Page 59 of Bring You Back

I snap the lid shut with a chuckle and slide the bottle over to him. “It’sfull.”

“Not anymore,” he laments before coating his hash browns with one hand and grabbing for the syrup with the other.

My stare drifts back up to Camille and Tommy who are scrutinizing Banks with equal looks of disgust as he stuffs his face with hash browns, his mouth and cheeks getting coated in ketchup.

He pauses his cram session and glares up at them when he feels the stares. “What the hell are you looking at?”

“I’m trying to figure that out,” Camille says.

Tommy laughs. “We’ll never know.”

Camille smiles at him, and Banks rolls his eyes before diving back into his hangover cure.

I should apologize for the things I said to both of them last night. I should. I will. But right now, I just want to eat my food and get through this already stained morning in peace.

Speaking of owed apologies. . .

“How’s Reyna?”

“Worse than you,” Camille says, whipping her stare to mine. “But aren’t we all?”

My jaw tightens. After what I said to her last night about Caleb, I know I deserve whatever biting words she wants to throw my way. But I’m tired of her acting like what we’re each going through is some sort of fucking competition.

“Stop acting like you know how I feel,” I say, stressing each word.

“Stop acting like you don’t.”

That’s a pointed, personal appeal that even Tommy catches. He averts his attention to the bag in his hands. I swallow and it’s tight, Camille’s eyes drawing to the bob of my throat before she clears hers and addresses Tommy.

“I’ll be in the car.”

She side-steps past him, disappearing from my line of sight, and I fight to keep myself from looking back to watch her leave.

Or to make her come back.

I need another binge.

“Reyna’s waiting for. . .” Tommy trails off, gesturing to the bag.

“Yeah, go.” I wave. “I’ll catch up later.”

He follows after Camille, and I dig into my eggs, finally able to fucking eat.

This isn’t my usual breakfast, but this isn’t my usual morning, because what is routine? What is normalcy?

“Dude,” Banks spouts through a mouthful of French toast. “There’s Middle Finger.”

Without looking, I show himmymiddle finger, and he smacks it.

“Notthatone.Thatone!”

I drop my fork and show him my other middle finger. “This one?”

He smacks that one, too, and I laugh.

Camille

Reyna smacks Tommy’s arm, the spoon he has balancing on his nose falling to her bed. “How’d we not know you could do that?”

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