SALT (Summer Nights)

18. Cameron

Chapter 18

Cameron

" H ey, have you seen my phone?" I ask Stormy as I look around my camper.

"No. Maybe you left it in your car."

I lift the throw pillows on the couch for the tenth time in the past twenty minutes before putting my hands on my hips, thoroughly peeved. Out of all the days to lose my phone, the day I kiss Everett Callahan for the first time would officially be the worst. "I already checked there."

"Where's the last place you remember having it?"

I throw myself back on the couch and trill my lips as I stare at the ceiling. That's when I remember Mackenzie sent a text while I was waiting for Stormy to pack a bag. "Shit. I left it in your room."

She holds her phone up. "We have mine if there's an emergency, or we could always go back."

"I don't want to leave now that we are here. It's an hour back… unless you've changed your mind about staying here, and that was your subtle hint."

"Nope, this kind of shit is right up my alley. I told you, I bought a tiny house. I'm jealous of this whole setup. I wish I had somewhere like this to park my place." She tosses a bag of marshmallows at me. "Ready to start up that fire?"

Once we got our cocktails poured, we came outside and found a spot next to the lake to start a fire. It's so peaceful out here, but I'll admit having someone here with me is better than sitting on top of my car in the dark. I only wish I hadn't left my phone. Honestly, it's probably better than what I did. There is something to be said about making a man miss you, not letting him have everything all at once. I'd like to say it's what I've intentionally been doing with Everett, but that wouldn't be the whole truth. The old me, the one he knew before he left, was ballsy. She was no holds barred, but dare I say, I've grown up. I hate to use that term because it suggests that the girl I was then was immature, not fully grown and capable of making life choices, such as who she wants to be with, and I don't see it that way. The way I see it, the time we spent apart these past few months was a test of sorts. It gave us both time to deal with what we were feeling. He thought I wanted Parker, and I know part of him still believes Parker would be better for me. I'm confident that's why he left, so he wasn't a factor. Everett would accept misery if it meant I was happy; what he doesn't understand is that I'd do the same. If I thought I couldn't be what he needed, I'd walk. That's why I've been careful since he came home. I'm all in. I've been all in for as long as I can remember, but seeing how feeling anything for me pains him every time we push a boundary kills me. A little space is good, or at least I hope it is. Right now, one night feels like one hundred years.

"So, if you had property, you'd plant roots? Doesn't that defeat the purpose of a tiny house?" I ask, taking a bigger drink of rum and coke. I made it stiff, hoping to relax my anxious mind.

"It does, but it doesn't mean the idea isn't nice. I don't see myself ever planting roots."

"Why is that?"

She mindlessly pokes the fire with a long stick as she stares at the flames. "Don't have anyone or anything to keep me rooted. So why stay?"

"You have Lauren. Is she not staying here? You guys have been here a little over a month now. I assumed maybe this place was starting to grow on the two of you."

My question is twofold. I do care how long Stormy stays. She's an acquired taste, but the same can be said about me, and I like her. I'd hate to have to say goodbye before we could be epic. She has a lot of Thelma and Louise potential, but I'm also selfishly wondering if that means Lauren isn't staying either.

"I don't know if Lauren has plans to stay here. She doesn't talk about it, but something happened here. Coming here wasn't easy for her, but she came, and while I know she did it for me, I'm hoping the time she spent away from here has healed her. I know time can't heal everything, but it can help." She takes a drink before asking, "What about you? Did I hear you mention to Lauren that you have family on the East Coast? Are you staying here for your crush on Everett, or do you have another reason for staying?"

I purse my lips trying to recall the conversation she's referencing. "Oh, you mean when she brought us lunch. Yeah, she was prying and asking what I was to Everett. I couldn't tell if it was because she was interested in dating him or genuinely curious. But yes, after my parents died, I found out that my brother was only my half brother. My father cut him from the will because he wasn't his blood."

"So your mom had an affair?"

I roll my lips before saying, "My father wrote a letter, which I received on my twenty-first birthday. It held apologies and cryptic confessions and said things without saying anything at all. My letter was written before he died, which means it was cautionary. No one knows how or when their time is up. I think he left some words unsaid because he was protecting my mom. He didn't want to shine a negative light on her." I take a sip of my drink and look up at the sky. "When it came to his words revolving around Kelce's paternity, he said, 'Time discovers the truth.' Those words, coupled with what I know about my parent's marriage, lead me to believe he didn't know the truth about his son until after I was born. My parents had a shotgun wedding after they found out she was pregnant. If I had to guess, my father learned that truth around the time I was born, and that's why he stayed with my mother."

