A hawk circles overhead, its shadow briefly crossing our clearing. The air smells of pine and last night’s campfire, with the scent growing sharper as the morning dew evaporates under the strengthening sunlight.

  With the sound of cicadas buzzing and a light morning breeze offering some relief from the steadily rising heat of the intensifying sun, we finish breakfast and start tidying up the campsite.

  The tents are a mess from the night before, and everyone is rummaging through their bags for something to wear that isn’t pajamas.

  “Sam, didn’t you wake up early to hike with Furioso?” Ella asks, hearing him shift around in the tent as he changes clothes.

  “I did. Made coffee, and went for a walk with Furioso. But I took the rest of the morning off and went back to sleep. The next few months are going to be intense.” He unzips the tent.

  He always wears the same kind of outfit — just changes the color. And even then, only to different shades of neutral or pastel. Cargo pants with too many pockets, suspenders, and a shirt. Then like always, he pulls a green jumpsuit over it.

  It’s hellishly hot out here. How does he not cook inside that thing? Yesterday, he hiked 22 kilometers. That was impressive enough on its own, but he did it while wearing all of that. And I know for a fact that the jumpsuit is waterproof.

  It makes perfect sense that he sweats so much. What doesn’t make sense is how he hasn’t passed out.

  “If we’re staying here until lunch, I was thinking of grilling some meat. What do you think?” Wally suggests, eyeing the kitchen area we just finished cleaning.

  Everything’s packed away in boxes, ready to be loaded onto the truck — except for the table, which is still set up.

  But why wait until we get back to the truck? No, my dear friend wants to cook out here again, where there’s no sink, no dishwasher, and everything has to be done with blood, sweat, and a whole lot of patience.

  “Want to start the fire and prep the meat?” Sam asks, already leaning in to help.

  “We could also do this near the truck,” I suggest.

  I don’t mind walking 22 kilometers. I’m going to have to do it anyway. Now or later, it doesn’t matter. But cleaning up the mess after we cook? That, I can avoid.

  “It’d be better to start early and let the meat cook slowly. I’ve got some already seasoned in the truck.”

  “Then I think we should head back to the truck,” I say.

  “I could take the motorcycle and bring some of the stuff we’re done with.”

  “See, that makes way more sense than bringing more things here. The bike was already packed to the brim when you guys arrived.”

  Wally looks at the motorcycle and shrugs. “If you think about it, the bike can carry more if I’m not on it.”

  “And I can make more than one trip,” Sam offers.

  “You’re not getting it. I’m saying it’s way easier if we all just go to the truck.”

  “Yeah, we know. So?” Both of these big, dumb cavemen respond almost in unison. Minions — so much effort, so little brainpower, and absolutely no concern for making things easier.

  Zoe steps out of the tent in jean shorts and a unicorn T-shirt. “Can I ride on the motorcycle with you, Uncle Sam?”

  “Better not, sweetheart,” Wally says. “We need someone who can actually help carry stuff.” He finishes his sentence while looking directly at me.

  “Carry stuff… to take things away, right? Because we’re just taking things away,” I reinforce.

  “No… You still don’t get it. You need to bring the meat,” Wally snaps, his voice rising in frustration.

  I’m not the idiot here. You’re the one who’s going to have to cook under these terrible conditions and then clean up in the middle of nowhere — without a sink.

  Suddenly, I feel a chill run down my spine, and as expected, it’s my sixth sense kicking in, warning me about Sam’s murderous glare.

  My shoulders tense involuntarily, and I find myself gripping the edge of my camp chair until my knuckles whiten. I shift my weight, angling my body slightly away from his line of sight, a prey animal’s instinct to make myself less visible to a predator.

  Yeah, no way in hell I’m going alone with this homicidal psychopath.

  I watch as he shifts his gaze, subtly making his way over to Zoe’s parents.

  “But Dad…” Zoe starts to protest.

  “JJ!” Sam suddenly scolds me, then turns to Zoe, silently asking for backup.

  “What did you do now?” Zoe demands, already mad at me.

  “I didn’t do anything! I was just sitting here. I didn’t even say a word!”

  What the hell could I have possibly done wrong? No idea. Did I do something?

  I glance around, searching for clues. Did I sit on something I wasn’t supposed to? I stand up. Nothing on the chair.

  Then I look at Ella, hoping for some indication. That’s when I catch Sam whispering something to Wally and Ella.

  Ella nods, then turns to Zoe. “We can go slowly, and you can sit between Sam and me.”

  Sam gives her a small, approving smile before stepping away.

  Was that really necessary? Did he have to frame me for something just to distract Zoe from complaining?

  Why would he do that — aside from just to mess with me?

  He could’ve just suggested that solution out loud. But no — if Zoe had heard him agree that she could come along, while Ella and Wally were against it, she’d keep whining and getting mad at them instead.

  Okay, that makes sense. But he didn’t have to throw me under the bus — make me feel guilty for something I didn’t even do. He could’ve distracted her with… I don’t know, the dog!

  They get ready for their little motorcycle expedition, and as soon as I hear the engine roar to life, I lean back in my chair, feeling the tension in my shoulders finally ease.

