11. I Dare You

11

I DARE YOU

HAPPY, CRAIG LUCAS

Manny

Cara disappears into the bathroom and I take this time to cool off. She’s been driving me insane all night. No, not insane. Fucking wild .

Her dress showed off her body perfectly; not all of it, just enough to keep my imagination going. The top of her dress was tight around her small perky breasts and her waist then flared out. It’s short too, showing her perfect long legs. And those sandals. They wrapped around her feet and calves and had me wanting to wrap myself around her body. To top it off, as she danced her dress would lift, showing off her tight shorts underneath. She asked me why I didn’t dance with her and the truth of the matter is that every time she got up to dance, my dick got hard at the sight of her—so carefree and so beautiful and so perfect. The crush I’ve hidden on Cara all my damn life is definitely surfacing now and I’m at a loss at what to do with it.

I grab a water bottle from the fridge and down it in one gulp, before changing from my dinner attire to some sweatpants and a fitted white shirt to sleep. I grab the extra blanket from under the table and a pillow, making a bed on the ground.

I’m laying the blanket down when Cara comes out of the bathroom, her hair pulled to the side over her shoulder, wearing leggings with knee-high socks over them and a sweatshirt that could fit me. It lands mid-thigh on her and I don’t know how she can look so stunning in whatever she wears.

She puts the clothes she has in her hands on top of the night table and looks at me with a frown.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor, Manny. This bed is huge, come on.”

I’m not sharing the bed with her. That’s a bad idea on all counts, especially because I’m worried about what will happen once her warm body is next to mine. I would never cross that line between us. But what will happen to me—I will probably die of pent-up energy .

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll be fine, right here.” I smirk, tapping the floor with both hands before laying down and crossing my legs at my ankles. “See? Perfect. Good night.”

She stays quiet for a minute but then she comes closer, squatting down so her face is near mine. Her lemon scent entraps my body, making my skin break out in goosebumps like it is physically touching me.

I look up into her eyes—they look dark now in the dim light from the lamps—and she says the last three words I expected: “I dare you.”

“Come again?” I ask, coughing, grabbing the water bottle on the table and taking another sip.

“I said—” she pauses for emphasis, sitting on the edge of the bed “—I dare you to sleep with me. Sleep on the bed with me, not sleep sleep with me. You get the gist. ”

“No,” I insist.

“Such a shame, I thought you said you were a man of your word or something.” Cara doesn’t say anything else, she simply crawls to the top of the bed and pulls the blanket over her legs before laying down.

“Good night, Manny. I can’t wait to tell everyone how you avoided a dare.”

Por el amor a jesucristo ? 1 . “Fine, I’ll take it,” I groan, standing abruptly and dragging my feet to the bed. I bring one of the pillows with me and set it between us, hoping that the pillow will be enough of a barrier to keep us apart.

“Nighty night, Manuel,” she whispers, turning her body away from me, pulling the chain on the lamp and leaving me alone with my thoughts. I count the time that passes. Seconds turning into minutes and minutes turning hours trying to fall asleep, which seems impossible with her soft waves spread across the pillow and her lemon scent enwrapping all of my senses. Whoever said that scent was one sense didn’t meet Cara. The way she smells starts with that one sense and it takes all of them. It sparks a memory. It sparks a feeling. The way she smells feels like basking in the sun. It smells like a day full of your favorite things, happy and sweet. It tastes like the sweetest drink. And with her laying right next to me, soft breaths coming out and eyes peacefully shut, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to smell a lemon and not think of her—not see her.

I wake up alone in bed. I check my phone and it’s 5:10am. I’m surprised I slept past five. I don’t set an alarm because I never sleep in. My body has a way of reminding me that there are things to do and I can’t accomplish them by sleeping. I usually check my emails and then go to the gym or for a run before heading to the office. But why is Cara up? Maybe she’s on her teacher schedule and her body wakes her up, too. I look around the dark room and don’t see her anywhere. Her side of the bed is made, the pillow barrier still in place, and the room is eerily quiet.

I get up and the floor creaks, like it’s announcing I’m up but there’s nobody here to hear it. I get my shoes and softly open the door to the tent. What I find on the other side is not what I was expecting. Sitting on the steps, wrapped in a blanket with her head low, is Cara. She’s moving her hand through her hair, caressing it gently as it falls down her back and her loose waves—dancing in the wind. I have to pinch myself to remember we are on this trip together because this scene is too close to what I’ve dreamed of for years. When I step closer, the floor creaks louder and she turns around. When her eyes look up at me, that’s when I can tell. She’s crying.

Her eyes and cheeks are red. Not like she’s cold but more like she’s been sitting out here crying for a while. Crying alone with only a blanket and surrounded by nature—the only thing she allows herself to find comfort in. Except I’m here and if she’s hurt, she could’ve told me.

