Never Say Never

by Rachael Sommers

  “This is Emily, the nanny. Emily, Jenny.” Camila took Jenny’s arm to steer her out of the apartment before she said something else. “I shouldn’t be back too late. Jaime, be good.”

  “I will.”

  Camila ushered Jenny out the door.

  “Jesus Christ, Camila,” Jenny said as they waited for the elevator. “That’s the new nanny you hired? Eye candy?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Camila muttered, stabbing at the button again in the vain hope that it would bring a quick end to this conversation. “I hired her because she was an excellent candidate.”

  “That was the only reason? Seriously?” Jenny arched an eyebrow as they stepped into the elevator. Camila’s car was waiting to take them to her favorite hotel bar.

  “Yes, seriously.”

  “How old is she, anyway?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  “Are you having a midlife crisis?” Jenny asked as they slipped into the backseat. “Sleeping with the hot new nanny? God knows you deserve to have some fun after what Chris put you through. And what a way to stick it to him—she’s way hotter than the secretary he was banging.”

  “I’m not sleeping with her,” Camila replied, her voice sharper than it needed to be. She was going out to forget about Emily, not spend the night talking about her.

  “Have I touched a nerve?” Jenny asked, eyes sparkling with interest. “Don’t tell me she’s interested in Chris.”

  Camila rolled her eyes.

  “What, then? Do you want to sleep with her?”

  “I didn’t come here to talk about my nanny,” Camila growled. Suddenly she was desperate for a drink and was relieved when they arrived at the hotel.

  “All right, all right.” Jenny held up her hands as she climbed out of the car behind Camila. “It was a joke.”

  “Not a very funny one,” Camila muttered, ignoring Jenny’s curious gaze as she entered the lobby of the hotel and made her way to her usual table in the bar. She shrugged off her jacket and draped it over the back of her chair, motioning to a passing server. “We’ll have a scotch, neat, and a Bloody Mary, please.” Jenny’s face twisted because she hated that cocktail, which was exactly why Camila had ordered it.

  “I really did piss you off, huh?” Jenny asked. She took a sip of her drink, puckering at the taste. “I’ll get you for this. We’re getting piña coladas next.”

  “And I’ll get you another Bloody Mary afterward.” They traded pointed barbs in their usual fashion, annoying each other to no end, but Jenny was still the closest friend that Camila had.

  “I’ve missed this,” Jenny sighed. “I don’t see you often enough since you moved out here.”

  “I had to get away from you.”

  Jenny threw the drink’s paper umbrella at Camila.

  “You know you can visit whenever you want.” Camila said earnestly, because she did miss Jenny—it had been a long time since she’d been out with a friend.

  In fact, the last time she had been out for fun, had been with Emily, and that had not ended well.

  “What’s on your mind?” Jenny asked. She never missed a thing.

  “Nothing.” Camila sipped her drink, thinking maybe she didn’t miss Jenny that much after all—not if she was going to keep prying.

  “All right,” Jenny said but didn’t look convinced. “How are you doing? After the divorce?”

  “I’m fine.” Sure, sometimes she missed having someone to share her life with, but she didn’t miss Chris, especially when he became secretive and resentful during his affair.

  “Next time don’t marry an asshole.” Jenny had never been Chris’s biggest fan; she had warned Camila, but she had been too stubborn to listen.

  “Who says there’s going to be a next time?” Camila had no such plans; she was too old and too busy to date. But a nagging voice in the back of her head said no one would hold a candle to Emily anyway.

  “So, what, you’re giving up?” Jenny arched an eyebrow. “That’s not like you.”

  “I don’t need anyone else.”

  “Not even to keep you warm at night? There’s no way you can be celibate for the rest of your life.”

  “I’ve managed it for two years. What’s a few more?” Camila’s words were laced with bitterness at the memory of no longer being desirable to her husband and no idea of the real reason.

  “Christ, no wonder you’re a bitch tonight.”

  Camila glared.

  Jenny turned to look around the bar. “I’m sure we can rectify that. Let’s find someone in here you’d want to take home.”

  “No, thank you.” Camila shut the idea down quickly in case Jenny was serious.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not interested.” And she wasn’t. She hadn’t felt anything for anyone until Emily, and she dared not give in to that desire.

  “Because you’re interested in someone else?” Jenny pressed, wiggling her eyebrows. “Like, say, the gorgeous woman I just met in your apartment?”

  Camila downed the rest of her scotch in response. She wasn’t drunk enough yet to deal with this.

  “Oh, come on, Cam. There’s something there, or you wouldn’t have such a stick up your ass about her. Talk to me.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” Camila said, motioning to the server for a refill.

  “Really?”

  “Really,” Camila stated flatly, hoping that Jenny would drop it but knowing she wouldn’t. “Because nothing’s going to happen.”

  “Why the hell not?” Jenny asked. “She’s gorgeous, and I saw her checking you out in that dress. What’s wrong with having a little fun?”

  “I’m not going there,” Camila insisted. The last thing she needed was Jenny’s encouragement—it was hard enough to keep Emily at arm’s length. “She’s too young and too good at her job. I don’t want to risk losing her.”

