Page 92 of Bring You Back

He needs a moment. When Reyna walks off, she wants to be followed. That’s why she follows. When Julian wants to be alone, he wants to be alone. And if anyone is going to be checking on him for this, it’s me.My move.

Tommy rounds the table and joins us. “Hey,” he says to Reyna, voice soft but steady. “We care about you. Nobody pushes us.”

Reyna nods again, lips pulled around a tight smile, fingers playing with the tips of her hair.

“He didn’t mean it like that,” I say in defense of Julian. He was trying to prove a point. Show how different he and Reyna are. The last thing we need to do is solidify the misbelief in Reyna’s head that no one cares about her.

Banks’s laugh erupts from behind us. “What if my hair was permanently stuck like this?”

We three face him. He has run his fingers through his hair and pulled to make it spikier. It’s sticking up everywhere. Big deal.

“What if you stop asking such weird questions?” Tommy fires back, voice only half heated.

Banks points at him. “Dude, you know I’m funny. Laugh.”

He doesn’t.

“Oh, hey, it’s you,” Banks says to Brent who is still standing beside Naomi who is avoiding looking in his direction. Her eyes keep skirting toward the windows, thinking she’ll find Julian in the swaying trees.

Banks sits back down, then noticing Julian’s empty chair, his neck cranes around the room. “Where’d he go?”

Good question. Banks finally asked one for once.Where did Julian go?

20

Try Again

Julian

I can’t go anywhere. I can’t drive my Jeep through town, I can’t even think of stopping at the beach, or even stopping at Reyna’s, not just because she’s inside my house right now and part of the reason I’m out here, but Ican’t fucking go anywherebecause the other reason I’m out here is blocking me in. I spent a solid five minutes just staring at my father’s Jeep—a replica of mine—unable to move, my head unable to form a thought through my anger, until I finally decided to hide out in my backseat, car on, Death Cab for Cutie playing in an attempt to calm me down.

It half works as my head replays what the hell just happened inside my house. Brent. Dad. Everything that’s wrong with me in relation to him was on full display in front of everyone, because he thought it was a good idea to put on a show. All my struggles that are usually kept inside were forced to the outside, because he was forced into coming here by Reyna’s helping hand.

I’m on my back, eyes on the roof, my favorite band on their fourth song, when I hear a voice—Tommy’s, followed by Reyna’s laugh.Yeah, man, cheer her up. You’re welcome.

I’m glad they have each other, because I feel pretty fucking sorry for anyone who has justme. I’m not much use to anyone right now.

They don’t come near my Jeep, don’t bother to stop and look. They probably think I’ve set off on foot, or Camille advised them to lay off, which is a trip, because as soon as their voices fade, the door at my head opens and she’s here, staring down at me with a raised brow.

“If you don’t move, I’ll just sit on your face.”

I can’t help my slow smile at the image she just put in my head. I hold her stare—upside down—as I picture her sitting on my face, and from her still pointed look, she doesn’t even realize it.

Until she does.

She tries to look unaffected, keeping her stare steady, her mouth straight, but a laugh sneaks through her nose. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”Fuck yes.“Move.”

I move, the shifting over the seats wiping my thoughts clean of that moment, thankful she couldn’t hear my last one, as she slides in next to me. I stare out my window, listen to her movements until she settles in with a slight laugh.

“It’s been a few weeks since I’ve heard this song.”

“A few weeks,” I repeat, low, turning my head to look at her, but it stops once my eyes hit the back of the front seat.

“I told you you never left my mind,” she says, also low, but purposeful. She’s giving me things. A piece for a piece.

I almost smile again at the thought of Camille thinking about me to music. Tomyfavorite music, that isn’t exactly at the top of her list. But it doesn’t come, because I’m now thinking about the timing. There was a month between the time her brother died and she showed up here. A month of scars, my music, and God knows what else. Whatwas she doing?

I can’t come out and ask her. She won’t come out and tell me. A piece for a piece. She’ll set them on the table, one by one, until there’s enough to solve the puzzle. Then she’ll make you put them together yourself.

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