Chapter 6
Cam
Reynolds got off his shift an hour ago, and since then, we’ve been steadily working our way through as much alcohol as we can handle.
Seeing Rafe tonight, and the way he let his guard down for a moment, was the worst kind of torture.
We’ve interacted since I came back—mostly through me annoying him or a casual hey if we both left the house at the same time—but it hasn’t been anything personal.
Nothing familiar or worth holding on to.
Nothing that lights me up inside like the memory of his touch on my face …
The Ugly Mug is standing room only after tonight’s festival, and I scan the crowd, hoping to see Rafe even though I know it’s hopeless.
He would have gone home after he finished packing up with his parents.
His friends are all in their usual booth, and I feel a pang of sadness that he doesn’t ever seem to do anything anymore.
“Do you think it’s weird,” Reynolds says, pressing his long fingers to the table between us, “that wool shrinks when it’s wet, but sheep don’t?”
I crack a smile. He’s three sheets to the wind already. “It would be the … something. They put something in it. The wool.”
“You think?” His eyes squint up as he thinks.
“How the hell should I know? I’m not a wool … er? Woolier?” I squint my eyes up as I think. “Whatever it is, I don’t know, man.”
“Do you know that every C in Pacific Ocean is pronou-nenced differently?”
“I think every letter you’re saying right now is pronounced differently.” It’s fun to tease him, but I’m no better. The room is getting kinda hazy, and even though there’s a pit in my gut that won’t shift, it’s easier to act like there’s nothing wrong.
“So I know why I’m a drunk mess tonight. What’s your story?”
He quickly looks away and sways slightly in his seat. “Nothing.”
Uh-huh. I’ll believe that never. “It doesn’t have anything to do with a certain guy you’ve been pining over since high school?”
That gets his attention. Reynolds swings back on his stool so fast I’m worried it’ll knock over. “What are you—what do you—”
“If you wanted it to be a secret, you probably should have hidden it better.”
“Fuck.” He almost looks scared, which is weird. “You can’t tell Matti.”
“I’ve known this whole time and never said anything. If it helps, the guy I’m into has a girlfriend too.”
“A girlfriend?” he repeats. “Arlo has a boyfriend.”
“Wait, Arlo?” I wasn’t expecting that. “Matti’s little brother? Umm. Right. Okay.” I’m barely keeping my laughter in. The only thing giving me any type of restraint is that, boyfriend or girlfriend, I know exactly how he feels. Miserable.
“Normally we get together when he’s in town, but I guess not this time. So I want to drink and do something stupid. And that something stupid won’t be hooking up with Arlo because he’s got a stupid boyfriend who is stupid.”
“Say ‘stupid’ again.”
“Stoopid.”
“Want to go pick up?”
“So I can end up sobbing all over the guy? Nope.” He pops the p and takes another sip of his drink.
I guess that explains why Reynolds barely ever hooks up with guys, whereas I don’t have that reservation.
He’s still holding out hope for Arlo, whereas I’ve well and truly come to terms with the fact that there’s no hope for me.
If Rafe and Laura are still together so long, I have to assume it’s forever.
I slide my glass into the middle of the table, leaving a long watermark behind. “I think we’re both sufficiently de-runk and de-pressed.”
“You’re slurring your words.”
“That makes two of us.”
He slumps down farther. “I don’t wanna go home yet.”
Neither do I. Which is what I get for being a desperate dumbass and buying that house. Will I move though? Never. Because while I’m there, I will always have a part of him, no matter how small that part is. I’m just not looking forward to sharing that part with a potential wife and kids. Ouch.
Nope, abort that. Reroute thinking. New topic. Like how I can piss Rafe off again.
An idea starts to build in my brain that’s both stupid and tempting.
“Maybe we could do something fun?” I suggest.
“Like?”
I fill him in on my dumbass plan that’s surely going to be annoying enough to get Rafe’s attention. And it’s a sign of exactly how drunk we are that he thinks it’s the most ingenious idea to have ever idea-ed.
We stumble through the crowd of people, giggling like we’re five years old.
“This is dumb,” I admit through a smile. “So dumb. Come on, let’s try the all-night gas station.”
His shoulders shake with suppressed laughter, and even when we enter the brightly lit store and fill our basket with as many packets of forks as we can carry, our stupid grins don’t falter.
My house is slightly uphill, in a street of nearly identical two-story Craftsman-style homes on one side of the street and overgrown trees and shrubs on the other.
It’s late—the only light is from the few streetlights, and thankfully, Rafe’s house is dark and sleepy, even though both cars are in the driveway.
“Think he’ll catch us?” Reynolds asks in what I’m assuming is meant to be a whisper.
“Shh.” I shove him.
He shoves me back.
“What time is it?” I ask.
He lifts his phone right to his face and squints at the display. “I can’t read it.”
“Maybe you should turn it on first?”
“Oh.” The phone lights up. “It’s twelve … no. One fifty-seven.”
“Good. We’ll be fine. Just keep it down.”
Unfortunately, trying to keep quiet and tearing open containers of metal forks isn’t the easiest thing to pull off.
It doesn’t help that we keep dissolving into fits of giggles as we work.
Just the thought of Rafe’s face when he sees this is enough to set me off, and damn I wish I could be there to see it.
Reynolds stabs the last fork into the ground, and we stand back to admire our handiwork. Rafe’s entire front lawn is covered in lines of metal fork handles, and right in the middle is his name, surrounded by a giant love heart.
“Went overboard with that, didn’t you?” Reynolds asks.
“He’ll assume I’m trying to annoy him.”
