Dead of Summer

The other three cabins will start hiking in another thirty minutes or so, and they’ll start at a different part of the trail. Though we won’t cross paths, we’ll get back around the same time for lunch, then give the campers free time for the rest of the afternoon.

Most of them will end up taking naps or hanging out at the beach, but not swimming. Even twelve-year-olds that enjoy being outdoors get tired from a three-hour hike in the hills.

“I’ll take the lead if you’re okay with that, Summer,” Daniel asserts with a smile. He’s always the first to volunteer for anything that makes him look important, and I don’t care enough to argue with him. If he wants to lead our train of marching campers up and down hills as they look for black bears that would run before they could be seen, so be it.

It just means I get to pay more attention to Melody to make sure she doesn’t go after her two new mortal enemies in Daniel’s cabin. That idea solidifies when I see her and another girl eyeing the two of them up, and I nearly groan at the idea of having to make sure they don’t shank a boy.

“We can do whatever you want,” I reply with a small smile. The look doesn’t travel to Kayde, and I find my skin prickling at the idea of even looking at him. “I can take up the rear with my cabin.” That would leave Kayde to kind of range along the middle, making sure no one tries to run into the forest and never return.

Apparently, Daniel only cares about being in the lead, though. He gestures for everyone to follow, barely acknowledging me as he heads toward our side of the trail. The twenty-four kids follow him, their excitement growing as we head for the heavier trees. This is the one time they really get to explore the woods close to the Smoky Mountains while we’re here; they have a right to be happy at the adventure.

To my absolute lack of surprise, Kayde falls into step beside me, as the distance between us and the campers yawns to about six feet. “Good morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his elbow bumping mine. “Did you sleep well when you got back? I know you were cold and looking pretty worn out. The eye is impressive.”

Did I sleep well? That’s certainly not what I was expecting. I turn to glare at him sullenly, mulling the words over in my head as I try to think of an answer for Kayde.

“Yeah,” I admit at last, offering him the truth. “I did sleep well after I got back. Wrapped up in way too many blankets and all that. You uh, you sleep well too? Once you…” I wave my hand dismissively, trying to gesture my meaning instead of saying it.

“Slept like a damn baby. Definitely could’ve been better, though. Want to know why?”

I’m really sure I don’t. But Kayde doesn’t seem to care about my lack of affirmative response. He slings an arm over my shoulders and drags me close, like there aren’t twenty-four kids and Daniel in front of us. Hell, I’m pretty sure that Darcy is somewhere watching; judging by the searing heat I’m pretty sure I feel drilling holes into the back of my head.

“What are you doing?—”

“Would’ve been a hell of a lot better with you in my bed and just fucked,” he purrs in my ear, too quiet for anyone else to hear. “Won’t make that mistake again, sweetheart. I promise you that.” His words have the effect I’m sure he’s looking for. A tremor works its way up my spine, and I clench my fingers tight against my palms.

“I sleep like shit in your cabin,” is the only response I can think to give him, especially without getting louder or like, kicking him in the balls.

God, I really want to kick Kayde Lane in the balls.

“Well…” Kayde fixes me with a look, still keeping his arm draped over my shoulders. It’s casual, friendly even. But when I try to sidestep him, the muscles in his biceps flex and his fingers hold just a little tighter in warning. So I stop, choosing not to make a scene as he sings out that stupid, bitchy word. “That’s not exactly true. I know you want to have this big and tough exterior. Totally get that and don’t blame you for it, Summer. But you slept like the dead wrapped up in me. With your sweet little murmurs and your lips pressed against my collarbone?—”

“Did not,” I mutter, being oh so mature about the situation. “I don’t remember any of that. You were dreaming.”

“I was not.” Kayde’s low, purring chuckle knocks me for a loop, and my stomach twists in what I convince myself is revulsion. “I stayed up a little longer than I should just to watch my sweet little girl sleep. You begged me for it, you know. Begged me to hold you, to touch you?—”

“There are kids in front of us.” My voice trembles as I force out the words, and I cast him a sideways glance. “Can you not?” Especially now that I see Melody drifting back toward us, obviously wanting to say something.

Kayde, thank God, drops his arms when he notices as well, and just falls back into step with me as Melody edges closer and closer.

“Did Summer tell you about last year?” Her excited gaze fixes on Kayde’s, and I wonder again how a muscled up deer could have possibly become such a thing that all the campers are dying for any glance of it again, sure that it’s an elk.

“No?” Kayde glances at me, bemused. “What was special about last year?”

“We do this hike every year, you know,” she explains, making sure he knows the basics. Kayde nods. “Well, last year, this kid fell behind. He didn’t get lost or anything, but Summer pulled us back to wait for him. It was on the ridge at the middle of the trail. So we waited there, and then this elk came out of the woods.” She whispers the word elk like a small prayer, like she’s hoping the God of the forest will come bless her again.

I stare at Kayde, mentally willing him not to tell her that an elk is incredibly unlikely around here. Especially just wandering fifty feet from a bunch of eleven-year-olds that could barely keep themselves from breaking into happy screeches.

Thankfully, Kayde just tilts his head, eyes widening in what definitely seems to be genuine interest. It’s his Lassie mask, though, and I’ve started to notice the cracks in it after spending the last few days with him.

The way the expressions take just a second too long, as if he has to manufacture them instead of having them appear naturally.

The way he never quite seems to be listening when the kids or other counselors are saying something he finds boring.

Sometimes, he slips up enough that his mask doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Those are the times I think someone else is going to notice that Kayde is a monster, not the perfect golden retriever who has now jumped into two bodies of water to save a counselor and a camper.

But no one ever does.

“That’s really cool,” he breathes, going for understated excitement. “Seriously. Maybe we’ll see it this year on the ridge too?”