Page 48 of Camping with the Boss

Once that’s taken care of, I look around for Canyon. He’s gone. What if he went back to the cabin? I don’t trust Owen at all.

A hand touches my arm and I jerk in response. Ander. I glance at Jared, leading Al away with an icepack on his face. “If you’re looking for Canyon, he went to the bathrooms by the pool to clean up. We passed him on our way to get ice.”

I nod my head and glance around at the rest of my team. They’re all shuffling around with varying degrees of what-the-fuck expressions. I need to deal with them, but they aren’t my focus right now.

“Go on. I’ll take care of them. You check on Canyon.”

“Thank you.” I squeeze his shoulder. We don’t usually show affection, but it feels necessary.

“Come on, everyone. Let’s talk about what happened.”

I ignore the groans and head for the bathrooms. I just have to convince Canyon not to quit. And that none of this is his fault. My odds for either of those things aren’t great.

Chapter Eleven

Canyon

Wednesday, June 11th, 2:45 p.m.

I rush into the bathroom and sink against the closed door. The relief of escaping the chaos and my own failure overrides my hesitation at getting dirt everywhere. My ragged breaths fill the room and I belatedly check that no one else is here.

Leaning over the sink, I splash water on my heated face. It’s at least ninety degrees, and with the Missouri humidity, it’s pushing closer to ninety-five. No wonder everyone’s on edge.

What the hell is going on with Al and Owen?

No one wanted to do trust falls, but I pushed them into it.

I was just following River’s plan.

My mind is a mess. This thing with Wade. Worrying over my brother. Where is he? But I can’t really blame River for leaving. I’m less tense than I was a few days ago, but it’s a constant reminder of life before our parents died. The rustle of leaves. The popping of the campfire. The taste of roasted marshmallows. Even the impromptu campfire songs.

Mom tortured us with that crap for years, but now I would gladly endure it all again for her sweet smile and watchful eyes. “Don’t overdo it, Canyon,” she would say. “The doctors…”

And then Dad’s voice. “He can’t just hide from life, Liv. He’s fine. We’re all fine.” But Dad was wrong.

The grief hits me hard. And I know it’s due to everything. River disappearing. Being here surrounded by memories. Wade’s team. Are some of them rooting for me to fail? Some of them clearly don’t want to be here either. And they have this shared knowledge that I don’t have. Every word seems to be laced with secrets. From me. From Wade. From each other. The man needs a month-long retreat to work through all this crap.

And then there’s Wade. He’s the most overwhelming thing of all. At night, in his arms, it seems clearer somehow. His commanding voice. My body willing to obey his every wish—or not, just to see that fire in his eyes as he reprimands me. During the day, it gets hazy. This is my boss, even if it’s temporary. River’s boss, which might also be temporary. He’s a grumpy asshole, and the rules he has for himself are borderline abusive. I clutch the edge of the sink. But it helps. His aunt is evil, and pointing my frustration and rage at someone deserving feels freeing.

Tucking that all away, I focus on getting cleaned up. Not that I want to go back out there, but I’ve been through worse. Fighting campers and an overprotective, confusing bosshole are still easier than having doctors monitoring every single thing I put in my mouth.

I jump in the shower. The water hides my tears and soothes my prickly emotions. I towel off and quickly pull on my underwear and shorts. No sense in dragging it out. I’m almost dressed when the bathroom door whooshes open, and I squeak in surprise, my heart pounding as I clutch my shirt to mychest. The flimsy curtain shielding me from view feels wholly inadequate.

“Can?” Wade. Thank God.

The surge of relief is dizzying, and I grab the tiled wall to keep upright. “Over here,” I say as if my feet aren’t visible under the drawn curtain. As if my breathing isn’t a clue as I suck air in and out to avoid another panic attack.

“Thank God,” he mutters as he pulls the curtain open and then closes it again just as quickly.

I huff out a laugh, feeling a little better. “What are you doing?”

“I should have asked—I’m not—sorry.” The pain in his voice stops the teasing comment on my lips. He doesn’t usually ask permission. Show no weakness. Another rule. Another scar. I’m not a violent person, but if his aunt was bleeding and dying, I’m not sure I’d stop to help.

I feel strangely vulnerable. “You can come in.”

He opens the curtain gently this time and his gaze roams over me as if assessing me for injuries. He reaches out but doesn’t touch me. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I take his hand and press it against the side of my face. Needing a connection. “Really. Nothing bruised but my ego.”

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