At that moment, Mark Jefferson wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground and be swallowed up by merciful darkness. Instead, he sat hunched on the park bench, one hand plastered against his face, the other gripping the burner phone against his ear as he forced himself to listen.
"We are out of time," said Sean Prescott. "Do whatever it takes. I need that witch found."
And I need you dead, old man, Jefferson wanted to say. I wish I'd stabbed you in your office when I had the chance. But all he managed was a meager, "Understood."
"Who are your candidates?"
"I have two—Stella Hill and Kate Marsh, both from Blackwell." The lie came readily to Jefferson's lips. He wouldn't give this Herod an inch of an advantage unless he absolutely had to.
"Very well. I expect results. I will call again in a few days." The line went dead. Jefferson fought the urge to hurl the phone over the railing and into the sea. Instead, he stood and gulped in breath after breath of brine-filled air to clear his head.
He had come out to the boardwalk hoping to practice his art and take some pictures of, well, anything at this point. The minutes were ticking away on his golden hour thanks to Prescott's ambush phone call. He glanced morosely up and down the length of the pier. Nothing but rows of unlit lamps, dull souvenir shops, a couple of tourists, and a battalion of seagulls.
He sighed and unpacked the Hasselblad from his bag. He no longer felt like it, but if being in the mood was a prerequisite for practicing art, he'd have no right to call himself an artist.
He started snapping photos. As he expected, none of his work stood out. Without a muse for inspiration, everything looked like shit. Amateurish. Something a hack would churn out to show off technique. He needed a human subject, not a seagull or a half-filled trash can.
Eventually, he managed to talk a mother and her son into posing for him. At first suspicious, the woman quickly warmed to him after hearing he taught at Blackwell. "I graduated there nearly a decade ago," she proudly proclaimed, and started nattering about her high school days. Jefferson smiled and nodded as he gestured for her to lean against the railing and look out across the sea.
Her kid was much less interested; he was busy demolishing his chocolate ice cream cone. All in all, not the worst model he'd had. Far better than his mother, who was still talking as she posed by the railing. He had to tell her not to look at the camera while he knelt to pick his shots. God, he actually missed having Rachel model for him.
As his hands worked, his mind wandered back to the lie he'd told Prescott. The plan hadn't fully formed in her mind yet, but if he did manage to capture the Incarnate, well, wouldn't it be better to cut out the middleman? After all, he had no guarantee that Prescott wouldn't kill him after he'd outlived his usefulness.
But if he could bargain directly with Dionysus, couldn't he prevail on them to free him from Prescott's grasp? Would they let him stand with them as a peer? Be elevated among their ranks for single-handedly gifting them with the Incarnate?
A smile crept across his bearded face. He saw himself turning over Rachel Amber to Prescott just to appease him, then later meeting up with Dionysus with a sedated Max Caulfield in tow. Yes, that would work. He could already see the look on Prescott's face when the old man finally realized he didn't hold the winning card.
And Max...what a find, what delight she would be! Those cheekbones, that careless constellation of freckles, that charming look of an ingenue. He could build an entire gallery out of her. If he could only get her alone again...
I have her address, he thought. But to take her in Seattle would be more complicated and raise questions from Prescott. No, I have to wait for her here in town, in a place where she feels safe. She seems to come often. Why? And why is she seemingly following me? What does she know?
He would have to drag that out of her once he'd gotten her into the Dark Room.
Click.
He gave the mother his most charming smile. "I believe I have it. Thanks for your help," and he approached to show her the picture on his camera screen.
"Oh, you make me look ten years younger!" sighed the woman. "Would you be a dear and send me a copy?" As Jefferson turned the wifi feature on to send the image to her phone, she turned to her son. "What do you say to the nice man, Stevie?"
The child looked up at him with eyes that reflected none of the afternoon light. He spoke in a voice that sounded too low, too ancient for a boy. "You'll never see your dreams bear fruit," he rasped. "You'll be food for the raven and the carrion crow."
Jefferson nearly dropped his camera. Every strand of hair on his flesh was standing on end as he lifted his gaze to the boy. "W-what did you say to me?"
"I said, are you going to take any longer, Mister? I really gotta go."
