by Kait Nolan
“Let’s get out there!” Sam gave a little hop in time with the chorus.
“You two go ahead. I’m going to get a drink.” With a drink, she’d have reason to stay outside the chaos and observe. No way would her legs allow for dancing. Not after today.
Sam gave her two thumbs up and dove after Charlie into the gyrating crowd. Was this what a mosh pit was like?
Audrey edged her way around the floor, watching and absorbing body language, automatically analyzing with her scientist’s mind. It seemed a lot of these people knew each other. From what she’d heard, this was as much a reunion as a throw-back session, so that made sense.
What must that be like? To have friends you made as a child that either stayed with you for years, or who you could pick back up with after all this time passed as if it were yesterday. Audrey couldn’t imagine that. She had friends, of course. Plenty of them as an adult. But as a child, she’d been painfully self-conscious, shy, and so far above her peers intellectually they hadn’t been able to relate to her at all. She’d been weird. Awkward. A freak. It had been easy to retreat into her studies.
School was easy. School followed some sense of logic and rules, and her academic performance had delighted her parents. Continuing along that track had just made sense. College. Grad school. Going into research professionally had been a no brainer. Audrey had an aptitude, and, in the Graham family, ignoring that would’ve been considered a crime. Over the years, she’d quietly amassed a list of all the life experiences she’d missed out on because of a lifetime spent worshiping at the altar of academia—never with any clear idea what she was going to do with it. It was more as a form of observational research. After the accident, that list had become her Holy Grail.
“Hi there.”
Audrey slid her gaze up to the guy who’d paused beside her. He was attractive in a clean cut, Ivy League sort of way, with the kind of confidence she’d seen often during her stint at Yale. The jeans and Camp Firefly Falls t-shirt he wore saved him from being unapproachable. She wondered where she could get one of those and made a mental note to track down one of the staff to ask.
“I’m Brad.”
The correct social convention is to speak. Open your mouth, she ordered herself. “Audrey.”
“Want to dance, Audrey?”
A refusal was on the tip of her tongue, but the music shifted into something less energetic. Something by Jack Johnson. Not a slow song, exactly, but something she could get away with not bouncing around to. Number thirty-seven on her list was Attend a school dance. This was probably as close as she’d ever get. She worked up a smile. “Sure.”
Brad knew how to dance. That much was obvious when she put her hand in his and followed him out onto the floor. His grip on her was light but sure. Audrey forced herself to relax and follow his lead.
“First time at Camp Firefly Falls?” he asked.
“What gave me away?”
“The way you’re watching everybody, like you’re not quite sure what to do.”
Audrey tried not to take offense at that since it was true. “I expected something a little more low-key tonight.”
“Kumbaya and s’mores?”
Number fifty-four: Roast marshmallows over a real campfire to make authentic s’mores. That had to be better than roasting them over the burner of the gas range in her apartment.
“Well, I did have my heart set on s’mores.”
“They have a campfire for that purpose every night, so if that’s what your heart desires, we can absolutely make that happen.” He flashed a too-practiced smile.
Was he flirting with her? Or just being friendly? This was one of those areas of human behavior she’d never felt comfortable assessing with any kind of accuracy. Uncertain, she gave a half smile and continued to watch the people around them. Probably it was rude not to maintain eye contact, but that felt too intimate. She didn’t know what to say to this guy.
Brad’s grip shifted. Before she could ask what that was about, he was whipping her out into a spin. At least, that’s what she assumed he was trying to do. Her legs couldn’t keep up, crossing over themselves like a pretzel, making her stumble. Pain shot up from her ankles, through her knees. Shock and an instant panic kept her from crying out. But his quick reflexes kept her from falling or from crashing into the couples dancing nearby.
“Whoops. Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to surprise you.”
Audrey held onto him, not because she wanted to but because without his support, she was pretty sure she’d drop like a stone.
“Audrey, you okay?” The concern in his voice told her she hadn’t managed to hide the wince.
“I think I twisted my ankle.” She hadn’t, but it was the easiest explanation that would get her off the dance floor.
“Crap, I’m so sorry. Here, let me help you.” He led her over to a row of chairs near the bar. “Should I find the camp doctor?”
She waved him off. “No need. I’ll be fine. I’m just going to sit here a bit. You go on and keep dancing.”
“You’re sure I can’t do anything?”
He looked so distressed at the idea that he’d ruined her evening, she relented. “Grab me a glass of wine?”
“I can do that. What kind?”
“Anything red.”
He brought her a glass of merlot and, after much urging, returned to the dancing. Audrey let out a long, controlled breath, imagining the pain leaving with the exhale. Sometimes that worked. Sometimes it didn’t. She’d have a date later with some muscle rub and the cold packs she’d shoved into the freezer of their mini fridge on arrival. She took a sip of her drink and relaxed in the chair. At least the wine was excellent.
Someone stepped up to the bar behind her. “Beer.”
Audrey cocked her head at the word, not knowing why.
“What kind?” Michael reeled off several types.
“The IPA.” There was something about that voice. It was deep, the kind of resonant timbre that soaked into your skin.
Come on. Say more than two words.
