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I would risk everything for this. For him.
I roll onto my side, facing the shape of him in the other bed. I can just barely make out his silhouette in the darkness, the rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps.
Mine, I think. You’re mine, Cameron. And I’m never letting you go.
I close my eyes and let the sound of his breathing lull me toward sleep, holding on to the certainty that no matter what happens tomorrow, no matter what my father says or does, Cameron is worth it.
He’s worth everything.
27
CAMERON
The morning air bites at my face as I step onto the porch, and the sky is that heavy right-before-sunrise gray. I pull my jacket tighter around me. It’s still cold from sitting in the mudroom overnight.
Everyone’s already gathered in the clearing. Mr. Ashford, Austen, Alex, Matt, Liam, Billy. They’re all bundled in layers like me: thermal shirts under flannels covered by heavy jackets with gloved hands and warm hats pulled low. The gear makes us all look like bulkier, bigger men. Lucien stands near his father, holding his rifle with familiarity. He’s laughing at something Austen just said, appearing completely relaxed.
“Dude, I’m telling you,” Austen is saying, gesturing wildly with his free hand. “That buck was straight up the biggest I’ve ever seen.”
“You say that every year,” Alex says, grinning. “And every year it gets bigger.”
“Bro, shut up. You saw it too.”
“I saw a deer. It wasn’t much bigger than Bambi.”
Matt laughs. “Low-key, though, that was a good shot. You dropped him clean.”
“Hell yeah, I did. This year’s gonna hit different. I can feel it.” Austen is practically on his toes, unable to contain his energy this early.
Lucien catches my eye and grins. “Cam’s never been on a real hunt before. We gotta show him how it’s done.”
“Oh, we’re gonna get you blooded today, man,” Austen says, clapping me on the shoulder hard enough to make me stumble slightly. “First kill is always the best.”
I try to smile, but my face feels stiff with cold.
Billy is carrying extra ammunition and other gear in a giant duffel. He moves with efficiency, checking everything twice.
Lucien asks him, “You track anything good this week?”
“Big boar came through the eastern ridge two days ago,” Billy says. “Tore up the ground pretty bad. I’d say three hundred pounds, easy.”
“Damn, that’s a monster,” Matt says.
“Your daddy’s been wanting a crack at that one for two years now,” Billy adds, glancing at Lucien.
Lucien’s father stands in the center of the group, his rifle resting against his shoulder. He’s wearing full camouflage. His graying hair is combed back from his forehead. Everything about him oozes authority.
“All right, boys,” he says, and his voice cuts through the morning air like a command. “Listen up.”
The chatter dies immediately.
“Gun safety is paramount,” he continues, his eyes sweeping over each of us in turn. His gaze is assessing, measuring. When it lands on me, I feel the weight of it. “You keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot. You never, and I mean never, point your weapon at anything you don’t intend to kill. You check your surroundings before you fire. You know what’s behind your target. Understood?”
We all nod.
“I need to hear it,” he says.
“Yes, sir,” we say in unison.
