#will miller

The idea hung in the air like a heavy cloud, and he could feel Camille giving him a slight nudge when the silence lingered a little too long. It was usually because Will would readily offer such ideas: be it the idea itself or the pros and cons, like a PowerPoint presentation ready to provide all the necessary points for a decision that rarely left the bar.

He knew of the group's intentions for a weekend away from the city; Frankie had noticed that he, who would usually already be spreading links and reviews online, didn’t move a finger, and when asked about it, Will just said he was a bit short on time. He, who was the first to encourage trips to the beach, to the mountains, an enthusiast of escaping the hectic city life. Frankie was always the one noticing something. That night, he frowned slightly, shook his head very discreetly, as if to say no, please don't engage, she's just Benny's headstrong girlfriend, because she had been insistent on so many things, and Will knew that not even his brother could convince her otherwise.

This brother seemed overcome with embarrassment, bothered by not having been informed about anything.

“Babe, you could’ve told me this was the thing you wanted to do… We could’ve thought of something better.” 

“Yeah, that place is kind of run-down,” Santi said, easily dismissing the idea with a shrug, being the best at pretending. As Will looked at him by the corner of the table, he exchanged a small glance at Camille and found her confused. 

“Oh, I don't know. We've hiked, been to waterfalls… we even went to Yosemite that one time to see the wolves. Somehow, it feels like we're always escaping the adrenaline of the city for the adrenaline of the wilderness.”

“Wasn't it you who couldn't switch off?” Frankie joked, and the dry chuckles crossing the table were anything but an out for a mood killer. 

“I know, I know… I just think it could be different for a change, you know? Besides, despite what it may seem, I myself have never ridden a horse and I would love to do it.” 

There was more arguing, but it wasn't up to anyone to dismiss her wishes, which, besides being valid, had a just principle. No one had actually stopped to think about that. After Tom, after… everything, they kept jumping from branch to branch, and it had been difficult, and so much crap had happened along the way, that maybe the adrenaline had become an addiction again.

By the end of that night, it seemed decided. And if the somber mood as they parted wasn't enough, there was something in Camille's eyes that made it clear she felt wronged by some secret he didn't want to tell her. She asked to be dropped off at her house, not his. That's when he realized he didn't know how to say the right things, which assured him that time exonerates the right people, and he wasn't one of them.

****

The sun was too hot. Except for the sound of doors closing behind Will, he could hear the heat—the buzzing of sunbeams scorching the grass, corroding the soil, cutting through the surface layer of his skin. After a four-hour drive to reach the property, the view itself was rewarding: the trees, the main house. It seemed almost perfect. Three cars, because Will was the last to leave work, using every second of overtime to try and come up with some excuse; Benny and his girlfriend went with Santi, and Frankie came with his wife and daughter. 

Camille seemed a little uncomfortable, he could tell. She hadn't liked how things had gone after the bar, and the two of them were somewhat at odds when the decision to go became impossible to refuse. On the way, she only complained about one thing, which was his inability to say no. It was also the only time Will really wanted to say that she had no idea what she was talking about.

The man who came to greet them was dark-skinned, with a pleasant smile and a clean face. He wasn't wearing a hat, but his attire was typical of someone familiar with the workings of the farm. His hands were calloused; he went straight to greet Will. The initial conversation was welcoming and encouraging: the farm had many attractions to offer, from family programs to more adventurous activities, such as hunting. He then remembered that it was January, almost after New Year's, hunting season. The idea itself wasn't very appealing, but for a while, Will turned his face toward an open area that soon led to a dense forest, and a somewhat nostalgic thought crossed his mind.

The man, who would later be called Travis Hilton, said that someone would collect the luggage, and asked them to accompany him to the reception area for check-in. They made the short trip to the place with a certain amount of excitement. Even Camille, who seemed opposed to the idea of ​​dynamic interaction with Will, settled in among the more talkative and also asked a few questions. She seemed interested in the goats and calves, which was more of a childlike attraction, but she was far from challenging herself that much. She was stable.

The reception area was open and spacious, with the aroma of fresh coffee and sweet breads. The breeze was milder than the weather outside; sunglasses were removed, and sighs of relief filled the air. Benny and Emily took care of the reservations. Will stood further back, hanging his sunglasses on the collar of his shirt, looking around speculatively. 

It felt safe.

Wrongfully so. 

There was a noise coming from the back, which grew closer until it went from a mere unknown sound to voices. Two of them. One male and one female. Nobody paid much attention to it except him: he stood there, eyes and ears alert, bracing himself for some kind of impact.

The man was a young-faced, robust-looking Latino boy with dark hair spread over a worn cap. He had relatively dirty boots and signs of exhaustion, but he looked imposing. Will didn't even know why he noticed him so much. The observation was quick, honest, and as a spontaneous reaction, his eyes lingered on the woman. She had a vivid expression, despite showing no signs of manual labor. Her clothes were clean, somewhat familiar for what one might expect from there: military green trousers, boots, a darker shade of Henley. She had a jacket the same color as her trousers around her waist.

