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"It's Lucy," she says.
"I know," I clip. Because I've suddenly turned into a dick.
She lets out a heavy breath. "I'm sorry for calling. I didn't mean to disturb you." She sniffs once. Is she crying? Fuck. I've made her cry.
Then the phone cuts out, or at least that's what I tell myself, because I really don't want to believe that she hung up on me.
I try calling back.
Six times.
She never answers.
***
Spending the day with Dad meant sitting around his hotel room while his phone was glued to his ear. He's a hot-shot sports agent from New Jersey and came here to see a sophomore that has so much potential pitching talent, the MLB were already chasing him. I didn't tell him that I was friends with the kid he was meeting with. If my dad knew that we went to the same school, he never mentioned it. And if Jake was interested in my dad representing him then he'd make that choice without any influence from me. He did ask me what my season's batting average was, but his phone rang before I got a chance to answer. And that was that.
I tried calling Lucy.
Three times.
She never answered.
"What's with you, Cam? You've been so out of it lately." Logan's gaze follows some blonde across the room. When his eyes finally leave her, he takes a swig of his beer, then points it at me. "Where the hell have you been lately?"
I shrug and play dumb just as two girls walk up to us. And that's when I know that whatever 'boys night' Logan had planned for us is no longer in play. He and Jake will have their hands full in two seconds. And me—all I can think about is the sad, broken girl I've been spending way too much time dreaming about.
So it's no surprise at all I leave the party and end up where I am... walking down her stupidly long driveway. It's past ten, and the inside of the house is dark. I take the steps to get to their lit-up closed in porch, where she currently stands with her back turned. She's in her pajamas; yellow with blue books on them. "Lucy?"
She slowly spins around—her hair a curtain around her face. And then she looks up...
If heartbreak had a sound, it would be her sob.
She lifts the watering can in her hand and waves it slowly around her. "These were hers," she whispers, pointing the can to the pots of roses around her. Her eyes bore into mine when she continues. "I keep thinking that if I keep them alive, then maybe she'll come back." Her tears fall, but she doesn't wipe them away. I cover the distance to get to her. I don't touch her. I don't speak. I don't know what the hell to do. "Do you think it'll work, Cameron? Do you think she'll come back? If I take care of things like she did... maybe it won't be so bad for her to come back. I don't even care if she lays in her bed dying. She could just do that." She sucks in a shaky breath. Shit. What the fuck do I do? "It's my fault," she says through a cry. "I wanted her to die. I wished for it. And now she's gone..." Water spills on the floor as she drops the watering can, and then herself—crashing to her knees and burying her head in her hands. And I'm right there with her, holding on to her. "She's gone and all I want is to have her back. I miss her so much." She cries hard into my chest. "I miss holding her hand. I miss her voice. I miss the smell of her." She pulls back slightly and searches my face. Her hand reaches up to my cheek, wiping away tears I didn't know were there. Then she releases a breath, her shoulders dropping with the force of it. Her gaze moves toward the house, then back to me. "Please don't tell anyone," she whispers. And I have no damn clue what the hell just happened. I nod anyway. Slowly, she comes to a stand, bringing me with her. And now we're face-to-face, closer than we've ever been. "Are you hungry?" she asks.
I'm not, but I nod regardless.
She takes my hand and leads me into her house. I don't like being far from her. And right now, I have a feeling that she needs someone close.
*
"You're not eating?"
She sits opposite me with nothing but a glass of water and slowly shakes her head.
"I kind of feel weird sitting here eating your food alone."
She shakes her head again. "It's yours. I made it for you."
My eyes narrow as I take in her words. "I told you I wouldn't be over today. Did you forget?"
"No." Her fingers pick at a worn spot on the table. "Just in case you decided to show," she says quietly.
My heart picks up. "Did you want me to show?"
Her head lifts and her eyes lock with mine. She nods slightly. It's a small movement, but one that's enough to flip my entire world off it's axis.
I hide my smile with a mouthful of food.
We sit in silence until I'm done.
"You're out past curfew?" She takes my dishes and places them in the sink.
I get up and shake my head. "Curfew's not until one on weekends."
"Oh." She looks from the clock to me—a small smile plays on her lips. It's as confusing as it is gratifying. I force myself to believe that I'm the reason.
I'm the reason she's smiling.
"So..." she starts, looking uncomfortable. "You wanna watch some TV? The boys say we have Netflix. I don't really know how to use it, but I'm—"
"Sure," I interrupt. "I don't really care what we do. I'm just glad you're not asking me to leave."
