The grassy field fronting the forest was alive with activity. Lincoln and Nikki sat on the rear bumper of an ambulance, Lincoln with a wool blanket draped over him like a cape and Nikki with her arm tight around his waist. Her head rested on his shoulder and his hand clasped her knee. Both of Lincoln's wrists were heavily bandaged and a paramedic had rubbed balm over his many bee stings: They counted thirty-eight and told him he was lucky to not have suffered a reaction. Nikki's right ankle was sprained and walking unassisted was hard, but not impossible.

A police car sat across from the ambulance, its red revolving roof lights flashing silently against the trees flanking the trailhead. A cop in a brown uniform lead Chandler out of the woods. The boy's head was down, hands cuffed behind his back; his steps were shaky, and he nearly fell, but the cop held him up.

Nikki watched warily as the cop shoved him in the back and closed the door. Chandler sat with his head down, and Nikki studied him through the windshield, trying to feel hatred for him but failing. She and Lincoln were okay, and that's all that mattered to her.

Angela, Kevin, and the camp director, Mr. Warren, a tall man wearing glasses, conferred in a little group, Angela miming a sick guitar swing in demonstration of her heroics. She laughed and shook her head (boy, that was sure was swell). Even now, Nikki could hear the sound the instrument made when it cracked Chandler's head, and something told her she would be hearing it in her sleep for a long time to come.

Lincoln shifted his weight, and Nikki looked up at him. Four ugly knuckle marks splotched his cheek, and looking at them twisted her stomach. "You okay?" she asked for the millionth time.

"I'm fine," he said and offered a tired smile. "You?"

She snuggled up to him and held fiercely on, afraid to let go for even a second. She came very close to losing him today - she intended to cherish every second they had together. "I am now," she replied.

The cop walked over to the counselors and spoke to Mr. Warren, then got in his car and drove off. Chandler did not lift his head as it passed the ambulance, nor did Nikki, for that matter. She took Lincoln's hand, weaved their fingers together, and squeezed. He circled his arm around her shoulders and she laid her other hand on his naked chest. His skin was smooth and warm, like August satin, and she drew his natural scent into her nose, letting it steep and sooth her frayed nerves. Her fingers brushed one of the raised bumps bumps dotting his body, and he winced in pain.

"Sorry," she said quickly.

"It's alright," he said, but from his strained tone, it wasn't. He was riddled with wounds and everything hurt.

Mr. Warren said something to Kevin and Angela, then turned and walked away. In camp, kids and other councilors milled around and watched the proceedings from afar. No one knew exactly what had happened and rumors were already starting to spread. Angela finally went psycho and killed everyone, Julie said snottily. There were bank robbers in the woods and a huge shootout, a boy told a group of his peers with breathless wonder, I saw everything. There were dead bodies for DAYS. When the truth came out - Chandler tried to kill Nikki and Lincoln - Katie turned and glared at Poppa Wheelie. So that's why you had me pass them notes? Poppa blinked and started to defend himself, but she slapped him and walked away. Don't talk to me ever again, creep.

I didn't know either! he cried and ran after her. I swear. He figured Chandler was up to something, but not trying to kill people. You gotta believe me!

Eventually she did, but it took a look of convincing.

And begging.

Back in the field, Kevin and Angela came over and stood in front of Nikki and Lincoln. "How you feel?" Kevin asked Lincoln.

"Fine," Lincoln croaked.

"We called your parents," he said, "and let them know what happened. Do you wanna call them back?"

Ten minutes later, Lincoln and Nikki sat across from each other in an office next to the dining room, Lincoln dressed now in shorts and a T-shirt that scraped his welts with every movement.

The walls were wood paneled and a red throw carpet sat in the middle of the floor. A mounted moose head stared down at them from over a stone fireplace, and Nikki couldn't shake the feeling it was actively seeing them...hating them...wanting to hurt them.

Kevin leaned against the desk, his arms crossed. Angela sat on a threadbare sofa in a cate-corner alcove, bent over her guitar and attempting to tape it back together with Scotch tape. It came apart in her lap and scattered on the floor in front of her. "Darn it," she sighed.

Nikki's eyes darted suspiciously around the room. The danger was past and she and Lincoln were safe. She knew that, but she could still feel it like a dark presence. If she let her guard down, something bad might happen, and this time, she might lose Lincoln for good.

Lincoln held a telephone handset to his ear and talked to his mother. Nikki could hear her voice on the other end of the line; she sounded harried and scared. "I'm okay, Mom," Lincoln said, "really. Just a couple bee stings, that's all." He listened for a minute, then met Nikki's eyes. "I'd rather stay. It's only one more day." He stopped, waited, then said, "Honestly, I'm okay." He listened again. "I love you too."

Next, Nikki called her mom at work, the clatter and din in the background making it hard to hear. Like Lincoln's mom, she sounded worried, and it took a little convincing to get her to let Nikki stay.

