Monty leans in, mouth close to my ear, and the heat of him is familiar in a way that makes my body remember summer nights and lake air and hands on skin and the three of us pretending we weren’t crossing lines until we were already over them.
“We’re getting a test,” he says.Not a suggestion.A decision.“Now.”
My laugh cracks.“In case you both forgot, I’m not a vending machine you can shake until the answer drops out.”
Cally steps closer anyway, like he’s trying to be my shelter with his whole body.“You’re not alone,” he says.“Not for this.Not for any of it.”
Something inside me gives.
Not all at once.Not neatly.
Just ...enough that my eyes burn, and my chest feels too full, like my body is trying to hold two men and a future and a father and a failing camp all in the same fragile container.
I came here to save my dad and the camp.I did not come here to become a question mark with new problems.
Monty’s voice goes quiet.“Tell me where you keep your emergency kit.”
“My—what?”
“Your camera bag,” he says, because of course he knows me.He knows where I hide the things I don’t admit I need.“You always have everything in there.I bet there are pregnancy tests too.”
Cally’s mouth quirks, charm cracking through fear for half a second.“She does.It’s like Mary Poppins, but with trauma and electrolytes.”
I want to laugh, scream, and ...instead, I whisper, “If this is real ...”
Cally’s breath stutters.Monty’s arm tightens like he’s anchoring me to the present whether I like it or not.
“If it is,” Monty says, “we’ll handle it.”
“And if it’s your Nordic virus,” Cally adds, softer, like he’s trying to soothe the part of me that wants to bolt, “we’ll still handle it.”
Monty’s phone buzzes.
He releases me just enough to check it, eyes scanning the screen, jaw setting with that lone-wolf certainty like he’s already ten steps ahead and dragging us with him.
“Doctor’s here in less than ten,” he says.
Ten minutes—or less.
My stomach rolls again, like it heard the countdown and decided to audition for a third round.
I wash my hands one more time and walk out of the bathroom like nothing happened, because that’s what I do.I keep moving so nothing can catch me.
Cally’s now in the living room, phone in hand, jaw tight like he’s one second away from calling someone and purchasing an entire hospital wing out of spite.Monty stands near the kitchen, eyes tracking me like he’s reading a language I’m pretending I don’t speak.
“It’s stress,” I announce, bright as a warning sign.“Jet lag.And the universe trying to make me humble.Classic combo.”
Cally’s gaze pins me.Monty’s gaze does something worse.
It analyzes, runs statistics, and probably tries to make decisions about my life.
And when the doorbell rings, my body goes perfectly still—because suddenly the scariest part isn’t the test.It’s the possibility that the answer will give them both a reason to stop letting me run.But also, I can’t choose between them, so what’s going to happen now?
ChapterSixteen
Vesper
A woman walks in like she’s stepped out of a different universe—mid-thirties, blonde hair twisted into a neat bun, long coat, medical bag slung over her shoulder with the confidence of someone who’s delivered bad news with a smile and a professional, “I’m sorry, but this is my bill.”