  A blessing — some time away from Sam.

  Finally, I can let my guard down, knowing his next attack is postponed.

  “Can you believe that guy? A single man who hates single men. And I’m not even single.” I watch them disappear into the forest. “And I’m not even single.”

  “I don’t think it’s that illogical,” Wally says, making me narrow my eyes at him.

  He just shrugs. “Look, when I was popular and single, it was fun at first, but after a while, it got exhausting. Keeping up the whole Casanova act all the time? It takes effort.

  Parties, clubs, hotels, crowds — night after night at the hottest spots… At some point, I just wanted to stay home. No invitations, no silent expectations that I had to keep being that guy, living the so-called dream. You know exactly what I mean.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “Living the dream?” I scoff. “You mean partying, spending money, and hanging out with gorgeous women? Yeah, I know what that is. Of course, it’s every single guy’s dream — if he’s got the money for it.”

  I pause, then smirk. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy being with my girlfriend, of course. I love the moments that come with being in a relationship, or I wouldn’t be in one. But if I’m not with anyone, I’m obviously going to make the most of it in some way. So yeah, I’d definitely enjoy the single life if I were single.”

  “Well... I’ve only lived this life for a short while. How long do you think Sam’s been living like this?” Wally starts gathering firewood. “As far as we know, he’s been rich since birth. He’s always been able to enjoy life like this.”

  “But it’s not even that demanding — it’s fun, and you just have to avoid staying single for too long.”

  I help him, but the moment I grab a stick, Furioso stops right in front of me, wagging his tail. I toss it for him to fetch.

  Furioso bounds after it with surprising speed, sending a spray of dirt and pine needles in his wake.

  When he returns, he drops the stick at my feet but keeps his teeth clamped around one end, initiating a playful tug-of-war.

  I indulge him for a moment before commanding “Drop it,” which he does with reluctant obedience, his eyes still fixed on the prize. The simple interaction provides a welcome distraction from my thoughts.

  “Right, so the solution is to be a Casanova, hopping from one relationship to the next?”

  “Isn’t that how life works?” I raise an eyebrow, daring him to disagree.

  “I wouldn’t know. Luckily, I found Ella pretty quickly, so I never had to worry too much about that stuff. But I don’t think Sam sees it the same way.”

  He doesn’t expect to find anyone. He only hangs out with married people to make sure a relationship is impossible. He’s… weird.

  Then, suddenly, a lightbulb goes off in my head.

  “Maybe he’s asexual.”

  The thought crystalizes suddenly, connecting disparate pieces of his behavior. His distance from dating conversations, his comfort with married friends, his lack of interest in the usual social dance that single people perform.

  It would explain so much about him — the way he exists comfortably on the periphery of social intimacy, observing but never participating. Not cold exactly, but operating on a different frequency than the rest of us. I turn the idea over in my mind, examining it from different angles, finding how neatly it fits the puzzle that is Sam.

  “I think Sam must have at least some level of libido to enjoy those steamy romance novels. He can’t be as cold as he seems.”

  “I don’t know. He’s so weird — so weird that half the stuff he does is completely incomprehensible to me.”

  “He seems like a good person to me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t let him anywhere near Ella and Zoe. His weirdness is… intriguing. He sees the world in a completely different way. He’s responsible but adventurous. He’s dull, but somehow fun at the same time.

  Like you said over the radio — yeah, I’ll admit it — I did get jealous of him spending time with Zoe sometimes. But I know that jealousy was irrational. Honestly, it’s nice having him around.”

  The damn radio Zoe left on. Shame and humiliation hit me again like a wave.

  I slap the dust off my hands as if I can shake off the memory of sounding like some needy, well-trained puppy begging for his niece’s approval and his girlfriend’s affection in front of a stranger.

  Feeling the anger and frustration with Sam bubble back up, I roll my eyes. “The only thing consistent about Sam is his relentless rebellion for freedom. Oh — and how could I forget — he hates me.”

  “After what he said, I don’t think it’s hate, exactly. It’s more like… discomfort. He doesn’t feel comfortable around you and tries to push you away.

  Think about it — from the start, he ignored you to stop you from talking to him. Every time you got close, he tried to pull back. He only snapped at you when he couldn’t escape or ignore you anymore.

  It’s not personal. He just doesn’t want anything to do with you — but it’s not targeted hate.”

  Wally crouches down, methodically stacking the firewood as he speaks, his hands working with practiced efficiency. His movements are steady and deliberate, much like his approach to the conversation — building something piece by piece.

  “Yeah, maybe you’ve got a point. He’s pretty cold to Daniel, too.”

  “Daniel’s single — but he’s also a stalker. Keeping him at a distance isn’t just about discomfort. That’s self-preservation.”

  “Daniel’s not that bad. At least he gets it. He knows what it’s like to suffer from Sam’s hatred too.”

  “Should I be worried that you’re bonding with a stalker?” He raises an eyebrow.

  “Obviously not. What he’s doing is wrong.” I help him stack the firewood. “Ella thinks I should do the documentary.”

  “I know.”