By the time they were done, it was dusk, and the other campers were already drifting toward the fire pit. Kevin took Lincoln back to the cabin, and Nikki was alone in the office with Angela, who had finally given up trying to fix her guitar. On their way back to their own cabin through the gathering gloom, the older woman moseyed rather than walked, arms crossed and head down in a thoughtful posture. "You really like white hair boy, don't you?" she asked.

Nikki smiled despite herself. "Yeah," she said, then hesitated. "I...I love him."

"Are you sure about that?" Angela asked.

"Yes," Nikki said instantly. There was no question or doubt in her mind. She loved Lincoln Loud full stop. She knew that maybe she wouldn't always, that maybe, one day, the tide would very well carry them apart. Life is like that. People change over time and young love doesn't always last forever, but right now, in the fading light of the summer sun, Lincoln was her everything, and if she looked ahead into the future, she could only see him.

And that future.

Was perfect.

Sunday night, Lincoln lay awake in his bunk, one bandaged hand laying on his chest and beads of sweat sliding down his face. A cool breeze blew through the open window, but it barely stirred the heated air; he was flush, fevered, and hot, clad only in his underwear and the blankets tangled at his feet.

Everyone else was asleep, the only sound the soft, even breathing of a dozen boys, and alone with his thoughts, Lincoln went back to the terror he felt the previous afternoon. When Nikki screamed, it was like his world came to a stop, and only started again when Chandler was down. He remembered being on top of the bully, gone in the frenzy of an animal protecting his mate, and that feeling of cold, unutterable rage scared him. Had he been able, he would have killed Chandler, and he wouldn't have felt even the slightest hint of remorse.

He sighed and closed his eyes, seeking sleep but finding dark thoughts instead.

The mattress dipped, and his heart jumped into his throat. He sat up, sure he would find Chandler come to finish what he started, but it was only Nikki, a small, satisfied smile on her lips. Lincoln's brow knitted in confusion, then smoothed when she curled up beside him. He stretched out on his side and took her in his arms; she was soft and warm against him, the shape of her body right. She drew her knees up and laid her palm on his cheek, and he stroked the side of her face with the back of his hand. "Hi," he said.

"Hi," she replied.

"You snuck out."

She simpered mischievously. "I did," she said. Her eyes clouded and she looked down. "Last night. I wanted to be with you."

Lincoln brushed his thumb over her cheek bone, and she met his gaze. The moonlight sparkled in her eyes and Lincoln's stomach fluttered.

They leaned into each other's lips and gently kissed, their tongues skipping and skimming over one another in a slow waltz. Lincoln slipped his hand up her shirt and ran his hand along her side, relishing her silky skin and the dip of her figure. She hooked one leg over his hip and deepened the kiss, giving herself wholly.

He pushed her shorts down her thigh, and she shed her shirt. Her blonde hair grazed her breasts as she crawled on top of him. He arched his back and pulled his shorts down, freeing his erection, and Nikki brought herself down on it; her lips curled around his head and her boiling center drew him deep inside. Lincoln kneaded her breasts, then threaded his fingers through hers as she began to rock, her walls sliding wetly up and down his shaft. Her breathing became heavy, ragged. She pulled her hand away from his, braced her arms on either side of his head, and leaned over him, her hair enshrouding them in their own secret world where love ruled.

Their lips fused, and she went faster, coaxing him closer to their shared end. He swelled, then came with a muffled cry. Sizzling lead pumped into her, and she clawed the sheets, her own orgasm sweeping her into nirvana.

After, they held each other, their legs entwined and their hearts pounding against each other; their noses smooshed, their lips touched, and their hands traveled lazily over each other's body.

The second time was slower, sweeter, and longer, Lincoln on top, then Nikki, their hands never unclasping.

When they were spent, Nikki cuddled against Lincoln, facing away, and he circled his arm around her waist. "I love you," she said.

"I love you too."

"I keep thinking about yesterday," she said with a hint of trepidation. "Like what if -"

"Don't," Lincoln said and kissed the back of her neck. That was easier said than done, he knew; he'd been doing the same thing. "We're alright."

"I love you," she said again.

"I love you too."

They dozed off and on, waking just enough to kiss and touch, as if to confirm to themselves that the other was indeed alright. Toward dawn, Nikki dressed and left, and Lincoln lay on his side, his hand resting on the spot she so recently vacated. It was still warm with her body heat and lingered with her smell, and as he drifted, he imagined she was still with him.

In the morning, following breakfast, all of the kids filed onto their respective buses. At his, Lincoln took Nikki's hands and drew a deep breath. "I'll come down before school starts," he promised.

"I'll come up soon," she said, "I have enough money for a ticket. Or almost."

The last kids climbed on, and it was Lincoln's turn. He pushed up on his tippy toes and kissed her. "I love you," he said.

"I love you too, Lincoln," she vowed, "so much."

Reluctantly letting her go, he got onto the bus, sparing one last look back like Lot's wife at the divine retribution on Sodom. The raw sadness on Nikki's face sank his heart, but her smile, as wan as it may have been, sustained him.

Sitting in the back, he watched Camp Rolling Hills fall away, and with it, his cruel summer with Nikki.

There would be other times, he told himself.

And as fate would have it, there were.

Many, many more.