  “I’m saying you should sleep with her, not marry her,” Jenny replied, and when Camila looked away, her eyes widened. “Oh, my God, you like her.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” But Camila couldn’t look Jenny in the eye. She always seemed to know when Camila was lying. When the server brought a fresh glass of scotch, Camila quickly brought the glass to her lips.

  “You do. That’s why she’s such a touchy subject!” Jenny smirked, pleased with herself for uncovering Camila’s secret.

  “It doesn’t matter how I feel anyway,” Camila said, tapping her fingers against her glass, “because like I said, nothing’s going to happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “I already told you.”

  “Age is just a number, and I don’t see why dating her would mean she can’t look after your kid anymore.”

  “And when it ends?” Camila asked, because it always did. “What then, hmm? I’m out of a nanny and a girlfriend, and my son will be wrecked.”

  “You don’t know that it will end.”

  “Yes, I do,” Camila said fiercely, her jaw clenched. “She’s young and naïve, and I would destroy her like I do everyone else.”

  “Camila…”

  “Don’t.” She held up a hand. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore, Jenny. I mean it.”

  Jenny looked like she might not drop it, then she nodded, draining her drink and waving down the server. “We’d like two piña coladas, please,” Jenny said, and Camila glared when the drink was set in front of her.

  Camila would get her back with the next round. She studied the menu, trying to decide what Jenny would detest the most, and pushed all thoughts of Emily from her mind.

  * * *

  The sound of Camila’s key in the lock at ten after eleven awoke Emily from where she had been napping on the couch.

  She waited, but when the door didn’t open, she went to investigate. She saw Camila through the spyhole, tongue stick
ing out the side of her mouth and a frown on her face as she tried and failed to unlock the door.

  “Having trouble?” Emily asked, pulling open the door and catching Camila by the arm as she stumbled through the entry. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” But Camila’s words were slurred, and Emily could smell alcohol on her breath as she stepped inside, swaying as she kicked off her shoes. She hovered, ready to catch Camila if she fell. Even drunk, she looked amazing, the tight black dress hugging her in all the right places. Emily’s breath caught in her throat, and when she looked away, she saw Camila burned onto her eyelids every time she blinked.

  “I’ll get you some water.” Emily hurried to the kitchen to fill a glass, and when she turned around, Camila was watching her, her eyes sharp despite her drunken state.

  “Why are you helping me?” Camila’s voice was quiet, uncertain. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “I want to make sure that you’re safe because Jaime needs his mom.” It wasn’t the only reason, but it was the truth.

  “He’s in bed?”

  “Has been since eight,” Emily said. “He was as perfect as always.”

  Camila disappeared down the hall to see for herself, the glass of water in one hand. She returned and set her empty glass on the breakfast bar, surprised to find Emily still in her kitchen.

  “Why are you still here?”

  Certainly Camila didn’t mean that in a bad way—she sounded merely curious, but it still made Emily bristle, made her feel defensive, and her back straightened as she struggled to maintain her composure.

  “I told you. So I know you’re safe.”

  “Well, here I am, safe and sound in my own home.” Camila cocked her hand on her hip and quirked an eyebrow. “I’m not in any immediate danger, and yet you’re still here.”

  “Because I care about you, Camila, okay?” The words burst out of her, and she lowered her voice so as not to wake the sleeping child down the hall. “I’m sorry if that’s unprofessional.” She spat out the word, desperately trying to control her erupting emotions, but it had been so hard around Camila for the past two weeks that the words came spilling out of her, all her pain and anger. “I’m sorry that I give a shit. I wish I didn’t—then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.”

  Camila blinked, silenced for once. Emily worried that she had said too much, but with the amount Camila had drunk tonight, she doubted she would remember any of this in the morning, and that was her only salvation.

  “I…I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Camila whispered. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

  This was wrong, Emily thought. They shouldn’t be having this conversation, not when Camila was drunk, not when she had no inhibitions, not when she might say things that she wouldn’t dare say if she were sober.

  “It’s okay,” Emily said, though it wasn’t true, and the words stuck in her throat because she didn’t mean them, and Camila didn’t seem to think so either, from the way she shook her head, but she needed to say something, needed to stop this, needed to get out the door before Camila said something she might regret.

  “It’s not.” Camila’s voice was soft, her eyes tortured, and if the breakfast bar weren’t between them, Emily would wrap Camila in her arms to soothe her. “It’s not, but I didn’t know what else to do. I had to push you away because if I didn’t I’d end up—”

  “Stop.” Emily held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it.” But God, she did, she wanted to know so badly what Camila was going to say. The unspoken words were going to haunt her, drive her insane with the possibility, but it felt dishonest to let her continue when she wasn’t sober. “And I’m going to go,” she finished. She refilled Camila’s glass with water and pressed a box of Advil into her hands. “Take these before bed, okay? It’ll help with the hangover.”

  She slipped away before Camila could say anything else, before she could try to stop her, and she slumped against the wall of the elevator, her head in her hands, Camila’s words still ringing in her ears.

