Page 124 of Bring You Back

“Butyoudid,” I accuse back at her.

“This is something you talk about with your friends,” she says, giving me a pained look that turns incredulous. “Youstolesomeone’s pet—”

“Hestolemy brother,” I fire back, and she softens.

“I get it—”

“No. You don’t.” Reyna wouldn’t have understood this under normal circumstances, but she wouldn’t be so interrogating. I’m combative, protective. “Not everyone wants to be like you. We can’t all just lie down and let people fuck us over all the time.”

“Hey,” Tommy spurts in her defense.

“Hey,” I mock, my eyes catching his before they’re back on Reyna.

“I’m just thinking about how I would feel,” she argues through welling eyes, trying to keep composure. “They probably really miss each other.”

“Are youserious, Reyna?” My hand squeezes around my cup and I have to stop myself from throwing coffee on her. “Why don’t you think about howIfeel? That man took something I love. What right does he have to keep what he loves?” She opens her mouth to cut in, but I don’t let her have words as I lean forward with my next ones. “And if you’re going to side with the man who killed my brother, then we’re notfriends.” I throw the word back in her face, and she rears back from the impact.

She’s still mad. She’s still hurt. In her mind, I’m someone whostealsthings she doesn’t see as mine. Things like Julian. This argument isn’t about Grumbles. It stems from last summer. Her feelings toward me are coming through over a cat.

We’re not okay.

Were we ever?

Tommy steps back, kneeling to the floor to play with Grumbles. This isn’t his fight.

“I’m not against you,” Reyna defends. “I know—”

“He hadnoremorse.” My hand shakes around the cup, the movement drawing Reyna’s eyes. I see Tommy’s head turn in my direction from my periphery right before my vision blurs. “None.” Reyna slides her eyes back up to mine as I mimic the very words said to me by that murdering son of a bitch. “‘Accidents happen.’”

Tommy looks back down and Reyna flinches, a couple tears running down her cheeks. She says my name, reaches for my hand, but I slide it away, the cup I’m still grasping emitting a loud scrape in the effort. I loosen my grip and swipe at my own cheeks. The sting comes quicker and the tears fall so easily now.

Thanks, guys.

“I’m sorry,” Reyna says, wiping at her face and sniffling. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.” Our wet stares reconnect across the island. “And you’re right. He got what was coming to him. Idoget it.” She manages a smile, and I wave her off.It’s fine.I just want a new conversation, thank you.

“She’s happy,” she notes, her smile now aimed down at Grumbles.

Tommy’s stare is on Reyna, his face unreadable as he studies her. He’s unwavering a moment longer before also looking at Grumbles. “Puddles,” he says to her, calling out her original name. She ignores him, and I’m opening my mouth to tell him off when he says, “Grumbles,” calling out her correct name. She lifts her head, eyeing him with a sleepy, yellow stare. Tommy smiles, and I relax, now knowing what he’s doing. “Yeah, she’s happy,” he says. “And she knows Grumbles is a better name.” He turns his smile to me, and I give him one back.

“I’m sorry,” Reyna says to me again. “Are you okay?” Before I can answer, she half teases, “And if you say you’re fine, I’m gonna smack you.”

I shrug. “I don’t know what I am.” I give her a pointed look. “That better?” I eye Tommy. “Does Julian know?”

“We told him,” Reyna says, and I’m not surprised she jumps to answer, considering I’m sure she jumped on telling him.

“He said, ‘This one’s all yours’,” Tommy adds, amusement in his tone.

I roll my eyes, turning my back with a smile, pouring what’s left of my coffee down the sink drain. Banks and Girl Number Infinity’s moaning grows louder, and I make a mental note to return Banks’s script to the trash once Reyna leaves.

It’s evening when I find Julian in the kitchen. He’s washing the dishes I assume he just used, humming a familiar song. I smile as the memory comes. Us, in the back of his Jeep two years ago. He had just started listening to Death Cab for Cutie, and I justhadto hear his new favorite song by his new favorite band. One earbud in his ear, one earbud in mine. This was before he started relying on the stereo.

I debate not saying anything to him, just grabbing what I came in here for, but the sound of his croon and his mere presence draws me in.

“Need some help?” I ask when I step up beside him. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, his lower arms covered in soap suds. His humming fades as he meets my stare, the movement of his hands slowing.

“You’re offering?” he asks, a shocked tease.

“I know. Crazy,” I tease back with wide eyes, dipping my hands into the water with his as he smirks at me. “Don’t get used to it.”

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