"Oh dear, why didn't you say anything?" The mother tutted and gave Jefferson an apologetic look. "Sorry, could you wait here a moment? Someone needs a trip to the little boy's room."
Jefferson mumbled something and nodded. The boy looked at him with his small dark eyes and merely licked his chocolate ice cream before trailing after his mother. When the pair was a good distance away, Jefferson turned and fled to the parking lot.
He turned the jazz music up on his car radio as he drove home, hoping it would calm his nerves. Those words from the boy's mouth—it had been years since he last heard them.
No. His mind was playing tricks. There was no other way to explain it. No one else could have heard his mother tell him that.
I'm losing it, he thought, gritting his teeth. It's Prescott's fault. He's pushing me to the brink. I've better calm down or I'll snap.
He focused on steadying his breath and planning. Capture Rachel and Max, make the exchange, be free of Prescott for good. Then, finally, he'd be safe.
The thought calmed him down; he was himself again by the time he had reached his street. He was about to turn into his driveway when something caught his eye. His foot crashed into the brakes and the car screeched to halt on the curb. Jefferson didn't care—he stared, slack-jawed, through his driver's window at his house. Trembling fingers popped open the car door, and he stepped out into the gloom.
His house was black with ravens and crows. They nestled on the shingles and drain pipes of his roof, jockeyed for space on the outer frames of his windows, and held court on the sparse trees in his front yard. They croaked and cawed and rasped as if arguing, but then fell silent, heads swiveling to where he stood on the sidewalk.
Jefferson backpedaled, slipped, and fell on the pavement, the back of his head striking his car door. The stars that raced through his vision did nothing to obscure the dark mass of birds before him.
"Hey man, you okay?" The voice came from a jogger in a yellow tracksuit who paused to look at him. "You had a nasty slip there."
Jefferson didn't even look at him. He raised a shaking, pointing finger. "C-call Animal Control! Call 911! Hurry!"
Confused, Yellow Tracksuit followed his finger to the house, then to his face. "What're you talking about, man?"
"Birds! My fucking house is covered in them! Don't you see?!"
The man took another look before leaning over Jefferson, his smile dripping with condescension.
"It's okay, buddy, you're on a bad trip, is all—a little high on the white sugar. Hey, I dig it. Lemme talk you down. You just show me your wallet and—"
Jefferson shoved him off and clambered back into his car. The tires screeched as he fled down the street, not daring to look in his rearview mirror to see if the ravens were following him. They weren't. Yet.
"An unkindness," he gibbered to no one. "That's what their flock's called. An unkindness of ravens and a murder of crows."
It's the stress , the last remaining rational part of his mind concluded. Hallucinations from mental pressure. That's the only acceptable explanation right now. Because any other would be madness.
He floored the gas pedal as he reached Bay Avenue. The only place he could feel safe now is the Dark Room. The bunker had become more of a home to him than his actual house anyway. He would be hidden there, surrounded by his art and achievements, safe from any visions. Safe even from his mother's voice in his ear.
As he pushed his car faster, Jefferson realized he was giggling.
"You ready, Rachel?" Max asked.
The blonde girl planted her feet on the sand, rolled her shoulders, and nodded once as she faced the fire pit.
"What about you, Chloe?"
"No, but fuck it." Chloe huddled behind the log with the large bucket she'd filled with seawater, looking ready to spring forward at any moment. "Burn away, Rach."
"Okay." Max steeled herself as she stood behind Rachel. "Go for it."
They were gathered in their camp on the beach. It had turned dark by the time they'd set up camp and settled down, nothing but the half-moon and the stars to light their way. It was fine; on this secluded place, they could practice Rachel's powers as long as they wanted.
Max's breathing shallowed as Rachel raised a hand towards the wood they had stacked on the fire pit. She doesn't even need Chloe's lighter anymore , Max realized. Even with Rachel's back turned, Max could sense those blonde brows knitting together and her hazel eyes burning with the flame she was about to conjure.
Whoosh! Orange fire jetted from Rachel's outstretched palm. The woodpile ignited like it was covered in oil, and the heat opened the pores on Max's skin despite her standing more than six feet away. The fire roared to life, a rush of hot air pushing sand away from the pit and enveloping the camp with its golden glare.
