Page 121 of Bring You Back

You need this, I think, about to remind her of her cry for help, of her coming back here whenWe need thissneaks in right behind. And just like that, I have clarity. We can’t be the same. We’renotthe same. I’ve known and seen every part of Camille. I can’t have any less. Not after everything. Not anymore. This—this is huge. The heaviest hand she’s ever been dealt, and we have to trust each other again. I need to know that I can trust her to let me back in. She has to let this in, so I can let her in. All the way.

“You have to let it in,” I say, voice low.

“Oh, likeyoudid?”

“Yeah,” I say. “You don’t know what I went through, either.” I move in, close the distance. “But it doesn’t matter anymore.” She’s backing away, and I meet her steps. “Hey.” I hold her face in my hands and she closes her eyes, tears slipping out and falling over my thumbs. I tilt her chin up, but she keeps her eyes closed. I feel myself wanting to smile at her stubbornness. “Camille, look at me.” She opens her eyes, grudgingly, the scowl around her mouth showing just how much she doesn’t want to, and I do smile. But it fades at the pain still in her stare. “We’re here now.”

She blinks at the words, similar to the ones she said to me during our first fight in my kitchen. Her lips part, her face relaxing in my hands. I have her back—in every sense of the word, and I’m not wasting more time. I’m here. She’s here. It’s just me. It’s just her. The old shit doesn’t matter, doesn’t exist. In this moment, we are us.

I pull her into me, rest my forehead against hers. Her uneven breaths mingle with mine as I say, “It’s me.” I say it again, stronger, assuring her with the words, with each stroke of my fingers along her arms. She brings her hands up to my shoulders and clutches my shirt.

“I can’t do this,” she says, a whispered plea, her head shaking against mine.

“Let me help with this,” I whisper back, another plea of my own. She shakes her head more, but she clings to me tighter. “It’s okay to need help, Camille.”

“Thishurts too much.”

“Let me be here,” I continue, more pleas. “Let me take care of you.”

I realize what I’m asking of her. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t need to be taken care of. Well, she has cried. And I’m the guy who cares. I’m the guy who needs to take care of the people I love. She knows this, and she knows I won’t turn away. Not from her. I can’t. Not when I’m me. But I need her to want it—to need me, too.

My eyes have fallen closed, and I’m still whispering, still pleading, still holding her as tight as I can against me. “Let me.”

She shoves me away, and I don’t reach for her again. I put myself out there, so I wait for her to give herself back. She tries to gain some composure, but her next words tumble out and she loses it.

“He’s dead, Julian.” She looks at me, eyes wide, welling. “And I can’t change it. I’ll never see him again.” She moans through more oncoming tears, and I can’t stop myself from moving to her.

When she wraps her arms around me, crying into my hold, I know, at least for tonight, she’s letting me take care of her.

This won’t be easy. Camille’s not easy. She’ll keep pushing, and I’ll have to keep pulling. But tonight, we’re here, together. I’ll worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.

28

Spit It Out

Camille

I worry at the coffee stirrer in my fresh cup as I breathe in the steam, basking in the quiet of the morning, trying not to think about what happened—and what didn’t—with Julian last night before we succumbed to sleep. I remember jerking awake twice, both times in Julian’s arms, and falling back to sleep after each time he murmuredI’m here. I woke up a third time to the sun and no Julian, a one word note left on my still open laptop:Work.It made me smile. Concise, and to the point. No awkward morning encounter, stumbling over words we don’t have.

Naomi met me as soon as I walked in here. She heard us last night. She made a point to say she wasn’tlistening, but she heard my cries. It was the sob heard around the entire town, I’m sure. She hugged me, and I accepted her embrace. Still not a hugger, but I appreciate the warmth. And hugs seem to be going around for me these days.

Now it’s day, I’m in the light, and I’m nursing my coffee at the island, letting my thoughts settle on the fact that I’m back to being jobless. Trying to summon ideas for ways to make money that don’t involve people inanycapacity is next to impossible. Everything takes a team, and clearly I’m a solo act.

I look at Grumbles who’s licking her foot by the table. I could do something with cats. A cat walker. A cat babysitter. A cat groomer—though, they do a pretty good job with that task themselves.

I’m taking a sip of my coffee, telling myself I’ll figure it out later, when the front door opens. Tommy walks in with Reyna at his heels, both carrying a medium sized box.

“You guys moving in now, too?” I joke as they settle the boxes on the floor by Grumbles who pauses her cleaning session to eye the foreign objects, her leg propped in the air, toes spread out. Her eyes light up—new toy—and she hops inside one, making a circle before lying down. I laugh.

“Knew she’d take it,” Tommy says. “Cats love boxes.”

“What’s the second one for? Back up?” I ask before taking another sip of coffee.

“For you,” Reyna supplies with a playful grin, and Tommy repeats, “Cats love boxes.”

I almost choke on the sip as I round the island. “Well, then,” I say as I move my box closer to Grumbles, accepting my gift. I step inside and crouch down. “Yes, we do,” I say with a satisfied smile up at Tommy and Reyna who laugh at me.

I’m glad they approve. Grumbles, however, is now staring at me likeI’mthe foreign object.

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