She seemed carefree. Unknown.

There was little mystery in seeing them; after all, they were right there, in a noisy and expansive group. The young man simply nodded with a polite smile, noticing their presence, but Will kept his attention on the woman, on how her face stiffened slightly. She didn't seem bothered, nor offended; in fact, she even seemed prepared.

They stared at each other for a while. Brief seconds, as if acknowledging each other's presence there, until she turned to the others and finally smiled.

“I see we have new guests.”

Everyone fell silent, their voices now becoming murmurs. Emily was the one who responded with a 'yes!' and, forward as she was, offered to ask their names and proceeded to call the group out one by one, before praising Mr. Hilton for the warm welcome, even though it hadn't been ten minutes since they arrived.

“Are you one of the riding instructors?” 

That obsession with horses, my God. 

“... No, I’m a veterinarian,” She put both of her hands behind her back, then tilted her head in the direction of the boy. “Hector here is one of our best instructors, actually.”

He smiled somewhat shyly, and she then realized that Emily's sunny personality might be a bit much for him. Before she could bombard him with questions, she intervened:

“I don't think I'll be of much use to your stay… Unless you're into domestic cow births.” 

“Oh, please, honey. Don’t give her ideas,” Benny said spontaneously, and Emily was the one slapping his arm playfully. 

Will turned to watch the scene on impulse, and when he looked back in her direction, he saw her watching him cautiously. Camille moved a little closer and slid a hand around his forearm. She took notice of that too. 

“Well, I think everyone stayed pretty close to each other… Except for us,” Frankie announced, the keys in his hand as he waved it in the air. “Lina here would love to hear a thing or two about ponies, wouldn't she, dear? Do you think we can use the vet visit to avoid having to listen to 35 questions a minute about them?”

It was a joke, but she took it seriously, even though she went along with it. Obediently, she told Mr. Hilton that he could take Frankie and the family to the cabin where they would be staying with Santi, and without further ado, she walked past them to the exit. She passed Will and smelled of a pleasant, fresh, musky aroma. 

He didn't watch her leave, but he saw that Camille had been staring at her, and decided he wouldn't make things worse by paying too much attention to another woman.

As soon as Emily pulled her along to go ahead with Mr. Travis, in the other direction from where Frankie probably went, Benny lagged behind a bit and gave him a scathing, almost reproachful look, and Will realized he was acting strangely enough for it to spill out on the sides and outside his head. 

It would be a very long weekend.

****

Will woke up early – he hadn't slept much. The feeling didn't seem so different from Camille's, and she would later say she didn't want to, but ended up taking the sleeping pills, even though she was trying to stop. Breakfast was to be served in a hall with the other guests, which Will didn't like, so he said he would stay in the chalet. Benny promised to bring some sweet biscuits; Camille, perhaps in a better mood given her exhaustion from insomnia, said he should at least have a black coffee.

In the silence of the house, Will seemed unable to switch off his brain to the things that troubled him. He knew Benny was consumed by questions and reprimands, by things he wanted to say, and he himself seemed willing to listen to them, to take some kind of wake-up call, but all he heard was Emily or Camille, reminding him of what couldn't be said in their company. Will sat on the small porch, staring at the trees outside, and wondered if it would be so bad to come clean. It wouldn't be fair to Camille; she had always been so willing to help him, but Will knew deep down that he was a coward, and that he preferred to take advantage of that help rather than be honest with himself and with her.

He then saw a roofless jeep kicking up dust from a side road. Despite the promise of heat all day, that morning was quite cool, and even though the hairs on his forearms were lit by the breeze, he couldn't bring himself to get up and get a jacket.

She got out with a smile on her face, a rifle slung over her shoulder. It didn't seem fair that this should be interpreted as a successful hunt, not with the man who got out on the driver's side, in uniform, and it took him a while to realize that the car was an official wildlife control vehicle.

She was wearing a light jacket, more practical clothes. He didn't want to, but he couldn't help but pay attention to her again.

The man noticed Will's presence first and approached to greet him. She stayed a little further back, somewhat stiff, then before she could engage in pleasantries, she said she had to speak to someone urgently, that she was waiting for him at the farmhands' house, before turning her back and walking away without even glancing twice at Will.

He watched her go without blinking, neck turned. 

“I'm Brett. Wildlife control,” The guy said, and they two shared a handshake. “You must be…?”

“Will. Will Miller.”

“Oh, Mr. Miller,” His face lightened up, then scrunched back to a polite smile as his hand slid back a little faster than expected. 

“You can call me Will.”

“Right. Will,” Brett nodded. “Have you decided which activities you want to learn about today? I heard they're going on a great jeep tour to see the deers.”