Despite the pounding in her chest, Max marveled at the sight. She could never get over that she was witnessing a miracle. None of them knew how Rachel could create this towering flame from nothing, just as they didn't know how Max could travel through time. But it was real, and it was here.
Gently so as not to startle, she laid her hand on Rachel's shoulder. "Can you make it smaller?"
Rachel stretched both arms as if to embrace the crackling fire; the heat caused her golden mane to float behind her and her face to gleam with sweat. But the flames only roared higher, brighter, reaching towards the clouds. She began to pant. Ten seconds stretched to thirty, then a full minute. Chloe was on her feet with the pail in her hands—as if that little bit of water could help.
Finally, Rachel gasped and crumpled to her knees. Max knelt and caught her shoulders, even as Chloe rushed toward them. The pillar of fire petered off like a stove running out of fuel, leaving only glowing coals.
"That...could've gone better," Rachel murmured, face level with the ground.
"Hey, it's okay," Chloe said, giving her a side-on hug. "None of us got extra crispy. I call that a win."
"Yeah, Rachel," Max added, "at least this time you can make it stop, unlike before."
"Thanks to you." Rachel gathered herself and raised her eyes to the smoldering fire pit. "But I don't like that I still can't control it. It doesn't even feel like it wants to be controlled. It's this living thing that only wants to eat and grow."
Max shuddered. "When you put it that way, I don't like it either."
"Oookay then," Chloe cut in. "Why don't we give the fire stuff a pass for now, huh? You already got water and weather down—hell, probably earth too—maybe you don't need to play at being Firestarter."
Rachel grinned at her. "Bitch, if I'm gonna be a horror icon, it's gotta be Carrie White. Total destruction."
"That's, like, the next zip code from my point."
"Whatever." Rachel sat down, stretching her legs. "The point is, I have fire powers. They're part of our arsenal against Prescott and Jefferson, so I need to know how to use them. If I weren't meant to have them, I wouldn't. Like Max here was meant to have time powers so she could save us."
"Hmm, fair."
Max sat down beside Rachel. Without the fire, the sea breeze bought a chill to her damp skin. She was glad for Chloe's sweater, but honestly, being next to these two did a better job of warming her. "Well, we know your powers are tied to emotions..."
"And fire feeds on my temper," Rachel sighed, looking up at the stars. "Admittedly, not my best trait. Or the easiest one to manage."
"Wow." Chloe smirked at Max. "Gonna need a shovel to dig up that understatement." She fended off Rachel's poke to her ribs.
"If you don't have anything to contribute, why don't you go refill the fire pit?"
"Did you just ask me to do menial labor?" Chloe guffawed, pushing herself to her feet. "You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"I've kissed a lot of things with this mouth," Rachel replied in a sultry tone, staring at Chloe. "You would know."
Max blushed and looked for something interesting to stare at on the beach. Chloe spluttered, her head swiveling to her truck. "Right. Wood. Grabbing some." She marched over to where it was parked on the grass.
Rachel chuckled and leaned back on her hands. "You alright there, Max? Sorry to shock you. I never could pass up the chance to shut her up."
"I'm not that easy to shock." At Rachel's skeptical glance, Max hurried on. "So what next?"
"Actually..." Rachel's smile faded into a pensive look. "There's something I wanna ask you."
"You mean about the stuff you learned from Brooke, right? About Dionysus."
"Yeah." Rachel frowned at the glowing embers. "A lot of what I heard worries me. All these gaps in our knowledge. Dionysus, Prescott, Jefferson, the Incarnate—I can't see how they're linked." She turned to Max. "Like this Theater...was it ever in your timeline?"
Max shook her head. "It was a lot different. It was called the Pan Estates Community Center, and was supposed to be the first building of Prescott's luxury subdivision. David was the security consultant. I'm guessing my coming here changed the timeline somehow."
"Yeah. Almost as if Prescott sensed something's wrong. Jefferson's aggressiveness, his interest in you and me..."
"Building the Theater in a hurry." Max nodded. "It's almost like they know about us."
"Or suspect us, at least. If Prescott really knew, I promise you, he'd be more direct. We'd be sitting in jail or something."
"So what do you think the Theater's for? To protect himself? Like another storm shelter?"
"I don't think so." Frowning, Rachel touched a thumb to her lip, something Max found oddly distracting. "It's just a hunch, but I think it's meant to be some kind of attack. Or a trap."
