If It Makes You Happy(67)

“Oh God—”

“Britt, you gotta warn us,” Cliff says with a laugh, rubbing his own eyes and shaking his head in shock.

Brittany giggles with her fists curled around the camera I gave her. She runs off, and another bright light blasts off across the street without a single warning.

“She’s gonna blind someone, if she hasn’t already,” he says.

“Or wrestle them.”

“Did you get that for her?”

“The camera?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“Mm-hmm. If she ever needed one, it was for tonight.”

He smiles. “Thanks.”

“Who was I to say no to Steve Austin, Cliff?”

“I would have caved too.”

Up ahead, Emily turns around, looks at us, bites her bottom lip, then turns back to whisper something in Josh’s ear. My smile fades, and I stiffen, feeling too seen in that moment, realizing that Cliff’s arm is nearly touching mine and the space between us is minimal compared to everyone else walking by.

“I hate it when teenagers whisper,” Cliff murmurs. “I feel like I’m getting bullied.”

“Were you ever bullied?” I ask.

“Of course I was. I was the class clown. But anything they said about me was something I’d already said about myself. Oh, wait.” He quickly slings an arm around my shoulders, directing me to the left. “You have to see Winston’s house.”

Down the street, a shuffling line of people walk toward erected, shrouded walls. Fog coats the ground as they cautiously disappear through a black curtain. Screams and chain saws echo inside, almost as loud as the sound of ghouls moaning through the speakers at the house next to us.

“A haunted maze?”

“A haunted maze,” Cliff confirms.

“Am I ready for that?” I ask with a grimace.

“Probably not. But whether you’re ready or not, we’re doing it.”

“We are?”

“Trust me,” he says. “Social planner, remember?”

“I’m trusting you,” I murmur.

The sentence lingers between us for a moment, and when I turn to Cliff, his eyes dart between mine on a deep exhale.

“I promise it’s worth the wait.” My stomach smarts as he turns to call, “Hey, Em! Can you watch Brittany and Rocket for a second?”

Emily, down the street with a heavy pillowcase full of candy, looks between us with a half smirk that is all too similar to her dad’s mischievous grin. I narrow my eyes, and it only grows bigger.

“Sure!” she yells to Cliff. “Have fun.”

A warm glove slides into my palm, and when I look at Cliff again, he’s wearing the white mask. I jump on the spot and squeal.

His husky laugh is muffled behind the mask as he gently leads me by the hand down the road toward the haunted maze. He twists his palm in mine and threads our fingers together, nestling our hands comfortably between us. A shiver trickles down my spine, and I start to shake.

“You’re more skittish than I thought you’d be,” he says once we’re in line. He leans closer to my ear and whispers, “Does the unshakable Michelle get scared?”

The sad part is, when I gulp and lie, “Absolutely not,” I’m not sure if it’s in response to the dark tunnel ahead of us or Cliff’s hand entwined with mine.

I’m so scared.

Winston’s wife stands at the entrance, moving her hips side to side to a joyful tune from the boom box next to her, which I bet is trying to drown out the bloodcurdling screams ahead.

“You ready?” she asks with a grin, pumping her arms side to side, dancing the twist.

I tilt my chin up with a defiant, “I’m ready.”

Cliff chuckles. “Attagirl.”

I grip his hand, and he tightens his hold as we duck between the heavy curtains, made from black tablecloths, into the haunted maze.

Grass crunches under our boots. We slowly make our way down the narrow hall. Streetlights attempt to break through the black folds of the makeshift walls, but the only way ahead is shrouded in darkness.

There’s a scream. I pause, my back colliding with Cliff’s hard chest. He snickers.

“We can go back if you want,” he says.

“Never.”

“Good, because that would make you a quitter.”

“Shut up,” I hiss-whisper.

He barks out a laugh, placing his palm on my shoulder and stroking in reassurance. But if anything, it puts me more on edge. Especially when he languidly slides his hand down my arm and over my wrist to slip our fingers together once more.

We turn the corner, and a masked clown leaps out. I scream but immediately laugh when Cliff does as well.

“Oh, are you scared, Clifford?” I tease with a grin.

“Whatever,” he drawls.

A skeleton drops from the mesh ceiling.

“Winston!” I yell.

Cliff laughs behind me, and I swear I hear a little kid’s laughter beyond the blackened walls. It’s most likely Winston’s family, getting their kicks.

“Keep walking,” Cliff says, rubbing a thumb in the middle of my spine.

Slowly, his palm opens fully, splaying out across my back, tangling in the folds of my dress. I walk slower, frozen by his touch.