by C. M. Owens
Now I’m wide awake despite the inconvenient fact that it really is boring on this side of the tent, and I didn’t bring anything to keep my attention.
I practically jump off the chair when I hear the wail of the final horn, and Harley yelps like she’s been startled awake as I push through the tent’s entrance.
I make it almost out of the woods when I see Base walking right toward me, goggles hanging from his hand as he breathes heavily.
He’s covered in kill shots, and he’s wearing a string with no less than ten revival cards around his neck.
His eyes meet mine, and I’m almost positive I see relief cross his features as he straightens and gestures toward himself.
“You died a lot,” I point out in confusion. “It’s hard to die that much. Very few of us are good shots in real life.”
“I had a sniper on me for the first few hits. I would have died more, but a lot of them glanced off me without enough strength to break the bulb. To be honest, halfway through, I was so confused that I just started trying to die. But people kept thinking I was being selfless and heroic, so they kept reviving me,” he says like he’s quickly recapping.
I follow his gaze when he glances over to a group of four men and three women who are all staring at him with very big grins. Rain calls the five-finger-wiggle-wave a flirty wave. All seven seem to give him that wave at once.
He gives a no-finger-wiggle-wave back before giving me that look he uses when he’s too tired to try to explain.
“I couldn’t talk, because Harley said she’d kick me out if I broke her rules. So I also came off as the strong, silent type. It’s…a long story,” he says to confirm my assessment.
“The wars only last for thirty minutes at a time,” I say, because I’m still really confused.
That’s a lot of times to die.
“Yeah, did you know there are emergency inhaler stations set up around the edges? And there are label makers for anyone who hasn’t already labeled their inhalers,” he says like that’s somehow relevant to this conversation.
I don’t even get to respond before he’s firing off the next question. “So what happens now? I no longer trust the itinerary I got, because this is all different than I thought it would be.”
The spot lights all cut out at once, and he looks around as more torches light up in unison around the tables being set up.
“Rich people,” he says on a snort under his breath, smirking as he looks back at me. “I’m not saying that to be mean, either.”
“Now we eat,” I say as I start walking, unsure what else to really say.
I didn’t prepare myself for him to be here. There wasn’t even a fraction of a chance he’d be here.
Harley…the meddler.
He pulls the string of revival cards over his head, and he nudges me as he moves to my side.
“I sat down and told you about the tour and shit. You could have at least mentioned all this,” he says as he follows me to a table.
“It’s hard to talk about things that need so much background explanation it detracts from the original point you were trying to reference,” I tell him, absently, as people keep swinging their attention in our direction. “It’s usually not worth the effort.”
Harley warned me there’d be more attention on me once it went live. I thought I was ready for it.
My eyes move back to Base to find him so close our lips could touch. I pull back just barely, and his hand comes up to my waist, simply resting there.
Fortunately, Harley starts a toast, and the food starts being served directly after, interrupting the moment as the tables start filling up quickly.
This is a really big problem for me, because he’s refusing to stay out of my sight.
Chapter 41
BRITT
Harley and I have been in various group discussions, and as the last person walks out of the circle, Harley collapses in her chair with theatrical, overt exhaustion.
“You’re not good for my health, Britt. Go to your tent,” she orders as Dale starts walking toward us, causing her smile to slowly grow.
“Was that literal?” I ask her.
“Yes. Both parts are literal in this moment.” Just as I stand, she adds, “I didn’t assign Base a tent. Care to handle that for me? He’s probably tired too.”
Dale glares in her direction. Her smile only grows as her eyes remain on me.
I just give one nod and walk away, feeling my pulse thump in every pulse point in my body as I go. Meddling. More meddling.
Inconceivable. How was I supposed to plan for her meddling when she hates meddling?
I spot him with a group, sitting on the ground with his laptop in his lap, as they all take turns coaching him.
“See? That fucking goblin thing comes up out of the ground no matter which direction I go, and it kills me every time,” I hear him saying as my lips turn up in a small grin.
The girl with short, spiky hair starts to explain how to get around, when all gazes swing up to me. Base’s grin slowly spreads as he closes the lid on his laptop.
“I’m supposed to assign you a tent,” I tell him.
“It’s fine if he stays in ours,” the spiky haired girl says as she gestures to her and another girl.
My spine goes really stiff as I cast a panicked look between both pretty girls, and find myself decidedly not okay with that at all.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got it sorted,” Base tells her before he smirks at me.
He gives them all quick fist-bumps before standing, putting his stuff in one of his bags, and he picks up another to add to the load. He’s in his regular clothes now, which is possibly one reason for my distraction.
I don’t know what to do, so I just turn to start walking toward my tent, trying to ignore the sickly feeling in my stomach as I idly wonder what tent he’s staying in and with whom.
His arm drops around my shoulders when he catches up, and I continue to walk as though this is a perfectly natural exchange.
“They’ve officially fucked with my head by praising you so much that I’m worried I’m in groupie territory now,” he tells me like he’s serious but joking.
