Say You Still Love Me(65)

Kyle averts his gaze to one of the monitors on the desk. “You’re right. He’s in a blind spot.”

“Well, would you please help him relocate? Immediately?”

“Yes, sir,” Kyle says, his eyes still on the screen, his face stoic. Does it burn his pride to call my father sir, I wonder?

Dad’s gaze drifts over Kyle’s sleeve of tattoos, his distaste for them clear. And then he turns to me, dismissing Kyle entirely. “Go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Nodding at Gus, he swipes his badge and marches toward the bank of elevators.

Kyle exhales slowly. He meets my eyes and I can see his thoughts in them. They’re the same as mine: Kieran Calloway doesn’t recognize him.

Whether it’s the “Stewart” on his name badge, or thirteen years and thirty pounds of muscle, or simply the fact that Kyle was nothing more than an ant to squash, a pest for my father to swiftly deal with, I can’t say. Likely all of the above.

Either way, Kyle is safe from my father’s ire. For now.

I release a lung’s worth of air, relieved to have bought myself some time to figure out how—and if—to confront him for what he did to us.

“You want to kindly escort our friend to another corner, or should I?” Gus peers up at Kyle.

“I’ve got it,” Kyle murmurs, rounding the desk. “See you tomorrow, Piper?” he asks softly, and I hear the real question behind those words.

Do you want to see me here tomorrow?

All I can manage is a nod.

Because the simple truth is that I do.





Chapter 14



THEN


2006, Camp Wawa, End of Week One

Izzy’s round blue eyes are watery as she holds out her tiny hand, offering me a ball of hot pink gimp and beads in emerald green and aqua blue.

“For me?”

She nods. “I made it in art. So you can remember me.”

I chuckle as I slide the bracelet onto my wrist. It’s too loose, but there’s not enough slack for two loops. “I doubt I’ll ever be able to forget you.”

“Will you be my counselor again next year?”

“I hope so!” If Camp Wawa allows counselors who have been on probation back. That was the final verdict Darian delivered early this morning, after last night’s golf-cart fiasco. Probation for all four of us—a permanent black mark on our camp counselor employment record—but not termination for Kyle and Eric. There is to be absolutely no “shenanigans” after lights-out. We’re to be in our cabins with our campers, asleep. If we’re caught breaking these rules, it will equal immediate dismissal, no questions asked.

As much as mandatory nightly curfew sucks, it means I still get to spend my summer with Kyle. I had to fight the urge to hug Darian as she delivered our punishment to us.

Izzy’s mouth splits into a wide, toothy grin. It’s been a mad flurry of activity and emotion at Wawa today, as kids pack up and part ways, in most cases with tears streaming down their cheeks and scraps of papers revealing email addresses and phone numbers, and promises to come back the same week next year.

For these kids, summer camp is over. Meanwhile I’ve only survived the first week. I have seven more to go. Oddly enough, though, the idea of that isn’t nearly as dreadful as it was last Sunday, when I stood in this same spot, greeting frenzied children. Much of that has to do with a certain golden-eyed boy, but not all. Camp Wawa has begun to grow on me. The counselors are, for the most part, fun. Spending my days goofing off with them and the campers almost doesn’t feel like work. And Mom was right: Russell’s chocolate pudding is prison-grade bribery quality.

“Aren’t those your parents?” I point to the couple approaching.

“Mommy!” Izzy shrieks, taking off across the field as fast as her little legs can carry her under the weight of her backpack, her sleeping bag dragging across the grass. And just like that, I’m a memory.

“Hey.” Kyle sidles up beside me, his fingers discreetly skimming my outer thigh.

I turn to meet his gaze. “Hey.”

His eyes drop to my mouth, and I feel that instant urge to press my lips against his.

His smirk says he feels it, too. “Last one?”

“Yeah.” I smile, looking on as Izzy drops her things on the ground for her parents to collect and then skips along beside them, her arms gesticulating wildly in the air. “She’s so cute.”

“You know who else is so cute?”

“Eric?” I tease, feeling my cheeks flush.

Kyle chuckles. “Nice.”

I hold up my arm, letting the bracelet dangle. “Look what she made me.”

“I got some, too.” Kyle holds his arm up to display six similar gimp-and-bead bracelets of varying sizes and colors, two of them all-pink. “This one is from Maddie, this one . . .” He goes through each bracelet, identifying which little girl made what.

I roll my eyes. “Are you bragging because you have more than me?”

He shrugs. “I can’t help it if I’m well liked.”

“Nothing from your campers, though. Hmm . . . that says something.”

“Oh, no. They left me with a gift all right,” he mutters, tipping his head.

I burst out laughing at the countless specks of iridescent glitter clinging to the roots of his hair. How could I not have noticed them earlier? “That has to be half a bottle!”