39. Lenni
THIRTY-NINE
lenni
When someone knocks on the door Thursday evening, I almost don’t answer. Jade’s been busy treating every guy who glances her way like he owes her big, so her dating life is raging. A lot of dudes come knocking lately.
But this guy is persistent; he knocks again, then, after no answer, a third time.
I open the door and there’s Reeve. Ugh. That’s what I get for not using the peephole. We look at each other for a few cold seconds.
“Hey,” he says finally.
“Hey.”
His eyes dart from the empty hallway to me and then back again.
“Um, something I can do for you?”
He looks at me like he just remembered he’s the one who came bothering me and not vice versa. “Yeah, I need to talk to you. We need to get straight about some things.”
“Cam already told me his side of the story. I don’t want to hear it from you.”
“He doesn’t know I’m here. And it’s not his side of the story you need to hear, it’s mine.”
I study him, trying to figure out what his motive could be. “Why? You don’t even like us together.”
Reeve looks at the floor. “You know why, though.”
Do I? Oh, god. Does Reeve have actual feelings for me? All this time, I thought our short-lived flirtation was him playing games for the fun of it, and maybe hoping for an easy hookup. But was he jealous? Did he actually?—
“I know you can’t stand me,” Reeve says, interrupting my runaway thoughts. “I was afraid you’d talk shit about me, and sooner or later, Cam would get on board.”
Oh.
“Anyway, I’m sorry about that, okay? Seriously. I was just being...insecure, I guess.” He mumbles this last part, catching me off guard with his puppy-dog eyes. And okay, maybe it’s slightly endearing.
“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter now anyway.” I’m surprised by the sadness the words bring.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Reeve says. “So can I come in?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. I don’t want Reeve inside my house, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not curious. I can’t think of anything he could say that would change the ugly facts of what went down between me and Cam, but maybe, just maybe...
“Just for a little bit,” I tell him.
Inside, he shoves his hands in his pockets and glances awkwardly around the apartment. It’s odd to see his larger-than-life personality shrink inside the four walls of this small space. He follows me to the kitchen where I get us each a sparkling water.
“Thanks.” He looks around again, probably so he doesn’t have to meet my eye. “This isn’t what I expected your house to look like.”
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Books?”
“Yeah, I have those. Just not in the kitchen.”
“Right.” He nods. “Listen, uh, I came to talk about Cam, but I guess there’s something I better say first.”
I take a drink.
Reeve studies his shoes before raising his eyes to mine. “I’m really sorry about what I did to you that night in my room. I was surprised, but it’s not an excuse for treating you so badly.” He closes his eyes for a second, and when he opens them, I have to concentrate on not looking away. “I made you feel like shit, and that’s the last thing I ever wanted to do to you. I’m sorry, Lenni.”
The sincerity of his apology makes my already raw emotions swell dangerously. I swallow hard against the threat of tears. “I understand,” I say, grateful my voice doesn’t sound as shaky as I feel. “I wouldn’t want to be judged for my actions on that night either.”
“So you’ll think about forgiving me?”
“I already do. It’s in the past now.”
His expression eases and he lets out a deep breath. “Thanks.”
I nod toward the sitting area. “Come on. Tell me what you came here for.”
We sit opposite each other, Reeve on the edge of the couch and me in an armchair. He gets right down to it.
“I didn’t take the picture,” he says. “I had nothing to do with it, and neither did Cam.”
I sag with disappointment. “I thought you were going to tell me something I haven’t heard a dozen times already.”
“It’s a fact, Lenni, and I don’t know why you won’t accept it. Cam isn’t protecting me. Do you get that?”
“That’s just it!” I snap. “He is protecting you, whether you took the picture or not.”
He tilts his head. “What?”
“It doesn’t even matter anymore who took the picture. He’s protecting you, he’s protecting the team, he’s protecting his football career. And I’m a distant second.”
Reeve leans forward. “Why shouldn’t he protect me?”
“What?”
“He didn’t tell you about us growing up together, did he?” he asks, a little too haughtily for my liking.
“Yes, he did. You had it rough growing up, so you spent a lot of time with his family. You guys were like brothers.”
He gives a rueful smile. “I know you two were all loved up, and I’m sure you’ve shared a lot. But that’s the version of the story Cam tells when he doesn’t want me to look like a total fuckup.”
I wait for him to go on, feeling uneasy.
“Yeah, my mom rarely had her shit together, and the Forresters basically took me in as their own. They turned my life around. But I turned Cam’s upside down too. He lied for me all the time. When my mom would forget to pack lunch or I’d pull out my brown bag and there’d be one frostbitten, still-frozen waffle in it, he’d pass me his food all sly-like so none of the other kids would know. It got to a point where the running joke among our friends was that the Forresters needed to fire their housekeeper because she only remembered to give Cam lunch half the time. I didn’t have jack, and he shared everything—his clothes, his car—and never said a word to remind me I was just borrowing.