She heard ice shifting as Michael dug through the cooler. “You settling in okay? Got everything you need?”
“Yeah.” A pause, as if the speaker were taking a pull on the beer. “It’s a lot swankier than I remember.”
Michael laughed and said something in return, but Audrey didn’t hear it. His response, the music, the pain in her legs, everything else faded as her mind zeroed in on the other guy. She knew that voice. Had dreamed of it over and over. Had heard it in her head, urging her on through all the grueling months of physical therapy.
Or maybe it was just that she wanted it to be him. Her nameless savior.
She turned around, hoping the sight of his face would jog her memory, but he’d already left the bar and was striding across the boathouse. He didn’t stop to speak to anyone, didn’t even acknowledge other campers were there. He just walked on out the door and into the night.
Before she could change her mind, Audrey shoved to her feet and followed.
~*~
Coming back to Camp Firefly Falls had been a mistake. But Hudson’s mom had been so hopeful when they’d presented the trip to him—a surprise for the birthday he’d rather not have acknowledged. Some peace and quiet and fun was just what he needed. Right.
Sadly, only one person could give him what he needed, and right now the fucker wasn’t cooperating. Goddamned coma.
Hudson’s cabinmate had somehow managed to convince him to show up at the mixer without earning a fist in the face. Charlie had the kind of unwavering good cheer that Hudson didn’t know how to fight against, at least not without feeling like he’d kicked a puppy. So, he’d come and immediately wished he were anywhere else. At least there was beer. He’d lasted two songs before he couldn’t take any more of the shiny, happy people or the blasting of the music. The thump of it followed him out to the end of the pier, but it wasn’t so suffocating standing at the edge of Lake Waawaatesi. Just him and his beer and the night. No reason to let his foul
mood spill over onto anyone else.
The sound of someone’s hesitant footsteps on the dock had him tensing. Whether it was somebody from the old days or just a party goer looking to play Get To Know You, he wanted none of it. Talking was the last thing he felt like doing. He was already calculating where he could disappear to get the fuck away from people when a quiet voice spoke behind him.
“Excuse me.”
Be polite, asshole.
Taking a breath, Hudson turned to find a petite redhead. The same one he’d seen on the other side of the lake this afternoon? She was a pretty little thing, looking out of place in her pants and flowy top amid all the camp t-shirts and shorts.
She stared at him for long moments with an intensity that surprised him, as if she were looking past his face to somewhere deeper. It was unnerving. Then her serious face lightened. “It is you.”
Okay, not what he’d been expecting. “I’m sorry? Do we know each other?” Surely, he’d remember a face like that.
“I—no. Not really. You don’t recognize me, do you?” She gave a self-deprecatory laugh, as if the very idea that he might was stupid. “No, of course you wouldn’t. I’m not covered in blood this time.”
That got his attention.
“You saved my life,” she continued.
Hudson looked back now, really looked, mentally visualizing that face streaked with blood. Something about that macabre image snapped a memory into focus. “I-81.”
“Yes.”
He tried to remember the details. The accident had been about two years ago. One of the worst car crashes he’d ever worked. Even with the Jaws of Life, it had taken more than an hour to get her out of the car, and when they had…
“You’re walking.”
She beamed at that. “I am. The doctors said I wouldn’t, but I’m more stubborn than they are.”
“That’s amazing.” And he meant it. Her legs had been a bloody, mangled mess. Hudson couldn’t imagine what she must’ve gone through to get to this point.
They lapsed into silence. As the moment stretched out from one to two, to more than a dozen, she knotted her hands in obvious discomfort.
“I just…I heard your voice. In there.” She gestured back toward the boat house. “And I remembered. I don’t remember a lot of the accident…”
That was a blessing. He didn’t know much about what had caused the accident, just that by the time he’d gotten to the scene, her car was more-or-less fused with an eighteen-wheeler and a mini-van and there were two fatalities. He’d been determined she wouldn’t be the third.
“Anyway, I just had to see if it was really you.”
“Guess it is.” What were the odds that this woman he’d rescued from a mangled car with out-of-state plates would be here, now, at Camp Firefly Falls of all places?
“I never had a chance to thank you. I wouldn’t be alive today, if it weren’t for you.”
Hudson felt something twist in his chest at the claim. “I was just doing my job. If it hadn’t been me, it’d have been someone else.”
“But it wasn’t someone else. It was you. And maybe it was your job, but you did it damned well. You kept me calm and distracted, when I was in unspeakable pain. And you got me out.” Something rippled over her face—a remembered pain? The fear?
He remembered her terror, barely kept at bay as her body went into shock. Remembered, too, the talking, talking, talking to try to keep her mind on anything else. The idea that that was still with her—and why wouldn’t it be?—bothered him, made him want to do…something.
“Look, you got me out, and I wanted to...can I...” She shifted, dropping her gaze for a moment before bringing it back to his. “Okay maybe this is stupid, but can I just give you a hug?” Her voice was a little scratchy as she said it, and even in the darkness, he could see the stain of color in her cheeks.
