Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Camille: You had a ring.
Killion: Yes, I had a ring.
Camille: Where do we go from here, Kill? I . . . you can’t . . . I have a life.
Killion: You do.
Camille: I’m here temporarily.
Killion: Why are you here?
Camille: My company grew too fast. I couldn’t keep up with production and I need an investor. I mean, we haven’t signed the contract yet because I need to show that I’m indeed worth the money they plan on injecting.
Killion: So you still need the money for production?
Camille: I currently have a loan, but yes, I still need more.
Killion: I can invest.
Camille: I’m trying to avoid you. That would be stupid of me.
Killion: I know of a physical trainer who might be interested in investing.
Camille: Really? Who’s this made-up person, Kill?
Killion: Scottie.
Camille: Scottie is a physical trainer? Wasn’t she a soccer player?
Killion: She retired a couple of years ago. For someone who doesn’t like us, you seem to be keeping up with my family—a lot.
Camille: I don’t know your family. I don’t like you. But also, it’s hard to avoid the Crawfords. You’re everywhere.
Killion: That we are. So what do you say, can I connect you with Scottie?
Camille: Nope. That’d be too close to you.
Killion: Yeah, but wouldn’t you prefer someone who might be in this because she believes in your philosophy rather than just taking your money?
Camille: Don’t you use logic on me, Killion. I’m still angry at you.
Killion: I was a very stupid kid.
Camille: You had a ring.
Killion: I loved you and planned to spend the rest of my life with you.
Camille: What was really your plan?
Killion: You could transfer to NYU or Columbia. If not, we could commute from Boston to New York. I don’t know, I thought . . . okay, I didn’t have a good plan. And maybe my father was a little right about the part that we weren’t ready for that.
Camille: We’ll never know.
Killion: Would you have come with me?
Camille: No what-ifs, Killion. I’m not going there. I’m pissed and the worst part is that all my friends are busy and no one can take my call.
Killion: What is more important than their friends?
Camille: Their families, jobs, spouses. They have lives and they’re all the way on the West Coast so no way to get their attention.
Killion: I have some wine if you want to talk.
Camille: Have you ever come close to . . .?
Killion: To?
Camille: Nevermind.
Killion: What can I do for you?
Camille: If I were into physical violence I would ask you to let me use you as a punching bag.
Killion: Ouch. Not sure if my insurance covers angry ex-girlfriend.
Camille: I wouldn’t break your arm. How much is that insured for?
Killion: I can’t tell you, and next year when I sign again, they’ll be adding a bigger policy.
Camille: When are you retiring?
Killion: I have at least five more years. I’m still in good form.
Camille: What if you find someone, fall in love and marry? Would you retire for her?
Killion: Do you want me to retire for you? I’ll do it. If that’s what gives me my second chance I’d tell my agent right now. Fuck the season.
Camille: I don’t know how to take that last statement. But I would never make anyone choose between their future and mine.
Killion: So maybe you get it. I didn’t want you to have to choose or mess up your future.
Camille: Okay, you want to go down that road . . . What if I had been given a choice? What if we had decided to break up—mutually? Not saying: you get it, right? Because I didn’t fucking get it.
Killion: I’m sorry.
Camille: I honestly don’t know what to do with this information. Why would you even tell me?
Killion: Can we talk in person?
Camille: Let me finish my dinner and shower. I’ll text you.
Killion: Thank you.