if we could come.”

“Yeah,” Riven nodded automatically despite not having known about the game night. “Of course you can.”

"Told you so," Bentley said with a smile.

“Cool,” Erica mused. “You guys planning on breaking out Cards Against Humanity again?”

"We might," Mick said with a shrug.

“Please do,” Jade begged with a cackle. “I would kill to see Butchy’s face!”

Erica choked on a laugh as she grabbed some cutlery, “I know, right! He acts like some forty-year-old virgin with some of those cards.”

“Says the one who gave him half of the dirty cards in the deck,” Riven chuckled.

“It was so worth it,” Erica claimed with a contented sigh.

Mick shook her head with a fond smile, “I wasn’t sure he was going to make it through the night without bursting a blood vessel or something.”

Riven smirked, “I thought he was going to when he found out Bentley was the one that had given him that card about having a threesome with Shaquille O’Neal.”

“And I’d do it again,” Bentley remarked as he walked behind Riven to grab some french fries.

“Do you even know what that card means?” Erica questioned the boy, leaning forward slightly to see him.

Bentley slowly nodded, “I made the mistake of googling it after I handed it over.”

Jade let out a bark of a laugh before slapping a hand over her mouth as Riven snickered, “Big mistake, kid.”

“You’re telling me,” Bentley sighed. “I wanted nothing more than to bleach my eyes after that.”

Mick snickered, “Next time we play, I can sit next to you and we can just swap cards if you want.”

“Maybe,” the fifteen-year-old shrugged, a smirk growing on his face, “but I kind of liked watching Butchy freak out like that.”

“Welcome to the dark side,” Erica smiled, nudging the blond boy with her elbow as she reached between him and Mick to grab some waffle fries. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Bentley smiled and began making himself a burger as Mick maneuvered around him to pour herself some ketchup and Riven stepped up beside him, taking some potato wedges from the metal dish they sat in. Glancing at his bandmates, the older boy cleared his throat and said, “You know, I was thinking we could go up to the music hall tomorrow and work on some new songs. You guys feel up to it?”

Jade readily agreed as Erica sighed, “I haven’t been writing much at all this summer.”

“That’s alright,” Riven reassured. “I know it’s been a bit hectic for you guys at the pool. Besides, I’ve got a few that I’ve been working on in my free time; maybe we can work on those.”

“Sure,” Jade nodded.

“That works,” Erica decided.

“Can I listen to the new songs?” Bentley piped up, placing the top of his burger bun on his carefully constructed sandwich. “I always love your music.”

"Me too," Mick agreed as she set the ketchup bottle down.

“You guys have heard our music?” Jade asked.

"Most of our cabin has at this point," Mick said as she left to find a seat at their table.

Bentley nodded, moving aside so the others had access to the rest of the buffet as he said, “Viv plays recordings for us on the TV now and then. It’s kinda like watching a concert.”

“Someday, we’ll play an actual concert,” Erica stated as she piled a handful of chips onto her plate. “We’ll perform a setlist we’ve created on a huge stage with bright lights, brand-new instruments, and rows and rows of screaming fans.”

“I hope I’ll be there when it happens,” Bentley said with a smile. “It sounds incredible."

“Are you kidding, half-pint?” Riven asked rhetorically, ruffling Bentley’s hair before wrapping an arm around the boy’s shoulders and guiding him toward the table they always sat at. “You’ll have a backstage pass.”

There were some days that Mick felt as though she had lived through many lives as a parent. Not only had she worked as a babysitter in her preteen years, but she had also been somewhat of an older sister figure to Vivien, her siblings, and their respective gaggles of friends. Once she was old enough to be left home alone, she was tasked with going down the street to the O’Brian household to babysit their kids while the parents worked in the winery. As they grew older and gained friends, Mick grew accustomed to seeing random kids show up at the house, asking for one kid or another to come out and play. She also grew used to the ups and downs of living like a parent.

More than once, she had woken up to a sick child asking to cuddle up to her or had to drag an exhausted teenager from the comfort of their bed. Despite no longer needing to babysit for cash to blow on the weekends, Mick was still living like a child-wrangler and, although they were old enough to handle themselves, she still treated every child she came into contact with as though they were her own. Vivien, Royce, and Bentley were no exception.

