Chapter 46

It starts small.

It always does.

I’m already tired before the day even begins. Bronze Med ran long—again—and half the CIT’s showed up late, so I had to redo half the lesson while Quinn stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching like she always does.

Not helping.

Just watching.

Which, for some reason today, really gets under my skin.

“…Reset that drill,” Quinn calls out playfully, voice cutting across the dock.

I glance over. “…I just ran it.” I say, sharper than I meant too.

“…Run it again,” she says. “…They’re sloppy.”

The kids groan. I force a smile. “…Alright guys, one more time.”

But inside?

Something twists.

It keeps happening.

All morning.

Little corrections. Little comments.

“Fix your spacing.”

“Explain it better.”

“Don’t rush them.”

None of it is wrong. That’s the worst part.

But it’s the way she says it—casual, authoritative, like I’m just… another counselor she needs to manage.

Not someone she spent nights tangled up with.

Not someone she—

Yeah.

That.

By the time we hit breakfast, I’m quiet.

Annabelle notices immediately. “…Why do you look like you want to drown someone?”

“…I don’t,” I mutter, stabbing at my eggs. “…I just—whatever.”

“…Is this about Quinn?” Emily asks, way too casually.

“…No,” I say too fast.

They all look at each other.

“…It’s about Quinn,” Caitlyn confirms.

I roll my eyes. “…She’s just—being annoying.”

“…Annoying how? I thought you guys were doing great.” Annabelle presses.

I hesitate.

“…We were, but now she’s acting like I’m just some first-year she has to babysit.”

There’s a pause.

“…Oh,” Emily says. “…That’s… different.”

“…Yeah,” I mutter. “…It is.”

I try to shake it off.

I really do.

But by activity period three, I’m already on edge, and of course—of course—I get paired with Quinn for waterfront rotations.

She’s driving the boat. I’m managing the dock.

Usually, it’s easy. Fun, even.

Today?

Not so much.

“…You’re letting them start too early,” Quinn calls from the boat, engine idling.

I turn, jaw tightening. “…They’re fine.”

“…Kennedy.” Her tone drops, confused by my frustration. “…Wait for my signal.”

Something in me snaps. Just a little.

“…I know how to do my job,” I shoot back.

There’s a beat.

The kind that stretches.

Quinn pulls the boat closer to the dock, cutting the engine. “…I didn’t say you didn’t.”

“…You didn’t have to.”

Now she’s looking at me fully. Not teasing. Not flirty. Just… confused.

“…What’s your problem?” she asks.

“…Nothing.”

“…Don’t do that,” she says, sharper now. “…Don’t say nothing when it’s clearly something.”

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “…Right. Because you’d know, obviously.”

Her eyes narrow. “…Okay. What does that mean?”

The campers are still there. Watching. Waiting.

I shouldn’t do this here.

I know I shouldn’t.

But I’m already too far in.

“…It means,” I say, lowering my voice but not enough, “…you don’t get to switch between acting like my boss and—whatever else—whenever it’s convenient.”

Her expression shifts. Just slightly.

“…I am your boss out here,” she replies, controlled.

“…Yeah, I noticed.”

“…That’s my job.”

“…And what about when you’re not on shift?” I shoot back. “…Or does that only apply when it works for you?”

That hits.

I see it land.

Her jaw tightens. “…You think I’m picking and choosing?”

“…Aren’t you?”

“…No,” she say flatly. “…I’m doing my job. Sorry if that’s suddenly a problem for you.”

“…It’s not your job,” I snap, “…to make me feel like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“…I never said that.”

“…You don’t have to say it.”

Silence again.

Thicker this time.

The kind that makes the air feel heavy.

Quinn steps onto the dock. Slow. Controlled. Too controlled.

“…You’re taking this personally,” she says.

“…Maybe because it is personal.”

“…It’s not.”

“…Right,” I laugh, shaking my head. “…Of course it’s not. Nothing ever is with you, right?”

That does it.

“…What is that supposed to mean?”

“…It means,” I say, voice sharper now, “…you act like none of this matters. Like we’re just—whatever—until you decide otherwise.”

Her eyes darken.

“…That’s not fair.”

“…Isn’t it?”

“…No,” she says, stepping closer. “…It’s not. You don’t get to twist this into something it’s not just because you’re in a mood.”

I blink.

“…I’m in a mood?”

“…Yeah,” she snaps. “…You are. You’ve been off all day and now you’re taking it out on me.”

That stings.

More than it should.

“…Wow,” I say quietly. “…Okay.”

“…What?”

“…Nothing,” I shake my head, stepping back. “…You’re right. I’m just in a mood.”

“…Kennedy—”

“…No, it’s fine,” I cut her off. “…You’ve got it handled, right? You always do.”

I turn before she can say anything else.

Walk back up the dock.

Don’t look back.

The rest of the day is… off.

We don’t talk.

Not during activities.

Not during dinner.

Not during evening program.

Every time we’re in the same space, it’s like there’s this invisible wall—thick and solid and impossible to ignore.

She doesn’t look at me.

I don’t look at her.

And somehow, that’s worse than the arguing.

Later that night, I’m sitting behind the cabin with Annabelle, Emily, and Caitlyn. The sky is dark, stars scattered across it, the air cooler now.

“…You okay?” Annabelle asks gently.

I shake my head.

“…No.”

And then, before I can stop it, everything just… spills out.

“…I don’t even know why I’m upset,” I admit, voice cracking slightly. “…It’s just—one second we’re fine, and then the next it’s like I don’t even exist unless she’s correcting me.”

“…That’s not fair,” Emily says quietly.

“…I know,” I whisper. “…But it still feels like that.”

My throat tightens.

“…And I hate that I care this much.”

Silence.

Then Caitlyn nudges my shoulder. “…You care because it’s real.”

I let out a shaky breath.

“…Yeah,” I say softly. “…That’s the problem.”

When I finally stand to head back to my cabin, my eyes are still a little puffy, chest tight, thoughts messy.

And of course—

Quinn is there.

Leaning against the path railing.

Like she’s been waiting.

Her eyes find mine immediately.

And everything stills.

She takes in my face—red, tired, not okay.

Her expression shifts.

Not teasing.

Not sharp.

Just… worried.

Neither of us says anything.

Not a word.

We just stand there for a second, looking at each other, everything unresolved, everything still sitting heavy between us.

And then I look away first.

Walk past her.

Back into the cabin.

Leaving everything unsaid.