“He even took the fall for me twice in high school when I got into fistfights with this punk on our football team.” He gives me a hangdog look and shrugs. “I was an angry kid back then. If Coach knew, I’d have been off the team just like that. Cam got away with a short suspension because he was a good kid, and probably because his family funded an entire wing of the school, but whatever. He didn’t need football; he could have been a fucking rocket scientist if he wanted. Me? All I had was football. He protected me because he could.”
I should be surprised, but I’m not. After all, he’s only telling me what I already know about Cam. He’s thoughtful, generous, loyal to the bone. It’s Reeve, actually, that’s making my heart squeeze with the fierce way he tells his story like he’s trying not to get emotional. Like he’s just daring me to disagree, so he has one more reason to talk up Cam.
But despite that, my bitterness only grows. If Cam can do all that for Reeve, why not me? “You’re only proving my point,” I say. “He protects you.”
Reeve looks at me like he’s only just remembered I’m here. “You don’t need to be protected.”
I laugh shortly. “You don’t know that.”
“Look, Cam hasn’t told me any details, okay? Not a word. I only know the photo thing hurt you on a different level.” His face softens, and I look away. “I guess you have your own story, and I don’t pretend to know what that feels like. I only know that I hated you two as a couple because I used to be number one, and then I wasn’t. He steps up for people he loves when they need it, not when they don’t. And this time he stepped up for me.”
“You think he took your side because I didn’t need him on mine?”
“What would you think of him if he didn’t stand up for me?”
I slump into the chair. I don’t know what to think anymore. “Maybe I’d be glad,” I say truthfully. “Someone needs to pay for what happened to that girl.”
“Someone did. You know Mason Connery?”
“No.”
“Lucky you. He admitted he took the picture, and he got his ass beat for it.” Reeve looks proud.
“You beat him up?”
“Yeah, right. Look at these hands. Pristine.” He holds up his large, smooth hands. “Nah, your boy took care of that.”
I stare at him. “Cam beat the kid up?”
He grins, thrilled to be the one to break the news to me.
“I just . . . I can’t picture him doing that.”
“She asked him to.”
“Who?”
“Sasha.”
This stirs something deep in the center of my chest. “He did that for...” I almost say me, but I catch myself. “For her?”
Reeve nods. “He protects people when they need it. And he kicks people’s asses when they need it.”
I try to imagine the quiet, self-possessed Cam releasing all his strength on someone in the name of loyalty. It makes me ache for him. “Is he okay?”
Reeve snorts. “He’s a lion taking on a weasel.”
For a second, I let my mind wander to memories of his bruised, sore muscles under my fingertips, but I quickly shake it off. “If Cam didn’t ask you to come here, why did you?”
Reeve fiddles with a cluster of candles sitting on the coffee table. “I dunno. Until now, I would’ve loved to be the reason you two broke up. But the reality isn’t so cool, you know?”
“Why not? You’ve got your best friend to yourself again.”
“He didn’t go back to the way he was before you. He’s someone else now.” He shakes his head. “And it doesn’t look good on him.”
After Reeve leaves, I pace the apartment. The desire to see Cam is urgent. I want to run to him, breathe in his scent and let him wrap his arms around me. But then what? I don’t know. I don’t know if I forgive him or if there’s even anything to forgive. A sinking feeling hits when it occurs to me. Maybe I’m the one who needs forgiveness.
It’s so obvious now how completely out of my head I was threatening Cam with a story that would take down his best friend and maybe his whole team. I need help. Therapy. Something. I can’t deny it any longer. I wasn’t acting like a journalist, I was acting like a wounded little girl who would rather hurt someone else than try to heal. What was I thinking?
My memory goes back to all the times I told myself that Cam wasn’t for me, all the doubts I felt when I pictured us together. I put it all on him, believing he couldn’t be trusted. Now I realize those doubts were valid—but they weren’t about him. I didn’t know how to trust him. Reeve or not, photo or not, I was always going to end up blowing apart what we had.
I feel frenzied and I know my mind’s not clear enough for the sort of apology Cam deserves, but I can’t let another minute pass. I call him, and when he doesn’t answer, I text him.
I’m sorry , I type. I went way too far.
I hit send and then type another message— Can we meet up? —but I erase it. I try again— Can you forgive me? —but I erase it too. Nothing feels right.
What do you say when you’ve gone too far? When the person who has always fought to win you back—despite your glaring flaws—has gone silent? When do you lose the right to ask for anything more?
After all, if Cam wanted me back, he could have come to me and said Mason Connery confessed to taking that photo. It would have absolved Reeve instantly. I would be wrong and Cam would be right. Again.
But this isn’t like the last time.
This time, Cam isn’t fighting to get me back.