Mick adored the young trio. Of course, she had grown up knowing Vivien as her next-door neighbor’s kid and the little sister her parents never gave her. Royce and Bentley, on the other hand, were brought into her life far more recently than Vivien had been. Despite only having known them for the better part of a year, she had grown to adore them just as deeply as she knew Miles did. That was why, when she woke up to the three of them quietly carrying a tray of food and some assorted items into her room, her suspicions were high.

“What is all of this?” she asked as she sat up, allowing Royce to place the tray over her legs.

“We’re not supposed to say,” Bentley claimed, earning a nudge from Royce, who quickly smiled back at Mick.

“We were told to give you the stuff, tell you ‘good morning’, and leave,” the brunet stated.

Understandably concerned, Mick closed her eyes and sighed, “Who did something and - follow-up question - what did they do this time?”

“Nobody did anything,” Vivien snickered. “Well, not yet at least.”

Slowly peeling her eyes open, Mick glanced at the trio before asking, “Do I wanna know?” Instead of getting a direct answer, Mick earned a shrug from Vivien, a knowing smirk from Royce, and a snorted laugh from Bentley. Sighing once again, Mick shook her head, “I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

“It’s nothing bad,” Bentley reassured.

“Yeah,” Vivien nodded. “You’ll see.”

Mick glanced at the teenagers and gave them a small smile. “Alright, but if anyone miraculously gets magical powers and ends up lighting something on fire, you three are my scapegoats.”

“How would someone get magical powers?” Royce wondered as Mick picked up her fork and took in a piece of a syrup-coated pancake.

Pointing her fork between Royce and Bentley, Mick lowered her voice and said, “You two are from a parallel universe where it’s nineteen-sixty-three - at this point, anything is possible.”

“Touche,” Royce relented.

Taking her friends by the wrists, Vivien tugged the boys away from Mick’s bed as she said, “Alright, alright, enough chit-chat. Let the girl eat so we can move on with our day.”

Despite her rising intrigue with the situation, Mick silently watched as the trio left her room, each of them wishing her a good morning before disappearing into the hallway and being separated by the door. Choosing to allow the day to continue as it should, Mick turned back to her food and took in some fruit before looking at the two wrapped gifts Vivien and Bentley had brought into the room. They hadn’t said anything about the gifts, but she wasn’t exactly going to tell them to collect them either.

One red and one blue, Mick vaguely wondered if the colors were intentional. If so, she knew they could have been from Butchy. Her favorite color and his - red and blue, respectively - were opposite to what most people assumed and had become something of a running joke between them. Tugging the red-wrapped box toward her, Mick picked it up and examined it, lightly shaking it like one would a Christmas present before setting it beside her on the bed without a clue as to what was inside. The other gift was larger than the first, rectangular, and, although she had copied her previous attempt, she had no notion as to what was inside.

Despite her rising curiosity, Mick set the presents aside and returned to her food, determined to eat it before it got any colder than it was already starting to be. After taking the chance to eat, Mick pushed the tray to the end of her bed and shifted to sit cross-legged before reaching for the two presents she had been given. Although she debated for a moment as to which she could open first, the red one was quick to be unwrapped, revealing a small box with a necklace inside, her first initial and Butchy’s delicately engraved into the face of a heart-shaped locket.

The golden heart was no bigger than the pad of Mick’s thumb and swung from a dainty chain that she feared would break far too easily. All the same, Mick stood from her bed and made her way to the mirror she had hung on the back of her bedroom door, taking a minute to secure the chain at the nape of her neck and examine the delicate new accessory. Smiling at her reflection, Mick ran a hand through her hair to somewhat fix it before making her way back to her bed and perching herself on the edge of her mattress before grabbing the blue gift.

Peeling away at the tape, Mick pulled back the wrapping paper. However, after the final piece of tape was torn away and the blue paper fell away, Mick found herself staring at a newspaper-wrapped object with a folded paper taped to the top of it. Tugging the folded page away from the newspaper, Mick opened it and began reading the cleanly-written note inside.

“‘If I know you the way I think I do, you’ll have opened this second.’” Mick let out a breath of a laugh; her predictability was unwavering and Butchy could read her like a book, so it was no surprise that he had gotten that right as well. “‘Another thing I know is that you’ve probably forgotten our date today since you never asked me about it the last couple of days, but just know that I didn’t. I’ve got it all under control, so all you need to do is show up. Dress cool - it’s supposed to be hot today - but bring your cozy sweatpants since we’ll be out after dark. Meet me at the truck when you’re ready to go.’”

