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Cradling it in both hands, I walk with no destination in mind, trying to ignore the part of me that’s genuinely stressed about keeping this creature alive. Why did I say yes? What the hell do I know about fish? Shit, we're going to need a tank. And food. Maybe one of those miniature pirate ships where he can hide out. Goldfish like those, right?

I’m halfway through trying to come up with a name for the thing when I hear Christian shouting over the carnival rides, and I freeze. It's not the ecstatic, adrenaline-fueled noise I've come to expect from him either. This is sharper—angrier—and it’s coming from the direction of our campsite. Up ahead, a crowd has started to form.

Setting down the fish, I push through the onlookers to find my entire group squaring off with an older guy in a baseball hat. He’s smirking, arms crossed over his chest. Devon has Christian in his arms like he's holding him back while everyone else stands around them, looking ready to commit murder. Both dirt bikes are on the ground. “Is there an issue here?”

“Yeah,” Christian snaps as he shakes out of Devon's hold. “This homophobic asshole needs to be kicked off the fairgrounds.”

Usually, I'd try and get to the bottom of things, but one glance at Huck’s face tells me this is serious. There’ve been a few shitty comments online about Salem’s new stunt, so I don’t hesitate to gesture toward the exit. “Sir, you need to leave.”

With a scoff, Baseball Cap squares his shoulders and looks me straight in the eye. “Fuck no. I paid for my ticket just like everyone else. This is a free country. I can voice my opinions if I want to.”

“Not here, you can't,” I tell him firmly, reaching for my wallet. “We don't argue over human rights. Take this refund and leave before I call security.”

Slapping a twenty-dollar bill against the guy's chest, I hold it there until he takes it. I’m seriously not in the mood tonight to deal with another rude stranger—first, the would-be fish killer, and now this asswipe. I'm over tonight already.

With another hateful slur, Baseball Cap crumples the money and storms off in a fury. A few people clap, giving me high-fives and pats on the back, but we all watch the bigot’s tattered ball cap until he's no longer in sight.

“What in the actual fuck just happened?” Christian growls, slowly moving to retrieve his bike from the ground.

Devon huffs a humorless laugh. “First time experiencing hate like that, I take it?”

All Christian does is stare, and Huck sighs heavily. “As sad as this sounds, assholes like that are a dime a dozen for people like us.”

Taylor flinches, shame flickering across saddened eyes as he gazes at his boyfriend. Probably remembering all the bullying he put Huck through in high school, which I still sometimes hold a grudge for.

“That's such fucking bullshit,” Christian spits. “Who I fuck isn't anyone's business. We're all adults. It shouldn't matter.”

I swallow hard, wanting to agree out loud but also too afraid to give parts of myself away—parts that I'm not ready to share. It shouldn't be anyone's business, honestly, and yet the world seems obsessed with what goes on in people's bedrooms and what's in their pants. Kind of sick, if you ask me.

Arya nuzzles into Christian's side. “We should do something. Like, show people we won't tolerate hate speech.”

“Agreed,” Taylor says, leading our group toward the RV. “I'm sick and tired of people harassing my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, I get enough of that from you,” Huck grins, squeezing Tay’s ass before turning to me with a nod. “Hey man, do you have the numbers from our last few shows?”

I frown, my head a swirling chaos of thought. “Numbers for what?”

“Revenue,” he clarifies, pushing curls out of his eyes. “Ticket sales, merch, sponsor payouts. Taylor said we might be in the negative after Illinois if we aren't careful.”

Shit. I forgot I was supposed to track all of that.

“I… haven’t looked yet,” I sheepishly admit, backing away.

Huck lifts a brow and watches me retreat. “We're good though, right? Like we’re not gonna have to cancel anything?”

“I’ll check tonight.” Spinning around, I run from the conversation like the piece of shit I am, heading for the RV.

Figures. Taylor invited me on this trip for one thing—the only thing I'm good for—and I can't even do that right. No wonder Salem wants nothing to do with me.

I find her standing by the cold fire pit, a pinched expression on her face. Deep in thought. Probably trying to figure out shit that I should be helping with, instead of slowly losing my mind and talking to goldfish⁠—

Ah, shit. My fish.

Christian sidles up behind my wife and rests his chin on her shoulder. “Why so quiet, chica? What's going on?”

“Just thinking about what Arya said,” she answers slowly, rolling her lips in that cute way she does when she's problem-solving. “About doing something to show everyone where we stand. That we won't be bullied.”

“Yeah? Like what? You think we can make some kind of statement or something?”