My friend narrows his eyes at me. “This can’t be healthy.”
“What isn’t? Spending an hour in the middle of the night sticking cutlery into the grass of a guy I’ve been hung up on since we were teenagers even though he’s in a relationship? What’s unhealthy about that?”
“I stand corrected.”
We crack up laughing again, probably too loudly to be safe, but I can’t make it stop.
Then we hear something from inside.
“Quick, run.”
We break into a sprint, and ahead of me, Reynolds vaults the hedge fence separating the yards. I try to follow him—
—and epically miss.
“Damnshitfuck.” I land heavily on a bunch of metal handles, and pain explodes across my ribs that even the alcohol doesn’t numb. That’s going to hurt tomorrow.
“Shit, you okay?” Reynolds whisper-shouts.
“Ow …”
Hands haul me to my feet, and I somehow stumble after Reynolds, up my front stairs, and into my house, slamming the front door behind us.
Something connects with my shoulder, over and over, slowly bringing me back to consciousness. I shift slightly and—nope. My head throbs, nausea tightening my gut.
“Wake up, asshole.”
Not even the sound of Rafe’s voice makes me feel better. I groan, hoping that translates into please go and leave me alone to die.
He kicks me again.
Apparently he doesn’t speak self-pity, then.
I twist my head to peek up at him, and only then do I realize that my body is on the couch but my head is on the floor. “Morning, sunshine,” I mutter, lacking my usual commitment.
“You look like shit.”
“And you’re a vision.” He is, of course; I’m just too hungover to appreciate it. It looks like he’s dressed for church.
“At least I have my answer for why,” he says.
“Why what?”
“Why I was almost blinded this morning when I went to make my coffee and looked out my window into what felt like direct sunlight.”
I tilt my head and it throbs at me again. “Why were you looking at the sun?”
“I wasn’t. Someone decided to fill my lawn with reflective surfaces last night. What the hell were you thinking?”
“Thinking?” I lift a finger. “First of all, there was no thinking. Second of all, you have no proof it was me.”
He crosses his arms, and I try not to notice how tight his shirt pulls over his biceps. “Except your partner in crime gave you up the second he answered the door.”
I scowl. Damn, Reynolds. “He’s still drunk. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“Right. So when he said the forks were Cam, he read my mind, did he?”
I pretend to gasp. “The guy’s psychic?”
Finally, Rafe’s lips twitch with a smile. “You spelled it wrong, by the way.”
“What?”
“My name. It’s A-E-L not E-A-L.”
Urg. Drunk brain is drunk because I know that, of course. “Reynolds did it.” My voice sounds croaky as I force myself back up to sit on the couch. The whole thing makes my gut swim and sets off a dull throb in my ribs.
“He didn’t.” Rafe’s voice is sure, and when I look up at him, there’s that look again. The one that’s confused but unwavering. I’m not sure he’s aware of it, so I don’t know if it means anything or I want it to.
I can’t hold his stare. “I’ll be sure to correct that for next time.”
“No next time.” Then he surprises me by lowering himself on the other end of the couch. “You know you’ll be picking every one of them up, right?”
I snort. “Zero chance of that happening.”
“You don’t want me to have to retaliate.”
“You? Retaliate?” If I wasn’t so hungover, I’d laugh. “I’d forking love for that to happen, so not much of a threat.”
He’s actually smiling. “Can’t we call a truce?”
“And have Casagnoma get lonely? No chance.”
“Thought he wasn’t yours?”
“I will deny everything.”
He’s silent for a moment. “What do I have to do to get you to quit it?”
I’m not expecting the question. My tongue darts over dry lips, leaving a stale taste behind.
Rafe seems to be sincerely asking, but my brain is too muddled for an actual conversation.
All I know is if I stop the dumb jokes, I stop all contact between us.
I … I can’t. “That’ll never happen. I like annoying you too much.
” What I don’t like is how my response makes him frown.
“Why aren’t we friends anymore?” he asks.
Ouch. That’s not a question I’m interested in answering. So I put it back on him. “You’re the one who never talks to me anymore.” Even though I cut contact first.
“We’re talking now.”
“Yeah. Because I fucked up your lawn.”
“That’s not the only time we talk.”
“Isn’t it?” I pin him with a look. “It’s either because I’ve pissed you off or because I’ve approached you.” I force my most flippant tone. “Total BFFs.”
My eyes close as I drop my head against the back of the couch. I can’t have this conversation right now. I’m very worried my brain-to-mouth filter is defective, and there’s a whole lot in my brain that I don’t want Rafe knowing.
“Cam, I—”
“I’ll think about it. Happy? You should probably hurry or you’ll be late for church.”
“Why don’t you go anymore?”
“Because apparently where I stick my dick is a valid conversation topic there.”
“Oh.”
I sneak a glance at him to find he’s biting his nail again.
“Maybe I could hang out here, then?” he suggests.
My heart kicks up a beat. “Instead of going to church with Laura?”
“Y-yeah …?”
Damn, I want to say yes.
To make him stay and watch TV and hang out and talk about dumb shit. Like old times.
But the hesitancy in his tone makes me close my eyes again. Rafe is clearly only offering for … well, I’m not sure what for, but it’s clear he doesn’t mean it. He’s terrified I’ll say yes.
So I do what I always do and put him first.
“Maybe another day. I’m tired.”
“Cam—”
“Close the door on your way out.”
His loud exhale hits the air between us, but I don’t acknowledge it. A moment later, he stands up and leaves.
Then, I spend the rest of the morning trying to forget his offer to stay.