Tipping her phone up from its spot on the nightstand and checking the time on her lock screen, Mick ran a hand through her hair. Sooner or later, everyone would be heading to the mess hall for breakfast. Setting her phone down and placing the note in the drawer of her nightstand, Mick quickly unwrapped the newspaper from the gift and found a novel she had been looking forward to reading - How To Survive Your Murder. With a grin, Mick placed the book beside her phone and stood, making her way to her closet. Pulling out a loose shirt and a pair of simple shorts, she smiled and dragged her hair into a loose bun before getting dressed and taking the opportunity to braid her hair.

Tucking her phone into her pocket, slinging a pair of sweats over her arm, and grabbing her book from the stand by her bed, Mick beamed to herself as she left her room. Though it was no surprise that Butchy was nowhere to be seen in the cabin, she was very surprised to find nobody sitting in the living room, waiting for the breakfast alert to blare throughout the campground. Looking around curiously, she found Miles’ and Carrie’s rooms open as they typically were during the day, letting her know that they had left the cabin already. Making her way to the door, Mick stepped outside and quickly found that almost everyone had gathered on the beach, throwing water balloons at each other like an all-out war.

Chucking at the group that had suddenly turned their aggression on Miles who had chosen to lounge on the sand in the hopes of falling asleep despite the chaos around him, Mick made her way through the sand to the pathways that wound throughout the grounds. As she passed a few counselors who had taken to sitting outside and talking on the porches of their cabins, Mick waved, earning herself a myriad of hastily-given greetings as she continued walking toward the main office. Once the building was in her sight, Mick felt a smile tugging at her lips once more.

Just beyond the office was the parking lot where a few of the local staff members had left their cars to accumulate pine needles in the shaded spots of unpaved ground. It was there that she spotted her husband’s familiar truck sitting with the hood up. Approaching the vehicle with a raised brow, Mick tentatively deposited her belongings on the passenger’s seat through the open window and stepped around the front of the truck to find her husband holding one of the dipsticks and a napkin they had gotten from a nearby fast food restaurant.

“Everything alright?” she asked, watching as Butchy slid the stick back into its rightful place.

Butchy turned to her with a lopsided smile and nodded as he wiped his hands on the napkin he held. “Just checking the fluids before we head out,” he claimed. “I had to add some transmission fluid when we went shopping the other day and I think there might be a leak in the line somewhere.”

“Not good,” Mick commented. While she was good with machines, cars were like the Italian language to Mick - she knew enough to get by, but nowhere near as much as Butchy did. Taking a step back as Butchy reached for the hood and lifted it off of the support beam to close it, she asked, “Are you sure you want to go today? We can wait and do it some other time if you want to fix the truck first.”

Shaking his head as he dropped the hood into place, Butchy sent a smile in Mick’s direction as he said, “It’s nothing serious. Miles and I can take a look at it some other time. Today is for the two of us.”

Despite the sincerity in Butchy’s eyes, Mick still found it necessary to ask, “Are you sure?”

Taking Mick’s hand in his, Butchy leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, muttering against her skin, “Positive.”

The warm summer air did nothing to stop the tingling shivers that raced through Mick’s shoulders as Butchy’s deep tone rumbled through her. Finding herself incapable of speaking her mind, she simply nodded and allowed him to guide her back to the truck, standing aside as Butchy opened her door for her and helped her climb in. After closing his wife’s door and rounding the truck, Butchy climbed in behind the wheel and buckled himself in, checking to make sure Mick had done the same before turning the vehicle on and backing out of his parking spot.

Once they had reached the end of the bumpy road, Butchy placed his hand palm up on the middle console out of habit, relishing in the gentle glide of Mick’s fingers as she slid her hand into his. Regardless of who was driving, the two almost always held hands while out and about. Whether it was Mick’s flower-power-themed, Volkswagen bus or Butchy’s cherry red, Ram pickup, they could be seen with their hands intertwined over the center console. It was just how they were. The only time they couldn’t hold hands properly was on Butchy’s motorcycle, which was fine as he still had her arms around him as he drove. At first, it was just for protection and a hint of a connection for the two of them as they went places together, but as they swapped cars on vacations, they found ways to keep themselves grounded in each other’s presence.

