Page 116 of Bring You Back

Her stare is ice. “I know what happened to my brother.”

“Then say it.”

“Saywhat?”

“That Caleb is dead.”

She scoffs. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

“Say it.”

“Why do I have tosayanything?” she snaps, her shield dropping with the question, her arms expanded before her hands come together at her chest, moving toward me like she wants to shake this out of my system. “Why is that so fucking important now? Words don’t change facts.”

“Saying it makes it real.” As soon as the truth leaves my mouth, her arms fall to her sides. “And you’re not ready for it to be real.”

Just as quickly as she dials back, she steps up to me with a challenging, “Neither are you.” I brace myself for what I know is coming next. “Say you want me.”

My jaw tics as she holds me with a heady stare. I fight to keep my breathing even, to keep my hands from pulling her into me toshowher how much I want her. Our eyes show that for both of us—always reaching for each other, always speaking the words our mouths won’t. She has me and she knows it. But this is about her, and she’snotturning this around. “This has nothing to do—”

“That’s what I thought,” she cuts in before whipping around and starting for the door.

I’m right behind her, my hand motioning back to the nightstand. “Dammit, Camille, you have a literal cry forhelp—”

“And you weren’t supposed to see that, were you?” she throws in my face as she spins on me. I halt just before we collide into each other. We’re so close I can feel her breath on my skin, see the tiny gold flecks in her brown eyes. Those eyes fall to my mouth, and my eyes fall to the strand of hair now sticking to her lips. I want to swipe it away, feel its softness, and thank fuck she does it herself, because if she had waited one more second—

“Get out.”

I swallow through the sudden tightness in my throat. “Camille—”

“Get. Out.”

I move past her without hesitation and start through the hall. I’m running out of words, and we’re both running out of patience. But Camille hasn’t seen me when Ireallywant something. Not the me of now. Last summer was nothing. I’ll get out of that room and out of her space, but she’s not getting out of this. She will heal, because she has me—us—to help her do it.

The door slams at my back, and I’m almost to the front when I pull my phone from my pocket and shoot off a quick, vague group text to our friends, worrying about specifics later.

Beach tonight. About Camille.

Camille

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Breathe through it.

The memory comes as a whisper, hisses to a scream, threatening to smother me. I’d begged, to whoever was listening.Breathe, Caleb.

I was in the hospital room with him when he died. My first breath after his last was like knives in my chest.

I became numb. There was no way this could happen to me. So I decided it didn’t. My out-of-character reckless streak didn’t last long, because that’s not me. And try as I might, I can’t be anybody else. I can’t live someone else’s life.

But there had to be a middle ground. A place for me to stand where I was past the point of denial enough that I could accept what happened without allowing it to completely destroy who I am. I had to lose myself long enough to be able to come back to myself without all the pain. I had to be in that place mentally, then I had to be in that place physically.

My friends are supposed to let me be me. They’re supposed to accept when I say I’m fine, to trust that I can take care of myself. I always have. They’re supposed to be my calm, my normal.

This isn’t normal, Camille. Normal people didn’t just lose their brother.

Inhale. Exhale.

That ground is shaking, crumbling under my feet, and I can’t do this again. I won’t. Nothing else is supposed to be affected.

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