"Like how?"
"That's what I'm relying on Brooke to find out."
"Okay...well, if it's either, it's useless now that we know about it."
"No argument here. I'm not going anywhere near that creepy place." She kicked at the sand at her feet. "Now we know for sure Prescott and Jefferson aren't alone—this Dionysus means he's got someone helping him."
Max shuddered. "A conspiracy." The hateful word rattled around inside her skull. Tuhudda had warned me.
"I wish Tuhudda explained more about it," she went on, hugging her knees. "If only I had time, I'd have asked her about everything. Like how I'm supposed to 'let you choose.'"
"Hmm." Rachel tapped her knees, thinking. "Max, have you thought about looking for Tuhudda and her family in this timeline?"
"Well, yeah...except they didn't exactly leave me an address or phone number before sending me here. Or even a surname. I wouldn't know where to start..."
"Kate Marsh."
Max blinked. "Wha—Kate? What's she got to do with—?"
"She volunteers for a lot of charity work. Like, a lot. I remember her joining an outreach program specifically for Native Americans that had been displaced from Arcadia Bay. If the Storm Raven tribe has some connection to this town..."
Max gasped. "Then Kate could have met them!"
"Or at least heard of them. Worth a shot, right?"
"I'll give Kate a call tomorrow. Wait, shit!" Max pulled her phone from her pocket. "I'll text her tonight! You're a genius, Rachel!"
Grinning, Rachel bumped shoulders with her. "I live for your approval, Max."
Chloe, who had returned with a few firelogs from the truck, began stacking them on the fire pit. "Hey, I'm happy we got help on our side and all, but when are we gonna get that fucking laptop? In case you forgot, Step-Fuehrer's still breathing down my neck."
"Brooke's handling it," Rachel replied. "She'll let us know over the next few days if she finds something."
"Hmph." Chloe crossed her arms. "Looks like everyone in the crew's got something to do. I'm feeling kinda useless now."
"You're our designated driver, Chloe," Max said as she hit Send on her phone. "When you're sober, I mean."
"Ha ha. Great, fine. So what about getting Frank to give up Nathan as Jeffershit's drug mule?"
The question dropped like a lead ball in Max's belly. The moment of silence that followed didn't help; it betrayed Rachel's uncertainty. Max wished that she'd just tell Chloe about the whole stupid thing and get the hard part over with.
"I've texted Frank for a meeting," Rachel finally said. "I'll try and convince him then."
"Okay, good." Chloe stacked the last of the logs on the pit. "I'll come with."
"It's fine, Chloe. Let me handle it. If he sees you, he'll badger you about his money again. Then we'll never get anything done."
Chloe slumped. "You're right. Fuck, I wish he'd disappear."
Rachel's laugh sounded completely natural. "If wishes were ponies..."
"...We'd be up to our necks in horseshit." Chloe finished piling up the wood and topped it off with a drizzle of lighter fluid.
Rachel got up from the sand and stretched. "Well, since we're not getting answers tonight, I guess I'll just keep practicing."
"Nuh-uh." Chloe blew on the remaining embers till the wood caught fire. "We don't have enough wood for your flame fest. Unless you wanna freeze tonight, we need this pile to last. You done, Amber."
Rachel planted her hands on her hips. "Are you seriously telling me you only brought enough wood for one try? Sooo lame, Price!"
"Do I look like a lumberjack to you? Read my lips: no more fires."
"Oookay, how 'bout some water then?" Rachel gestured to the pail beside Chloe, and a sphere of water bobbed up into the air.
"H-hey, what are you doing with that?" Chloe's eyes widened as the dripping ball floated over her head. "Put that down, Amber!"
Rachel giggled and winked at Max. "You really should think about what you say, C."
The tall girl spluttered as the water hit her full on the face.
"Why you—" Chloe growled, mopping her face with her shirt. "Gonna use your hair as a towel!" She made a grab for Rachel's waist, but the laughing blonde whirled out of her grasp at the last moment before skipping away.
Max couldn't help but grin as she watched them chase each other around the fire pit. It was easy to forget about the horrible events of the past few hours and her anxieties for the future. Chloe and Rachel seemed so carefree, so alive. She didn't want to look away; she was happy to watch their glowing faces whirl around the orange flames.
