Stacey’s POV
The rain had eased into a steady drizzle, but the camp master’s instructions were clear—no crossing the lake until the weather let up completely. I’d have been fine with waiting if it weren’t for the throbbing pain in my ankle and the company I was stuck with.
Marcus paced near the edge of the pavilion, his hands in his pockets, watching the rain like he could will it to stop. I didn’t have the energy to glare at him anymore, not after our earlier conversation.
“You okay?” he asked suddenly, glancing back at me.
I shifted, adjusting my leg on the bench. “Peachy.”
He rolled his eyes and walked over, crouching beside me. “Let me see.”
“No.”
“Stacey,” he said, his tone somewhere between exasperated and amused. “Your ankle’s probably the size of a grapefruit by now. Let me check.”
“I said no,” I snapped, crossing my arms.
He didn’t listen, of course. Marcus never listened. He gently took my ankle in his hands, ignoring my protests.
“Ow,” I hissed, more out of reflex than actual pain.
“You’re fine,” he said, carefully rotating my foot. “Nothing’s broken, but you’ve definitely twisted it pretty bad.”
“Thanks for the diagnosis, Dr. Marcus,” I said, rolling my eyes.
He smirked, sitting back on his heels. “You’re welcome. Now, do you want me to carry you back when the rain stops, or are you going to hobble the whole way?”
I glared at him, but he just raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself.
“Neither,” I muttered, pulling my jacket tighter around me.
We fell into an uneasy silence, the sound of the rain filling the gaps between us.
“Hey, Stace,” Marcus said after a while, his tone softer now.
“What?” I asked, not bothering to look at him.
“You ever think about what would’ve happened if... things were different? Back at school?”
That got my attention. I turned to him, frowning. “What are you talking about?”
“I mean us,” he said, his gaze steady but unreadable. “If I hadn’t screwed things up. If I hadn’t... you know.”
“Fallen for Betty?” I finished for him, my voice sharper than I intended.
He flinched, but he didn’t deny it. “Yeah.”
I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “You didn’t screw things up, Marcus. There was nothing to screw up. We were... convenient. Fun. But we were never real.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, his expression unreadable.
“Still,” he said finally, his voice quieter. “I wish I’d treated you better.”
I stared at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. Marcus didn’t do apologies—not real ones, anyway.
“Well,” I said, my voice softer now, “at least you’re admitting it. That’s progress.”
He smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“I’m glad you and Betty are getting along,” he said after a pause.
That hit a nerve. I looked away, focusing on the rain. “Fate didn’t give us much of a choice,” I muttered.
He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” I said, my voice tight, “she’s all I have now. After everything with my dad, and my mom... she’s the closest thing I’ve got to family.”
Marcus didn’t respond right away, but when he did, his voice was softer than I’d ever heard it. “You’re not alone, Stace. You’ve got people who care about you.”
“Yeah,” I said, swallowing hard. “Sure.”
The rain started to let up then, the drizzle turning into a light mist.
“We should head back soon,” Marcus said, standing up and offering me a hand.
I stared at it for a moment before reluctantly taking it. His grip was firm, steady, and as much as I hated to admit it, comforting.
“Come on,” he said, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Let’s see if the cheerleading queen can make it back without falling again.”
I rolled my eyes, but there was no real heat in it. “For the last time, I’m not the cheerleading queen anymore. That’s Betty.”
“I know,” he said, his smirk fading. “But for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing okay. Better than okay, actually.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I didn’t.
As we started walking back, his voice cut through the silence.
“When we get back, I’m going to ask her to be my girlfriend. Officially.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I couldn’t hide the flicker of emotion that crossed my face.
I looked away quickly, my voice strained. “Good for you.”
But all I could think about was the image of Betty on that video call—braless, with Brent standing behind her, holding coffee.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t know who to be angry at—Marcus, Betty, Brent, or myself.