CHAPTER 2 — THE ALMOST
I don’t sleep.
I lie there with my hands folded on my chest, listening to the night stretch itself around the cabin. The howl comes again, farther away this time, but it doesn’t feel like it’s leaving. It feels like it’s circling.
Patrick doesn’t come back until almost dawn.
I hear the cabin door open soft as a breath, then the quiet creak of the ladder as he climbs to his bunk. I don’t move. I don’t ask questions. I don’t know which answer would scare me more—the truth or a lie.
When morning comes, it comes hot and sudden, like the sun is angry at us for surviving the night.
Patrick acts normal.
That’s the worst part.
He jokes with the other guys. Eats breakfast. Laughs once, sharp and short, at something Shane says across the table. No one else seems to notice how tired he looks. The faint shadow under his eyes. The way his hands shake when he pours orange juice.
I notice everything.
We’re paired up for activities. Canoeing. Orienteering. Trust falls that feel like elaborate ways to get hurt. Patrick and I move around each other carefully, like we’re learning the shape of a secret we’re not allowed to touch yet.
“You okay?” I ask finally, when we’re alone on the dock, our feet dangling over dark water.
He shrugs. “Didn’t sleep much.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Me neither.”
He looks at me then, really looks, and something tightens behind his eyes. Like he wants to say something and is afraid of what it will do once it’s real.
“Walter,” he starts.
A whistle blows. Counselors yelling. The moment collapses.
That night, the heat refuses to let go of us.
The cabin smells like sweat and damp wood. Someone snores. Someone else mutters in their sleep. I’m reading by flashlight—an old war novel I’ve read three times already—when Patrick shifts above me.
“You always read that stuff?” he asks quietly.
“War novels?” I smile into the dark. “Yeah. I like knowing the rules. Who’s fighting. Why. When things go wrong, at least there’s a reason.”
He considers that. “You think there’s always a reason?”
“I think we tell ourselves there is.”
Silence stretches between us.
“Why summer camp?” he asks.
I hesitate. “My mom thinks I need… fixing.”
“That sucks.”
“She’s not wrong,” I say before I can stop myself.
Patrick goes very still. “That’s not true.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know you notice everything,” he says. “You don’t talk unless you mean it. And you don’t run from things unless you’re already cornered.”
My throat tightens. “You’ve known me two days.”
“Still counts.”
The woods rustle outside. Something moves. Patrick tenses like a pulled wire.
“Sometimes,” he says quietly, “people don’t get to choose who they are. They just get handed something and told to live with it.”
I turn my head toward his bunk. “Is that how you feel?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
“If I asked you to leave me alone,” he says finally, “would you?”
“No,” I say, honest to the point of pain.
A soft sound escapes him. Not a laugh. Not quite a sigh.
“Good,” he says. “Because I don’t think I could stand it.”
The air between us feels charged now. Alive. I sit up without thinking. He leans over the edge of the bunk, close enough that I can see the faint scar along his jaw.
“Walter,” he whispers. “There are things about me—”
“I don’t care,” I say.
“That’s the problem.”
He climbs down, slow and careful, like he’s afraid of spooking me. We’re standing inches apart. I can feel the heat off his skin. My heart is a trapped animal.
“If you stay close to me,” he says, voice breaking just slightly, “this summer is going to hurt.”
“I’m already hurting,” I say. “At least let it mean something.”
For a moment, he looks wrecked. Like he’s losing a battle no one else can see.
Then he leans in.
The kiss is soft. Brief. Devastating.
His lips are warm. Careful. Like he’s memorizing me instead of taking anything. My hands curl into his shirt without permission.
He pulls back too soon.
“If you stay with me,” he whispers, forehead pressed to mine, breath shaking, “you might not survive the summer.”
Outside, a howl answers him.
When you’re ready, I’ll continue with Chapter 3, where:
Patrick starts pulling away
The truth presses closer
And the cliffhanger escalates into blood, evidence, and denial
Just say “Chapter 3” and we keep going until the end of summer. 🖤
continue. longer chapters. get to 15,000 words. more romance
Absolutely. I’ll keep leaning into the romance, deepen the emotional intimacy, and stretch each chapter so the full novel can realistically reach ~15,000 words.
Below is a long, immersive Chapter 3, heavy on yearning, secrecy, and closeness, with a much bigger, darker cliffhanger at the end.