I wish I could freeze this moment, she said to herself, then she realized she could.
Click.
The sound turned Chloe and Rachel's heads. Equally surprised, Max looked down at the whirring camera in her hands as it produced a pale photograph that was rapidly gaining color. She didn't even remember pulling the camera out; her hands had done her thinking for her.
"Max," Chloe said, gaping at her, "did you just..."
"She did!" Rachel gasped in delight. "Max, you took a picture!"
Max set her camera on her lap and cupped the photo in her hands, like it was a flame that might die at any moment. She waited for her body to seize up, for her heart to start racing and her breathing chase after it. But it didn't happen.
"Hey." Chloe trotted over to lay a hand on Max's shoulder. "You okay?"
Max nodded, still wondering at what she managed to accomplish. She was scarcely aware of Rachel kneeling before her on the sand. "May I see?" she asked.
Max offered it to her, and she held it up to the firelight as Chloe craned her neck to look. The photo had captured their lithe bodies running around the bonfire, the flames rising between their outstretched arms. They looked like a pair of witches in a frenzy, at the cusp of taking flight.
Rachel's hazel eyes were dancing. "Max, this looks fantastic! The angle, the composition—"
"The choice of models." Chloe grinned. "You inspired tonight or what?"
"It's...it's nothing special," Max demurred, eyeing her work. "I-I mean it's nice, but the focus is way off."
"Which lends it a dreamlike atmosphere," Rachel concluded. "Like a romantic scene from a fantasy novel."
"Plus," Chloe added, "you make my tits look huge."
"Like I said, a fantasy." Rachel rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Max, I'm glad to have someone who won't start snoring the moment I talk about art and culture."
"Sorry I don't speak snob."
"Seriously, Max, you're so talented!" Rachel returned the photo and squeezed Max's hand. "I'm so glad you're doing this. Really. It's your kismet."
Max was hyper-aware of Rachel's fingers enfolding hers. "My...?"
"Kismet. It means 'destiny' in Turkish. You're a photographer—that's who you're meant to be."
"Kismet." Max let it roll off her tongue, then smiled. It felt right.
"How're you feeling, Max?" Chloe asked.
"I'm...I'm good. Honestly, I feel amazing right now." She paused, gazing shyly up at them. "Is...is it okay if I take a few more?"
There was genuine pleasure in Rachel's grin. She tucked her hair behind her ear and said, "Take as many as you want. C'mon, Chloe! Let's give Max something to be inspired about!" She pulled the taller girl to her feet and led her toward the fire.
"Hey, Max!" Chloe said over her shoulder. "Promise me—when you're ready and stuff—promise me you'll do a bikini shoot of Rachel. It's your kismet. Please?"
A small globe of water struck Chloe's face. "Keep dreaming, perv!"
Heart full beyond words, Max took one more look at her photo. She was getting her power back, could capture pieces of time again. She could make little miracles of her own.
Max raised her camera and pointed it at her two most favorite subjects in the world. The apprehension was still there, the tremble in her heart that betrayed her trauma. But there was excitement too—a desire to create and discover and play.
Her hands remembered what to do. It was the most natural thing in the world.
"Hey."
Chloe pulled back the tent flap and grinned as she peered inside. When she'd left, Max and Rachel had been busy poring over the dozens of photos they'd taken, picking out their favorites. But now, Max was curled up like a kitten on the sleeping bag, her eyes shut and her breathing soft against the cushion of her hand.
"Guess she's all tuckered out, huh?" Chloe said, setting down the pillows she'd retrieved from her truck.
"Yup." Gazing fondly at Max, Rachel smoothed her mop of brown hair. "Can't blame her. That was a lot of excitement for one night."
As always, whenever she saw Rachel's tenderness toward Max, Chloe felt a warm sensation radiating from the pit of her stomach. It was hard to describe—a giddiness, something that felt suspiciously close to joy. It wasn't a feeling she was very familiar with; she would have to process it sometime, figure out what was happening.
She bent down to look at Max's face. Her lips were slightly open, and her eyelids fluttered gently with each soft breath. Max had always looked so cute while asleep. Too bad they hadn't managed to get a selfie with her. Max still seemed pretty skittish about being the subject of a photograph, but that's okay. Baby steps.
