Page 2

Yup, Daddy paid him off, because this stick-in-the-ass certainly didn’t like us.

“In lieu of jail time, I am sentencing each of you to two-hundred hours of court-ordered community service.”

I let out the teeniest breath. Could’ve been worse. I looked at the ol’ cranky wrinkle-twat in front of us and he had a toothy grin. Never trust a smiling judge.

“The court has coordinated with a local summer camp for juvenile attendees.”

My brain screeched to a halt. No. No. No.

“…where both defendants attended as minors.”

Absolutely not. No fucking way.

“You will serve as co-counselors for the entirety of this summer’s youth program.”

I blinked. Darius blinked. Our lawyer blinked. Even the court reporter looked confused as fuck.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled before I could stop myself. “But wrinkle-fuck-twat said what?”

“You heard me, Mr. Carter,” Judge Caroway replied sternly, but there was a slight uptick to his mouth. This ass-knob had been waiting to ruin a good summer for me. Now he had the perfect opportunity.

“No… I heard the words you said all right.” I pointed towards him. “I just figured they were arranged incorrectly, because no way in hell did you say that you expect me to be part of leading some obstinate child brigade.”

A few muffled laughs echoed through the gallery. The judge and my lawyer weren’t nearly as amused.

“Camp Dix has been understaffed following recent resignations.”

“Wonder why,” I grumbled.

“Mr. Carter.”

“Sorry. I mean, it’s not a wonder why but I was being polite.”

“You will supervise campers, coordinate activities, mentor children, and complete any additional responsibilities assigned by the camp director to whom you two will be in touch via email and cellular communications until she is able to foresee your progress in person.”

My soul left my body, and too many fucking flashbacks hit me like a freight train with full steam ahead. Mentor children? Naughty children at that? Me? I once accidentally taught a nine-year-old how to pick a bike lock. Did that count?

Darius finally spoke up. “Your Honor…”

“Yes?”

“Is there any other possible way I can complete my sentence?”

The judge frowned. “The camp needs two mentors, Mr. D’ Angelo.”

“But…” Darius rubbed his forehead, literally sweating. “There’s nothing I can do… solo?”

I bit my lip, trying to hold back my laugh. Oh, this was getting good.

“We have a history at that camp, sir.”

The judge looked down at the file. “I’m aware.”

“No...” Darius’s voice came out quieter. “I don’t think you are.”

The room shifted slightly. It was enough for me to notice. I knew why he hated the place. It was the same reason I hated it. Camp Dix wasn’t just a camp. It was where our shared childhoods began. Where our cabins echoed with bullshit gossip after lights-out. Where Darius had smiled without glancing over his shoulder for disapproving looks. Where I could exist without my damn father preaching about why I breathed wrong and how scary hell was and…

It was where I’d fallen in love with the bed-headed boy who offered his room to a bruised kid with nowhere safe to land.