“Those that you haven't yet taken down?” It was supposed to come out less harsh than it did, but Will didn’t exactly regret saying that, despite that false chuckle coming from Brett being a burden, for sure. 

“It's a common mistake, but we don't hunt deer for animal control. Our friend is licensed for transfers… we're dealing with a group that has been trespassing on neighboring property and destroying some crops. Don't be surprised if you see one of them knocking on your door someday.” 

Brett was slippery, and Will wasn't sure he liked that very much. He had those lawyer-commercial smiles, and he was good at steering the conversation in another direction. The two stared at each other for a while, which gave the impression that Brett was disguising that calm and ultra-friendly demeanor, which, behind his eyes, in a brief moment of silence, held a challenging firmness.

“Well, I'm going now. I don't think we'll see each other again, so enjoy your stay. I'm sure you'll have a great time.”

Later, when Camille, Benny, and Emily returned, Will told them he would file a complaint at reception about the animal control being in contact with guests, saying it wasn't nice or safe for them to have to deal with deer right outside their cabins like that. He knew he was being annoying, so Benny just said he couldn't expect it to rain every day of the year in the desert, which meant he had to stop complaining about something they all knew could happen. 

Will didn't complain, of course. He just hoped that the idea of never seeing Brett again was a promise. 

****

He didn't see her for the rest of the morning, which was good; it gave him a chance to relax a bit. He and Camille even laughed together, watching Emily being overly anxious on horseback, and after lunch they had sex to make up. Will felt bad again after that because he didn't feel anything, as if he knew that being there would take away all the pleasure of enjoying a peaceful trip with his girlfriend. Still, Camille didn't say anything; they were on good terms again. 

He saw the animals and fed calves. Camille stayed at the chalet because she was going on an activity with Frankie's wife to do some kind of crafts. Before he could find something else to occupy his mind, to prevent any kind of wandering that would only be disastrous, Santiago caught up with him, accompanied by a group of two other employees of the farm. They were planning a casual trip to the forest, perhaps to hunt something, and Will was so ready to decline the invitation that Santiago was already forming that convincing expression before he even said anything, which only proved useless because it was interrupted by something else.

She emerged from a small storage room or something similar, a serious expression on her face that didn't improve much as she took in everyone there. With a clinical eye, she scanned them, then gestured with two boxes she was holding, one in each hand, and Will was the first to step forward to take them, but she ignored the gesture as soon as the employees approached.

All the manners he was supposed to have, the control, went over the window. There was this thing about her, he didn’t know how to act normal around that woman. 

“So there will be four of us?” She asked Santi. 

“I’ll go too,” Will cut his friend off before he could confirm, and she held a frozen expression before sighing. If he looked over to Pope, he would certainly find him with a frown on his face. 

“Okay. I suggest you let the others in your group know who you came with… we'll have no phone signal there, we only use shortwave radios for communication between us,” She instructed. “Furthermore, we're not going hunting. I'm extending the invitation to you because I understand the responsibility you both have with the task we're going to undertake here, but there's absolutely no need to get excited.”

She was indeed more frigid than the previous day, more tense and demanding. He didn't know if Santiago had noticed this, even though he was sure that no one was noticing her more than he was, but everyone seemed to listen with patience and obedience.

“Captain Brett will be accompanying us and is already waiting for us at the property.”

Then he knew for a fact that she was pissed. 

It was at him that she was looking when she said that. 

****

It was a group of 10 to 15 deer at first. They could probably be sick, from what he heard, and there was a risk not only to the farms but also to humans. The place where they were had denser vegetation, easy to get lost in, and was quiet. Brett hadn't brought anything besides two rifles with tranquilizers, and the plan was to rescue two or three animals for treatment. Will stopped listening for a moment when she began to explain why they were trying to cure the deer instead of just killing them, the movement of her lips more minute and almost nonexistent as she spoke in a low voice.

As soon as they reached a clearing, they paused for a moment: two different groups would leave from there. To Will's surprise, Brett would lead one of the employees and Santiago. It seemed an unsatisfactory decision, and Pope even insisted that Will could go with them, but Brett said that his coverage area was closer than hers, that Santiago had back problems, and he didn't want to inconvenience him in any way. How he knew this seemed a mystery to Will, even though, judging by Santi's expression, he himself must’ve let the cat out of the bag.

She didn't say anything for a moment. Will could only watch them go north, with Pope glancing over his shoulder and giving him a discreet thumbs-up.

“Is everything alright with you?” 

The question made him blink a few times in surprise, snapping him out of his trance, and when he turned toward her, she had her eyes downcast, handling the rifle. It was the first time she had actually directed a question at him.

“... Yes,” He said. 

“We're going east. If everything is as we monitored earlier, we'll be able to get two of them,” She snapped her eyes to him – sharp, direct. They both stared at each other for a beat. “... Is everything alright with you?”

