Chapter 81 Campfire Confessions
Malia's POV
The fire pit pops as the sky becomes the dark indigo of true night. Someone—probably Rowan—has already stacked the wood just right; flames leap high and steady, sending sparks spiraling upward like tiny stars.
We sit in the same loose circle as the first night, blankets spread out on the sand, lanterns hung low to keep the bugs away. The smell of the air is smoke and salt and a faint sweetness of melted marshmallows.
July skewers a marshmallow onto a long stick and holds it over the flames with exaggerated focus. “If this goes up in smoke, I’m blaming the universe.”
Freddy snorts, already halfway through his second s’more. “You talk as if you didn’t set the previous one on actual fire.”
“It was artistic,” July insists.
I laugh and lean back into Aiden’s chest. His arms are loosely wrapped around me, his chin is on my shoulder, and his warm breath is in my ear.
Rowan sits on the other side of the flames, knees pulled up, gazing into the fire with that quiet focus he always has. Cian lies on his back on a blanket next to him, his arms behind his head, looking up at the stars instead of the flames.
Freddy begins the storytelling, as usual. “Okay, embarrassing childhood confession time. Once, to impress my crush I tried leaping off the garage roof with an umbrella. Thought it would work like Mary Poppins.”
July cackles. “Did it?”
“Nope. I broke my arm in two places. She dated the goalie instead.”
We all groan in unison. July goes next.
“I convinced my whole third-grade class I was really a mermaid slash werewolf. Brought seashells every day, would not shower because ‘salt water is better.’ The teacher called my mom.”
Freddy grins. “Did she make you shower?”
“Eventually. But I still think I’m part fish.”
Aiden chuckles against my hair. “Your turn, Mal.”
I shake my head. “Let’s just play it by ear.”
“No passing,” July says sweetly. “Spill.”
I stare at them, their smiles waiting. How can I tell them that growing up had been really though for me? How can I say that I had always felt imperfect? I smile all the same at a random memory, the only good one I guess.
I sigh. “Fine. When I was seven I thought if I ate enough carrots I’d be able to see in the dark like a rabbit. So I ate an entire bag in one sitting. Spent the night throwing up orange.”
Rowan’s mouth twitches— the closest he gets to a full laugh most nights. “That’s dedication.”
“Ha ha, very funny. Your turn,” I say, waving the marshmallow stick at him.
He hesitates, then shrugs. “I used to talk to plants. Like full conversations. Thought they answered back in their way. My mom caught me once sitting in the garden at midnight talking to a rosebush about my day.”
July’s eyes widen. “That’s actually sweet.”
Rowan shrugs again, but there’s a faint flush on his cheeks. “They listened better than most people.”
Cian speaks next, voice low. “I broke my arm falling out of a tree because I wanted to see if I could fly. Didn’t think it through.”
Freddy whistles. “Classic.”
Aiden is last “I tried to make dinner for my mom when I was nine. Burn down the kitchen. She came home to smoke alarms going off and me sobbing in the middle of the living room holding a burnt pan. My dad was furious.”
His brother's laugh knowingly.
I turn around to look at him. “You didn’t tell me that.”
He kisses Temple of mine. “Some secrets are embarrassing.”
The stories keep coming small silly human. Laughter rolls over the fire, easy and warm. July roasts marshmallows until they’re perfectly golden brown, Freddy burns half of his on purpose just to make dramatic faces. Rowan wordlessly hands me a perfectly toasted one. Cian silently accepts s’mores, but he eats two.
As the flames die down to glowing embers, the group falls more silent. July and Freddy curl up on a blanket whispering. Cian is staring into the coals like they have answers. Aiden’s arms around me tighten, but his attention is drifting toward Rowan.
Me too — that I can feel. The subtle shift in the air.
Rowan slowly stands, dusting sand off his jeans. “I’m going to grab more wood. ”
He does not ask anybody to come with him, but his eyes meet mine for a flicker of a second. I squeeze Aiden’s hand once quietly… permission to detach silently and I slip out of his arms.
I will help,” I whisper.
Aiden nods. “Don’t be long.”
Rowan waits at the edge of the firelight. We stroll hand in hand down the shore away from the glow until the moon and a handful of stars are the only sources of light. The sand is cold now, the waves are louder in the silence of the night.
We remain silent to start. Like I said, just keep pace on foot, walking like the next line matches our footfalls. Finally he stops near a gap in the rocks and swivels to me.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says quietly.
My heart thuds once, hard. “Okay, about?”
“Everything.” He looks out at the dark water, then back at me. “About you. About us. About how much I still feel… everything.”
The words are hanging between us, both candid and weighty.
“I know,” I whisper.
He exhales, slow and shaky. “I’m not asking you to choose. I’m not even asking for more than this—than friendship, than being close like we are now. I just need you to know it’s still there. The emotions. They’ve hardly gone away. Probably never will.”
Tears sting my eyes. I step closer. “Rowan…”
He raises a hand, gentle. “But I also need you to know I respect whatever you decide. Always. If it’s Aiden—if it’s all of us, or none of us in that way—I’ll be okay. I just want you happy. That’s the only thing that matters and I like seeing you this way, happy. Even if it's not with me.”
My throat constricts. “You deserve to be happy, too,”
He gives a small, sad smile. “I am. Being here. Being a part of this. It’s enough.”
I close the gap and encircle him with my arms. He stiffens for a mere moment—caught off guard—then softens, arms wrapping me with the caution of someone who fears the possibility of holding too tightly. His chin is on top of my head; I hear the rhythm of his heart against my cheek.
“Thanks,” I say in his shirt. “For being honest. For being you.”
He doesn’t respond immediately. He just holds me, slow and steady breaths. When he moves, his voice is lost in the noise of the sea.
“I’m always going to be here, Malia. Whatever you want me to be.”
We remain like that until the air of the night cools. Then he steps back, sweeping a stray hair off my cheek with cautious fingers, and gestures toward the fire.
“Come on. They’re going to be worried.”
We walk back slowly. The embers are bright low and red now. As we near, time-aiden looks up; his eyes dart between us, taking everything in a moment. Without needing to ask, he simply opens his arms—he doesn’t want to assume something about what I need. I lean back into him, then Rowan is sitting across the fire, our knees nearly touching.
July hoists her half-eaten marshmallow in a toast. “To friendship,” she says. And for whatever crazy, beautiful thing we’re all pretty much relying on here.”
Freddy raises his drink. “To not killing each other,” he jokes as he raises his glass.
Rowan smiled small, real. “To the island.”
Cian nods once. “To us.” Aiden’s arm tightens around me. “To you,” he murmurs against my hair, just for me.
I lift my marshmallow stick. “To all of it.”
We clink sticks and bottles and whatever else is in our hands. Laughter ripples again, softer, warmer. The fire hisses and pops. Stars wheel overhead.
I feel it clearly—the bond’s gentle pull in three different directions. Aiden’s steady, fierce warmth at my back. Rowan’s quiet, anchored presence on the other side of the flames. Cian’s calm certainty next to him.
Different. Complex…beautiful
And I’m not afraid. Well, not anymore.