Page 148 of The Comedown

But if Collette’s crying while she’s at home with Holter, how could she miss him? Maybe that’s not why she’s crying.

What is she crying about?

I glance over at the beach bar where Collette’s placing her order. The hotel’s got a stretch of private beach, and they reserved the end of it just for us for a little more privacy. I spy enough motherfuckers sporting telephoto lenses sprinkled in with the other hotel guests to know we’re not actually flying under the radar though. They’re getting their shots regardless. Same as the dozens of regular guests sprawled out on their blankets, pretending to talk on their phones that are all coincidentally aimed our way. Most of them are somewhat pulling it off, but a few forgot to turn off their flashes, giving them away every time their phone lights up.

Fucking scavengers. As of my birthday a couple weeks ago, Collette and I aren’t hiding our relationship—or whatever it’s called—anymore, but the public still wants any juicy detail they can get from us. We haven’t exactly put a label on us, but there is an us which is all I give a shit about, along with the fact that I can touch and kiss her whenever the fuck I want now. I mean, I try to do Holter a solid by not slipping his mom the tongue in front of him, but otherwise it’s fucking on. No more pretending, no more holding back. Physically.

Everything else…we’re both still holding back. I shared my past life with Collette but haven’t been completely open with her about my present life. Even though I’m pretty sure she has a good idea what happens on my bus, I still keep who I am with her separate from the person I become over there.

She’s still holding back on me, too. Like what I think she was about to say to me the morning after my birthday. I think it was the same thing I was about to say to her but chickened out on. I want to tell Collette I love her. I will tell her. I just…want a little more time with her before I fuck it up. If I fuck it up.

I did every other time. That’s why I don’t let myself love anyone anymore.

But I didn’t just fall for Collette. I fucking dove. So, now I gotta do everything I can to make sure I don’t fuck it up, starting with figuring out what really went down with Bodee. And why Collette cries herself to sleep at night when she’s home. I don’t know if the two are related, but I don’t know that they’re not. I do know she hasn’t had a real relationship with anyone since Bodee. I know she admitted to putting work over love because of her parents’ all-consuming relationship, but also secretly wishes she had what they had, or at least a healthier version of it. Even I found myself wanting a love like Collette’s parents when I heard her talking about them. Not the selling-their-daughter-off part because fuck that. More so the crepe part, the traditions-that-make-a-house-feel-like-a-home part—I want that. I want it all.

But still not the giving-anyone-away part. I let too many people in my life slip through my fingers already and I’m not doing that shit again.

Maybe that’s why Collette cries…because she wants the same thing.

“How about we let your mom sleep in tomorrow and you and I can check out the gym first thing in the morning,” I tell Holter. That can be a tradition, between me and him. We can work out together. His throws are almost knocking my ass over and he don’t even have real biceps yet. If his little twig arms can do that, kid’s gonna be a fucking machine after putting on some muscle.

Holter doesn’t even try hiding his suspicion, asking, “You work out?”

I snort like it hasn’t been months since I even looked at a weight.

It’s like riding a bike.

Probably.

Guess I’m finding out tomorrow morning.

“Don’t make me have to show you up in front of all these girls,” I say with a knowing grin. I see the way he’s been eyeing all the teenage girls out here on vacation with their parents. One of them already tossed a Frisbee over with her number written on it. Holter blushed, kinda like he’s doing now, before tossing it back to her with an apology. He’s still talking to that girl he took out to dinner in Cali. At least that’s who I assume he’s texting every minute of every hour of every day.

Holy shit, people with money are different, even their kids. With their smartphones, and unlimited plans, and their reliable fucking networks, they want—and get—twenty-four-hour access to whoever they’re interested in. They don’t have the attention span to wait for nights and weekends to make calls, or God forbid, deal with spotty reception. They have no idea what it’s like to pine after something or someone. None. That’s why all the new songs are shit, and everyone is gobbling up old-school stuff again. Back then, going without was a regular part of life, and it made for great fucking music.

A screaming crowd coming down the boardwalk snags my eye, and I glance at Bare, who’s already out of his seat, trying to determine whose direction he should go in—Collette’s or Holter’s. I don’t even know what to tell him either. Are they coming this way?

Another dumb question. Of course, they’re coming this way. But why are they screaming? And…not running? Usually the screaming goes hand in hand with ankle-breaking sprints, but this mob is moving at a snail’s pace.

Whatever’s happening, I just need to make sure both Holter and Collette are covered.

I turn the opposite way and launch the ball into the air in a high arc.

“What was that?” Holter laughs. “Sun get in your eyes?”

“Must’ve,” I mutter while he offers to get it just like I knew he would.

To Bare, I gesture at Collette, walking backward to make sure I keep myself between Holter and the boardwalk clusterfuck.

Collette looks up from her spot at the bar, and at first nothing on her changes, then ever so slightly her spine stiffens as she pulls her shoulders back, almost like she’s preparing for a fight. And now I wish I would’ve went for her and put Bare on Holter because if she’s fightin’, I’m fightin’. Simple as that.

Who’s she fighting though? She doesn’t even have a blade on her, only because there was nowhere to put one in the bikini she’s wearing.

Bare posts himself next to her, saying something in her ear, but she shakes her head before throwing a cautious look over her shoulder. But her eyes never touch me. No, they’re all for her boy.

Holter jogs up to me, asking, “What’s my dad doing here?”

Finally, a good question ’cause what is Bodee doing here?