Everything in Hudson wanted to step back. This was all way too close to feeling shit, and he had plenty of his own to deal with. But he also knew it would be a complete dick move not to grant her this one, small request.
“Sure.” He set his beer on one of the rope-wrapped pilings.
Her expression eased.
He expected some awkward little dance, while they tried to figure out how to get past being basically strangers. Instead, she stepped into him without hesitation, sliding her arms around his waist and squeezing tight. She was a good bit shorter than he was, and her head nestled just right against his chest, somewhere in the vicinity of the heart he’d tried to shut off.
His arms lifted, wrapping around her shoulders, one hand cradling her head as he hugged her back because… He didn’t know why, except that it felt damned good and nothing had felt good in months.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
She pressed her cheek to his heart and sighed, a long exhale of tension that seemed to pull some of his own out with it. He stood with this virtual stranger in his arms and wondered if he ought to be the one thanking her.
Chapter 3
Thanking her rescuer was possibly the most important thing on Audrey’s list. To finally be able to do it, even if she couldn’t really express what it meant to her, felt amazing. So did being in his arms. She’d expected a perfunctory squeeze, at most. But he’d hugged her back, and what had been meant as a simple thank you had turned into an embrace. Had she ever really let anyone hold her? Not like this. This whole thing had gone on way longer than she’d intended because…well, he seemed to need it. She knew grief and pain, and she’d recognized it in his face. If a simple hug would help even a little bit, who was she to deny him?
He seemed to register the weirdness a few moments after she did. They broke apart, an awkward disentangling of limbs. Audrey didn’t know what to do. She’d said what she needed to say. She didn’t really want to go back to the dance, but he obviously came out here because he didn’t want company. Maybe she’d go find Sam and beg off the rest of the evening. Retreat to the cabin and ice her legs.
“Audrey,” he said. “Your name is Audrey.”
Something warm and fuzzy bloomed in her chest. He remembered her name. “Audrey Graham. I’m sorry, I never knew your name.”
“Hudson Lowell.”
“Nice to meet you, Hudson.” After another beat of awkward silence, she started to turn.
“You wanna sit?”
The question surprised her. She looked around but saw no chairs. If she sat on the dock, she might not be able to get up again. But despite the risk, she didn’t want to leave him. This man who had haunted her dreams for two years. The chance to find out more about the real guy was too good to pass up. “Sure.”
Hudson retrieved his beer, toed off his shoes, and dropped down to the edge of the pier, dipping his feet into the water.
Audrey hesitated. “Isn’t it cold?”
“Little bit.”
Well, maybe this would serve the same purpose as icing. Using his shoulder for balance, she carefully lowered herself. He knew what she’d been through, so there was no sense in hiding the fact that she needed a little help. She pulled off her shoes and socks and tugged up the wide legs of her pants just far enough they wouldn’t get wet. Despite the darkness, she was still paranoid about her scars. Knowing and seeing were two very different things.
The water was frigid and perfect, the coolness immediately starting to alleviate the ache. She flexed her toes and feet, slowly rotating her ankles.
He dangled the longneck bottle between two fingers, looking out over the lake. “How did you end up at Camp Firefly Falls?”
Audrey glanced over at him. “Because of you, actually.”
“Me?” That pulled his attention back to her.
“You talked about it when you were cutting me out. I guess it stuck.” She shrugged with a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “The accident was a kind of wakeup call for me. I’d been putting all this focus on my career, practically since kindergarten—” Which was only a slight exaggeration. “—and I realized I’d been putting off
actual living. Once I could do stuff again, I decided to start making up for lost time. I never got to go to camp as a kid, so when I found out they did grown-up camp and had a two-week retro session, I signed up.”
“What is it you do?”
“I’m a professor.”
Hudson gave her the side eye. “You seem kinda young for that.”
She rolled her eyes heavenward, thankful that she was old enough now that not every single person she met had that reaction. “I finished my PhD at twenty-three.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
He digested that for a moment. “So, you were...how old when you finished high school?”
“I graduated a few months before I turned sixteen.”
“Holy shit.”
She shrugged again, wishing they could talk about anything else but how much of a freak she was. “I skipped a few grades.” She waited for the intimidation or the interrogation about how smart she was. It was what people generally did when they found out.
Instead he surprised her. “That must’ve been hard. Being so out-of-sync age-wise with your classmates.” It was an insightful observation and absolutely true.
“Yeah. I kind of skipped a lot of normal kid rites of passage.”
“Hence camp.”
“Hence camp,” she agreed.
He tipped back his beer. “Well, for an authentic camp experience, you need a number of components.”
Her mouth pulled into a smile. “Should I be taking notes?”
“Reckon you’d be good at that after all that school.”
“True enough. So, the requisite components for an authentic camp experience?”
“You got your water sports, woodsy stuff, crafty stuff—I always avoided that like the plague, except for that one summer I had a crush on Jennifer Saylor and sat through macramé for two whole days because I thought she might notice me.”
“Did she?”
“Sadly, no. She had a thing for Pete Zimmerman, who was a counselor-in-training at the time.”
“So, you suffered through macramé for nothing?”
“Not nothing. I took home a real nice plant hammock to my mom.”