Page 24 of Carnival Mayhem

Nash’s lips quirk into a half-smile. “Noticed that, did you?”

“I notice everything about your performance.” The words come out before I can stop them.

“I know you do.” His voice is soft. “Just like I notice everything about yours.”

Flora stirs, mumbling something in her sleep, and we both fall silent. Nash’s hand has stilled on her arm, and I find myself studying the familiar lines of his face in the shadows.

“We should get some sleep,” he murmurs after a moment.

“Yeah,” I agree, though neither of us closes our eyes. “Goodnight, Nash.”

“Goodnight, Colt.”

We lie in comfortable silence, both aware of the weight of what remains unsaid between us, yet neither willing to shatter this moment.

13

FLORA

Iwake with a jolt, my body stretching across unfamiliar sheets that smell of masculine musk and cedar. The empty spaces beside me hold warmth from where Nash and Colt slept, but they’re gone now. Sunlight streams through the trailer’s window, casting strange shadows across the rumpled bedding.

A harsh buzz cuts through the peaceful morning. My phone vibrates against the wooden nightstand, the screen lighting up with a number I’d hoped to never see again. My foster family. My heart pounds against my ribs as I snatch the device, my thumb hovering over the decline button.

Tommy’s face enters my mind—the cruel twist of his lips when he found me holding the flyer. “Not happening. You belong to me and Jake. Don’t forget that. Or do you need another reminder?”

I press decline, but my hands won’t stop shaking. The phone slips between my trembling fingers onto the bed. On the outside, no one would think anything was amiss with my foster family. Sure, they overworked me. But that was the least of my worries. Tommy and Jake were the real nightmare, especially two years ago when I turned sixteen.

Looking around Colt’s bedroom, I wonder if I’ve traded one cage for another. But this feels different. Despite their intensity, their possession feels like protection rather than imprisonment. Still, can they keep me safe if Tommy and Jake come looking? They won’t let me go easily.

The phone buzzes again. Same number. I decline it faster this time, my breath coming in short gasps. I pull my knees to my chest, making myself small like I used to do in that house. The carnival seemed like a perfect escape, but now I’m unsure. Maybe nowhere is truly safe.

The bedroom door creaks open, and Colt’s broad frame fills the doorway. He’s gorgeous, his movements strong and sure. He balances a steaming mug of coffee and a plate stacked with golden pancakes. His hair is damp from a shower, a few drops sliding down his neck and into his tight black t-shirt.

“You’re awake.” His ice-blue eyes scan my huddled position, taking in my phone clutched in my white-knuckled grip. The mattress dips as he sets breakfast on the nightstand. “Everything okay?”

I force my fingers to release the phone, letting it fall onto the sheets. “Just... spam calls.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to explain. Not yet.

“Here.” He hands me the coffee mug, and warmth seeps into my cold hands. The rich aroma helps ground me in the present moment. “Nash is handling some business with Tyson but will return soon. I thought you might be hungry.”

The pancakes smell divine, topped with butter and real maple syrup. My stomach growls, reminding me I barely ate yesterday. Colt’s lips quirk up at the sound.

“Thank you,” I reply, carefully sipping the coffee. It’s perfect—just enough cream to cut the bitterness.

Colt settles beside me, close enough that his thigh brushes mine through the blanket. The contact sends a shiver throughme, but not from fear. His presence pushes back the darkness that Tommy’s call stirred up, replacing it with something warm and safe.

“Eat,” he says, his voice gentle but leaving no room for argument. “We’ve got training later, and you’ll need your strength.”

I take a bite of the pancakes, savoring the sweetness as Colt shifts beside me.

“About the Christmas show,” he says, eyes on my face. “It’s our biggest performance of the year. Nash and I have been talking, and we want you in it.”

The fork freezes halfway to my mouth. “But I’ve barely started training.”

“You’re a natural on the trapeze. Your form is perfect, and you take direction well.” His hand finds my knee through the blanket, squeezing gently. “We’ve got three weeks to get you ready.”

“Three weeks?” I set the fork down, my appetite wavering under the weight of his expectations. “That seems impossible.”

“Not impossible. Challenging, yes. But Nash and I will work with you every day.” His thumb traces circles on my knee. “The Christmas show is special. We transform the big top into a winter wonderland. Snow machines, ice-themed costumes, the works.”

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