Page 79 of Challenge
She hands it to me without hesitation as she waits for Tanner’s answer. I tip it to my lips and drink down most of the contents. She doesn’t look like she needs more to drink. I hand the bottle back to Indie, who scowls when she realises it’s mostly empty.
“A girl,” Tanner responds. Before I can stop myself, I punch him hard in the shoulder. “Ooof, bloody hell, mate. What was that for?”
I roll my eyes and rest my arms back on the table. “Because you’re an arse.”
Indie’s brows raise. Then they narrow. “Another girl. No surprise there. We all know Camden’s quite experienced.” She takes a drink of the empty bottle and then sets it down on the table with a huff. “You’ve got the next round, Belle.”
“All right, I’m going.” Belle unfolds herself from the table, a look of discomfort marring her features.
“I’ll help you.” Tanner stands like he too wants to get away from this awkward situation. “Those drinks are very heavy. You’ll need a muscled figure with my sort of stamina to help you carry them.”
“You’re a gentleman and a scholar, good sir.” Belle mock bows to Tanner before they shuffle off toward the packed bar area.
I envy their light-hearted banter. Indie and I used to have that. Not all this tension and these narrowed eyes and passive aggressive comments. I watch her pick at the label of her bottle, away with her own thoughts. I’m craving the old Indie—the one with a fiery temper and a knee-jerk reaction that makes me smile.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”
Her brows lift as she looks at me. “Good thing you know better.” She’s not letting any cards show tonight. “So tell me, is it normal for two brothers to punch each other over a girl?”
I purse my lips. “It’s normal for us to fight. It’s how we communicate I guess.”
She nods like this is a completely foreign concept to her. “And then you guys make up, just like that?”
I lean forward and reply, “I think even Tanner knows when he deserves a punch.”
Her eyes rove around my face. We are so close I can smell the beer on her breath. I prefer the lemon scent, but it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t kiss her if I had the chance.
She tucks her hair behind her ears and says, “I suppose it’s nice you guys are related, and that you have family around who cares about you enough to punch you in the face over some girl.”
She’s fixating on this girl. I’m torn between being honest with her and telling her thatshewas the girl, or letting her stew with curiosity.
Before I can decide, she continues, “I never had that.” She frowns down at the table. “I never even had a pet. I wanted a gerbil once, but my gran said no because I wouldn’t be around long enough to take care of it.”
“That’s no good,” I reply, the corner of my mouth turning up at her memory.
“Yeah, you know, my gran died two years ago and I realised at her funeral that I never hugged her. She raised me and I never hugged her my whole life.” I watch Indie in eerie silence as she rubs her pointer finger over the rim of the glass bottle.
“My parents came home for the funeral and I spent three days straight with them, which was so weird because it was awkward, as if I didn’t know them and they felt like strangers. When it was time for them to go, I drove them to the airport because they had to get back to work…I remember getting out of the car and wanting to make sure I hugged them. I had this desperate need to hug them…because, you know, they were getting on a plane, and you never know when a plane could crash and the only people genetically wired to love you unconditionally are going to go down in flames.
“So I went to hug my mum and she stopped me in my tracks like this.” She reaches across the table and grips my biceps. She looks at the physical representation like she still can’t believe it. I can’t much either. “Then she said, ‘Indie, I think I’m getting a cold. Better keep your distance.’”
The weight of the words suspends in the air as she releases my arms with a sad smile. I’m frozen, unmoving, and still feeling the harshness of her grip on my arms.
Shaking her head, she tips the empty beer bottle onto its side and rolls it along the bumpy ridges of the wooden picnic table. “Who keeps their daughter at arm’s-length like that? At the time, I tried to believe that she cared enough to not want me to get sick. But when I was driving home, all I kept thinking was, ‘What kind of mother doesn’t hug their child at the airport?’ Hugging at the airport is such an epic moment. There are YouTube montages of awesome hugs at airports. There are homeless men who hold up signs that say ‘free hugs,’ and they aren’t worried about getting sick.”
She nods a few times before her eyes snap to mine. “I bet you a million pounds I bury my parents before I hug them.”
I feel like I was just shot in the face. Like a million times. Or kicked in the ribs after they’re all broken and I’ve been bleeding internally for hours.
She frowns and looks over her shoulder. “Where’s Belle with those drinks?” She moves to get up from the table and I reach out for her hand.
“No more drinks,” I beg, my eyes stinging.
She grimaces and then looks at my hand on hers. I don’t know if she doesn’t feel the tears falling down her face, or if she just doesn’t want to acknowledge them. “It’s Tequila Sunrise time. You know how important that is to me, Cam.”
“I do, but let’s go dance instead.”
She contemplates the idea. “Dancing is part of the approved list of items for a Tequila Sunrise worthy activity,” she says, bobbing her head thoughtfully.
