Page 34 of Carnival’s Playground

She shuts the cruiser door and guns the engine, throwing gravel as she heads down the main drive, her red taillights bleeding into the darkness before vanishing past the tree line. The four of us stand in the dead silence of the midway, the hum of the idling emergency generators vibrating through the soles of our boots. "Jesus Christ," Petey mutters, rubbing both hands over his bloodshot eyes. "I feel like I got hit by a semi."

"Go hit your bunk, kid," Dutch orders, clapping a heavy hand on Petey's shoulder. "Get some sleep while the county's watching the perimeter. Tomorrow's gonna be a bitch."

Petey nods without a word, turning on his heel and dragging his feet toward the crew trailers.

Dutch turns to face Avery and me. The hard, stubborn anger in his face softens just a fraction, revealing the bone-deep exhaustion underneath. He looks at my arm still wrapped tight around Avery's hip, but there's no judgment in his eyes—only the heavy, protective weight of an old circus boss trying to keep his family alive. "You two holding it together?" Dutch asks quietly.

"We're standing," Avery replies, her voice rough but steady. "We're not letting this bastard take down the show, Dutch."

"Damn right we aren't," Dutch growls. He lets out a long, ragged breath that fogs in the freezing air. "Get some rest, both of you. Don't leave each other's side. We need every head clear when the sun comes up."

"Understood," I tell him.

Dutch turns and walks off toward his trailer, his heavy boots crunching rhythmically in the gravel until his door clicks shut behind him. The midway falls dead quiet around us, the muted glow of the string lights swaying gently in the bitter wind. I turn to Avery, pulling her closer against my chest until I can feel the steady, stubborn thump of her heart beating against mine, the raw adrenaline finally giving way to a fierce, territorial ache that settles deep in my gut.

"Walk you home?" I offer, holding out my hand.

"Depends what home means tonight," she teases, though she takes my hand anyway, and I feel the tremor in her fingers that matches the one in mine.

We walk slowly through the grounds, past the shuttered game booths and the string lights swaying gently overhead, neither of us in any hurry to end the night even though exhaustion's dragging at both of us.

"Can I ask you something?" Avery ventures, breaking the quiet.

"Anything," I answer.

"What happens after this run ends?" she cautiously asks, like she's testing how much weight the question can hold. "You've never stayed anywhere past a season. That's not a secret, that's just who you are."

"Used to be," I correct, glancing over at her.

"Used to be?" she skeptically echoes.

"I've never had a reason to stay before," I explain, choosing my words slowly and deliberately because I need to get this right. "Every town looked the same after a while. Every job blurred into the next one. I told myself I liked it that way, and maybe I did, for a while."

"And now?" she presses.

"Now there's a woman who threatened to throttle me with a tool belt on day one," I answer, grinning despite myself, "and somehow, that's the best thing that's happened to me in years."

"That's not an answer," she points out, though her voice softens.

"I'm not gonna promise you forever tonight," I honestly admit, because she deserves the truth and I'm too tired to dress it up. "Not after the night we've had. But I can promise you I'm not looking past Halloween trying to figure out my next exit. I'm looking at staying, for as long as this crew needs me. For as long as you'll have me."

"That's a decent start," she murmurs, leaning into my side as we walk, and I feel some of the tension drain out of her.

"I'll take it easy," I reply, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

We reach her trailer eventually, and she pauses at the door, keys jingling in her hand, looking up at me with an expression I haven't quite learned to read yet, something caught between exhaustion and want and uncertainty.

"Stay," she quietly offers, no teasing edge to it at all, just vulnerability.

"You sure?" I check, needing to hear it plain.

"I'm not asking twice," she warns, though there's no real threat in it, just nerves dressed up as sass.

"Then I'm staying," I confirm, following her inside and locking the door behind us both.

We don't talk much after that, just settle into her narrow bed together, her head tucked against my chest, my arm wrapped loose around her shoulders, both of us too wrung out for anything beyond just being close. My hand finds hers in the dark, and she laces our fingers together without a word. Somewhere out there a saboteur's still loose, still watching, still waiting for his next move. But for tonight, with Avery's breathing evening out slow against my ribs and the first gray light of dawn creeping through the curtains, I let myself have this one quiet thing before the world demands anything else from either of us.

CHAPTER TWENTY