Will tasted the bitterness of the past. The weight of the money, the rope that pulled those animals up the mountain, the sound of the gunshot echoing in the open air, and Tom falling to the ground, dead. He could feel the scar on his stomach itching, aching, bothering him. The repetition of the question had brought him to that moment, and the forest didn't help much. Still, he confirmed with a nod. She considered him for another moment until she felt satisfied with that.

They walked along, breaking dry leaves and branches on the ground, him lagging behind, only seeing the back of her head and the employee's profile, in almost complete silence. He would never admit it out loud, but Brett was right, Santi wouldn't be able to keep up the pace at that distance. They walked for almost an hour until they found the group of two other animal control professionals, who had the capture equipment with them.

They asked her if it was bad luck not to have seen the deer along the way. She just shrugged and said they would probably be near the lake. There was a way she navigated the conversation with those men, a naturalness coupled with a cautious detachment. She didn't laugh as much with them as she laughed with Brett.

When the work began, Will and the employee crouched down next to her in an area with fallen trees. There was a long, thick, expansive trunk where they sat.

Will was a great hunter, or so they said. He was strategic, calculating, determined, and attentive. He was good at it, for many years. In none of them, however, in all the improbable factors, the near-suicidal missions and impossible jobs, was there that one specific factor. There was no her. There wasn't her on her knees, leaning against a tree trunk, staring at nature through the sights of a rifle. There wasn't that discreet glimpse of skin above the hem of her pants, a brief extension of her back that didn't seem to bother her. There wasn't the lip-licking, the murmurs of instruction, the sighs.

He was too weak and distracted. It wasn't right, nor fair, nor polite, much less respectful, and certainly nothing like what he was. As he sat there, for two agonizing hours with her, he went from thoughts he shouldn't have had to jealousy. Jealous of Brett, of the laugh she gave him, of how he could probably touch that visibly soft skin. That manlike competition, silent and nagging at him for absolutely no reason. 

At one point, when she announced that she had a better shot in another corner, and that they should stay there, she looked away from the rifle and directed her gaze at Will. He was still looking at her where he shouldn't be, at the curve of her backside, and when he hesitated to respond or pretend not to, she just let out a low 'huh' and stood up without waiting long.

Fifteen minutes later, the employee's radio crackled with her voice: I got them both, but I need help. And the two went to her, only to find her in the river holding a small deer in her arms, another two laying below her feet. She was wet up to her waist, a little above, and part of her right arm as well. In the background, he could hear the footsteps of the rest of the team, and her expression wasn't good. There was a bit of placenta in one corner. It looked bad.

“Bluetongue,” The employee spoke softly, approaching the two animals carefully. A few flies hovered above them, and Will noticed that only one of them showed any sign of having been stung by her dart. “During winter is weird.”

“The weather is really hot. It’s this damn global warming or some other bullshit,” She placed the small deer on the floor. Before he could ask, Will saw her unplucking her radio from her belt. “Brett, it's blue tongue. You'll have to shoot it down.” 

She seemed frustrated by the situation and only asked that no one approach the infected animals. When the team arrived, she was brief: the mother was on her deathbed, the cub had already been stillborn. The male was sedated, but wouldn't last much longer. 

While they were making sanitary arrangements to get the animals to the car, he noticed her crouched down by the water's edge, searching for something. Then he saw her look up at the sky, and Will found himself doing the same, as if he wanted to see what she was seeing.

When he lowered his head, he saw her already standing, staring intently at him, using some kind of dry cloth to wipe herself.

“You'd better go back. I think it's going to rain.”

****

“Santiago told me that you two went hunting.”

Will's fingernails were rather sensitive from the effort he'd put into scrubbing them. He hadn't even touched the animals; given the distance, the most Brett had advised was not to put the same clothes together with the others, just to be safe. When Camille arrived in the room with that comment, the rain was already falling outside, and judging by how long she waited to bring up the subject, it seemed clear that they were about to enter arduous, rough, and delicate territory.

He was finishing buttoning his pants in front of the mirror when, glancing to the side, he saw her with a closed expression, her arms crossed, standing there in the middle of the room.

“We didn’t.”

“So he’s lying?”

“No. What we did wasn’t hunting.” 

“Well, you were in the middle of a forest, so it’s all the same.”

It wasn’t, and for a few seconds Will saw himself in her dismissive tone, talking to Brett with similar carelessness. He didn’t correct her – she was pissed enough for that. 

“Look, I know you all have this thing going on–”

“Camille.”

“And I'm being more than understanding about all these secrets you don't want to tell me. I truly understand. But I'm not going to let you hide behind the first thing you see in your mind. If you're not gonna tell me anything, at least be present.”

“I am present,” He grabbed his shirt and pulled it around his shoulders. 