That tone always confuses me because I don’t know if he’s serious, joking, or joking seriously.
“I miss you being my groupie,” he goes on as my heart starts pounding.
He told me he loved me. He shouldn’t have told me that. It’s trying to mess with the logical plans my head had a lot harder now that I’m forced to see him so soon.
“Which tent are you staying in?” I ask him as the vast majority of people elect to stay up.
They’re busy playing and not paying us much attention, absorbed by the demo of the new universe we’ll be launching.
“I’m staying in your tent, of course,” he answers casually, forcing me to keep walking when I try to stop, his trademark grin spreading when I stumble. “The excitement around here is contagious.”
I’m too stuck on the first part of his comment to formulate a response to the second half. I certainly don’t want him staying in anyone else’s tent though…
He steers me through some more tents, and the closer we get to mine, the faster my heart starts to beat.
“I spent all that time telling you the ins and outs of my world, dragging you into it from the day I moved in and started invading your privacy, and you pretended to have no creative influence or aspirations,” he says just as we reach my tent.
His arm falls away from me as he pulls back the entrance flap.
“I just had an idea. Harley turned it into a vision. Then together we made it happen,” I quickly explain, most of my attention focused on the fact we’re about to be all alone for the first time since he told me he loved me…and kissed me…and…left.
“Sounds like you’re already stepping into your partner role earlier than projected,” he says as he steps in behind me and puts his bags off to the side.
I shrug, not really sure why we’re discussing busine
ss alone in the tent. It’s like he’s purposely not addressing the confusing situation.
I’m stalling while I think of any other solution, but I really don’t feel comfortable with letting him out of my sight. Girls actually invited him to their tent right in front of me because I have no right to say otherwise.
“I think you keep a lot of things quiet, because you try to make people forget how smart you are,” he goes on.
I have no idea what he’s talking about right now. I feel stupid. Not smart. Not smart at all.
I have one large pillow mattress, but it’s not really big enough for the two of us unless we’re sleeping very close. That’s a terrible idea.
“We should have separate sleeping areas,” I tell him with a firm nod.
He just glances over at me, eyebrow arched as he keeps a respectable amount of smile on his lips.
“Why’s that?” he asks like he doesn’t already know.
“For one, we’ve absolved our physical and romantic relationship, so it’s not considered appropriate,” I tell him as I stare at the pillow mattress, feeling warmer than I should as I step back. “And also, we’re a primary example of the controversial phenomenon that can only be described as animal magnetism.”
I look back over to see his smile growing as he tilts his head, eyes scanning me in that deliberate way of his that always does something inexplicable to me.
I take another step back, moving toward the tent’s entrance.
“Are you saying you won’t be able to keep your hands off me if we sleep in the same bed?” he asks with some amusement.
I nod again, because there’s simply no avoiding this conversation. I’ve worked on preparing it on the nights when I couldn’t sleep, because my mind wouldn’t rest until I did.
“I know you could correct every tedious thing you perceive to be relevant on that relationship chart you were never meant to see,” I tell him on a calm breath as I pinch the bridge of my nose, cringing at how horrible I currently feel for that. “You don’t have to prove it. You’re figuratively limitless.”
When I look back at him, he’s already staring at me like he’s genuinely surprised.
“You keep acting like you’ve done something wrong. Everyone does. I don’t know why, and the more I talk, the worse it just seems to get. Everyone is meddling, which makes the philosophy I’ve adopted to deal with this breakup a very taxing imposition, since you’re suddenly everywhere.”
“Are you asking me to leave you alone?” he asks as he slowly lowers himself to a chair, just staring at me a little blankly. “Do you really want to cut me out that bad, Britt?”
I start to open my mouth, but he keeps talking before I can speak.
“I was worked up, and yeah, it was stupid to throw an ultimatum at you, especially since I was just taking it out on you. I get it. I’m sorry. I can’t apologize enough,” he goes on. “But I’m not going to walk away every time we argue, and you should know that. I thought I’d give you time to think, process, and hopefully prove I’m more patient than I seemed that night. I’m—”
“Can I please finish?” I ask on a shaky breath.
He clicks his tongue as he sits back and crosses his arms over his chest.
“See? You’re still trying to make this about you. I never once said you did anything wrong. The relationship chart was unaddressed issues to make everyone stop asking why I was giving up so easily, because no one would listen to my practical answer.”
He frowns as he just stares at me, his head tilting. “You’re not ready for a relationship?” he asks like he’s confused. “That was the practical, bullshit answer?”
“Conflict is just one of my many issues. I also panic when I get really scared,” I tell him on another shaky exhale.
“Most people do, Britt. Don’t patronize me by listing your imperfections with your ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech,” he says on a groan as he scrubs his hand over his face. “It’s fine. I get it.”
I start feeling frustrated when I shake my head, tears starting to brim, but the panic stays down, because I’ve rehearsed multiple ways of explaining this correctly for once.
