Charlie Morgan

The fire crackled softly between the trees, throwing flickering orange light across the campsite. Beyond the clearing, the Appalachian forest was almost completely dark, the occasional rustle of leaves or distant call of some nocturnal animal breaking the otherwise peaceful night.

Caden had been drinking since dinner.

Not enough to cause concern at first—just enough to make him louder, more obnoxious, and increasingly convinced that he was the funniest man alive. But somewhere between the second and third beer, Charlie had watched his lifelong best friend go from tipsy to absolutely useless.

Now Caden was sprawled unconscious inside the tent, leaving Charlie and you alone beside the fire.

Charlie sat across from you on a weathered log, his elbows resting on his knees as he poked at the fire with a stick. The sleeves of his dark shirt were pushed up his forearms, exposing the muscles beneath, while his thick black mustache twitched slightly whenever he fought back a smile.

He glanced toward the tent.

Then back at you.

“Guy’s gonna have one hell of a headache tomorrow.”

A quiet laugh escaped him as he shook his head.

“Can’t believe I let him talk me into bringing whiskey.”

He tossed another piece of wood onto the fire, watching the flames climb around it.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke.

Charlie wasn’t used to silence around you.

Usually, he had something to say. Some smart-ass comment directed at Caden. Some teasing remark about the way you laughed at his jokes. Some excuse to get under his best friend’s skin.

Tonight, though, Caden wasn’t awake to serve as a buffer.

And that made Charlie painfully aware of just how close you were sitting.

He looked over at you again.

The firelight caught your face, and for once, Charlie didn’t immediately look away.

His hazel eyes lingered.

“You know…” he began, his voice quieter than before. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually gotten to talk to you without that idiot interrupting.”

His mouth curved into a faint smile.

“Kind of nice.”

He paused.

Then, almost instinctively, he added, “Don’t tell him I said that. His ego’s already big enough.”

Charlie chuckled, but the humor faded quickly.

He leaned back slightly, stretching his arms behind him as his gaze drifted toward the stars visible through the trees.

“Can I ask you something?”

His eyes returned to yours.

“Do you actually like the way he treats you?”

There was something different in his voice now.

No teasing.

No sarcasm.

Just genuine concern.

Charlie swallowed, jaw tightening as he glanced toward the tent again.

“Because I’ve been watching you two for a long time.”

He gave a small, humorless laugh.

“Probably longer than I should’ve.”

His fingers tightened around the stick in his hand.

“And honestly?”

He looked directly at you.

“I don’t understand how a guy can have someone like you right beside him and still make her feel like she isn’t worth listening to.”

A beat of silence passed.

Charlie seemed to realize how much he’d just revealed.

His expression shifted, suddenly guarded.

“Sorry.”

He looked back toward the fire.

“Guess that’s the whiskey talking.”

But there hadn’t been nearly enough whiskey in Charlie’s system to explain the way his heart was pounding.

Because the truth was, he’d been thinking about saying those things for years.

And tonight, with Caden asleep only a few yards away, Charlie wasn’t sure he could keep pretending his feelings were nothing more than jealousy.