As Butchy drove, Mick watched out the window at the scenery that blew by. It was times like these they didn’t need words; they only needed each other. The radio, which had connected to Mick’s phone the moment the car turned on, softly played a song she had forgotten she added to her most recent playlist. As trees shifted to buildings and the main stretch of Sanbornton came into view, Mick turned her gaze to her husband, who had a hint of a smile on his face and seemed solely focused on the road before him despite his wife’s soft singing. Lifting their joined hands, Mick pressed a kiss to the back of Butchy’s hand before lowering them to their resting place.

“So, hotshot, where are you taking me?” she asked as the song ended.

Rolling to a stop at a red light, Butchy chuckled as he glanced her way, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would,” Mick remarked. “That would be why I asked.”

“Smartass.”

“Don’t let the kids hear you say that.”

“They aren’t here.”

“True,” Mick nodded. “So, are you going to tell me, or is this a surprise?”

“Surprise,” Butchy confirmed, “but I will tell you that you’ll have a good time.”

Mick hummed, leaning her head against the back of her seat as she mused, “I always have a good time with you.”

Butchy smiled as he squeezed Mick’s hand ever so slightly, “Good.”

The drive only stopped once as they pulled to a stop at a Dairy Queen to get some ice cream - Mick’s statement that ice cream was good any time of day ringing through Butchy’s head as they pulled up to the drive-thru order screen. Once they were back on the road with their ice creams nestled in the cup holders, Butchy continued driving north, bringing them away from the hustle and bustle of the city of Laconia and onto the back roads. Few houses lined the streets as they glided down the road, potholes being the only signs of life as they cruised along the empty streets. By the time their cups of ice cream were empty, they had passed rows of trees and bushes and come to a sparsely populated area. Eventually, Butchy slowed as the GPS warned him that he was approaching their destination and Mick found herself looking around in confusion. On their left was an RV park filled with rows of trailers and the only thing on their right was an empty, obviously unmaintained, parking lot with foliage filling the cracks and a metal gate blocking the entrance.

However, as Butchy pulled a bit further down and flipped on his turn signal, Mick only found her confusion growing. Butchy pulled to a stop outside of a metal gate and told Mick to stay in the truck as he climbed out with a set of keys in hand. Rounding the truck, he slid one of the keys into the rusty lock and twisted it, dragging away the chain that held the gate in place before pushing it open and heading back to his truck. Once Butchy was back in the truck, Mick asked him what was going on, but he brushed off her concerns with ease as he pulled into the run-down parking lot and passed an old, red building with a moss-coated roof.

Stepping out of the truck once it was parked, Mick looked around, searching for any sign that she knew where they were. As Butchy led her toward the old red building, however, she spotted something that made the location click into her mind like a cassette in a Walkman. “White Oaks?” she breathed. “I thought this place closed down years ago.”

“It did,” Butchy confirmed. “I was talking with Vivien about things to do in the area and she brought up that you guys would come here a lot in the summers. I figured it would be nice to tour the place.”

With a laugh of disbelief, Mick stared at the building before her with wide eyes, “How did you even get a key?”

“I called the number on the for-sale sign by the road,” Butchy shrugged. “The guy was really nice and said we could look around as much as we want so long as we don’t go in the water. Something about it needing to be cleaned.”

“I’d say,” Mick scoffed as she took the lead, wandering into the building. “This place was closed seven years ago. Whatever’s in the water is probably sludgy and toxic by this point.”

Butchy followed his wife as she wandered into the old ticket center with practiced ease. As she looked around the crumbling remains of the building with a smile, Butchy felt the urge to whip out his phone and take a picture of her, but then again, he always felt like that. Before long, Mick got bored of the building and climbed over the ticket turnstiles, prompting Butchy to follow suit as she began making her way into the open air once more. The dilapidated remnants of a water slide loomed in the distance, its rusted metal creaking as the wind blew, rustling the leaves of the vines that crawled up the sides of the structure. Despite its rickety appearance, Mick smiled as though it was brand-new.

