I’m a fucking mess.
CHAPTER 5
DEAN
For the next two days, Kaylee disappears.
Not physically—she's at work, at the registration cabin, doing her job the way she always does. But the Kaylee who existed before Tuesday night is gone.
And it’s difficult to accept that once again it’s because of me.
I see her crossing the yard with a stack of folders, and her eyes are puffy. Like she’d been crying all night. She couldn’t hide it with tea bags or concealer, though it’s obvious she tried. Her ponytail is looser than usual, as if she didn't have the energy to pull it any tighter.
She doesn't look at me. Before she didn’t look on purpose, and you could tell it took effort. She was using that as a weapon. This is different. This is someone who's used up all their fight and has nothing left.
At lunch, she doesn't come to the dining hall. Her usual seat is empty. Imogen glances at it, then at me across the room, and her expression isn't angry. It's worse. It'ssad.
I wonder how much she knows.
Thursday, it’s the same thing. Kaylee eats at her desk or doesn't eat at all. When she has to interact with the crew, her smile is mechanical…there’s no dimple to be found.
She's polite to guests, but it seems completely hollow, and I know I'm not the only person on the crew who can tell.
A slow, sickening clarity hits me and settles in my gut like a stone.
I thought my silence was protecting her. Protecting the camp. Protecting Connor's trust and the fragile thing I'm building here. I told myself the lie was a kindness, that the truth would do more damage than the not-knowing.
But look at her.
My silence isn't a shield, it's a blade. And I kept telling myself I was falling on it for her sake, when really I was just too scared to put it down.
The thing I thought was protecting her is the thing that's taking her apart…and in turn tearing the whole camp apart.
Every day I don't tell her the truth is another day she sits at that desk believing she's the kind of woman men use and discard.
I can't do this to her anymore.
On Friday evening, the crew's wrapping up. Guests are heading to their cabins before Heritage Night. I'm cleaning the splitting station, sorting mauls by weight the way Graham prefers them, when I hear boots on gravel behind me.
Rourke crosses his big tatted arms crossed.
"Got a minute?" He asks casually, but his green eyes aren't casual at all.
"Sure," I reply.
He doesn't say anything right away. Just stands there, studying me with an expression I haven't really seen from him before. It’s serious.
Shit.
"I like you, Dean." He says it plainly, as if he's establishing a fact before building an argument on top of it. "You work hard. You're good with people. You've earned your place here, and I mean that."
"I hear a 'but' coming."
"Aye, you do." He uncrosses his arms and hooks his thumbs in his pockets. "I don't know what's going on between you and Kaylee. And before you tell me nothing—don't. I'm not blind, and neither is anyone else who knows her around here."
My jaw tightens and I set the maul down slowly.
"She's not sleeping," Rourke says. "She's not eating right. She looks like someone kicked the light out of her, and she's doing everything she can to pretend otherwise. But she's not fooling anyone." He pauses, his voice measured. "That girl is family to me. To all of us here at Timber Run. She was here before you, and I will not stand by and watch her grind herself down to dust.”