“No. You clearly don’t get it. You did nothing wrong to me,” I tell him as calmly as I can as I back up again, keeping more and more space between us so that I stay calm.
“You asked a reasonable question, and you deserved to have a prompt response to it,” I tell him. “In hindsight, you were just making your new intentions clear, and I made it entirely too complicated at a really vulnerable moment in your life. You had every right to get angry when I didn’t have the answer you deserved at the ready. I made that night about me, and it should have been about you.”
His brow knits together again as he sits up, elbows moving to his knees.
“However, I’m incapable of making a decision that big on the spot. It’s not as easy for me as it is for you to adapt, progress, and realize things so abruptly. Hindsight helps me with clarity and processing. I’m sorry for that,” I tell him as honestly as I can.
He scrubs his face again with both hands and makes some sound, but I press on.
“It’s me, Base. It’s just me,” I go on as he sits quietly. “I can’t do what I can’t do, and it’s not that easy for me to take a leap of faith until I’ve thoroughly calculated the distance I’m leaping to the best of my ability.”
I wipe away the one tear that falls, stepping back so far that I run out of room to move without leaving the tent.
“You have such extreme emotions. In one bad day where I simply piled onto your problems, you were ready to throw it all away. Honey Bee assured me you would have bounced back and been back on target within a few days. Now it’s clear I made it worse by trying to fix it, because it’s starting to feel like you think you owe me something.”
He exhales heavily as he studies me.
“That’s not at all why I’m here right now, Britt. And that’s sure as hell not when I realized I loved you. I should have told you immediately instead of holding back, so that we could avoid this little misunderstanding.”
I mentally flip to a new explanation, because I’m still apparently guiding this entire conversation wrong.
“You’re intense with every single emotion,” I go on, trying to ignore the growing pang in my own chest. “It’s my favorite thing about you. You have this fascinatingly quick way of processing emotion, and it’s so intense that you act on it in ways I never can. I weigh down your highs, and the first time you had a low, I just pushed you down harder because I need more time than most people to process emotions. This isn’t about you being all wrong for me. This is about me being a very unhealthy life decision for you.”
His brow starts to furrow again as he reaches back and randomly pulls out his wallet, opening it up.
“Here’s what really happened. Please hear me out on this,” I say when he starts to act distracted.
When I have most of his attention, I go on.
“Bo convinced Vince to mentor you and to start it in a way that kept your integrity intact. That way you wouldn’t be able to turn it down. The only person you’d feel resentment toward would be me, and it would cause you to avoid me, and I could move on with the solace that I didn’t completely mess it all up for you. You don’t owe me anything, Base. After I calmed down that first night, I realized quickly that I was the one who owed you.”
He blinks at me a couple of times before weirdly tossing a condom to the bedding. Is he cleaning out his wallet right now? Really?
“That’s almost diabolical,” he finally says as his face stays expressionless.
I don’t know how to respond to that.
He slowly stands, wallet still open as he just stares at me.
“It’s very messy. All of it. Things just keep escalating beyond my control, leaving me no choice but to explain it so thoroughly that you’re left with no choice but to understand. Especially since Harley is unrepentantly meddling,” I tell him. “I feel the urge to apologize for
that.”
“Yeah. Sure,” he states like he’s not really listening, nodding absently.
“There’s no need in rectifying the relationship chart issues. I’m sorry you ever saw that. You’ve done nothing wrong. We just simply reached an impasse because I can’t do what I can’t do, even when you deserve it. Do you finally understand, or have I just made it worse?” I ask him, trying to find his eyes, but he just stares at the floor for a second.
His wallet claps the ground and startles me, and I struggle for the next words when he tugs his shirt over his head.
I try really hard to focus on my words instead of his body. He’s always doing things at odd times, so it’s not all that surprising that he’s apparently decided to change for bed now.
“I’ve been so relieved that the tour went good for you. I’m glad you’re happy. Maybe one day—”
“So when you said you’re not ready for a relationship, you actually meant you’re not able to meet my expectations,” he states very calmly as he starts undoing his jeans.
“That wording and tone makes it sound like you’re still the one who thinks he’s in the wrong. Don’t do that,” I tell him with a frown. “Do I need to start all over?”
He drops his jeans and steps out of them, eyes seeming to stare at nothing in particular as he runs his hand over his jaw. It’s the look he gets when he’s lost in thought.
“No. I think I finally get what you’re saying,” he states in as an indecipherable look crosses his features and he seems to roll his eyes at himself, the way Dane does when he forgets his phone, keys, or wallet.
Does he know his wallet is on the ground?
I try not to look at his body. It’s very distracting in this moment. I should have sent an email with all the listed arguments and counterpoints to his arguments and counterpoints.
I only have so much fortitude left in me.
“But, to sum it all up, despite the fancy phrasing, all of this is because you think you are not good enough for me,” he goes on, still seeming distant and slightly confused.
I don’t know why he has to insist on that particular phrasing.