I know my father; he was a planner and always careful with his words. He was a good man and would have never wanted to say anything that would lead me to believe I was the reason why he stayed in his loveless marriage. Once I notice a long stretch of silence has passed between us, I pull my gaze out of the stars, fearful I bored her to sleep with my tales. When my eyes look in her direction, I find hers zeroed in on me.

"Do you think your dad stayed faithful to your mom even after he discovered the truth?"

"You never did mention why you're here," I say, as I pull in an anxious breath and change the subject.

"Sorry, that was too personal." She rubs her hands together. "It hits close to home is all. I never knew my father, so I suppose some part of me always looks for his motive for leaving in other people's stories. I'm not the best at dealing with things that are important to me. I notoriously fuck up, but my intentions are always rooted in love. I'm rambling now, but long story short, the opinions of others easily impact our own. I wanted to scope out the people here before sharing myself. I guess I'm a little guarded, and my reason for being here is important. I didn't want to mess it up."

She pauses, and I can tell whatever she's holding isn't easy. I know what it's like to carry the weight of heavy demons, so I say, "You don't have to tell me. I didn't realize it was that serious. I'm only making con?—"

"No." She shakes her head. "It's okay. Have you ever felt like part of you is missing? Something you can't quite put your finger on? When my mother passed, it made me want to find my father. I hadn't cared about finding him when she was alive. Why should I give two shits about a sperm donor? But recently, I've cared. I've cared a lot."

Her comments resonate, but not because I didn't know my parents. Rather, I always felt like I had one parent, and the other one didn't fit. My mother and I were polar opposites. Don't get me wrong; I loved her, but that was out of respect for who she was—my mother. That love was not founded on bond or friendship. Regardless, I know what it's like to feel out of step, to feel like a part of you is missing even when you should be whole.

"I think sometimes it takes falling apart to fall back together. After I lost my parents, the grief I felt tested my faith. For a long time, I carried guilt because I wasn't in the car with them. I should have died too, and in that grief and loneliness, it's easy to also feel like something is missing because it is. The people woven into our hearts are gone, but at some point, you learn to rebuild around that loss, and slowly, piece by piece, you are whole again. Caring and seeking those truths are part of finding your pieces."

She leans back in her chair and stares up at the sky. "That was heavy." She blows out a breath. "But you're right. It's why I want to find my dad. I only ever had my mom's story. That's her truth, but what's his? Maybe they are one and the same, but I need to hear that from his mouth. Once I have that, maybe I'll discover I've been whole all along; my pieces just fit together differently now."

Her gaze returns to the fire, where she watches the flames dance across the logs, and I fall silent with her, lost to the serenity of the crackling embers. I sit back in my chair, feeling slightly lighter after our conversation. In this life, you don't run into many people that you can connect with on a deep level. At the end of the day, most of the people we call friends are acquaintances, more or less. We watch our P's and Q's, pick and choose what parts of us we want to share, and go on with our lives. Rarely do we sit and give them one hundred percent honesty about anything, let alone matters of the heart.

"So, if you're not planning on staying around, when are you leaving me?"

She tosses her poker stick into the fire. "I'm more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants girl. I'm not a planner, but I'm also not flighty. I'll stay for the summer to finish my commitments working at the stadium."

"Well, that's something to celebrate!" I shake my glass at her as I get out of my chair. "Ready for a refill?" I don't make it more than two steps before I trip over nothing and fall on my ass. "Shit, I made that drink stiffer than I thought."

She comes to my rescue with a smile on her face. "Are you okay?"

I stare up at her from my spot on the ground. "That fucking twig tripped me."

With a laugh, she extends her hand. "Come on, red, it's time for bed."

"Hey, a nickname, I think someone's starting to like me. Best friend title, here I come."

She laughs, "Let's go. You're cut off."

I could have sworn I left my phone in Stormy's room, but when I dropped her off this morning, it wasn't there. It wasn't anywhere in the damn house, and I know for a fact I had it when I got there because I texted her from the damn driveway, letting her know I was there before she told me to come in, and Mac texted while I was in her room. We don't have to be at the stadium today because the team has an away game, but I still woke up at the crack of dawn anxious as fuck to get home. If I had my phone, I might have had a little more chill, but the fact that I couldn't check it to see if Everett called or texted me was gnawing away at my sanity.