“Hey,” I whisper, hurrying to her side and sinking into the floor beside her. She glances down, her hair falling to shield her face, and I catch a glimpse of her trembling shoulders. With a quick motion, she closes the journal resting in her lap, the soft thud echoing in the quiet air. She wipes at her cheeks with trembling fingers, her breath hitching slightly as she fights more tears stopping them from falling.

“What are you doing out here, Manny? I’m such a mess,” Cara grumbles, turning away from me so I can’t see her, but tough shit because I’m not accepting that.

“Hey,” I say again, this time softer, grabbing her chin with my fingers and tilting her face toward me. It’s still not sunrise but the sky is brightening. I can see it in the colors of blue merging softly with the light caught between night and day. The twinkling lights illuminate her face, highlighting the freckles across her cheeks, beautiful even with the crimson color behind them. “Cara, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing, nothing, just ignore me. I’m a mess,” she adds, sniffling and trying to take her face from my fingers.

I bring my other hand to hold hers, and squeeze gently before saying, “Clearly something, Carita. What’s going on?” I look into her often light green eyes but right now they have darker speckles of green and gold, making them seem like a precious stone. Like little emerald saucers.

“You don’t have to hide from me.” I drop her face and let her do what she needs, if that’s moving her face away from me then so be it but I don’t drop her gaze. I want her to know that she can find a friend in me. She can find listening ears and someone who won’t judge her for whatever is bothering her.

“It’s a long story,” she says.

“It’s a long day,” I add, pointing at the sky transforming into soft hues of coral and lavender as it mixes in with the inky blue. “We have all day, no plans, so if you’d like someone to listen, I’m here. What’s going on?”

She takes a deep breath, looks down at our hands intertwined together, and lets out a breath. “I was journaling,” she begins. I want to ask questions but before I can she adds, “Not like the bullet one, this is more like a diary if you will. I share my thoughts and sometimes feelings. I had a weird dream and I woke up sad so I walked out here and it just all started to come out.”

“You wanna talk about it?” I ask as I continue to rub small circles on her hand. Her skin is so soft under my fingers. Like petals of the rarest flower. She is a garden. A field of colorful flowers so beautiful and precious you don’t even want to pick them—worried you’ll uproot them.

“Like you want to listen to a girl ramble? No, thank you. I don’t want your sympathy,” she snaps.

“Cara, I always want to hear you talk. I always want to listen to whatever it is you have to say. So if you want to talk about it, I’m all ears. If you don’t, I understand that too. I just want to be here for you, whatever that is at this moment.”

Cara pulls her hand away from mine, placing it in between her thighs and closing her eyes. She stands up, the beige fluffy blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, with her high socks she wore to bed last night now with hiking boots too. She offers her hand to me and sets her journal on the railing, when I look up at her she smiles softly before saying, “Let’s go watch the sunrise and I’ll tell you. I need a little walk first.”

We walk in silence down the path toward the river with the sky dancing with colors. Gold ribbons on what little we can see of the horizon. The deep blues are almost gone, drowned by the soft warm colors announcing a new day. If there’s one reason to wake up early, it’s this. We stand by the river and although the air is crisp, it’s comfortable. Perfect summer morning temperature. Cara’s eyes are set on the water and her cheeks, which were deep red before, have lightened like the sky.

She lays the blanket down and sits, patting the spot next to her and I take it. She rests her head on my shoulder and starts talking. “I had a dream that Cole called me to tell me about his wedding and to invite me but he said I’ll only get the invitation without a plus one because he knew I was going to die alone.”

I’m going to kill that asshole. My body tenses at her words. I’m trying my hardest not to react like I have no manners and not to say exactly that but the words slip out of me before I can stop them. “I’m going to kill him, Cara.”

“Ha,” she says, letting out something between a laugh and sigh. “It was a dream, Manny. He didn’t actually say that.”

“Dreams don’t come out of nowhere, sunshine. They come from that beautiful brain of yours—” I tap her forehead gently “—overanalyzing a situation or from deep in your heart when you’re trying to process an emotion.” I take her hand in mine, bringing it to her chest and letting her feel her heartbeat. I bet if I could hear it out loud it would be as loud as banjos rumbling through the early morning hush. “Is it him getting married that’s bothering you?” I ask.

“Honestly? Probably,” she answers, lifting her head from my shoulder and laying back on the ground, letting the first sunlight of the day kiss her cheeks. “Have you heard this story?”

“Other than he’s marrying that girl we don’t like, no.” I say we because this chick hurt my sister pretty badly so we all took the stand that we don’t like her. Then she went and got engaged to Cara’s ex who is part of their friend group. The whole thing sounds like a damn high school drama, not like the real lives of adults.

