Page 50 of Bring You Back

“What about cutting me off did you think was a good idea? I wanted to be with you.”

From the corner of my eye, Camille shifts, leaning her shoulder against the wall. “It’s hard to be with someone when they’re in an entirely different state.”

Her words are as steady as mine, backed by a subtle sarcasm that makes my jaw tighten. It’s the wrong time for her to be a smart ass.

“Why did you cut me off?” I repeat, almost changingmetous. But this is about me, my answers.

“Long distance sucks,” she says simply. Too fucking calm. Her words might as well be punctuated with a shrug.

I shoot her a look. “Then why did you leave?”

“You know why I left,” she says, leaning forward with more conviction. Now we’re getting somewhere. “He’s my brother. Mybloodfamily. We’ve always stuck together and taken care of each other. I had to take care of him,” she emphasizes like she had no other choice.

I push off the door and start toward the kitchen. “Yeah, look how well that turned out.”

My steps falter with the words, but I keep going to prevent myself from looking at her, from seeing her face at my knee-jerk response, to prevent her from seeing the regret I feel all over mine. It’s too much to ask for me to say shit without experiencing some unwanted physical repercussion.

I need to do something with my hands. I settle at the sink and wash them.

Her voice is lower with her next words, so I know mine affected her. “We were heading in different directions—”

“Don’t make excuses,” I cut in over the noise of running water.

“You were staying here, and I had no intention—”

“Of ever coming back.” I turn the water off and fling droplets from my fingers. “I know.”

“Stop putting words in my mouth.”

“Then say the right ones,” I snap at her order, whipping around to face her. “Admit that you’re the one who fucked up.”

“And now you’re the one fucking up,” she hisses back at me, stepping forward in the space between the fridge and the island.

If that’s the only admittance I’ll get, fine, but she’s not turning this around on me.

“Youhaven’t actually lost anything or anyone,” she continues, and my mouth is stuck for words, until she tacks on a little condescending one. “Yet.”

She’s armed, and if she wants to play the comparison game, I’ve got ammo, too.

“And what did you do?” I’m about to let her know just how much my eyes were on her at the beach, but I don’t care. “You looked pretty fucking thirsty eyeing those beers tonight. You’ve never evenconsidereddrinking alcohol. So something tells me you weren’t exactly on your best behavior.”

Her whole body tenses, fingers digging into her arm as she tries to keep composure, keep the upper hand. “I wasn’t,” she admits, and my curiosity piques, questions flashing through my head. “But I’m the one who actually lost. Your dad is still out there. Your mom is still here.Everyoneis still here.”

“You weren’t,” I correct her, because she seems to keep forgetting that fact. And I’d rather talk about us than my parents. The wounds from her have had a year to fester. The wounds from my parents are still fresh.

“I’m here now, Julian.”

Her voice is imploring around my name, and nope—this isn’t happening. I move around the island to leave this conversation. She’s not hijacking a fight that’s supposed to happen onmyterms.

She twists around to follow my movements. “Who careswhy. What matters is I’m herenow.”

I’m at her side by the time she stops speaking, and I stop moving, her words proving the conclusion I came to after reading the first text she’s sent me in months. She expectssorries, and her simple presence to be good enough. She expects my arms to open to her—why? Becauseshelost.

I’m so tired of people putting shit in my head about what I should or shouldn’t be doing, what matters and what doesn’t. Especially Camille. She has no clue. She wasn’t here, and her presence still doesn’t make her here. She’s a body, invading my space.

I can’t trust her anymore, and I have to protect myself.

Our loss isn’t the same, but I’ve still lost. I still feel just as powerless, just as hurt, just as angry, just as …needy, I think as my eyes shift to find hers.

---