Driving down the tree-lined path that leads to the house, I step on the gas a little harder, only to pump the brakes as the house comes into view and I see the car parked in the driveway. Lauren fucking Rhodes is here. Pulling into the driveway, I try to quiet the voices in my head, filling it with doubt and going over every worst-case scenario as to why she would be here again. I flip down my mirror and check my face. Not only did I race out of the trailer to come home, but I also opted out of freshening up, a rare move on my part. I was so wired I couldn't help myself. Pro tip: buy good makeup. Good makeup wears well, and you don't wake up not looking like the girl he fell asleep next to.

When I attempt to open the front door, it's locked. "What the hell?" Everett has always been extra regarding security, but he's never been in the habit of locking doors when guests are over. I key in the code, and the door opens, but the second I step inside, I wish I hadn't.

"Oh, you're home. Did you and Stormy have fun last night?" Lauren says as she walks down the catwalk that stretches from the upstairs bedrooms to the open staircase. Why the fuck is she upstairs? "Stormy mentioned something about camping," she continues as she walks down the stairs. My ears hear her words, but my eyes are zeroed in on her appearance. Her hair is slightly mussed, and she's definitely wearing second-day mascara; one eye is darker than the other. Did she fucking sleep here? I've yet to find any words by the time she reaches the bottom and says, "I think you left this at my house last night." I look down and find my phone in her hand. My damn phone, the one I haven't been able to stop thinking about since I realized I left it behind. She swooped on it, no doubt realizing it was mine, and used it as an excuse to come here and see Everett rather than waiting until I brought Stormy home today.

"Thanks," I force out, even though it's the last sentiment I feel.

"Lauren," Everett's voice echoes from the hallway upstairs before he comes into view, and his eyes land on me.

"I'll see you later. Stormy mentioned picking Cameron up for today's game, and I think I might tag along. I should probably attend an away game to see the team in action and check out the competition." His eyes don't stray from mine as Lauren approaches the front door, but mine do. Fuck that. Right now, there are no words that would make any of this acceptable. I'm heading up the steps two at a time, eager to escape this hell I stepped into, when Lauren says, "It was good seeing you, Cameron. Bye, Everett."

The door closes at the exact moment Everett throws his arm out, catching me around the waist. "Don't touch me." I push venom into my voice as I try to shove down the hurt.

"Cameron, stop. It's not what it looks like."

I swat his arm away and step back. "Oh, so you didn't have a sleepover with another woman on the same night I said I wouldn't be home?"

"Cameron, it's not what you're thinking."

"And that wasn't a no," I say as I storm past him to my room and slam the door before he can follow me. There is no scenario that excuses letting another woman stay the night. He made a rule that I couldn't have guys over, and after everything we've shared recently, it shouldn't have to be said that the same rules apply to him. I guarantee if the roles were reversed, he'd be just as pissed. Locking the door, I slide down the back and squeeze my eyes closed.

I hear the front door open and close, and my heart cracks a little more. I don't know how much more it can take before all that's left is pieces. He didn't even try to convince me otherwise. He didn't fight for me. For us. "This is why you're building your own place, Cam."

My phone chimes, and I reluctantly pick it up. I don't want to talk to anyone, but I do because I had plans with Stormy anyway, and everyone knows the best way to get over something is to drown their problems in a bottle; any bottle will do.

Stormy: Did you find your phone?

Stormy: I just thought of something. If you didn't, I don't have a way of getting a hold of you. I guess I'll just show up at noon if I don't hear back.

I groan… and accidentally swipe out of responding, but when I do, another message catches my eye.

Everett (11:32 p.m.): Cameron, please answer me.

"What the hell?" I immediately click into the strand. "When did you send me this?"

Everett (5 p.m.): Where are you going tonight?

Everett (8:40 p.m.): Will you consider coming home tonight?

Everett (10:02 p.m.): Lauren is here.

He tried. He texted. He wanted me to come home, and he didn't hide her from me, but right now, his effort isn't taking center stage because something else is. How are the messages I received from him last night marked as read when I didn't have my phone? It's always locked.

"What are you up to, Lauren Rhodes?"