  “And you? What do you think I should do?”

  “The decision’s yours.”

  “If you were in my place, what would you do?” He smirks, amused by my question.

  “What would I do with this kind of opportunity?” With the work done, he drops into a chair. “You’re thinking about your career and how this documentary might affect it while you’re trying to reinvent yourself — wondering if this is your big break or your downfall. That’s the real dilemma.

  But you dismissed it right away. Why? Because the odds of it being a disaster seem way higher. You’re looking for a safer opportunity.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You’re not even daring to reconsider it because your agents and your girlfriend — people who really understand the industry — think it’s insane, a career suicide. Everyone who knows the business is warning you not to take the risk.

  They already make good money off your image, and taking a gamble like this wouldn’t benefit them. They don’t want you to reinvent yourself.

  The only one who stands to gain real recognition from this is you. Maybe they’d make a little money too, but the pride? The satisfaction? That’s yours alone.

  It’s your choice because, honestly, if I were in your shoes, I don’t know what I’d do. I don’t understand your world or the consequences this could bring. Only you can figure that out — because, for better or worse, you’re the one who’ll face those consequences.”

  He finishes with a serious look, and all I can do is nod and swallow hard.

  “Whether it’s recognition or cancellation. I know. But I can’t do this without any support. I got where I am through my own hard work — I know that — but I also had a lot of help from them. Without them, I would’ve crashed and burned a long time ago. They guided me. I can’t just ignore their warnings.”

  “Like I said, the decision’s yours. But… what if we stopped thinking about the documentary, your image, and the consequences for a second? I mean, going on an adventure like this with Sam? It’d be interesting — and getting paid on top of it? That’s an unexpected bonus.” He smirks, clearly amused by the sheer madness of the idea.

  “We’d see the whole Australian outback, get a crash course in history, geography, mechanics, and survival. All while he tortures me.”

  “Yeah… it wouldn’t be a walk in the park. It’d be tough. But you’d walk away with a ton of stories to tell — and without a doubt, you’d learn more than you ever expected. I’ve only been on this trip for two days and I’ve already learned so much. Imagine what a month could do.

  And really, a month isn’t that long. It could easily count as vacation time. Zoe and Ella wouldn’t mind if I took it. If that’s true for me, it’s probably even easier for you now that you’re between projects.

  It’s funny, though. A month sounds short, but it’s long enough to live through a lifetime’s worth of experiences.

  Honestly, this trip’s made me crave a longer one with them. Zoe’s having the time of her life, Ella’s mesmerized by the landscapes, and me… I feel so damn useful.

  And the weirdest part? We’re in the middle of nowhere, with barely any resources, knowing that if something goes wrong, help won’t come quickly… but somehow, I feel safe.

  Ella would handle our health, Sam would tackle any obstacle, and you’d be right by my side to face whatever came our way.

  It’s weird, right? Feeling more at home here than we do most days, surrounded by people?”

  “No… it’s not that weird.”

  As I say it, I feel tension release from my shoulders that I hadn’t even realized was there. My breath comes easier, deeper.

  I lean forward in my chair, elbows on knees, no longer braced against Wally’s words but drawn toward them. The truth of what he’s saying resonates physically — like recognizing a melody you’ve always known but never heard played aloud before.

  Hearing Wally say it out loud, it really hits me. And with every word, I realize I agree with him.

  Even with Sam’s constant teasing, this trip’s been good.

  But in the end, none of that changes anything. My dilemma’s still staring me in the face, unresolved.

  Actually… it’s not even a dilemma anymore. I’ve already made my decision — and everyone, except Ella, agrees with me.

  Well, she and Johan. But he doesn’t count. I barely know the guy. How could I trust his opinion? Especially when he’s the one who stands to gain the most from me saying yes.

  Even Sam agrees it’s a bad idea.

  Though, the way he said it made it sound like it’s only because I’m being pessimistic about the whole thing.

  If I did it, I’d pour my soul into making it work — and according to him, that’s exactly why it probably would work. So, in a weird way, he sort of supports me doing it, even though he doesn’t want me on his team. Which, honestly, gives his opinion a kind of impartial weight. He’s got nothing to gain from me joining — actually, from what I gathered, he’d probably lose out if I accepted, and Johan forced my way into his crew.

  But what does Sam’s opinion even matter? He doesn’t know the first thing about show business, let alone the image I have to protect. The guy didn’t even know my name, and he sure as hell doesn’t understand how gossip, cancellations, and public takedowns work.

  My gut, my agents, my girlfriend—all tell me the same thing. This is career suicide. And I’m not ready to die just yet.

  No matter how much I try to reconsider, the answer’s the same: this isn’t worth it. Not for my image.

  The snap and pop of the kindling catches my attention as Wally finally gets the fire started. Small flames lick tentatively at the larger pieces of wood, not yet committed but testing their potential.

  In the distance, I hear the rumble of Sam’s motorcycle returning. Time’s up for quiet reflection. Whatever decisions I’ve made will soon face the crucible of real life — whether I’m ready or not. I stand and dust off my hands, preparing myself for whatever comes next.