Page 64

"Unconscionable. I know. Laine said the same word, apparently." I studied her face, the genuine anguish there. "The question is, what happens now?"

"I don't know. I don't know how to fix this."

"You can't fix it. Some things can't be fixed. You can only... do better going forward."

"Can we try? To do better?" Cam leaned forward slightly, desperate. "I know I don't deserve another chance. I know I fucked up in ways that probably can't be forgiven. But I want to try. I want to be someone who doesn't hurt people that I—people who matter."

I noticed the correction. The way she'd stopped herself from saying whatever she'd been about to say.

And I noticed that she'd said she was attracted to me. That she'd admitted it out loud while crying. That sitting here on this bench, looking at me with those devastated eyes, she was being more honest than I'd ever seen her.

More honest than I'd thought she was capable of being.

That had to count for at least a little bit.

"So we both have trauma," I said, aiming for levity and mostly missing. "Great foundation for... whatever this is."

“What does that make us now? Friends?”

"God, no. I still think you're uptight and emotionally constipated. Though clearly less constipated than I thought, if this—" I gestured at her tear-stained face. "—is any indication."

"I still think you're chronically online."

"See? Common ground. We mutually annoy each other." I took a sip of coffee, tried to figure out what I was feeling. "I'm not saying I forgive you. I'm not saying we're okay. But I'm saying... I hear you. I understand being scared. I understand making terrible choices because you're terrified."

"That's more than I deserve."

"Way more than you deserve. But I'm choosing to be generous today. Don't get used to it."

Cam's mouth twitched in an almost-smile, but didn't quite make it all the way. "Noted."

We sat in silence for a moment, boats moving across the harbor, the morning stretching out around us. Cam finished her sandwich mechanically, and I noticed some color returning to her face.

Finally, she spoke again, her voice quieter now but steadier.

"For what it's worth, you were right. About everything. I am scared. I am hiding. And calling it privacy doesn't change the fact that I'm not brave enough to be myself."

"For what it's worth," I replied, "you play beautiful basketball. Even I can see that. I've been watching your games."

Cam's eyes widened slightly. "You have?"

"Don't sound so shocked. I can be interested in things that aren't Instagram and coffee." I felt myself blushing. “I’ve been looking up your past games. And I've been... paying attention. You're really good, Cam. Like, scary good. The way you read plays before they happen? It's kind of incredible."

"I didn't think you—"

"Cared? Noticed? Was capable of appreciating your athletic excellence?" I shrugged. "I'm full of surprises. Most of them annoying."

"Not all of them."

The way she said it, soft and genuine, made my heart swell.

Damn it. Not now. Not when she'd just spent twenty minutes crying and apologizing. Not when my entire understanding of our dynamic had just shifted beneath my feet.

"We should probably get back," I said, standing before this conversation could get more vulnerable. "Some of us have insurance claims to process. And you need to sleep. And eat more. And maybe see a therapist about your tendency to self-destruct when you have feelings."

"Harper—"

"I'm serious. You look like hell. Go home. Sleep. Take care of yourself. We can figure out the rest later."