UNEDITED
Calla Henrik's family runs the best ATV business in town, and she's ready to take over the family business for the summer while her parents go on a much-needed vacation. She's ready to earn some money before she attends the University of A...
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Maddox
"Maddox?"
Grumbling, I push away whoever is shaking my bicep and turn my back to them, willing myself to fall back into one of the deepest periods of sleep I've ever had.
"Maddox," the voice repeats, their hand sliding to my shoulder. They give me another shake and I feel a cold chill run down my spine as their thumb brushes my collarbone. It's quickly followed by panic, jolting upward, I grab their hand and bend the wrist back until the person is begging me to let go of them.
"Maddox!" she cries. "You're hurting me!"
I blink rapidly, releasing the person's hand as soon as I realize it's Calla that's standing in front of me. She's gaping at me, a bag of takeout in her left hand and her right hand, the one that I just hurt, pressed against her chest. Humiliation and shame run through me. I drop my face into my hands and take several deep breaths to try and calm my rapid heart rate down, tugging at my hair. "I'm sorry, Calla," I whisper, tears beginning to burn my eyes. "I'm so sorry."
Through my grogginess, I had thought that Calla was my dad trying to wake me up so we could have another one of his chats. I thought I was going to have to climb out of my bed and trudge downstairs to my doom, taking hit after hit until he was pleased with the blood and bruises.
I take another deep breath and straighten my posture, dropping my hands from my face, so I can become more aware of my surroundings. I'm in front of the campfire adjacent to Calla's trailer. I'm laying across a double folding padded loveseat camping chair with a thin blanket I grabbed from her trailer strewn over me. Instead of a water-stained ceiling being above me, all I can see are silhouettes of trees and billions of stars popping out from the night sky. I smell pine and campfire smoke, combined with the updraft of musk from the creek in the gulley. Calla, dressed in her jeans and a cream-coloured cable-knit cardigan, is standing in front of me with a look of shock on her face. She's still pressing her wrist to her chest.
"I'm sorry," I repeat.
"It's okay," Calla says at the same time.
We both fall into silence, staring at each other. She flashes me a weak smile, her eyes full of sympathy and understanding. I lean back in my chair, a little bit of the guilt easing from my gut. I don't think Calla can possibly comprehend how thankful I am that she understands my trauma. Any other woman would have probably screamed at me or cowered in front of me for potentially taking a step towards throwing a fist.
"It really is okay, Maddox," she continues. She sets the brown paper takeout bag on the picnic table beside us and then sits down next to me, pressing our thighs together. "It really is. I'm sorry I shocked you. I should have warned you."
I snort, a smile splitting my face. "How do you warn someone that's sleeping?"
She nudges me with her elbow. "I could have poked you with a stick."
