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Or maybe it’s the fact that reality forced my hand that night as those waves rolled up over my feet, stealing more than just the sand from under me. Everything I thought I might one day have washed out to sea.
My second home took my maybe, my hope, and my virginity.
When I thought of the future, the possibility of me and my brother’s best friend was always present. I spent so many years with the same images in my head that I don’t even know how to imagine anything else. It’s as painful as it is annoying.
But miss our boys’ first game as college athletes?
I could never.
I meet Cameron’s gaze. “I’ll be there.”
She nods, inspecting her cuticles, her voice barely a whisper. “I hear you some nights, you know.” Her eyes lift to mine. “You’re not as quiet as you think you are.”
I pull in a long, steady breath. “I’m okay, Cam. I swear.”
“I can’t help you let go, if you don’t let me try.”
“I know.” I look away. “But his is on me, and I have to work through it on my own. It’s the only way.”
“Promise you’ll try harder?” she whispers.
My lips curve and I lift my hand, my best friend coming in for a quick hug.
“I will.”
“K.” She squeezes me before pulling away and heading for my door. “I’m going to get ready. I leave in twenty if you change your mind.”
I nod, appreciating Cameron even more. She knows my staying in has nothing to do with homework, and she’s allowing it because she knows it’s what I need.
I meant what I said about trying harder. I’m so over myself, and ready to get rid of this hollowness consuming me, but despite our conversation, I still pass on her every invitation the days that follow, and when game night finally rolls around that next weekend, my nerves are going haywire.
I’m rigid all over, the ache in my shoulders bone deep from drawing them in so tight without realizing it. I’m just ready to get there, and sadly, for it to be over.
“Hurry up, hooker!” I shout, pacing the entryway to our dorm room.
I take a deep breath, wringing my hands in the air, quickly dropping them to my sides when Cam’s door is thrown open.
“Chill, ho-bag, I’m ready.”
She walks down the hall, and I can’t help but smile.
“Aww, you look so cute!”
She has Chase and Brady’s numbers written on her cheeks in eyeliner, and Mason’s painted on her white T-shirt, in big bold, blue glitter paint. She’s got her famous Cam daisy dukes on and strappy gold gladiator sandals. Her blonde hair is up with big curls in it. She’s adorable.
“Wait, wait!” She spins and the number four is written along the back. She peeks at me over her shoulder. “Had to rep Trey, too.”
We laugh and she turns to the long mirror hanging on the back of the door, rolling her eyes when I tug it open.
“Good thinking. Now let’s go.” I nudge her into the hall, and we make our way to the elevator.
Inside, Cam looks me over. “You could have worn Mason’s practice jersey or something.”
I scowl at her reflection in the standard silver doors. “I’m wearing an Avix football shirt.”
“Yeah, with joggers and your old dog-walking Uggs.”
“Don’t start.”
She tightens her ponytail. “I take it you’re not going to party with us after?”
“No.”
She growls. Literally. And whips around to face me. “I swear to Jesus, Arianna Johnson—”
The door pops open and I shush her, but she flips me off.
“Don’t shush me, get a grip and come out!” she hisses, but her pout slips as does the slouch of her shoulders. “Chase will be there, so what?! Big freakin’ deal!”
Panicked, I look around, taking in the curious glances we’re getting as we walk through the common area. “Cameron, stop.”
Her eyes flash. “Fuck these gossipy bitches. Like I care.”
I jump forward, planting my feet in front of her. “I care, all right? I don’t need people to know my business!”
“What business would that be, ‘cause the way I see it, you have none!”
“Would you stop and process this for a minute. Do you really think I want to go watch girls throw themselves at Chase—a football player, in a football house, after the first home football game of the year?” My brows rise.
Her eyes fall.
“I want to go watch my brother and my friends play, that’s it. Find someone else to sit with or get over it.”
“Whatever.” She purses her lips, studies me for a moment, then stomps past me. “But for the record, I’m not going to stop asking you to come out, so you can get over that.”
A grin slips over my face, and I step through the door she holds open for me, a big, fake smile on her rosy lips.
Only once we’re through the gate and taking our seats in the stadium, do I turn to Cameron.