“What we did in that bed earlier today, do you call it being present? Because to me, it just seemed like you wanted to shut me up.”

Will buttoned three buttons of his shirt, sighed, and looked up at her with a hint of indignation, even though he knew she was right. The fact that she wasn't mentioning that other person, that figure, had given him the impression that she was still seeing things on a superficial level, which should be a good thing in some way. Two more days. Two days and they wouldn't be there anymore.

Because he hadn't responded, Camille shook her head and gave up.

“Finish getting ready. We've been invited to dinner at the main house.” 

He didn't respond to that either, until the door closed behind her and Will could feel the same familiar weight of guilt, because despite all the valid feelings coming out of her mouth, it wasn’t on Camille his mind were at. 

And it seemed like there wouldn’t be a single day during that trip that it would be. 

****

She stood there with a steaming cup in her hands, and hadn't moved from that position since they'd arrived. Will tried not to look: at her casual posture, her comfortable clothes. He could feel the palpable texture of the fabric, the slightly stiff linen against soft skin, the light trousers. And she was chatting warmly with Mr. Hilton as the group engaged in a card game with Hector, with Will wondering if the invitation had anything to do with her, if the courtesy of having no other guests there meant anything. Santiago hadn't pulled him aside to explain anything, but Frankie seemed more suspicious, alert, and was the first to ask if Will or Pope had done something wrong.

Will said no, that everything seemed normal. And it did seem so, because no one there wanted to retract their statements about what had happened in the forest, and she couldn't have been less interested in them.

But he knew it wasn't. Deep down, he knew.

During dinner, she sat next to Frankie's wife, and the two seemed to strike up a friendly conversation while voices shared across the dining table. On her plate was a modest piece of meat, salad, and carrots—items from the menu, but less extravagant than Benny's, for example, who had taken everything he was entitled to. She ate politely, rather quickly, as if she had to police herself to remember that she also needed to talk.

And he was paying so much attention that he didn't even notice when Camille called her attention, and that for a brief second she glanced at him sideways before saying a quick 'yes?'.

“I was a little curious about today's activities. Santiago and Will went with you and Mr. Brett to the forest this afternoon, didn't they?”

Mr. Hilton was cleaning the sides of his mouth, probably bracing for criticism, and Pope just cleared his throat, ready to speak on her behalf. But she didn’t seem fazed; at best, just slightly taken aback by the frigid tone on Camille’s voice, breaking the warmth of amicable chatting. 

“We did, yes. As Santiago’s request.”

“I knew. I just wanted to know how the invitation was extended to Will.”

She said right away: “He invited himself.” 

Apparently, Camille hadn't expected much from it; perhaps she suspected someone had convinced or forced him to participate in something like that. Given her calm demeanor, subtlety, and confidence in saying it, Camille recoiled slightly, knowing that this would certainly lead to another argument.

“I don't usually recommend this type of practice; after all, it's hardly a commendable job, and we don't want guests to be impacted by this kind of drastic situation. But both proved to be very resilient. I would be somewhat irrational in not believing that their experience couldn't overcome something so much less intense.” 

As she added that, Will had to suppress a frown. It sounded like she was giving him an out towards Camille, but before he could take hold of that, she was back to her food. 

The table went silent. 

“So you're an expert on wild animals?” Emily asked. Always out of touch. 

“No, I only have a license for wildlife control in cases like the one we're dealing with today. I work with farm animals.” 

“You live here?” 

“No, no. I live in Miami.”

Will could feel his body muscles tensing at the thought, and Emily's excitement, as if it would change something and make them best friends. He glanced around the table and saw Frankie scratching the back of his neck, as well as the others looking away at their food. She had a calm demeanor when giving each answer, and even when engaging with Emily, which gradually created an air of naturalness for everyone, who began to incorporate their own anecdotes or comments, until the conversation returned to its previous amicability. 

The rain was getting heavier a little after dessert, so everyone started to slip away to the cabins with umbrellas and raincoats provided by Mr. Hilton. She stayed behind. Standing there, composed, saying goodbye to each one as if she wouldn't be seen again, until she reached Camille, right there next to Will, and gave her two kisses on the cheek. On the second one, on her left cheek, she was staring intently at him, as if she wanted him to see it in detail.

“I hope you weren't offended by what I said earlier today. Believe me when I say that I'm also against such practice.”

Camille seemed surprised by that, as if she was just telling her a secret, but he could tell there was something more to it. 

“I spoke with Travis and asked him to invite you for a private horseback ride tomorrow, near the ranch boundary, with lunch by the river. As a courtesy, of course,” She looked between them two. “This rain is temporary, I believe. And if it doesn't pass, we'll have to wait for next time. I'm sure they would love to have you back sometime around the summer.”

“That’s… very nice of you. You didn’t have to.” 

“I insist.”

****

There's this great place we could go, you know? Have you ever ridden a horse?

