Page 67 of Bring You Back

I ignore him until he scurries up with a groan, a fewfuck you, dudes, and heads back to the kitchen to replace it himself. Banks hates sharing food—even when he expects everyone else to share theirs.

Camille tries to trip him again, and again, he steps over her.

“You could’ve just let me rip his face off.”

I stifle a laugh. “I’d rather not have to clean up the mess.”

That’s how it goes. I’m the mediator between her and Banks. I don’t think Banks would actually do anything physical to Camille. The beach party is the closest we’ve come to the possibility, but then, that was also the first time Camille ever threw a drink on him. Even so, I really believe Banks was just trying to scare her. He knows better than to hurt her, or any woman. He’d be just as bad as Valerie’s fuckboys, and I’d have nothing to do with him.

I’ve protected Reyna against those creeps, and after last night’s potential close-call with Banks, Camille knows I’ll protect her, too.

She leans her head against the wall, her eyes holding mine with a smile.

“Don’t smile.”

I tell her the same shit phrase I keep telling myself. I keep giving her ammo, ammo she already has, confirming its truth. She knows what her smile does to me. How easily I fall into her warmth. How easily I hand over all my cards.

I’ve spent the better part of a year thinking I’d never see it again. Not in person. Not right here in front of me. So close I could trace her lips with my thumb.

Where the hell did that scar come from?

“Be careful what you ask for.”

I rear back like she’s reading my thoughts. But there’s just one thing I’ve asked of her—aloud—that would warrant this warning. All of the things I’ve asked for silently—wanting her with me, wanting her back—that came through in the two words I gave her last night.

I asked for her, and she’s here.

I take the bait this time.

“I am.”

She breaks our stare to glance down the hall for a sign of Banks, but he has yet to return. He probably got distracted by more food. We’re alone.

“You know me,” she says after a sigh, catching my eyes again. Of course I have yet to look away. “What did you expect? Obviously I was going to come back now. To you. To everything I’ve known.” She pulls her knees back up. “I’ve always been honest. My leaving, and then stopping contact was me being honest with myself.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“We would’ve grown apart.”

“That’s how you saw us?” I immediately question, sudden anguish in my voice. “Yearsof friendship—”

“That’s how I sawleaving.”

Her cat—Grumbles—strolls over from behind me and Camille stretches out her legs to let her climb up. She now has something to do with her hands, a place to focus her stare. Mine still hasn’t left her. It doesn’t want to.

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Do it, anyway.”Give memore.

She pets her cat from head to tail before saying, “Out of sight, out of mind. You all still had each other. There’s only so much you can do over the phone. You would’ve moved on.”

I’m floored, my legs literally sliding out from under me so my ass touches the hardwood. Camille’s not one to think down on herself. To worry about being forgotten. Why would she ever think that I’d move on? Do I fucking look like I’ve moved on?

I don’t think that’s what this is. She was cowardly, afraid of what we could’ve had together. She’s more cynical than romantic. Hard to even get close to simply as a friend. She’s dated one guy that I know of, but she couldn’t hand over her heart. Not even to me.

Caleb was her anchor, the steady hand that was there before all of us, and instead of letting that be me when he decided to leave for college, she left with him, and left me behind. She couldn’t drop contact with just one of us, so she had to drop contact with all of us.

Now Caleb was unfairly taken from her and she’s trying to survive because she’s the one who has to. She needs us. And it does matter. I know what that need is like. We’re living different stories, but we’re on the same page. We’re both just trying.

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