4
Amelia.
If my father knew the things I thought about during prayer, he’d never let me leave the house again.
But here I was, packed in a van with the rest of the choir, winding our way up a mountain road for a “weekend of fellowship.” I pretended to be excited, laughing at jokes, squeezing hands, humming along to guitar chords. But the only thing I felt was that electric buzz under my skin—the one I only got when Nathan Carter looked at me like I was his favorite secret.
The camp was tucked away in the trees, old wooden cabins and a big fire pit surrounded by logs. The air was sweet with pine and someone’s cheap cologne. Night came fast, swallowing the sky in blue and silver. Our first evening blurred together: choral warmups, marshmallows, awkward games. Nathan watched over everythi
