Page 87 of Bring You Back

I close my eyes, tell myself again without all the excess words in between.I want Camille.

The breeze hitting my face turns into Reyna’s breath hitting my ear. “Are you thinking of having some company? Like a certain blonde female, perhaps?”

I can’t look at the smile she’s wearing.

“We should … slow down.”

The words were just there, on the tip of my tongue. They’ve been there all week, I’ve finally let them tumble from my mouth, and I still can’t look at her.Real nice, asshole.

Themethat everyone is trying to find is still there. He’s just hard to reach. Especially right now. That guy would tell the truth. He wouldn’t try to slip out unnoticed. But I’m still holding on to the hope that we don’t have to break completely. I know I have to stop doing this. I don’t want to be an asshole. I don’t want to be my parents. But I still want Reyna’s friendship. So, maybe if I start pulling back little by little, we can end this thing on good terms. I can avoid her hating me.

“I thought we were already doing that,” she says, the words hesitant and low, her arm pulling back as she pulls back, her hand holding my elbow as she holds on to me. “I mean, we haven’t even … since. . .”

The wind picks up her hair and blows it toward me. She makes no move to swipe it from her face, so I look at her, and tuck both sides behind her ears. When she does this herself, she tucks one side. She knows I know this, but she doesn’t bother correcting me. Her blinking eyes just hold and search mine as my fingers glide over her cheeks.

Her eyes fall to the space around us, like she’s just now taking in where we’re standing, and her mouth opens, her words turning me back to the ocean. “Where is this coming from? Is this about Camille? Do you still like her?”

“It’s about me,” I say. “Us,” I add, then I keep going, unable to stop the spiel of thoughts, words that should come from someone who actually has somewhere to go. “We don’t know where the end of this summer will take us. We don’t know where we’re gonna end up.”

“You’ll be stayinghere,” she reminds me on a smile, not buying into my excuses. “This is your world,” she adds, an almost direct quote from my own mouth. “You’re not going anywhere.” In a defeated, yet resigned voice, she says, “I might not be, either.”

“The right people will find your art, Reyna,” I attempt to assure. “You don’t belong here.”

“Then neither do you,” she says, a smile back in her voice that makes me shift away slightly. If she notices, she doesn’t let on. “Neither do any of us. We belong where we wanna be.” She links her arm back through mine, pulling herself in, and drops a kiss at my shoulder.

I respond in my head.Not always.

“Hey,” she says, reaching for my hand, still reaching for me, because I’m still the asshole who said we should slow down, not slam the brakes. “I have a surprise for you.”

When she starts pulling, I let her take me off the pier, keeping her hand in mine for the trek.

Slow.

19

Piece of Cake

Camille

My hand pauses on the doorknob as I leave the bathroom—decked out in myfavoritepair of ripped jeans, with a dark purple top. Go big, or get out. I listen to the voices reaching my ears.Avoice. One that makes me eye Tommy with questions as I stalk back to the kitchen. He’s standing behind the balloons, mockingly hiding, his eyes wide with the same questions, his finger pointing toward our visitor. I chuckle as I round the corner, my stare landing on Naomi, who is in the same place I left her, before shifting to the woman across from her.

Valerie’s smile turns to a sneer as she takes me in.

We’re going big.

“Well, if it isn’t a lady and a tramp.” I turn my back on a self-amused smile, removing a bottle of water from the fridge as Tommy cracks up at my greeting.

“Camille,” Naomi says once I turn back around. “Sayhito Valerie.” Her tone is a light scold, but her eyes show a twinkle of amusement.

“I did,” I say with a pointed smile at Valerie as I take a pull from my bottle. Her sneer deepens, then she looks back at Naomi with a forced grin.

“Like I was saying.” Valerie pauses, taking a moment to recall what exactly that was before continuing. “We’re in the same boat. Our men cheated, we’ve been dumped—”

“I wasn’t …dumped, Valerie,” Naomi clarifies, the cringe forming from having to use Valerie’s language.

“Regardless, we’re both single women now. On the same side of the line. So I think we should let the past go and commiserate.” Valerie reveals a tall bottle of wine from her shoulder bag, like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, and sets it between them with another smile. “Nothing saysI hate menlike a bottle of Pinot.”

She can’t be serious.

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