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I give her an aggressive high-five, and we take another drink.
I hiccup. “If we keep drinking every time they score a goal, we aren’t going to make it to third period. We might die. They’re on fire tonight.”
“They’re spanking Vancouver! Hey, wanna get some food? This is so fun, it’s like a sleepover. I never get girl time anymore since Birdie and Raleigh insisted on reproducing.” She tosses her hand in the air.
Laughing, I nod. “Oh god, it’s been forever since I’ve had girlfriends to do stuff with.”
She scrunches up her face. “Really? Why?”
I lift my shoulders. “Don’t have a ton of close friends.” I avoid saying that rich people don’t often have many real friends because it makes me sound like an enormous tool. “My former best friend fucked my fiancé. It’s been a dry spell for girl time lately.”
Ever so slowly, she turns her head to face me with wide eyes.
“What. The fuck. Go get your pajamas on. I’m going to refresh our drinks, and then you’re going to tell me everything.”
I laugh, and she snatches the mostly empty glass from my hand. This is fun.
When we have our sweats on—both of us in Lakes gear—I tell her the story. All of it. It surprises me when I get emotional. I’ve never talked about it beginning to end before, it’s a massive release. Like pouring out my guts, but I only put back the stuff I want to keep, the good parts. Parts of methat are healing and strong, parts with Camden. Letting go of all the bad memories.
Bryan didn’t break me. And after hearing about Bluetower from Cam’s dad, I’m going to balance the scales.
Micky wraps her arms around me. “Does Banksy know all of that?”
I nod. “Most of it. I didn’t tell him about the night he laid his hands on me.”
“So what are you going to do?”
I give her a pointed look.
She narrows her eyes in understanding. “You’re going to fuck Bryan up, aren’t you?”
I smirk back and nod into my drink. That’s the plan.
That night, I lie in bed and marvel the bright full moon centered in the window frame. It’s beautiful. Even with the lights of the city, it shines bright like a spotlight into the spare bedroom. My stomach twists as I try to prepare what I want to say to Camden. I’ve got to tell him how I feel. My phone dings, and I grab it.
Cam: Hey
Me: Hey!
Cam: Miss you.
Me: I miss you too.
Cam: I was talking to Chicken Salad. How is she?
I smile and reach down to scratch her behind the ears. She’s lying onmy legs, as usual.
Me: She and Craig are thick as thieves.
Cam: Good to hear. Did you girls watch the game?
Me: The football game?
Cam: Sass me again. I dare you.
Me: Double dare me . . .
I wait for his response but there’s nothing. I need to hear his voice. I hit the phone icon next to his name, and it rings a couple times before a woman answers his phone. It’s noisy in the background. “You’ve reached Banksy’s Pants... Banksy’s not in his pants right now, can I take a message?”