Further down the overgrown, concrete trails, they found an old pool with a decaying roof overhead - more than a few ceiling tiles having fallen into the murky abyss that was the lingering swamp of water in the pool. Half filled with rain water and a few chairs that had been unceremoniously dumped by trespassers, the pool had once stood proud and shimmering with glistening, crystalline water and welcomed people of all ages to take a refreshing dip. Now, all that remained were tadpoles and crumbling tiles. Mick had spent most of her childhood behind the pool’s waterfall, pretending to be a mermaid in a shimmering cave-like on one of her favorite shows. Now, however, she couldn’t imagine willingly swimming to the far side of the square pool and waiting for an arch of sludge to come over the embankment to seal her in.

Following the cement paths, they discovered what had once been a splash park and playground. A few of the play structures remained and, if Mick listened over the wind, she was sure she could hear the faintest screeches of laughter emanating from the large pirate ship that she and Vivien had spent hours playing on growing up. In the center of the play area was a pole with a circle at the top. Buckets used to hang from it, dumping water on unsuspecting children once they were filled. The soft ground under the splash park still had some semblance of color to it - its old, floral pattern was now nothing more than sunburnt shades of faded red and blue. Distantly, Mick wondered if the water spouts still worked, but she soon decided she wouldn’t want any of the remaining tank water to spray her down.

Down a set of stairs, Mick made her way to what was once the best wave pool in all of New Hampshire. Or, at least, the one she had deemed to be the best. The large mouth of the pool remained somewhat similar to how she remembered it - a dingy shade of gray with a rope across the front of it, blocking people from entering. Cartoonish signs still hung from the ropes, a little lavender bear wearing pool floaties pouting at the words “Closed for Cleaning and Maintenance.”

Chuckling, Mick held the corner of the sign and said, “It’s Helpy.”

“Helpy?” Butchy repeated.

“Mhm,” Mick hummed. “He was their maintenance mascot who would come out to let everyone know they needed to close something and fix it up. More often than not, it was the wave pool that needed fixing.”

Butchy chuckled as he sarcastically remarked, “Sounds like a great attraction.”

“It was,” Mick nodded, “it just broke down a lot.”

“So Helpy was their solution?”

“No,” Mick began with a shake of her head, “he was there long before they started having issues. You see, they used to have this party hall where you could have birthday parties and stuff. They had these animatronic animals that would sing and put on shows for everyone, but they broke down a lot, so Helpy would come out and try to guide everyone out back while they worked on the animatronics.”

Butchy nodded, “Sounds like that game you and Vivien were into.”

Mick snickered, “Five Nights at Freddy’s?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Why do you think I liked the games so much?” Mick questioned rhetorically. “I loved going to parties here growing up and, when the games came out, I just fell in love. I may not be as much of a gamer as Vivien and the boys are, but I will forever be invested in Five Nights at Freddy’s.”

With a fond smile, Butchy allowed Mick to guide him throughout the rest of the water park, showing him all of her favorite locations and telling him all about the fond memories she had from over the years. After spending a few hours wandering the property, looking in the remaining buildings, and taking as many photographs as Mick desired, they made their way back to the entrance and made their way to Butchy’s truck. Once they were inside and had the air conditioner on to cool them from the heat of the blistering sun, Mick gave a contented sigh.

“What’s up?” Butchy asked as he rolled out of the parking lot.

“That was a lot of fun,” she said with a smile. “I haven’t been there in ages.”

Butchy chuckled as he pushed open his door to lock the gate of the property, “Well, don’t think we’re done yet.”

“We’re not?”

“Not even close.”

Smiling to herself as her husband got out of the truck, Mick relaxed into the leather of her seat, her fingers tracing the stitching of the material out of habit as she distantly listened to the scrape of metal behind the vehicle. Once Butchy was back in the truck, they were off again, driving further from the towns she knew. A few minutes down the road, Butchy pulled off into a parking lot and rolled to a stop before parking the car and tugging the key from the ignition. Although there was a small beach nearby, Mick couldn’t see the reason for him to want to go there without telling her to bring a bathing suit, so, as Mick turned to Butchy with a raised eyebrow, she was glad to see him already chuckling knowingly at her.

“I figured we could stop and have some late lunch,” he explained. Looking around, he scanned the area before pointing across the lot to a building with a blue roof and a sign with a sun over the water. “There, at Niko’s. It’s a Greek place, but there are som enormal things on the meal like pizza, pasta, and nachos. I figured it would be nice to try something new.”

Smiling at the hopeful glow in Butchy’s cinnamon eyes, Mick took in a breath and nodded, “Sounds great to me.”