" I can't believe he hasn't put Parker in yet," I say as I try to lean over the stadium railing to get a better view of the dugout. "When did you last talk to him?"

"I saw him this morning, actually; he was fine. Maybe a little perturbed, but fine."

I do a double take at Stormy before resuming my study. Parker must really be interested if he stopped by her place before heading to the stadium to get on the bus.

"If he stopped by your place before the game, I bet he was late getting to the bus. That has to be why he didn't start."

"No, he didn't stay long at all. He didn't even come inside. I don't think he was late. That was his reasoning for not coming inside."

We are tied in the eighth inning, and bases are currently loaded. McKenna is pitching, and while he's doing a good job, the other team is making him throw. I can tell from here that the weight of the game, coupled with his pitch count, is getting the better of him right now. If I can see that, why hasn't Everett? He knows the game. That's when I catch movement from the dugout in my peripheral, and I see Parker storm down to the other side. Damn it, we should have sat on the other side. If we had sat behind the other team's dugout, I would have a better view of ours. It's easy to guess what's happening, even with an obstructed view. Parker is giving Everett an earful. The next thing I know, Everett leaves the dugout and walks out to the mound.

"He's pulling, McKenna."

"You think?" Stormy says, joining me at the rail.

"The coach can only walk out to the mound once during an inning to talk to the pitcher, and I doubt with bases loaded in the eighth it's a pep talk when his other starting pitcher hasn't entered the game." As McKenna walks off the mound, Everett squeezes his shoulder, and Parker jogs out. Fans clap as McKenna returns to the bench, and I call out, "Let's go, Park. You got this." He doesn't acknowledge me. I didn't expect him to; he's in beast mode now. But Everett does. His dark eyes zero in on mine as he walks off the field, like he's known exactly where I've been standing the entire game. Before he turns away, his eyes drop briefly to my jersey, and his jaw clenches. I'm wearing Parker's jersey. I kept the original uniforms that didn't fit. When I offered his to Stormy, she passed again, so I put it on. I didn't wear it as a dig at Everett. I wore it to support Parker. Either way, he's pissed, but the way I see it, if anyone has a right to be offended right now, it's me.

"I can't believe I'm nervous right now. Who am I?" Stormy screeches.

"A girl that wants some post-win action!" I say as I bump her hip.

"Oh, we're not screwing."

"What? Why not… I mean, unless you're waiting for marriage or something. That's totally cool."

She laughs. "No, I'm not waiting for marriage. You're cute. I told you I don't plan on sticking around, and I think we both know Parker isn't exactly fuck buddy material."

I already liked Stormy. Now I might love her a little. She's protecting his heart, which means she cares, and who can't respect that? "Well, damn. I was hoping one of us was getting laid." I grab her arm as Parker winds up. "Okay, this one counts."

Stormy's hand covers mine, and I can feel her tense up. She's into this too. Being a fan is very different when you have a personal connection to the players on the team. His first pitch is a perfect strike, right over the plate. Most first throws with a new pitcher are. Few batters will swing at the first pitch, but this guy not swinging will prove to be his mistake. Parker may not be the closer, but he's every bit as good and doesn't throw the same pitch twice. The difference between the two usually comes down to stamina and the diversity of pitches in their arsenal. Closers usually can't last as long as starters and usually don't have as many quality pitches. He threw the first ball right to him. All he had to do was swing. The next pitch won't be the same.

"Strike two," the ump calls out, and the Bulldogs fans cheer.

"That was his curveball."

"What's a curveball?"

"Seriously?' My grip on the railing slightly loosens before I tighten back up. "Don't worry about it now. All that matters is we need one more out, and he has one pitch left to get it." Technically, he could throw fifteen balls at this guy, but I'm not going to get into that. I'm pushing all my good juju into this next pitch.

He releases the ball, and the stadium practically cheers in unison as it hits the catcher's glove, and I start jumping up and down.

"Did we win? Does that mean we won?"

"No," I laugh. "We still have the ninth inning, but we held them back with bases loaded."

"Is now a good time to pee? I've been holding it for the past two innings, not wanting to miss Parker."

"Yeah, he won't bat, but hurry up."

No sooner than Stormy walks away, Lauren is at my side. After I picked myself up off the floor this morning and got a quick shower, I texted Stormy that I would pick her up just so we didn't have to carpool with Lauren. Riding with her was the last thing I wanted to do, but after I sent the text, I followed it up with a never mind. Your odds of winning your battles are greater when you know your enemy. I've had worse enemies. One that greets you while double-fisting two beers isn't too bad.

