“And … we talked,” I say, now feeling like I don’t want to talk about those steps. I give her an apologetic smile, and she laughs.
“Fine,” she says with a smack of my hip. “Don’t tell me. But I knew something good would come from your dad showing up.” She nudges my shoulder. “Trust me, sometimes.”
Trusting Reyna should be easy to do, but she thinks she knows what’s best for everyone, which leads her to do things that piss me off. She acts from her own experience, on what’s best forher. She lacks any sort of relationship with the unknown guy who helped make her, so she tries to save the one I have with mine. Her mother’s a neglectful shitshow, so she reminds me of how good I have it with mine. She’s a fixer, happy as long as things are fine and well.
I get where she comes from—she wants us to be grateful for what we have, but I’m someone who has to do things on my own time, in my own way. And she doesn’t always getthat. I’m not like Camille who often needs a push to move forward, or Tommy who doesn’t physically bring your problems to the table, but makes you chew over them, anyway.
I shouldn’t rag on Reyna’s heart. She still has one.
I adjust my body, resting my head against my arm as my eyes trace the orange and yellow lines in the sky. “How’s it been at home?”
“No new man,” she says, then tacks on a defeated, “For now.” She sighs. “Mom’s still brooding. Like you,” she teases. “ButI’mstill here.” She rubs the back of her hand against mine. “You’re not alone, either.”
I look down at our touching hands, then look at her, seeing the care in her eyes as much as I heard it in her voice. Hope spikes that I’m too afraid to feel again, but I let it back in.
If everything else in my life can heal, so can we.
I’m just not ready to bruise her.
23
Gamer Boys
Camille
“Are you ready yet?” I ask Shelby from the door of the ice cream shop, my annoyance one peg away from stamping my foot.
She slows her sweeping and I see red. This would be the time when I spill sprinkles on the floor to give her more work, but we’re closing, and I can’t leave without Ms. Clean Up over here. Mitch had to lay down the law after too many complaints from customers. I can’t even lock the door until I’m walking out now.
I stalk over to Shelby and yank the broom from her hands. “It’s clean enough.”
She yanks it back as I’m prepared for her to do, my grip around the handle tightened. It takes some effort on her part, but she manages to get it back. She returns to sweeping, without a word.
I scoff. “You don’t like me. I get it. But I’m sure you have something better to do tonight than clean floors. I know I have something better to do thanwatchyou,” I add in disdain.
Her sweeping stills and she eyes me, hand on her hip. “You’re right. I don’t like you. You hurt someone I care about, and you came back to do it again.”
I cross my arms. “While I admire your loyalty to our friend, you’re gonna have to elaborate.”
“Reyna’s loved Julian for years—”
I slip my hands into the back pockets of my jeans to avoid yanking the broom back out of hers, my laugh cutting her off. “And I bet you’ve loved Tommy just as long.” She blinks at my pointed stare, and I continue. “And Ibetyou even encouraged her to get with Julian.”
She shrugs, her tanned knuckles white around her grip on the broom. “I was thinking of her happiness. That’s what friends do,” she adds, returning my pointed stare, and I laugh again.
“Yeah, see, that’s why I’m a better friend than you. I’ve never encouraged Reyna toward anything that wouldn’t make her happy in the long run. And I know her, and the rest of my friends, better than you to know what that is.” I step in her space and she stiffens, steeling herself. “Did you know Julian tried to kiss me last summer?” She deflates with my admission, trying and failing to hide her surprise. “She must have forgotten to mention that little detail.”
I step back with a sigh, almost disappointed in my decision to explain myself. I don’t owe her shit, but considering the pile she just spewed, I had no choice but to shovel it back.
“She doesn’t belong with him,” I say as my final piece.
“Girls,” Mitch bursts from the door to the back through our stare-down. “Let’s hurry it up.”
The reminder that it’s closing time and I can get the hell out of here knocks me from my reverie, and I yank the broom from Shelby’s hands again. “You heard the boss.”
“I’m notdone,” she says through grinding teeth, yanking the broom back.
“Girls,” Mitch bursts again, and we spin on him. “Camille, do I need to have a word?”