Camille smiled to herself, satisfied, and Will knew he wouldn't sleep that night – at all. She felt entitled to say that she had overcome some kind of particular affliction through the conversation and her offer, and was saying that 'they thought better of it, I felt she wanted to embarrass me'. Will didn’t have good feelings towards it. He wished he could run over the interactions happening that night, to have someone to say he wasn’t paranoid, to overcome those thoughts passing over his mind. 

By 2 or 3 in the morning, he had already memorized every carved detail on the bedroom ceiling, counted how many times the lightning illuminated the room, and at what point the rain began to intensify. He considered the capsules beside Camille's bed, secretly held them in his hands in the silent, dark kitchen, and then realized it wouldn't be enough.

He didn't think much, he was impulsive. With stealthy steps, he put on his trousers and a shirt, then wrapped himself only in his raincoat and a pair of boots that were laid out by the door. He left the cabin without looking back. He crossed the row of other cabins arranged around it with firm steps, feeling the thick raindrops hitting his chest, the wind blowing the hood of his raincoat backward. Without any hesitation, he didn't bother to protect his head: he reached the small shed from which she had emerged that afternoon and found it open. He scanned it for half a minute until he found a flashlight, and from there he set off towards the forest without hesitation.

It was a winding walk, full of slopes, slips, and risks. He still knew the way there, knew he could encounter anything, that he was unprotected, that he was cold, that he was screwed. Still, Will just kept going. He walked the same path, remembering every question and glance she gave him, every instruction, the silence of the hunt, the way her knees touched the ground, the roughness of the tree trunk, until he reached the promised place, the spot where he witnessed a scene he might never forget, a scene that wouldn't replace the worst thing but would add a touch of grace as a complement to what it truly was. Guilt, resentment, remorse. The serene skin in contact with the water, the determined face, the discernment and the care.

Will stood there, illuminating the lake, and cursed himself. Jerk, liar, traitor, opportunist. How could he deceive people like that? How could he be this perfect guy until page two? He shouldn't have accepted Santiago's invitation, he shouldn't have insisted that Frankie go with them, that he also risked his life with a daughter on the way. He shouldn't have let Tom die, he shouldn't have stood by and watched that body, once strong, fall under the weight and power of a bullet. 

When Will realized it, his feet and shins were wet. He had crossed the lake and climbed a new slope, on the other side of a forest he no longer recognized. He continued, and continued, and continued, until he reached a new clearing. He looked around, but recognized nothing. His mind still in turmoil, he realized he was lost, and his rational thoughts had been obliterated by his emotional mess. 

With heavy breathing and the heavy rain washing over his entire body, Will walked to a tall tree and sat down among its enormous roots, the beam of light from his flashlight illuminating the ground in front of him. He felt like a boy again, a traumatized loser, a guy with a bleeding fist in a grocery shop while losing his engagement and what he pretended was a normal life. 

He must have remained like that for about twenty minutes. Without any chance of physical exhaustion giving him any peace of mind, he saw a distant headlight, an almost inaudible sound, and then a quad bike climbed the hill, its wheels scraping with difficulty in the mud, with a figure emerging from the darkness to reach him, the light blinding him from the chance to see who was driving it.

She got down and went to him in silence. Will sat there, speechless, watching her crouch beside him and place two fingers below his jaw, on his carotid artery, in a familiar movement. She was satisfied, even though the radio on her belt was crackling and someone was talking to her.

“Did you get hurt?” She said over the rain, but didn’t give him a chance to answer as she scanned his seated body. 

The laces on his right boot were untied. How convenient. Only then did she hesitate a little, seized by something he knew perfectly well, but before he could stop her, she tied them again, then stood up abruptly.

“Travis, I'm with him here. We're up high, near the Morrison farm… Yes… Yes, he's fine…” Then her voice started to become more tense, and a sigh left her mouth as she looked up in frustration. “I know... Okay... Agreed.”

She turned to him with a clinical look, and Will felt obliged to stand up and have some decency.

“We can't stay here, and the lake is already too deep to cross with the tricycle. Get on, let's go to a safer place until the rain stops.”

She was already wet, soaked, and even though he could have been more careful, Will didn't hesitate to put his arms around her torso as soon as they got on the tricycle. Maybe she hadn't even noticed; maybe, in the whole context, it wasn't open to discussion. The ground was slippery, after all. So he let her close, nestled against him, and he realized that she also only had her raincoat for protection, that underneath the waterproof fabric there was almost nothing, like pajamas or more casual clothes. She ran after him. Of course she did. How long has he been out? 

The journey to where they were supposed to go was shorter. There was a small cabin on the edge of a river, which was also high, and as soon as she arrived, she climbed down to open the doors of a small side shed, sliding skillfully from his embrace. He rushed to help, only to find what looked like a small garage where she could store the tricycle. 

