I clear my throat and force my voice into something lighter.“Are you calling to offer emotional support, or are you calling because you have a plan that involves a private jet and a dramatic entrance?”
He snorts.“Both.”
“Cal—”
“I’m serious,” he says, and the warmth in his voice turns into something steadier.“I can help.Money, lawyers, whatever.I have a fucking trust fund that I don’t use.It’s yours.If the county thinks they can threaten the camp?—”
“That’s not what this is,” I interrupt, sharper than I mean to be.“It’s not just ...a check.”
Silence.
Then, softer, “I know.”
And the way he says it tells me he really does.
He knows Juniper Ridge isn’t just a camp to me.It’s a piece of my mother that never got to grow old.It’s my dad’s pride.It’s my brothers’ origin story.It’s the only place I ever felt like my loudness was a gift instead of a flaw.
It’s also where I met him.
Where I met Monty.
Where I learned love can be bigger than the boxes people insist on handing you—labeled, sealed, easy to explain.
Cally’s voice is still in my ear, still threaded through my nerves, still trying to turn my life into something with edges and answers.
“If I move to Portland, we could ...”He trails off, and I can hear him debating whether he’s allowed to say it out loud.Whether he’s brave enough to offer me a future that comes with a jersey schedule and a house key and the expectation that I’ll finally pick him.
Not Monty, butCally.
My phone buzzes.I pull it away from my ear to glance at the screen.
Of course it’shim.Monty.
My stomach tips.
He calls now.The universe stacks them on top of each other the second I’m too tired to perform sanity.Like some writer in the sky is sitting there going, Let’s see how fast she breaks.
“Cally,” I murmur, lowering my voice like I’m hiding in a closet even though I’m alone, “I have another call.”
“Is that—” He stops himself.He always stops himself now, like saying Monty’s name might summon a fight he can’t win.Then, softer, and I hate the softness because it means he cares, “Fuck, of course it’s him.Okay.Text me after you talk to Harvey.Please.”
“I will,” I say.
I don’t know if it’s a promise or something I’m saying to keep him from splintering.At least I can breathe for a moment after he says he wants us to ...because I can’t choose, and I hate that he’s almost asking.
And how am I supposed to keep this friendship when everything might come down to choosing—when I can already feel the moment coming, and I’m terrified it’s going to ask for a name?
ChapterSix
Vesper
“Monty,” I say, and his name comes out different.
“Did you land?”he asks.
No hello.No warm-up.Straight to the point, like he’s already halfway through solving the problem and I’m just catching up.
“I landed,” I say.“I’m almost home.”
