Page 3 of Summer Ever After

Still, she knew that Ian didn’t need to raise his fist anymore. His power lived in the fear that he had spent years planting inside her, roots that went very deep in the shadows of her soul. It lived in the way her breath caught when a car slowed near the curb. In the way she locked every window, every door, even in broad daylight, three times. In the way her voice caught when someone asked too many questions about where she’d come from.

To the world, Ian was a hero.

To her, he was the storm that she had barely survived.

And part of her still believed that he enjoyed it, the fear, the way it echoed through her body like a reflex. The way her heart jumped whenever her phone buzzed unexpectedly or a car engine idled too long beneath her window.

He hadn’t shown his face at her work since being banned from the River Camps grounds the last time, but she knew better than to let her guard down.

The peace never lasted.

She dropped her keys into the bowl by the door, kicked off her sandals, and unzipped her canvas tote, already feeling the familiar ache of tension along her shoulders. She had a spreadsheet to finish tonight, donation tracking for the silent auction they’d just held at the camp to raise money for breast cancer awareness.

Last Christmas, Zoey and Scarlett’s mother, Kimberly, had been diagnosed early. Thankfully, after two surgeries, she now had a clean bill of health. But true to form, the Wildflowers—Zoey, Scarlett, Elle, Hannah, and Aubrey—hadn’t just celebrated, they’d turned their gratitude into action. They had planned a fundraiser to support other women facing the same battles.

That was one of the reasons Beth loved working at River Camps. The people there showed up. They didn’t just talk, they acted. And they had put in place a standing order not to allow Ian on the property under any circumstances.

River Camps had seen its fair share of chaos over the years. That’s why they had round-the-clock security. Two of the full-time team, Brett Jewel and Aaron Michaels, were ex-cops themselves. The men had worked side by side with her ex-husband for years.

They, however, hadn’t bought into Ian’s “concerned ex-husband” routine when he’d shown up uninvited at the camp. They’d made it clear to him that he wasn’t welcome any longer, and they’d backed it up.

Beth still remembered the quiet strength in their stances, the way they hadn’t asked her to justify anything. That day had changed something for her. For the first time in a long time, she’d felt safe.

River Camps wasn’t just a job anymore. It was the first place that had felt like she could be something more, something solid. The people believed in her. Trusted her. Encouraged her. She’d even been named an honorary “Wildflower” by the founders, an inside title for those who had become part of their circle. A few others on the staff had received the same nod over the years, but for Beth, it meant everything. A sign that she wasn’t just surviving, she really did belong.

The quiet of her apartment settled around her like a weighted blanket, equal parts comfort and pressure.

She crossed the room, flipped on the lamp beside her bed, and froze when the bulb flickered before finally lighting. It was just an old bulb. Nothing more. But her heart still kicked against her ribs, her breathing momentarily stuck in her throat.

She exhaled slowly, walked to the counter, and gently placed the small pink floral arrangement she’d taken from the auction ceremony into a mason jar on the windowsill. It gave the space a gentle pop of color, a touch of softness. A reminder that good things still bloomed, even in unlikely places.

Then she sat down at her tiny desk, opened her laptop, and pulled up the spreadsheet.

Work, she told herself.

Focus.

Do the things you can control.

Because control was no longer about power.

It was about reclaiming peace, inch by inch, cell by cell.

By the time she was done sending the finished spreadsheet off to Zoey, it was just past one in the morning.

Beth stood up, stretched, and rolled her shoulders with a soft groan. Her spine cracked in protest after being hunched over her tiny desk for so long. She rubbed the back of her neck, yawned, then made her way to the kitchenette and opened the freezer.

A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth as she pulled out the pint of Ben & Jerry’s she’d been saving. Cherry Garcia, her favorite. She grabbed a spoon from the drawer, not even bothering with a bowl. This was a straight-from-the-carton kind of night.

She kicked off her leggings and slipped into her favorite pajamas set, a loose cotton tank and soft plaid shorts, and padded to her bed. She flipped on the small TV perched on top of the dresser and scrolled through her streaming options until she found a classic comedy show. Something light. Something that didn’t ask much of her emotionally.

She curled up with the pint in her lap, the laughter from the screen blending with the faint hum of the fridge and the rhythmic creak of the ceiling fan. For the first time all day, she let her body relax fully, and she sunk into the mattress.

Eventually, the spoon slipped from her hand and clattered gently against the empty carton. The screen faded to the next episode, then another. Her eyelids grew heavier with each passing minute until sleep finally wrapped around her, quiet and warm.

She didn’t wake until the sun had crept well into the sky, the morning light filtering through her gauzy curtains. Blinking slowly, she stretched and sat up with a yawn. It was rare that she got to sleep in, but she had the whole day off. That meant no phones, no spreadsheets, no customers, and no sitting behind the front desk all day. She had lunch plans she was looking forward to, but had a bit of breathing time this morning.

After a long shower, she pulled on a sundress and her favorite sandals, tossed her long dark hair into a loose bun, and grabbed a tote bag. She threw in the small toys she’d purchased for her friend Julie’s oldest, Malia. She’d picked out a coloring book, some fun stickers that she knew the three-year-old would love, and a glittery plush pony that she’d picked up at the drugstore earlier in the week.