He looked out towards the river, and then further up where he saw a long fence.

Yeah, I started working there, they're really great people. They even have farm tours… By the way, there's this great place we could go, you know? Have you ever ridden a horse?

****

He called your name for the first time since he'd arrived, and it sounded so strange and wrong that you noticed it too. You led him to a small room inside the cabin and instructed him to get some boxes from a wardrobe. It was clear you were angry and unscrupulous, willing to drop the facade away from others, and as soon as he turned around with the boxes, you were taking off your raincoat. In fact, pajamas. A choice. 

You didn't even look at him when you went straight to see what was in the boxes, nor did you realize how absurd it was to be naked in front of him while muttering that he'd better dry off quickly before he caught a cold or made the floor even wetter, as if he didn't have the right to remain speechless upon seeing your bare breasts. 

So he changed, you too, and you grabbed the pile of wet clothes and threw it in the small bathroom connected to the bedroom before leaving him alone. Will stood there for a long moment, staring at the wet marks where you had stood on the floor, and then he went out to find you in the kitchen, staring at a kettle that was starting to heat up on the stove.

Then he said your name. Softly. Just your name, to get you to look at him properly. Your shoulders tensed; with your back to him, you could only take your time with that, but he was impatient, so he repeated himself. 

“Did you undergo a fucking lobotomy?” You asked sharply. 

“... I–”

“What do you think you're doing?”

Yeah. The million-dollar question. The question you've always asked, in different tones and ways, in overly domestic or overly worried contexts. The last time he'd heard it, you had swollen eyes and evident sadness on your face. There, when you turned to face him, anger and frustration were the right feelings.

He didn’t answer. Not because he didn’t have the answer, but simply as a matter of uncertainty. They all had been doing quite a lot of work to keep it cool during their stay there, he didn’t know how safe it was to let it all go. 

You shook your head a little, then scoffed. 

“That Emily… she told me it was her idea to come here. I suspect you didn't tell her. Or Camille,” You said her name a little bit stronger. “What was it? You weren't the type to give in. If I remember correctly, you didn't even like farms.”

“I never said I didn't like it, I just–”

“Didn’t want to do it with me. I know,” You glared at him before turning back to the stove, arms crossed. “Just wanted to check if you were still yourself, since you're committing to doing so much shit.” 

“I should’ve said something,” He said, taking a step closer to enter fully in the kitchen. 

“To me or Camille?”

“Both. I was… I am ashamed to tell her everything. I know I was bad, I know... it wasn't supposed to be that way, it really wasn't. And she’s not like you, she wouldn’t take it easily.”

“Believe me, I know I'm not like her. Not in any way. If she were anything like me, you wouldn't be with her.”

You had your rights, and honestly, you endured far too much considering everything. Two years prior, Will had been keeping you on the back burner for years while taking everything he could from you: your time, attention, money, support, your body. And you were always there because you loved him, and he knew you loved him, and everyone said you loved him, and he said he didn't know because he simply didn't know. It was never fear. He started taking advantage of you because of that. You took them to Benny's championships, you worked double shifts to help him financially when he was unemployed for a while, you cooked, you invited him into your life, and even though you said it was your fault for giving in like that, Will knew that in reality he was the one sucking everything out of you because it was comfortable and easy.

Then he would go out at night with the guys, and then he would be with other women, sleep out whenever he felt like it, trying to drown out the loss of Tom by directing his troubled feelings towards other people. More delicate women, beautiful in that common way, the kind you would say he would be proud to introduce to his parents and friends, like Camille, even though his mother loved you and all the guys were all grown fond of you easily. Not once, once, he thought of your own pains: the loss of your brother, the reason why you two met in the first place, of you needing to take care of your family too. 

He did it. He did, and his friendship with Frankie, for example, was fractured because of it. They fought over it, Benny wouldn't let him forget for months. When you erupted in indignation and exhaustion, when you heard him say that you were just a friend to him, that you weren't exactly his type, he just turned his back and walked away because he knew he should love you that way too, almost unconditionally, and he just couldn't because he was a coward.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. He knew you; you were trying not to get any more irritated.

“... We have yerba mate, green tea, and chamomile tea. Which one would you like?” 

“I'm sorry for–”

“That's not what I asked you,” You stressed, your eyes sharp as you stared back at him. “... Chamomile then.”

Will remained silent, because he understood that this was what you wanted from him. Calmly, he pulled up a chair and sat at the small table, watching you prepare two cups of hot tea. It was like before, how you loved making your tea: in silence, like a ritual, until you placed the two cups on the table and sat down in front of him.

“Frankie told me you're working at a gym,” You said. 

He wanted to ask how much did you talk with Frankie about him, but he doubted it would be more than once or twice, occasionally. You certainly wouldn’t want to orbitate more around him than necessary, even if Fish took your side. 

