Chapter 1: Makayla
I hate dirt. Hate the way it coats my fingers, sneaks under my nails, sticks to the back of my throat like chalk dust.
And yet here I am, in the middle of the woods, with my windows down, tires growling over loose gravel, and some country-rap remix blasting from Ryan Hoffman’s Ford Raptor two cars ahead.
I’m not sure how I got roped into this. One second I was saying no, the next I was following Aiden’s taillights through a crooked, unmarked trail like some mud-happy little duckling.
I grip the wheel tighter as my tires dip into a shallow trench. The jolt rattles through my spine, but I keep steady. Focus on the incline ahead. Trees a blur in my periphery, and the sun has already dipped low enough to streak the horizon in that almost-orange haze I usually love. But not right now. Right now it’s just another reminder I should’ve stayed home.
But I don’t want to be home.
I don’t want to be anywhere Aiden isn’t.
A blast of static cuts through my walkie before Aiden’s voice comes through, choppy but grinning. “Mikki! You alive back there?”
“Barely,” I mutter. I press the button to respond, but let go before saying anything. I don’t want to sound like I’m struggling, even if I am.
Then—laughter. Aiden’s laughter.
It cuts through the trees like a familiar melody, messy and reckless and boyish. My stomach pulls in two directions. God, I hate how easily my body still responds to him.
His Jeep slows just ahead of me, his tires skidding slightly before he parks crooked near the edge of a rocky bluff.
I brake too hard. My own Jeep jerks to a stop.
Aiden hops out of his Jeep, all long limbs and confidence, and starts toward me.
His grin is wide and stupid and, unfortunately, contagious.
“Not bad, Makayla.” He leans on my doorframe like we’re not pretending to be casual around each other. Like he didn’t fall asleep in my bed three nights ago, skin to skin, chest rising against my back.
I arch a brow. “I didn’t crash.”
“Which is more than I can say for Michael last month.” He nods toward a dent in the passenger side of Micheal’s truck. “He said the tree came out of nowhere.”
I don’t laugh though I know I should. That’s what people do in this kind of moment. But the sound sticks. Everything’s just a little too loud. The music, the bugs, the roar in my head from too much stimulation and not enough quiet.
Aiden notices. His smile dims. Not all the way, just enough to slip into something softer.
The others start climbing out, cracking beers, shouting over who’s building the fire.
“You good?” he asks, voice low.
I nod. Then, because I want to be honest with someone, I add, “Just… overloaded.”
He doesn’t make a joke. Doesn’t try to fix it. Instead, he taps twice on the roof of my Jeep. “Come on. Let’s walk.”
The fire crackles like it’s chewing something alive. Wood snaps, sparks spit into the dusk, and everyone laughs at something I didn’t catch.
I’m sitting on a low folding chair, my legs curled up, coat zipped to my chin fighting against the cold February night. The scent of charred cedar mixes with someone’s cologne and the sweet bite of marshmallows turning burnt.
Aiden’s across the circle from me. Slightly off to my right, angled just enough that I can catch glimpses of his profile when he tips his head back to drink from his water bottle. His curls pushed back with a black bandana. It makes him look younger. Or maybe I just miss when we were.
Ryan has his arm around Katie’s waist, her head on his shoulder like it lives there. Michael’s stretched out behind Emma, both their legs tangled up like spaghetti, her hand slipping under the hem of his hoodie every few minutes just to remind everyone they’re disgustingly in love.
No one’s touching me.
I don’t want to be touched.
Except maybe I do.
Aiden laughs again, louder this time. Something about Michael wanting to propose at Waffle House. He flashes a look at me like I should find it funny too, but I just lift the corner of my mouth. Not enough to show teeth.
I keep waiting for him to move closer. He doesn’t. He stays where he is, legs stretched out, hands behind his head like he’s completely relaxed. I know that pose. It’s not comfort. It’s avoidance.
Ryan grabs a beer can from the cooler and leans forward. “So when’s the last time you two went off-roading together?”