Once they had climbed down from the truck, Butchy locked the doors with a beep that echoed through the quiet town and took Mick’s hand in his. The restaurant, though small, was welcoming as cool air pulsed throughout the seating area. The establishment wasn’t anything spectacular - no crisply ironed linens on the tables and certainly no maître d' to guide them to their table - but it was comfortable and the service was great. As the waitress took the menus and headed back to the kitchen to hand in their order, Mick reached across the table for Butchy’s hand and smiled as music flowed through speakers she had yet to find.

Though Butchy’s contentment was palpable as Mick talked about how pleased she was with the date so far, she had to wonder why he was consistently checking his watch once the food arrived. By the time they had eaten and Mick had gotten some baklava for them to share, she could feel her husband’s foot bouncing against the floorboards; a subtle sign that he was growing more and more anxious as time went on. Choosing to ignore it as she was sure he had to have something bigger in mind if he was so worked up over it, Mick worked her way through her portion of the baklava before letting Butchy get up to pay for their meal at the counter.

Once he had returned, Mick grabbed her phone from the table and made sure he had everything he needed before letting him lead the way outside. The air was thick with humidity and made both Butchy and Mick want to go back into the cool, air-conditioned restaurant, however, as Butchy checked his watch once more, they both knew that wasn’t a possibility. Instead of leading the way to the truck, Butchy led her toward the little beach and across a bridge to where a small shack sat on the end of a pier.

“What is this?” Mick asked as Butchy guided her toward the shack.

Rounding the shack with nothing more than a smile, Butchy stepped aside and gestured toward the water with a flourish. In the water was a small, blue and white square with two seats and a blue canopy secured above it. There were a few similar floating squares tied to the dock, but none of them had a canopy like the blue one did. When Mick looked no less confused than she had been, Butchy’s smile faltered ever so slightly and he explained, “It’s a pedal boat. I figured we could ride out on the lake for a while.”

Glad to finally know what was going on, Mick beamed, “Let’s do it, then.”

With newfound excitement, Butchy led his wife to their trusty little boat and stepped aboard before offering Mick a hand and helping her settle into her seat. Once they had gotten away from the shore and far enough from the beach that they no longer had to worry about people crossing their path, the pair slowed their pedaling and allowed the water to pull them where it wanted. Relaxing in her seat, Mick looked at her husband with a smile as she watched the water shimmer behind him. Although it wasn’t exactly quiet as they were still near the beach, the air between them was calm and quiet - a sort of peace that brought feelings of simple joy. Serenity filled the air as the water’s gentle flow inched them further from the shore.

Taking in a slow, deep breath as she tipped her head back to examine the fading design on the canopy above them, Mick spoke contemplatively, “You know, I think I made a mistake.”

“You did?” Butchy asked, peering over at Mick with curious, almost concerned, amber eyes. Mick nodded and, in return, Butchy asked, “What would that be?”

“I brought my new book.”

Lifting an eyebrow, Butchy wondered, “How is that a mistake?”

“I’m not exactly getting any reading done,” Mick explained with a hint of a smirk as she met Butchy’s eyes. “I thought we were just having a picnic or something and that I’d have all the time in the world to read, but I’ve left it in the car all day.”

Allowing the building tension in his shoulders to release as Mick’s statement eased his mind, Butchy chuckled, “Well, in that case, maybe I'll just have to cancel the rest of my plans for the day so that you can get some reading done.”

“No!” Mick exclaimed. Finding the mirth in his eyes, Mick huffed, “You wouldn’t.”

“Is that a dare?” Butchy teased.

“No,” Mick began, “it’s a fact. You’ve had this whole day planned out and I know that, if you have something planned still, you’ll stick to it unless I ask you not to.”

Butchy chuckled, nodding his agreement to her claim, wondering if she knew just how true it was. Discreetly checking his watch as Mick began talking about how excited she was to finally start reading the book she had heard so much about, Butchy wondered how long he could keep her occupied. They still had another two hours on the pedal boat if they wanted and, if he knew Mick at all, she would want to search the beach for shells to add to her ever-growing collection. With any luck, it would be eight in no time and they would be on their way to the final event of the day.

