Page 111 of Victorious: Part I

“Clover?” His voice startles me from my thoughts. “Mechanic’s on his way. Should be here in about an hour.”

“Great,” I say, forcing enthusiasm I don’t entirely feel. “I’ll finish packing up.”

He nods, then hesitates. “About last night…”

My heart skips. “What about it?” I blurt a little too forcefully.

He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I’m beginning to recognize as a sign of his nervousness. “The thing is… what almost happened—”

“It’s okay,” I interrupt, not sure I want to hear him say it was a mistake. “It was just the situation, right? Being stranded, the adrenaline, whatever. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Something flickers across his face—disappointment? Relief?I can’t tell.

“Right,” he says finally. “Yeah, right. Just the situation.”

We look at each other for a long moment, and I have the distinct feeling we’re both lying.

To each other, to ourselves.

“I should finish getting the stuff from the truck,” he says, turning away, my heart leaping out of my chest to go with him.

“Phoenix?” I call after him, not sure what I’m going to say until the words are leaving my mouth. “For what it’s worth, I don’t regret it. Almost happening, I mean,” the last words come out as a whisper as I lose my confidence halfway through speaking.

He stops, back still to me, and I see his shoulders tense. For a heartbeat, I think he’s going to keep walking. Then he turns, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that steals my breath.

“Neither do I,” he admits quietly. “And that’s a big fucking problem, Clover.”

Before I can respond, he’s gone, striding back toward the truck with purpose, leaving me standing here with my heart pounding and my thoughts in chaos.

My breathing comes in hard and heavy as I spin and slump down, sitting heavily on the sleeping bag and trying to process what just happened.

We’ve acknowledged it—this thing between us—but we’ve also acknowledged why it can’t happen.

And yet, I can’t help wondering if it’s already too late to go back to how things were before.

The sun climbs higher in the sky as we finish packing up our makeshift camp.

Phoenix seems determined to maintain a safe distance, keeping the conversation light and impersonal. I follow his lead, not pushing for more, though every part of me wants to.

When the mechanic finally arrives—a grizzly older man in a tow truck who eyes the abandoned water park with suspicion—I’m almost relieved by the distraction.

“Coolant line’s shot,” he confirms after examining the truck. “Gonna need a new one. I can fix it here, but it’ll take a couple of hours.”

Phoenix nods. “Whatever it takes. We need to get back on the road.”

While the mechanic works, we wait in the shade of what was once a concession stand. Phoenix sits with his back against the wall, eyes closed, though I don’t think he’s actually sleeping. I browse through my photos from the past two days, amazed at how much we’ve already experienced.

“Found something,” I say, showing him a photo I took at Roy’s—him looking back over his shoulder, face half in shadow, eyes intense.

He studies it for a moment. “It’s good. You should do more shots like this for your club account. Get the guys to do more poses like this so you don’t have to blank their faces out.”

The compliment warms me. “Thanks. That’s actually a good idea.”

“This campaign’s lucky to have you,” he states.

I smile, pleased by his acknowledgment of my work as something valuable, not just a silly hobby. “I hope they think so too.”

He smiles weakly and then leans back against the wall, eyes closed again. We lapse back into silence, but it’s more comfortable now. The tension between us hasn’t disappeared, but it’s shifted into something almost familiar—an awareness we’re both carrying but not acting on.

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