My stomach tightens.
Aiden shrugs. “High school, probably.”
I nod. “Senior year.”
Ryan whistles. “Damn. That’s a minute ago.”
“Feels longer,” Aiden says, not looking at me.
Feels like yesterday, I want to say.
Katie catches the vibe before anyone else. She nudges Ryan, then leans into his ear with a whisper. He chuckles, throws a look at Aiden, then mercifully changes the subject. Something about Devonte ditching tonight because his girl’s in town.
Aiden finally looks at me. Holds my gaze for two seconds too long. Then he flicks his eyes down to my hands curled into fists in my hoodie sleeves and back up again. His knee shifts like he might stand. Or come over. Or say something that makes this moment heavier than it already is.
But he doesn’t.
He just watches me.
And I watch him back.
Everyone else fades into a quiet blur.
For a second, it’s just the two of us, burning at the edges.
Ryan claps his hands once, loud enough to snap the moment in half. “Alright, alright—before y’all go crawl into your little love shacks, someone needs to give a damn toast.”
He holds up his can and points it at Aiden. “Birthday boy. Say something.”
Aiden rolls his eyes but stands up anyway, brushing dirt from the back of his jeans. The firelight flickers up his arms, his jaw, that stupid dimple that only shows when he’s half-annoyed and halfway flattered.
He clears his throat. “Okay. Um…” He pauses like he didn’t expect to actually have to speak. “Thanks for coming out, I guess. Even though Devonte ditched us last minute to play house.”
Everyone laughs as Aiden’s eyes move slowly around the circle before landing briefly on me.
He says, voice a little quieter now, “It means a lot to have you all here. Really. So, cheers to twenty-three. Hope I don’t do anything dumber than I did at twenty-two.”
Everyone raises cans, bottles, and Solo cups in a lazy kind of rhythm. The fire cracks again, louder than it should be, and the moment splinters into something warm and fleeting.
Aiden doesn’t sit back down right away. He looks at me again, just for a second. I don’t smile this time. I just hold his gaze, let him see me.
One by one, the couples peel off toward their tents. Katie yawns into Ryan’s chest like she’s not already half-asleep, and Emma’s tugging Michael by the hand, giggling, a half-finished beer swinging from her other hand.
Ryan glances over his shoulder and calls out, “Tents are thin, man. Nobody wants to hear you trying to impress her.”
Michael snorts. “Please. I’m the quiet one. It’s Emma you need to worry about.”
Emma laughs like it’s not a denial, just a fact. “Guess we’ll test the limits of nylon tonight.”
Aiden groans. “I’m sleeping with earplugs.”
Emma teases, “That’s not gonna save you.”
Aiden just shakes his head, laughing under his breath.
I take the out they’ve all given me and climb into my car. I already flipped down my seats and laid out the sleeping bag earlier. I curl inside it, hoodie still on, hands tucked into the sleeves again.
Through the window, I can see Aiden still sitting by the fire, the glow painting the underside of his jaw, flickering against the bridge of his nose. He leans forward, elbows on knees, staring into the dying coals like they’re whispering something only he can hear.
Then he stands.
Walks over.
Leans his weight against the back bumper of my Jeep.
I sit up slightly. “You forget your tent?”
His mouth pulls into a lazy half-smile. “Nope. Just making sure you’re good before I turn in.”
“I’m good.” My voice is softer than I mean it to be.
He doesn’t answer right away. Just studies me through the open hatch, the weight of his gaze settling somewhere between my ribs.
“Well… night, Makayla.”
“Night, Aiden. Happy Birthday.”
He lingers one beat longer, then pushes off the bumper and shuts my truck door. He walks away, slow and quiet, his shadow stretching across the dirt. I watch him unzip his tent and duck inside.
The fire lets out one last pop before going out.
And even with everyone tucked away, silence nesting in the trees, that feeling remains— this thing between us neither of us is saying out loud.
