Page 41 of Never Will I Ever

God, this is so fucking awkward.

We work together to paddle toward the center of Glass Lake, where we can keep an eye on the kids and provide any assistance, should they need it. It starts out relatively smoothly, by some miracle, but when we’re about three-quarters across the lake, the canoe starts turning to the left.

The only reason for that to happen would be if someone wasn’t paddling, and that someone certainly isn’t me.

Doing my best to keep my annoyance under wraps, I mutter, “Unless you’re looking to spin in circles, I need you to paddle too.”

“I was. I just…” He pauses before cursing softly under his breath. “Shit.”

That draws my attention from where I’d been watching the kids, and I find his gaze locked on the water. Right at the spot where the arm of his paddle passes through the water.

“What?”

“It’s—” He shakes the paddle rather violently, his biceps flexing in effort, only for it to move barely an inch. His jaw locks, remaining taut until he finally stops trying to free it from whatever managed to snag it below the water’s surface.

“The blade is caught on something.”

My mind automatically goes into problem solving mode, and Imotion for him to swap places with me.

“Come back here to keep us balanced, and I’ll move up there to get it.”

He shakes his head, still focused on the water and shaking the paddle. “No, I got it handled.”

Let the record state, he very clearly doesnothave it handled. His hold on the situation is non-existent, actually, and despite my better judgment, I reach toward him anyway to offer my assistance again.

“Shaking it like that isn’t gonna do anything,” I calmly reply while he continues to struggle. It’s painful to watch. “Avery, let me just—”

“I got it, Kaleb!” he snaps, turning to glare at me. His nostrils flare with frustration before he snarls out, “I don’t need your fucking help.”

And there he is. The same Avery I saw all last year.

The one who blows up at the drop of a hat. Whose rage, I now realize, is fueled by insecurity and fear more than hatred. Who would rather make more of a fool of himself than dare accept my critique or assistance.

“Would you stop letting your pride get in the way and let me help?”

“No!” He shoots me a glare. “In case you weren’t aware, you’re really not as smart as you think you are. Not that you’d ever be willing to hear it.”

Fuck it.

Carefully leaning forward and crouching in the bottom of the canoe, I reach out and make a grab for the paddle, only for him to shoulder my arm out of the way.

“I got it, LaMothe,” he growls again.

“Give me the paddle,” I hiss, this time managing to get my hand on the handle.

He makes an attempt to bat me away again, and snaps, “I’mnot some damsel in distress, needing you to save the day.”

“No, you’re just an arrogant dick who won’t admit when you’re wrong.”

All talking ceases then, both of us focused on our struggle to win the paddle in this childish game of tug-of-war; a feat proving to be rather difficult, considering it’s still stuck on some unknown object beneath the surface. I’m also acutely aware of just how off-balance we are, the canoe swaying and shaking below us while I do my best to wrangle the paddle from his grip.

“Avery, just give it to me before we—”

The sentence dies on my lips the second he gives the handle a firm yank, pulling it free from the water’s clutches. Unfortunately, the sudden movement causes our already off-balance canoe to finally capsize, sending us crashing into the lake.

My blood is boiling when I resurface, finding the canoe flipped over and the kids all staring. Some are attempting to cover their laughter, while others are too stunned to do anything other than gawk.

Avery’s head pops up a few feet away, and it takes every ounce of my willpower to not shove his head back under and hold him there. From the fury written on his face, there’s a damn good chance he’s reining himself in from doing something similar.

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