Okay. Handle Amelia first. Whatever she needs, it’ll be quick. Then I can figure out this mess with Dakota.
“Try not to burn the place down with your party planning.” I turn to leave. “And turn off the generator. We need to save on the fuel.”
“It’s a social gathering!” Cameron calls after me.
I lift my hand in acknowledgment without turning back.
If only fixing everything else were that simple.
Turn a wrench, flip a switch, and suddenly Dakota stays.
If only.
The Levines’ cabin door looks the same as all the others, weathered pine with a brass knob worn smooth by years of tourist hands. The only difference: Enemy territory. Nicklas is still on my shitlist. I wish I could get rid of him, but Dakota wouldn’t want that.
Not yet, at least.
I knock twice. Firm but not aggressive.
Movement sounds from inside—lighter than Nicklas’s heavy tread, too quick for Carmen’s slower pace. The door swings open to reveal Amelia, a book clutched to her chest, her face lighting up with a smile that transforms her pale features.
“Julien!” She takes a half-step back. “You came.”
“Sienna said you were looking for me.” I keep my voice neutral, noticing the flush in her cheeks. She looks better. Healthier. Good. Maybe Dakota will worry less.
“Yes.” She tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “I was hoping that if you’re not too busy, I’d love to sit by the lake.”
“The lake?”
“Mom and Dad won’t let me go alone.” She rolls her eyes. “And Dakota’s always so worried, hovering like I’ll break if she blinks.”
“Can’t Cam take you? Or Sienna?”
“Oh. I thought… You know. I just want to sit by the water for a bit. Like we used to when we were kids.”
I remember those summers. Amelia and Dakota had been visiting, and the four of us, Cameron included, spent hours by the water at Rosa’s house. Before our fathers turned business into blood.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ve got some time.”
“Great! Let me just…” She turns to place her book on the side table and wobbles, grabbing the door for support.
“You sure you’re up for this?” Dakota would kill me if I let Amelia overexert herself. “It’s a bit of a walk.”
“I’ve been cooped up for days. I’m fine.” But when she takes another step, her knees buckle.
I catch her elbow, steadying her. “Maybe we should?—”
“No.” She looks down, shy. “Maybe you could carry me?”
“Piggyback or?—”
“Could you carry me properly? If it’s too much trouble?—”
“It’s fine.” I scoop her up, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back.
Her arms loop around my neck, head resting against my shoulder. “Thank you.”
The path to the lake is well-worn now, packed dirt from our daily runs.