It came to her that she had a moment alone with Rachel. Chloe lifted her eyes and took in the sight of her golden mane flowing down one shoulder, her hazel gaze resting on Max's face, gentle fingers lost in her brown hair. And Chloe remembered there was something she wanted to say.
"Hey," she said. "I think it's a gorgeous night to go out walking with a gorgeous girl. You wanna take a quick stroll down the beach?"
Rachel looked up suddenly, her expression blank and her eyes searching. For a moment, Chloe wasn't sure she was going to say yes. But then Rachel gave a tentative smile.
"Sure. Why not?"
"Okay," Chloe said as she took her hand to help her up. "Oh, that gorgeous girl part? I was talking about yours truly."
Rachel laughed. "Lucky me."
Together, they took the path down from the grassy area to the shore, where the fine wet sand clung to the soles of their feet. Up ahead, the lighthouse pulsed in radiant warning, and to their right, the moonlight formed a silvery path on the sea.
It was well on the way to low tide. They walked side by side along the rolling waves, its gentle lapping filling the silence between them. When Rachel shivered slightly from the chill breeze, Chloe pulled closer. She didn't let go of Rachel's hand.
"It is nice out," Rachel mused, looking across the sea.
"Yeah," came Chloe's distracted reply. This might be enough, she thought. Just an evening walk, then we head back when we run out of beach. We're together; that's what matters.
But her mind raced back to Megan, lying quietly in the morgue, never to speak or laugh or sing again, and her guts shriveled in fear.
"Hey, Rach?"
Rachel looked up, seemingly startled from her own thoughts.
"I...I, uh, wanna say thank you."
"For what?"
"For a lot of things. Like, being good to Max. She's—she's important to me, and you helped her."
The corners of Rachel's lips quirked. "Chloe Price. Did you bring me out on a moonlit stroll so you could talk about another girl?"
"What? No! That's not what—" She caught herself when Rachel started giggling. "Shut up," she grumbled. "I'm tryin' to say something important, okay?"
"Okay, okay. What are you trying to say?"
Chloe inhaled deeply. "Remember that rager you dragged me to, at the house with the enormous swimming pool?"
"Bill Whitechurch's party? From two years back?"
"Yeah. That dumbass tried to jump from the roof to the pool only to break his foot on the tiles, remember?"
"Oh yeah! I had to call an ambulance for him."
"You realize he did it to impress you, right? He invited you there just so he could hit on you?"
"Why do you think I asked you to come along?" She tossed her hair, smiling. "You were so bored you holed up in his den."
"And you came down to tell me the party's over, and everyone sort of just forgot we were there. So we totally got wasted on the beer he had left."
"Uh-huh." Rachel smirked. "You said some weird shit that night."
"I said a lot of weird shit. I remember betting I could beat you in a game of beer pong."
"Yeah. And I won that bet."
"Yeah, okay, but then I said best two out of three."
"And I won again."
"What? No, you didn't!"
"I hella did. And that's when you said you were rusty and we should play something else."
"Uh-huh, and we played darts."
"And I won that too. Easily. While drunk and everything."
Chloe frowned. "Now you're just being an asshole."
"And then you challenged me on who could do a handstand the longest. And I won. Then we raced each other to your house. And I won. Then you challenged me to who could stay awake the longest. And you passed out two minutes later."
"What the fuck, that's not what happened!"
"Is there a point somewhere in this, C?"
"Yeah, okay, okay." Chloe paused to collect herself. It was hard. The moon was so bright on Rachel's hair, and her hand was warm in hers.
"Like I said, we did a lot of shit that night, a lot of it I don't remember. But I do remember one thought I had. We do a lot of stupid things almost every day. And sometimes we do nothing but hang out. And...and I don't mind. Even when it's boring. Even when it's dumb. I'm not even close to getting tired of it. And I realized that...that people wouldn't mind doing pointless, stupid stuff, if—"
Swallowing hard, Chloe squeezed Rachel's hand. "If it was with someone they love."
Rachel turned to face her. They had both stopped next to a tree trunk that had washed up on the shore. It was hard to see her face with the moon behind her, but even so, Chloe tried to catch her eye.
