1. Lars

1

LARS

F ucking Willow Creek looks like a place people come to die. While I finish helping set up the main events tent, I can't help but think this is a waste of time. The place looks like a ghost town, all tumbleweeds and shuttered windows. Scanning the area, I search for Cade but don't spot him. Typical. He's probably off-causing trouble somewhere.

"Duke, where the fuck is Cade?" I call out, my voice echoing in the eerie silence of this backwater town.

He grinds his teeth, a habit that sets my nerves on edge. "Said he was done doing his job and fucked off into town." Shaking his head, he mutters something under his breath. Duke hates everyone, although Cade grates him the wrong way. Can't say I blame him; Cade's a piece of work.

Colt grabs a crate of cheap plush animals, grunting as he hoists it up. The toys look like they've seen better days, fur matted, and eyes askew. "Can you believe this shit? We ain't going to sell nothing in this deadbeat town." He drops the crate on the counter with a heavy thud, sending up a cloud of dust.

I smirk, leaning against a rusty support beam. "Never know. Might be some lonely housewives looking for a thrill." The thought of bored soccer moms sneaking out for a taste of carnival excitement almost makes me laugh.

Remy snorts. "Yeah, and they'll be running in the opposite direction when they see your ugly face." He tosses me a folded canvas banner, the faded colors a testament to how long we've been hauling this crap around.

I catch it one-handed, the familiar weight settling against my callused palm. "Fuck you." But there's no real heat behind it. We've been working together long enough to trade insults like baseball cards. It's practically a love language at this point.

Colt peers into a box of baseballs while I hang the faded banner advertising deep-fried Oreos, which is a heart attack waiting to happen.

"Think these are the same ones from last year?"

"Probably. Boss is too much of a cheap bastard to get new ones." I shake my head, suppressing a sigh. Typical carnie cost-cutting. We're held together with duct tape and prayers at this point. Even though Ty is rolling in cash from our side hustle, he must maintain a facade like a struggling carnival.

Remy fiddles with the mechanics of the dunk tank, his fingers working with practiced ease. "Long as they knock over them damn milk bottles, who gives a shit?"

I chuckle. He's not wrong. These games are rigged six ways from Sunday, anyway. It's almost impressive how many ways we've found to separate carnival goers from their cash.

"Hey, anyone seen Cade lately?" Colt looks around, finally noticing the absence of our resident creep. Took him long enough.

I shrug. "Duke said he fucked off into town earlier." But I can't shake the nagging feeling that Cade's up to no good. He's always been off, but lately... I don't know. Something's different.

"Lucky bastard," Remy grumbles, wiping sweat from his brow. "We're here busting our asses, and he's sightseeing."

"You just wish it was you," I retort with a wicked grin, enjoying how his face scrunches up in annoyance.

Remy flips me off, but there's a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

As I finish setting up the ring toss, making sure the bottles are just slightly off-kilter, my mind drifts to Cade. He's always been a weird one, but lately... I don't know. Call it intuition, but I've got a bad feeling about him. Like he's a ticking time bomb, just waiting to explode.

Fuck it, not my problem. I got my shit to worry about. The sun's going down and people will be showing up soon, cash in hand and ready to lose it. Time to put on my game face and become the charming carnie they all expect.

The scent of funnel cakes wafts through the air as the sun starts to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. I make my way over to the Ferris wheel, giving it a once over to make sure everything's in working order. The metal creaks ominously as I inspect the bolts and gears. Cade may be good at what he does but can be sloppy. I mean, taking off halfway through the fucking day when we're setting up is a prime example. The last thing we need is some kid falling out and splattering on the pavement. The lawsuit alone would sink us faster than the Titanic.

"Oi, Lars!" Colt calls out, jogging over with an urgency that sets me on edge. "Boss wants to see you. Something about the Tilt-a-Whirl acting up again."

I groan, running a hand through my hair. "Fucking piece of shit. Alright, I'm on it." Just what I need, another problem to solve before we open.

As I head toward the ride, my mind already running through potential issues, I nearly collide with Ty, our boss. He steadies me with a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm and familiar.

"Whoa there, Lars. Where's the fire?" He grins, but I detect the tension in his eyes.

Opening night always puts him on edge.

"Colt said you needed me to look at the Tilt-a-Whirl." I jerk my thumb toward the ride, dreading the inevitable grease stains and skinned knuckles.

Ty's brow furrows. "Yeah, damn thing's more trouble than it's worth." He sighs, clenching his jaw. "See what you can do. But if it conks out one more time, we're scrapping it for parts."

I nod. "Got it, boss."

No pressure or anything.

He claps me on the back, a gesture of confidence I'm not sure I deserve. "Knew I could count on you." His gaze drifts toward the town, his brows pulling together in a frown. "You seen Cade around?"

I shake my head, feeling a twinge of unease. "Not since this morning. Duke said he took off into town."

Ty's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "He's going to be the death of me. Alright, if you see him, tell him to get his ass back here pronto. We open in an hour, and I need all hands on deck for opening night."

"Will do." I give him a mock salute before heading toward the Tilt-a-Whirl, my toolbox a comforting weight in my hand.

As I walk away, I wonder what Cade's up to. Probably nothing good, knowing him, but like I said, not my problem. I've got bigger fish to fry.

I've got a ride to fix and a long night ahead. Just another day in the glamorous life of a carnie. As I approach the Tilt-a-Whirl, its garish lights flickering weakly, I steel myself for the battle ahead. Time to work some magic and keep this rusty death trap running. The show must go on, after all.