  Chapter 15

  Camila woke up with a killer hangover.

  She groaned, pulling the covers up to hide for a few more minutes before facing the day.

  Damn Jenny Hall to hell, Camila thought as she finally sat up in bed, her head pounding. When she saw the Advil and a glass of water on her bedside table, she breathed a quiet prayer, gulping down two of the pills.

  Drunken Camila didn’t usually plan for the after-effects, and she thought back to the night before—and then ice slipped down her spine when she realized the difference was that Emily had been there last night.

  And no matter how hard she tried, Camila couldn’t remember what they had talked about.

  In fact, she couldn’t remember much after her fifth drink, barely remembered getting home, and it made her uneasy because God only knew what had slipped out.

  She didn’t even remember what she and Jenny talked about, whether the other woman had managed to weasel out Camila’s feelings for Emily in the end, if she admitted something, and afterward, what she had said to Emily, the two of them alone for the first time since everything had fallen apart.

  She groaned, but there was nothing she could do about it now. The damage was done, and all she could hope was that Emily would not bring it up again.

  Which wasn’t unreasonable because Emily barely even looked her in the eye anymore, let alone talked to her, and Camila shouldn’t mind, considering she was the one who pushed her away, but…she did mind. There was an unbearable ache in her chest whenever she thought about her.

  It was unlike her to feel that way, to feel what she did whenever she looked at Emily, whenever she thought about her, but the emptiness strengthened her resolve rather than weakened it—because if this was how she felt now when nothing much had happened, she couldn’t imagine how it would feel if they did get together and it all went down in flames.

  Camila dragged herself out of bed and into a hot shower, the water almost scalding, but it eased her headache, and when she emerged a few minutes later in a cloud of steam, she felt more human.

  Jaime was still asleep when she checked on him, and she went to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. Her phone rang, and she frowned—if it was anything to do with work, she was going to throw the damn thing out the window.

  But it was Jenny’s name on the screen (well, Jenny was actually programmed as “she-devil”), and Camila pressed the phone to her ear.

  “I’m never drinking with you again,” Camila told her, because it really was the worst hangover she had had in a long, long time—they had overdone it, mixing and matching various spirits in a multitude of cocktails.

  “Oh, I assure you, the feeling is mutual. I don’t know how we’re still alive.”

  “I don’t feel very alive,” Camila murmured, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Is there a reason you’re calling?” Jenny didn’t usually make social calls, especially if they had only seen one another the night before.

  “Just…checking in.”

  Camila was ninety-nine percent certain she was lying.

  “You don’t call to ‘just check in,’” Camila pointed out. “What did I say to you last night?”

  “You said a lot of things to me last night.”

  Camila tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for Jenny to say more, hoping that she hadn’t dug herself into a hole that the other woman would exploit for more information.

  “Is there a point to this call, Jenny?” Camila was ready to end the conversation, but if she hung up, she knew Jenny would call and call and call, and if she didn’t answer, she might just appear at Camila’s door unannounced.

  “I just… You seemed sad last night. I don’t know if it has anything to do with that pretty woman waiting in your apartment, but for what it’s worth, you deserve to be happy. You shouldn’t give up on love just because you’ve been burned i
n the past.”

  “I don’t know what impression I gave you last night, but—”

  “Oh, don’t bullshit me, Camila. I know you. I saw the way you looked at her and the way you reacted when I teased you about her. There’s something there.”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “Just think about it.”

  Before Camila could tell her to fuck off, Jenny spoke again.

  “Oh, and happy Thanksgiving! Bye, Cam.”

  Camila stared at the phone in her hand for a long time, as though that was the reason her mind was spinning. She thought about Jenny’s words as she drank her coffee, wondering why Jenny was pushing. Camila couldn’t have appeared that affected last night—could she? Was she already in so deep that Jenny knew from the few minutes she had seen them together?

  Camila probably was. Emily was always on her mind, now more than ever, even though they barely interacted anymore. It was maddening, but that didn’t mean things had changed.

  No, nothing had changed, and despite Jenny’s admonition, Camila didn’t quite believe she deserved to be happy, but she did know that Emily did, and Camila was convinced that Emily would be much happier without her.

  She drained the last of her coffee, then padded down the hall to wake Jaime. His infectious energy was just what she needed to keep her heart from craving what she so desperately wanted but could never have.

  * * *

  Emily spent Wednesday night at Cassie and Maia’s apartment because they were hosting Thanksgiving that year. Her foster mother was coming into town to spend the holiday with her daughters.

  Emily hadn’t slept well—she was too preoccupied with Camila—and at eight o’clock, she decided it was time to get out of bed.

  Maia and Cassie were in the kitchen, peeling vegetables at the counter, the turkey already in the oven.

  “There’s coffee,” Maia said when she spotted Emily.

  “Thanks.” She helped herself to her usual mug, feeling slightly more human when the caffeine started running through her veins. “Want me to help with anything?”

  “You? Work in the kitchen?” Cassie replied, raising her eyebrows.