Page 144 of Bring You Back

“I’m sorry I left.” She says this as an apology for two—me and her brother. I hear the unspoken words in the quiver of her voice, the haze of her stare.I’m sorry I killed you.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I remind her.

“If I wasn’t there, he wouldn’t have needed a reason to go out that night,” she tries to argue, but I won’t let her feel guilty about this.

“Anything could’ve happened, Camille,” I say. “Anythingcanhappen. It wasn’t your fault,” I repeat with more stress.

She gives me a side-eye. “You don’t have to keep telling me that.” She softens the look with a slight smile. “But thank you.”

I think of something to say to bring her comfort, maybe some peace for having chosen Caleb, for being in Ohio. “If anything, you got one last year with your brother.”

“I did need that year,” she says, her eyes trained on her laptop screen, lost in long nails and pink polish. It’s so damn neon, I have to look away myself. “And it was a great one.”

“Will you tell me about it one day?” I wait for her to meet my eyes before I let mine drag down her face, her body, stopping at each place I know a scar would be if I could see them right now. “All of it?”

She inhales an uneven breath and looks back at her laptop screen while my own breath is bated. She has to give this to me. Someday.Let me in.

Finally, she sighs out, “Yeah,” and my breath rushes out with it.

Grumbles stretches at the foot of the bed near Camille’s feet, grabbing our attention. Camille wiggles her toes from under the covers and her cat attacks. “Aren’t cats the best animal?” She’s goading me, and I have a feeling she’ll kick me out of this bed if I say no. But she knows I don’t like cats. “You do realize I’m a cat, right?” She’s looking at me now and I lift a brow.

“You have one hell of a disguise,” I tease, and she reaches back to poke my side. “Ow,” I say on a laugh as I rub the spot. “I guess human cats are all right. I love your paws.” I take one of her hands with one of mine, and swipe a finger with the other down both of her cheeks. “You have nice whiskers, too.”

She shoves me away, but now we’re both laughing, and I can’t help but revel in how good it feels to play with each other. To still be able to elicit sounds from her that aren’t recognizable to outside ears. To see that open vulnerability that is rare outside of our friends. “Keep it up and I’ll scent mark you.”

“Sounds sexy.”

“Oh, it is.”

We let our laughter settle as she settles more into the pillows, her shoulder resting against mine. She hits PLAY on the video and we’re greeted with a minute of tapping, scratching, and whispering before I feel a sudden itch at the back of my head. I reach back and scratch it, asking, “You like this feeling?”

She shifts to face me, her eyes zoned in on my scratching. “What?”

“It’s making me itch,” I complain. She bursts out laughing, and I revel again in the sound, the sight, a smile tugging at my lips as I tease, “I’m allergic to this shit.”

“It’s calledtingles,” she says, then reaches over and lays her hand on my chest. I freeze, my hand dropping slowly from my hair to rest at my side. I have to consciously keep my hand from taking hers. “Relax.”

I may have the appearance of relaxation, but I know she can feel my heart hammering in my chest that’s now rising on a slow inhale. I look down at her fingers as she digs the tips into my skin, and I hold my stare there, because if I look back up, my eyes will find her lips and I’ll be unable to stop myself from kissing her.

“Just enjoy it,” she whispers, her fingers digging deeper, and as soon as I look up, my eyes land exactly where I knew they would, and she smirks before shifting closer. . .

. . .and dropping her head to my shoulder, nestling into my neck.

I wrap my arms around her on a chuckle and hold her there, waiting for my breathing to calm before I say, “You’re a tease.”

“You deserve it.”

I smile into her hair, lose time with us close together this way. The effects of the ASMR actually get to me, and I feel relaxed. Tired, even. My eyes grow heavy and I fight to keep them on the screen, my lids opening and closing in a slow blink.

I lose the fight, and in the blackness behind my lids, I see a flash of Camille back at the kitchen table, watching Tommy walk out the door. She looked afraid, watching him leave, not like she was losing, but like she had already lost. Camille was always the closest with Tommy. I’d go so far to say he’s her best friend. She doesn’t need to lose him over this. Something that ismyfault. She’s lost enough, and I won’t believe that Tommy would make her lose him right now.

Right as I’m drifting off, I mumble into her hair, “You and Tommy are gonna be okay. We’re all going to be okay.”

“You’re such a liar.”

I spoke too soon.

35

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