"Hey, I saw you had one of these, so I thought I'd grab you another while I got one for myself," Lauren says, stepping to my side.

I guess this isn't one of those stadiums that cuts the beer off early. Most minor league stadiums aren't, and this is a smaller venue that doesn't have the same backing as the Bulldogs.

"Thanks, can't turn down a free beer."

My eyes study her mannerisms as she sidles up to the rail to stand next to me. She is very pretty, and on the ride here, she and Stormy talked about the road trip they took through the Smoky Mountains last fall. Apparently, they broke down on the side of the road and ended up walking for two miles until they found a cabin where they could bum the Wi-Fi. When they walked up, they discovered the renters were there for a bachelor party. It sounded like they had a blast, and as I listened, a big part of me was jealous. I didn't get to have those experiences. I'm not sure I would have ever had them with my mom, but I know I would have had them with my dad.

"Are all the games this intense?" Lauren asks before drinking her beer.

"At this level, yes, most games are close. Sometimes you run into a team that's playing just for fun, but most of the time, it's pretty competitive." She nods as she scans the field. "Do you follow baseball, or is this an Everett thing?"

My comment about Everett doesn't faze her in the least, which leads me to believe she was expecting it. "I'm not a stranger to the sport. I dated a few players back in my day, but I don't turn it on TV or go to games for the joy of it. As far as your Everett comment goes…" She glances at me and cocks a brow. "You think Everett would be easily duped by a fair-weather fan like me?"

"No," I answer surely, even though I know she already knew that. But I play along.

"Yeah, I didn't think so. Good thing that with age comes a few new tricks."

Before I can respond or give her comment any real thought, the sound of a ball clanging off a bat steals my focus as I watch Gunner hit a home run.

"No freaking way!" I say as I watch him round the bases. A home run in the ninth in a tied game is just what we needed. I know that run just pumped up the bench. There is no way the guys are going to lose now. I feel it in my soul.

"What did I miss?" Stormy says, stepping up to my right.

"Number nine just hit a home run," Lauren answers.

"Hey, since you and Stormy have been hanging out and Everett and I are old friends, what if we do a barbeque this weekend?"

Is she for real? She's asking me this right now. Now the real reason she bought me a beer comes out.

"If you're trying to win me over to get to Everett, you're barking up the wrong tree. It's not like he's my dad. Getting on my good side won't win you any points with him."

"Oh, come on, you couldn't call a cab!" Stormy yells from beside me, and both Lauren and I turn to her, our mouths agape. I know she says she's leaving, but I think this town is growing on her, or maybe it's just the guy on the bench because the uninterested girl who walked into the team shop with a take it or leave it attitude looks like she's starting to care. "What? He was calling those balls strikes and they were clearly low and right of the plate."

By the time I turn back to the game, stunned that she used the correct terminology after not knowing what a curve ball was, the Bulldogs are retaking the field. Damn. We only got one run, but one is all we need to win. Now, we just need to hold them.

"Come on, Park, you got this!" I yell out as he takes the field. On the outside, I don't look the part of a super fan. Apart from today's jersey, I'm typically overdressed for a ballgame. But I've basically lived at the fields for the past five years. I started coming to games to get closer to Connor, and it didn't hurt that Everett tried to attend every game. The love of the game sneaks up on you, and before you know it, you're drinking beer because that's all they have at most fields and hollering like a trucker.

"So, Sunday?"

Jeez, she is persistent. I thought she'd drop it after my comment and Stormy's interruption, but that was wishful thinking.

"Tomorrow, Sunday?"

"Strike!" The ump yells.

"Two more, Park. Let's go!" I take a drink of my beer, which is getting warm. "I'll have to check with Everett. I know he's been busy between filling in for Connor and working at the firm."

"Foul ball."

I'm missing the end of the game with all these questions. The next pitch connects with the bat and is caught by the shortstop.

"As long as you don't have any plans tomorrow, I don't think there are any schedule conflicts. I already mentioned it to Everett last night. He said he just needed to run it by you. So here we are."

They talked about it last night! Ugh, I mentally groan and try my best not to let my annoyance show that she was at the house with him last night and I wasn't. At least he didn't commit to another dinner date.