“Yeah. Self-defense and boxing.”

“Neat.”

“And you… are still here. I didn't know you had a wildlife control license,” He tried, and you didn’t seem offended by it in any means. You seemed in control, even though not with the same cordiality as before, like in that dinner table. 

“I took it out after I came here. Mr. Morrison works in agriculture and they were dealing with crop losses, just like us, so I decided to make some extra money. It came in handy at the time.” 

“With Brett.”

That might offend you, but you only took it with interest, your brow slightly furrowed before you smiled wryly. You sipped on your tea and licked your lips. 

“He told me you two had a chat. You were one step away from being a jerk to the guy, but I bet you were a complete idiot anyway. Brett is too nice with people.” 

“Doesn't that make him easy to like?”

“It does. Do you want to know if he's good in bed? Because that's all you're missing to ask.” 

Will leaned back on his chair and lowered his eyes. “... Sorry.”

“It seems you're learning how to use that word. Congratulations.”

Will had always been attracted to you. Always. When you approached him, somewhat bewildered, with a friend who had convinced you to seek help or guidance, he had already noticed these things about you, but it was clear that this was not at all convenient. You had lost your only brother in the line of duty, you were somewhat disoriented, you needed help. He helped. He didn't just jump in with the idea of ​​sleeping with you, especially since you were friends before becoming… lovers, but when it happened, it was because you were someone he would do those things with and you had the same feelings for him. 

It was clear that what you wanted from him was more. You could have settled for the casual thing, or you two could have ended things on better terms, and looking at you at that moment, Will was sure that you read him like no one else in that respect, that he wasn't very good at hiding it, and that this was the most toxic thing anyone could do. Like he didn’t change at all. 

You finished your tea in silence, a tense atmosphere hanging in the air. Since the radio was no longer working and the rain was far from letting up, you suggested spending the night in the cabin, and that you could return to the farm the next day. He just agreed. 

“You were jealous of Brett, weren't you?” 

You two were deciding on how to manage the spending the night thing. There wasn’t a couch on the cabin, and it barely held any other thing of substance. Given the equipped kitchen, it made sense it was offered as a stay-for-lunch-only thing. 

He looked at you with raised eyebrows, and you seemed just fine with the question, fluffing the pillows of the bed. It was clear he didn’t know what to expect when it came to what would come out of your mouth. 

“... Is that–”

“I'm asking because I was going to offer you sex. Or just, I don't know, if you get a little too close. I can suck your dick if you want.” 

That was you. The cunning, the saying of what seemed right to you. That's how you were before he infiltrated your life, and Will would be lying if he said he didn't like it. He considered you, and saw you talking about it as if it were nothing, looking at him without any ulterior motive. He thought of Camille, of how worried she must be, or how she was probably the one who alerted them of his disappearance. Will already knew the relationship wouldn't last after that trip, but he didn't want it to end this way. Besides, what would you gain from it? A pointless bargain? You hated him, rightfully so, and not even the most incredible sex in the world would change that.

“Look, let's do this…” You left the pillow on the bed and walked over to him, standing a few feet away. “Kiss me and you decide.”

“... What?”

“If you want.”

He did want it. Beyond sexual desire, he had hurt you so badly, made you doubt that he wanted anything more than convenience from you, that it suited him to think he might be better off that way, somehow compensating you even if it also benefited him. His sex was so good—you were so good. And you knew he couldn't take his eyes off you, that he had some interest and that, in fact, he was jealous of Brett.

He finally knew what to call it. Will regretted that you were no longer his.

The kiss was electrifying, full of desire. He could tell you were only succumbing to a purely carnal urge. If before, in the past, you were affectionate, caressing him and letting him lead you as he wished, there you were fierce, determined. It would be your way. He knew it would be his last chance to indulge himself, and he threw himself into it without even thinking twice.

That night, he let himself be all yours to use. That was something he would never regret. 

****

In the morning, it was still raining, but much less. You were already up, stuffing the soaked clothes into two different bags, and you didn't mention what had happened while putting on your raincoat. Judging by your quickness, you had been awake for quite some time.

He got dressed and you two went out to take the tricycle out. With a better view, Will could take a proper look at the pier and the river. 

You waited until his face fell – until he remembered Camille and the lunch and your proposition. You stepped in front of him, still sporting that same little smile from the night before.

“Is everything alright with you?”

Despite realizing what you had done, Will didn't utter a single word. So that was the feeling of being used, of being tossed from one side to the other, of not knowing what the other person was thinking and wanting, of being manipulated? He looked you deep in the eyes with these questions bubbling in his head, waiting for an answer, and all you did was look back, silently replying that yes, that was exactly how it was, and that you expected him to carry yet another burden of guilt.

You pecked his lips and he flinched back as soon as you did so. 

“Poor Camille…” You said. “She would’ve loved the view from here.”