Page 75 of Bring You Back

“We’re done.”

My brows narrow, my first thought telling me he’sdonewith this conversation. I’ve pushed nearly all of his buttons tonight. My second thought tells me he ended things with Shelby. I’m not exactly surprised; anyone could’ve seen their break up coming. They’re both leaving for separate lives in August, Tommy has stronger feelings for a different girl. . .

“When?”

“Last night.”

“How’d I miss that?” I say, half to myself, and one incredulous look from Tommy reminds me that I’ve been missing everyone’s shit but my own. “You all right?”

“About that? Yeah.” He shoots, he scores. He retrieves the ball and joins me back on the brick, twirling it above his lap. “So, you and Banks.”

I guess we are done with this conversation. He shifts the topic to me with quizzical judgment. “Yeah, I guess.”

“But not you and Camille.” Now he’s disappointed.

I sigh at now having my buttons pushed. “What do you want me to say?”

“She came back,” he stresses, like I should forgive and forget based on that alone. I wonder if he’d be so quick to do the same if it was Reyna who had left and dropped contact.

Yeah, probably. He’d renew every expired friendship.

“We’re all together again,” he continues, adding lower, “Before we won’t be. We need each other. Camille won’t say it, but she needs us, too.”

Of course he picked up on that.

“Well, she needs to say it,” I stress back. Until I hear the words from her own mouth, she’s out of my hands.

“What if she doesn’t?” he pushes, reminding me of that strong possibility. Camille’s personality is one huge defense mechanism. “It’s you she needs the most and you know it. So, you’re gonna let her suffer, because she can’t say something you need to hear?”

“She’s not suffering, Tommy,” I throw out, my voice half committed. He hears it too because he keeps trying to get through.

“She lost herbrother.”

I focus on the trees to keep from showing my concern.

“He was her only family besides us, and she’s just …Camille. Like nothing’s wrong. Like … nothing’s changed.”

I shift my focus to the ground at my feet.

“When Reyna told her she was sorry about Caleb, Camille said it was okay.”

I almost look at him, my head bringing my thoughts back to the bench on the boardwalk where I sat with Camille as she looked on the brink of a panic attack.I’m fine.

“She keeps finding ways to play it off. That’s notokay. She can’t even say he’s dead. She’s not dealing.”

I look at him now, my brows narrowed, his raised in waiting. “What do you want me to say?” I still have nothing. Anything I do say clearly isn’t good enough.

“You’re playing it off, too,” he says with a shake of his head. “Do you really not care?”

I look back at the trees. “Stop asking me that.”

“No. Do you really not car—”

“I care!Fuck,” I spit out through my hands.

“She has scars,” he continues without missing a beat, not needing to clarify that he’s referring to the physical ones. My face says I know.

“She’s obviously dealing in some way.” I sound tired through my silent hope thatdealis actually the past tense. Dealt. Shedealtin some way. I don’t want to think of the possibility of Camille creating new scars.

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