I looked back at my car, torch glaring. My earlier sleeping bag performance fresh in my mind. Who was I kidding? I was the worst scout ever.
“I don’t need your help, you know,” I said, arms folded.
“Oh, I know,” he replied, not an ounce of humour in his voice.
I studied his face, trying to read him in the moonlight. For better or worse, it seemed things might go better if he stayed.
“Fine. But only because two sets of eyes are better than one.” I wasn't about to tell him I was relieved. He was right that I could take care of things. But the squeeze on my chest softened when I didn’t have to.
I moved my car inside the gate to hide it behind the overgrown hedge that used to line the old garden shed and went to get into the passenger’s side of Dax’s ute when he pulled down the rear gate.
“Over here,” he grunted, gesturing to the back of the ute before pulling himself up. In the back tray were wool blankets and a cool box. My stomach summersaulted, and I took a couple of steps backward, ready to leg it back to my car. Complete set up.
Dax took in my coiled features, and his eyes darted over the back of the ute’s contents, deciphering my panic.
“This is how I always set up when I’m doing low-risk recon! I swear Riley. I promise it’s not for your benefit. Or mine,” he added, clearing his throat.
My shoulders relaxed, but a pang of wounded pride lingered. Get a grip, Riley.
“If it makes you feel better, we can sit on opposite sides. I assume you’re not going inside?”
“I’d rather re-enact scenes from a Stephen King novel,” I muttered, climbing into the tray and letting my legs dangle.
“Sounds like you already did.”
“Yeah, well.” I shrugged. He wasn’t wrong.
If I ignored the nightmarish house looming two storeys high in front of us, this didn’t feel as awful as last time. The full moon in the sky could even trick me into thinking it was kind of nice. The dark backdrop spattered with patterns of stars in a way thatwas never visible in the light-polluted cities I was fond of. The ocean below the cliff line was lit up by the same orb, creating a light carpet to somewhere unknown. I leaned back on my elbows and tipped my head back toward the blackness. There was something about the full moon. My skin needed it in the same way it needed the sun. Something in it caused my insides to sigh and relax the same way it did when it found a warm spot on a winter’s day. I blew out a steady breath I hadn’t realised I was holding onto and let my nose fill again with the smell of summer evening air. The breeze still carried glimpses of the day that still felt uncommonly warm.
I cracked an eye open to see what Dax was doing, relieved to find that while my current dry spell meant I couldn't ignore his appearance, it hadn't blinded me. I didn't trust him completely, word slip or not.
His long body stretched out on his own blanket, one arm under his head, the other holding a beer. Wasn’t this a work night?
I kicked off my platform sneakers and helped myself to a drink from the cool box.
“What was it like?” I asked after a few minutes of silence.
“What was what like?” he asked, rolling onto his side to face me. A part of me cringed at his closeness. Another part relaxed.
I picked at the label of the craft beer. “War.”
“Oh, that.” He pressed his lips together and rolled back to face the stars. “Loud. Dirty.”
“No, really.”
He let out a breath. “You’re exposed to the worst things a human can do to another human.” His voice quietened. “And sometimes, you’re forced to do those things yourself.”
Silence settled between us, and I felt guilty for asking.
“What was it like in there?” he asked, nodding at the house.
I let the quiet stretch. I couldn’t get mad when I’d asked him the same.
Annoyed, yes. Angry, no.
“You’re exposed to some of the worst things a human can do. Sometimes you’re forced to do those things yourself,” I said, echoing his words.
I hugged my knees to my chest, chasing a memory I wasn’t sure I wanted to catch.
