"Aubrey, I knowyou’re hurt, but I think you should come to the campout. Right now, you want to curl into a ball, but you need to surround yourself with people who care."
"Eli's going to tear me apart if I go."
"I thought you didn't care about Eli?"
"You're right," he says with a small laugh. "I guess I do. I guess I let him get to me more than I want to admit."
"If you come, I promise I'll make sure he leaves you alone."
He hesitates. "Fine. But if he doesn't, I'm leaving on the spot. And I'm sharing a tent with you. I'm not getting left alone.Promets-moi."
"Deal. You'll have a good time, I promise." I pause, something clicking in my mind. "What's with the French?"
He laughs again. "Grew up speaking it at home.It just kinda slips out, but... only when I'm hammered."
"Are you hammered right now?"
"Oh. Yes. Yes, I am.”
Laughter spills between us, a fragile bridge across the distance, and the static tension of the line dissolves into something softer, more human.
Hours stretch and blur as voices weave through the silence, his confessions about hisFrench Canadiangrandfatherunfurling like old photographs, while my own stories of mental health struggles find the light of day.
Aubrey's curiosity about Vince pricks at the edges of our conversation, his questions like gentle prods against a wound I'm not ready to expose. I brush them aside with the same practiced ease I use with Malia, insisting there's nothing to tell.
And just like with Malia, I feel the weight of his disbelief settling between us, unspoken but undeniable.
Chapter 29
The Malibu Angel & The Bush-Beater
Andrew
"Hey!Andrew!"
The La Croix sweats in my hand, condensation tracing patterns down the aluminum can as I stand with Gary and Frank at the far edge of the campsite. Then I spot her—Cynthia, her jewelry-adorned dreadlocks catching the firelight like tiny constellations as she approaches.
"Hey!"
Her grin mirrors mine, warm and familiar. "Sorry I had to leave so soon on the last camping trip, but I'm stoked to finally see you in person again." She fumbles in the pocket of her thick jacket, her fingers emerging with a crisp business card.
"Vince has been bugging me to connect with you for weeks now, but I haven't had the time to call. I'm actually in commercial real estate, he told me you were planning to open a yoga studio?"
My eyes light up, the thought of my dream studio suddenly feeling tangible. "Oh! Yeah.I mean, one day... I have a handful of private clients right now, and I do online group classes in the afternoons. I teach at a few different studios when I can fit it in."
"You sound busy. I'm guessing that means you're pretty good?"
I shrug modestly, but she laughs, the sound rich and genuine as she extends the card toward me.
Before my fingers can close around it, Aubrey materializes between us, his smallerframe somehow fitting perfectly in the narrowing space.
Aubrey isn'tnecessarilyshort—five-seven, maybe—but surrounded by this group of giants, helooks like adiminished sapling in a redwood forest. Honestly, Gary needs to diversify his recruitment strategy.The rest of us, excluding Cynthia, are all at least six feet tall. And Cynthia comes close.
Still, Aubrey hasn't rejoined the group chat, and the heaviness hangs around him like a damp coat. I've been shadowing him most of the evening, determined to keep my promise. So far, so good.
Eli's keeping his distance, parked by the fire next to Vince, and the night has been blessedly drama-free.
"Hey," Aubrey blurts out, cutting through my conversation with Cynthia. I raise an eyebrow at him, and he grins, mischievous. "Don't get me wrong, Andrew. You're probably really good at yoga and all, buthonestly,you're also really damn hot. That's why you're doing so well. People aren't signing up for the yoga; they're signing up to watch you do yoga."