“Well, he broke up with me last August for the last time. And I say the last time because we’ve been on and off for years. But he basically said that I wasn’t wife material and he was ready to settle down. A few months later, they announced their engagement. I didn’t hear it from either of them, I heard it from Allie who called to check on me. Allie who also suffered under the pettiness of Tasha—the ex, if you didn’t know. The worst part? I don’t even wish them ill. I just want him to be happy even if it’s not with me. I just wish I knew how to be happy and how to not feel like a fucking failure,” Cara explains as silent tears roll down her face .

“Cara,” I whisper, my voice thick, the words hanging in the air like a prayer, as I reach up to wipe away the tears that have begun to blur her vision. She doesn't pull away, but her eyes don’t meet mine either—she just stares at the space between us, lost in a place that feels like it’s miles away from where I stand. Her pain is palpable, sinking deep into my chest, and I’m desperate to hold it all for her, to take it away. But I can’t. I can't do a thing to fix what’s been broken inside of her for so long.

“You’re not a failure, and you look pretty happy to me,” I press, my voice soft but firm, trying to push past the walls she's built around herself. “You have so much to be happy about.” But even as I say it, I know it’s not enough.

Her lips twitch in that way they do when she’s trying to hold it together. But she doesn’t smile. Not really.

“There’s a lot that can be hidden behind pretty smiles, Manny,” she adds, her voice quiet but steady, as though she's already rehearsed this lie a thousand times. And in that moment, I feel it—the break. I can almost hear her heart cracking, like glass shattering in slow motion. Or maybe it’s just the sound of it all finally breaking—that fragile shell she’s been living inside for so long.

My breath catches in my throat as I watch her, helpless. She’s always been the one to hold it all together for everyone else, the one who shoulders the weight of the world with a smile, even when her own shoulders were buckling beneath it. She’s the fixer, the glue. The one who reminds everyone else how much they’re worth. But there’s no one to remind her . Not anymore.

“You don’t have to hide your hurt, Cara,” I remind her, the words barely more than a whisper; like I’m pleading with her to let me in, to stop pushing me away. “You have Allie, and I’m sure Roe and your other friends are there for you.” But I know deep down it’s not the same. It’s never the same .

She shakes her head slowly, her eyes distant, like she’s already gone somewhere I can’t follow. “That’s not my role in our relationship. I’m the fixer, the one who reminds everyone how much they’re worth. I don’t get to cry over a relationship that they all saw was a hoax.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the stomach. I see it then—the way she’s been carrying all of their burdens, all of their broken pieces, while she’s crumbled beneath the weight of her own. She’s convinced herself she’s not allowed to break, not allowed to feel the way I know she does—because if she does, who will hold it all together? Who will remind everyone else how valuable they are, when she’s forgotten her own worth in the process?

My chest tightens, and I take a step closer, my voice barely a murmur. “Who reminds you of your worth, Carita?” It comes out raw, the emotion I’ve been holding back breaking free in that single, fragile question. My heart aches for her—aches for the woman I know she is, the one who’s buried beneath all the layers she’s built to protect herself from feeling too much, from being too much.

I wish, more than anything, that I could pick her up and wrap her in my arms, hold her like she’s always held everyone else. I wish I could somehow make her see how incredible she is, how worthy of love and care she truly is, even if she can't see it for herself. How any man would be beyond lucky to call her his. But I don’t think she believes it. Not even for a second.

“That’s a good question,” Cara says quietly, her voice strained like the words are stuck in her throat. She falls silent then, and I can feel the weight of her sorrow settling over us both. Her held words turn into heavy breaths, each one carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken things—things she’s afraid to say, things she doesn’t know how to say. The wind picks up around us, carrying her pain away in gusts, as if it might be able to take it somewhere else, somewhere far from here.

But it doesn’t. It never does. It lingers. It stays. And so do I, standing in the quiet, wishing there was more I could do. Wishing I could be the one to remind her how much she means—how much she has always meant to me, even when she couldn’t see it for herself.

Her arms break in goosebumps and I lay next to her, extending my arm. “Come here.” She scoots over, laying her head on my arm.

“Thanks,” she offers.

“For what?”

“For being a good listener.” Then she’s closing her eyes again and her eyelashes kiss the top of her cheeks with a sigh.

“Always, Carita, always,” I promise, letting the sun warm us up a little more but not breaking this moment. I don’t know when we’ll be this close again. This vulnerable, this comfortable with each other, so I decide to appreciate it while it lasts. I know I’m fucked because all I keep thinking about is how good she feels in my arms and how I want to make sure she feels cherished and safe forever. She’s leaving an imprint in my heart just like this bracelet she gave me is leaving a mark.

1 ? For the love of Christ.