"I'm supposed to hang out with Parker and Nash tomorrow," Stormy says.

Oh, hell no, I will not be the third wheel again. "Parker can come too. When Connor is in town, we always make Sunday barbeques a thing. Tell him to bring Nash too." If Everett is going to throw the doors open, so am I, rules be damned.

"Strike!"

The roar of the stadium drowns out any more words as the guys all rally around Parker, smacking his hat and ass before lining up to shake hands.

"Come on. Let's go down," I say as I pull Stormy behind me to get closer to the field so we can congratulate Parker on his win. The second we get to the fence, Parker runs down the field toward us. He jumps the fence in one hop, and I step out of the way so he can get to Stormy, but it's not her he was after. The next thing I know, he's spinning me in his arms.

"Did you see that?"

"Yeah, Park, you looked good out there. I'm pretty sure I heard a scout from the Arizona Arrows was here." He squeezes my ass hard before setting me on my feet and pulling my face to his and placing a closed-mouth kiss on my lips.

My hands immediately find his chest as I push him back. "Parker—" I start, only to be cut off.

"What the hell was that, Michaelson?" Everett barks, storming up behind me.

"What was what? Me winning the game and making you look good?"

"You know I didn't call you to the mound. Jenson is our closer."

Fuck. Now I get it. Parker was using me. He's using me to get to Everett. That's still really shitty of him to do to Stormy. I know she said they aren't hooking up, but I know feelings are involved either way.

"This ends now, Parker. What the hell is your problem? You've made me your enemy since I returned from Boston. The least you can do is tell me why."

"You really want to do this here?" Parker questions.

"I don't see why not. I have nothing to hide. I haven't wronged you."

"Moira is cheating on my dad."

"What?" Everett questions, his face marred with confusion. "How is that my problem?"

"Because you couldn't satisfy her, she had to look elsewhere. Now she's my problem. My dad doesn't deserve that. You know what he went through losing my mom, and now he's with your slut ex-wife?—"

Everett cuts him off, grabbing him by his jersey. "Moira is many things, but a slut isn't one of them."

"If you're going to hit me, go ahead. I'd love a reason to wipe the holier-than-thou look off your face. It doesn't belong there."

The two of them are locked in a staring contest, a test of wills. I know Everett doesn't go around looking for fights, but Parker has been asking for one. The last thing either of them needs right now is to make more of a scene. Everett is currently the face of the Bulldogs as the head coach, and if the scout from Arizona is still here, this won't look good, so I step in.

"Everett, come on. Let it go. This isn't the place. You got your answer," I slide my hand up the front of Parker's shirt and attempt to look like I'm fixing the top button. "People are watching, and this isn't a good look. Let it go."

Everett slowly releases his shirt, and his hands move to his hips. "What proof do you have?"

"An address in Texas that belongs to a Chad Hailsop. She tells us she's going there to help her friend Courtney with the Uplift Women's Charity Gala, but she doesn't stay with her or at the Four Seasons she claims to have a standing reservation at. Every week, she's gone a minimum of three consecutive nights. Every time she's gone, she's with him."

Everett drops his head, and I see it. He knows something, or if he doesn't, at the minimum, he has a suspicion. They were married for over twenty years. How could he not? However, he wouldn't say anything even if he did.

"Have you mentioned your theory to your father?"

"No," he clips out.

"Don't." When Everett looks back up, his eyes flick between us before landing on mine. "Are you with him?"

"What?" I question.

"You're wearing his jersey, and when I walked over here, his mouth was on yours. So I'll ask again, are you with him?"

"No, that wasn't?—"

He tosses me his keys. "Go wait in the car."

I don't hesitate. I'm already pissed at Parker for pulling that stunt as it is. He promised he wouldn't use me, and he did. When I steal a glance at Stormy, she shoves her hands in the front pockets of her jeans and walks with me.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know Parker would do that. I hope you know it didn't mean anything. He was using me to get a rise out of Everett."

"I know," she answers, her tone indifferent. I'm not sure I'd be as unfazed as she seems to be had the roles been reversed.

"Are you sure you're not upset? I consider you a friend, and I try not to hurt the people I care about."

I hear her sigh as we walk. "I learned a long time ago to let go of things I can't change. Being unbothered doesn't mean I'm oblivious. It means I'm choosing not to engage."

Fucking solid advice if I ever did hear any. Now, mirroring that enlightenment will be the task.