"You know," she went on, "I keep talking about how much I hate this town, but now that I think about it, I can't really have hated it all that much. 'Coz you live here. It's where we met. And no matter how much of a pile of shit it can be, all our best memories happened here. So even a place like this is...is beautiful, because you're here. With me."
Her gaze fell on the ring she'd made, hanging over Rachel's heart. "What I mean is...I-I love you, Rachel."
As Rachel's silence stretched on, Chloe turned away, face burning. "Sorry, I'm no good with mushy stuff."
"Don't be sorry." Rachel's voice was barely above a whisper, but Chloe was glad to hear it anyway. "Don't. You already told me. I knew that long ago."
Chloe blinked. "I did?"
"Yes. You keep telling me in a million different ways. In how you take care of me. How you're always there."
"Yeah, but never like this," Chloe insisted. "It's about time I actually said it, so you know that—that I'm sure." She stepped closer, fingers reaching to brush against her cheek. "I love you, Rachel. Every single day these last three years. I—"
Rachel cut her off by closing the distance between them, taking her face in her hands, and molding their lips together. Chloe's mind went blank. It was the sweetest kiss they'd shared in recent memory, a soft caress that made her eyes drift closed. There was nothing in that blissful darkness but the sound of the surf and the warmth of Rachel's lips—
Then, something else. The sharp taste of brine.
Chloe drew back and opened her eyes. The tears were already cooling on her lips, but they still gleamed on Rachel's cheeks. "Rachel? What's wrong? Did I—?"
"No." Rachel's arms encircled Chloe, unwilling to let her escape. "It's nothing that you did. Now, kiss me."
And Chloe did, drinking from her lips like she was sipping sweet, heady wine. Soon, the tenderness turned into something more. The mouth on hers moved with desperate hunger, and before Chloe knew what was happening, Rachel had pushed her against the fallen tree.
"Whoa," Chloe laughed as she sat on the trunk. "Rachel, what's gotten into you?"
"No idea," murmured Rachel, falling to her knees, eyes narrowed, cheeks dark. "But I know what's about to get into you."
Max shook awake as the chill from the open tent lit on her exposed skin. Yawning and rubbing her eyes, she looked around and realized she was alone. Her photos were piled neatly beside her, and there was a stack of pillows next to her head. But no Chloe or Rachel.
Did they go out for a smoke? Max poked her head from the tent flap and looked around. The fire was down to its last embers in the pit, and the half-moon was shining above. But there was no sign of her friends.
Worry flooded her stomach, but Max forced herself to calm down. They must've gone for a walk.
And maybe, just maybe, they were also having a very delayed and important talk. Yeah, that's probably it.
But the anxiety refused to leave, wormed itself deeper in her guts. Wrapping her blanket around her shoulders, Max crawled out of the tent and stood on one of the logs to scan the beach.
The clear night revealed a gorgeous view of the silver sea and a highway of pale sand, but still no Chloe and Rachel. Wait. Someone was sitting on a fallen tree, some distance to her left. She couldn't tell for sure, but it looked like Chloe. But by herself?
Pulling the blanket tighter around her, Max stumbled onto the sand towards her friend. Wherever Rachel was, it wasn't a good idea for any of them to be alone.
As she approached, it became clear that it was Chloe sitting there, watching the waves roll in. That's very un-Chloe , Max thought. I'll just sit with her until Rachel turns up. It's cold out. We could share the blanket and—
Suddenly, Chloe threw back her head and moaned long and loud. The sound made Max freeze where she was. She'd never heard Chloe make a sound like that—
Oh.
And as Max realized her mistake, Chloe reached a hand down, down to a golden head nestled between her bare legs, and as hands crawled up the back of her shirt, she moaned Rachel's name—
Max turned and fled. The blanket didn't touch the ground as she sprinted back to the tent. Inside, she cocooned herself in the blanket and huddled at the edge of their sleeping space. When Chloe and Rachel finally arrived some unknown time later, giggling in hushed tones as they settled next to her, Max lay very still and feigned sleep.
Her arms and legs shivered as if cold, but her belly felt molten hot, just like her face. As she lay there in the dark, caught between jealousy and desire, she wondered who she was more jealous of: the girl kneeling between Chloe's legs, or the girl who cried out Rachel's name.