Page 69 of Bring You Back

“We all need one,” he says right before I shut the door in his face. I lean against it and push in the lock.So fucking satisfying.

“Bye, Banks,” Reyna hollers at the door, then points to the lock with a playful smile. “Is that for us?”

“Yeah,” I say, and the lie tastes like shit on my tongue. I quickly push past it. “How’re you feeling?”

She shrugs a shoulder. “I thought I’d feel worse.”

I move, stepping inside her now melancholy bubble. “You’re not gonna do it again.” I mean to make a statement, but the last word comes out as a worried question mark.

“Tommy and Camille already asked me—”

“And you said no.” Another question mark.

“I said I don’twantto do it again.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I’m growing frustrated, and Reyna takes my hands in an effort to reassure me.

“I’m not my mother,” she says with conviction to cover the uncertainty she always feels when she makes that statement. “I’m not gonna be.” She swings our locked hands with a smile, trying to bring out mine. “People our age drink.”

“You’re not people.”

Her face scrunches. “Well, what does that mean?”

What the helldoI mean? This conversation is flawed. I can’t think straight with her body this close to mine.

“I just care,” I say with a sigh, then give our hands a swing. This brings her dimple back, but it fades with a new thought.

“Did you see my mom when you looked at me?”

“I never see your mom when I look at you.”

Her cheeks flush as her smile returns to a full-blown beam. She releases one of my hands and pokes my chest, saying low, “There he is.”

I let out a slight laugh and step back, releasing her other hand, those words hitting me like a bucket of ice water.

I have this new urge to shy away from the good moments, toforcethe asshole out of me when he decides to take a back seat. Like I need to stay an asshole, purposefully. If there’s a chance Reyna is going to hate me—she might be capable, this might be different, this might be the exception to her forgiveness—maybe she should. Maybe it’ll make our breaking easier for her if she doesn’t feel like she’s losing something.

But I’ll be losing something. I’ll be losing one of my best friends. A girl I really do care about, despite all the bullshit, a girl whose opinion of me matters, whether I admit it or not.

So as I look at her, as I take in the concerned dip of her brows, my one thought right now is,Don’t hate me.

“I’m sorry I missed your showing,” I say through a scratchy throat. I clear it. “And that I didn’t leave the party to check on you. And I’m sorry I didn’t stay with you last night. I should’ve done all of that.”

I’m sorry for me.

Reyna closes the distance and wraps her arms around my neck. My hands move to the safest place they can—her sides. “You can make it up to me,” she says with a suggestive tilt of her lips, and my hands tighten around her dress. She pushes up on her toes, her mouth a breath from mine, and whispers, “Teach me to surf.”

I laugh as she settles back on her heels, and she bobs her head with a smile, so pleased with herself. “Nice, huh?” she teases.

I pull her back into me and nuzzle her neck. Her breath catches when I whisper against her skin. “It’s crowded as fuck right now.”

She laughs and pushes back, pinning me with a serious look. “Later when it’s not.”

Even though her learning how to surf still isn’t going to happen today—my body still hates me, and I feel like ass—I say, “Okay.”

My now lack of smile and enthusiasm prompts her to tell me, “Tommy and Camille also told me aboutyourrough night.” She repeats my question. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like ass,” I say, then sigh. “But it’s fine.”

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