Once he stopped checking his watch, time began to flow like sand in an hourglass. Before he knew it, they were on Weirs Beach, searching the shoreline for sea shells and sand dollars as the sun began to sink over the horizon. Once Mick had filled not only her pockets, but also Butchy’s with a collection of shells and shiny rocks she would share with everyone once they arrived back at the camp, he led her back to the truck where they emptied their pockets into the glovebox, Mick traded her shorts for warmer sweatpants, and the pair allowed the cooler, evening air to fill the humid cabin before closing the doors.

Their drive didn’t last long as Butchy joined the main stream of traffic and followed the curve of the street to a small dirt road. Pulling up to a small building with a single light above it, a myriad of mosquitos and other insects bouncing around the lamp, Butchy rolled to a stop and reached into the pocket of his jeans for his wallet. Pulling out a couple of bills, he held out the money to the attendant who looked positively thrilled to be stuck manning the gate.

“Screen one has Barbie and The Haunted Mansion. Screen two has Insidious and Mission Impossible,” the exhausted worker listed off as they slotted the money into the register. “Which would you like?”

Butchy looked to Mick who, despite the darkening skies, was positively glowing as she excitedly held up a single finger. Turning back to the worker, Butchy replied, “Screen one, please.”

“Mhm,” the worker hummed. “Go left after the gate and try to park somewhere in the middle or back rows. Leave the front for the smaller cars. The snack shack and ice cream stand will be open until the second movie starts, but the bathrooms on the sides of the building remain open until we close. Remember to keep your headlights off and radio on since the movies will play over station ninety-seven-point-five.”

“Thanks,” Butchy said as Mick began fiddling with the radio. Once the worker nodded and waved him off, Butchy put the car back in gear and began rolling down the dirt path again, turning to the left and following the pathways made by other cars until he reached the parking area for the screen they had chosen. Finding a spot near the middle where Mick always liked to park when they went to drive-ins back in St. Pete Beach, Butchy drove in so that the tailgate face the screen before telling Mick she could turn the radio back off once again.

“But we need to have it on the right station or we won’t hear the movie,” she argued gently as she tried to find the right channel.

“We will,” Butchy agreed, “but not on that. I brought a radio from camp to use while we’re in the back.”

“The back?” Mick wondered as she finally looked up. Looking around, she realized Butchy had parked them facing away from the screen. Glancing through the back window at the covered tailgate, Mick asked, “How, exactly, are we going to sit back there?”

Butchy chuckled, taking the opportunity to kiss Mick’s cheek before suggesting, “How about you go get some snacks and drinks and I’ll figure that out?”

With a somewhat skeptical shrug, Mick relented and slid out of the vehicle after Butchy insisted she take his wallet with her. Once there was a bit of distance between his wife and the vehicle they had arrived in, Butchy climbed out of the truck and quickly unclipped the cover of his truck bed, rolling it back into place and examining the setup he had placed in the back end earlier in the day. The mattress and pillows Vivien had helped him smuggle from the storage shed were still snuggly secured in the back while the stack of blankets he and Miles had arranged in a sort of makeshift nest had shifted around quite a bit in their travels. Still, it looked alright and, as he dislodged the radio from its hiding place, he realized it wouldn’t matter much to Mick how it looked. It was the thought that counted.

By the time Mick had returned with two buckets of popcorn, a set of drinks, and her back pockets filled with boxes of cheap theater candy, Butchy had gotten everything set up and arranged the radio to stay on the right channel. Stepping around to the back of the truck, Mick’s eyes widened in disbelief as she breathed, “When did you have the time for all of this?”

“I have my ways,” Butchy stated as he gingerly slid the snacks from Mick’s dumbstruck grip. “Are you ready for a movie night?”

Letting out a breath of a laugh, Mick nodded eagerly, “Hell yeah!”

Without thinking to let Butchy help her, Mick moved to the side of the truck, stepped on the rim of the tire, and hauled herself over the side. Dropping onto the mattress, she held out her hands and took back the snacks so that Butchy could climb in and make himself comfortable. Once he had settled, she relaxed beside him and allowed herself to relax as he brought an arm around her shoulders. Peering down at his wife, Butchy smiled, pleased with how happy she seemed to be. As Mick lifted her head and met his gaze, Butchy brought a hand to the side of her neck, rubbing his thumb along her jawline as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips.

Slowly retreating from the gentle kiss, Butchy asked, “Was it worth the wait?”

Mick hummed, slowly peeling her eyes open once more as a giddy grin tugged at her lips, “Absolutely.”

#Camp Wanamaker

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