Charlie did squeeze my hand then, and I covered her thumb with my own, but I still couldn’t look at her.
“I was such a piece of shit,” I whispered, shaking my head. “It should have been me who died that day. Not them.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not?” I challenged, looking at where our hands touched. “It’s how I feel.”
Charlie was quiet, but her fingers ran over the back of my hand in a soothing line before she squeezed gently again. “I know how it feels,” she said. “That loss, that unfillable void left behind when someone you love is inexplicably ripped from the earth.”
A burst of air swept through the veranda then, brushing her hair back as if it’d heard her.
“It never gets easier, no matter how many days or months or years pass. Some days are quieter than others, but on the loud days, on the days when everything you see and hear and do and feel reminds you of their absence…” She squeezed my hand once more before tucking her arms tight over her middle. “Those days are brutal.”
Charlie used to be the unbroken one.
She used to be the positive voice of optimism to balance out my angsty teenage depression. So many nights she had brought me some kind of hope, even if I’d laughed at it in the moment she’d given it to me. But tonight, she didn’t attempt to fix the splitting of my soul. She only crawled into the fault line with me, giving me company in the hollow loneliness of it all.
“I know you hate your stretch marks, but I’m jealous of them.”
Charlie frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“They’re a memory forever etched into your body,” I explained. “They’re proof of existence, proof that those boys lived inside you, that they were a part of you and, even if only briefly, a part of this world. A part of your life.”
She touched her stomach carefully, her hands disappearing under Cameron’s jacket as her eyes lost focus somewhere off in the distance.
“I don’t have that,” I confessed. “Sure, I’ve got pictures. And I’ve got an old house that someone else lives in now. I’ve got three small things I kept from each of them, little tokens I hoped would bring me comfort down the line. But they don’t, you know? Nothing ever does. And really, all I have is music. I have songs that bring me back to holidays spent in our living rooms and road trips in Mom’s van.” I swallowed. “And some that bring me back to that day, to that immediate emptiness that seeped into my bones like a cold flood the moment I realized they were gone.”
Charlie let out a long exhale, closing the small bit of space between us. “You have years and years of memories with your family, Reese. I only have nine days.” Her eyes glossed. “And that’s only with Jeremiah. With Derrick, I have nothing.”
I blew out a frustrated breath. “God, I’m sorry. You’re right. I should be thankful, and I am. I didn’t mean that I was jealous of your scars, I guess I just meant that I think they’re beautiful.”
“It’s okay,” she assured me quickly with a smile, her hand rubbing over her belly again. “I think I’m starting to see the beauty in them, too.”
We were both silent for a moment, eyes balanced in the distance.
“Not that I think there should be any comparison,” she said after a while. “Or that one loss is more than the other, or that we can measure a loss in the scars and memories left behind — but you have them, too. You have scars.” She pressed a cold, tiny hand over my heart, and I felt the beat of it through her palm. “They’re just not where you can see them. But you can feel them.” She shrugged. “You always will.”
“It hurts,” I admitted, voice breaking, and Charlie hugged me in an instant, wrapping her petite arms around me. It took every ounce of manhood I had left not to give into the urge to cry in that instant. I hadn’t cried since the day my family died, and I’d never cried in front of Charlie. I didn’t want to break that streak now.
But she felt like home. That hug, it felt like the only thing I had left in the world, like the missing piece to a puzzle I didn’t know was incomplete.
“I know. I’m sorry.” Her voice was just a whisper. “I wish I could say that hurt goes away, but I know you know as much as I do that it doesn’t. And I know it’s hard to hear, that it’s easier to just put the blame on yourself and wish it was you in their shoes, but there’s a reason you’re still living, Reese. And they would want you to live happily.”
I didn’t dare say another word, not when I had her in my arms like that. The comfort I felt just from her being there, from her warmth pressed against mine, from her being tucked into my chest like that — it was more than I deserved. It was more than I knew I was allowed to have from a woman who wasn’t mine, but I took it greedily, like a hot meal offered to a starving man.
“And you?” I asked after a moment, pulling back only enough to capture her gaze with my own. “Are you living happily?”
“I am.”
“Don’t lie.”
She blinked, taking another step back — enough to break our hug. She crossed her arms again. “I didn’t come out here to talk about me, Reese. Tonight isn’t about me.”
“It could be,” I countered. “You made me feel better, maybe I could do the same.”
“I feel great,” she said with a smile that was almost convincing. To anyone else, it would have sealed her lie with a perfect little bow — but it didn’t fool me.
The doors flew open then, and Mr. Reid’s voice bellowed my name. He had his arm around a guy my age, and he immediately launched into his name and role at Westchester and why I needed to know him.
I barely registered any of it, because my eyes were still locked on Charlie.
She kissed her dad’s cheek, clueing into the conversation well before I did, then she offered me one last smile and flash of those doe eyes before she slipped back inside.
The rest of the night was a blur of handshakes and dances, of stories shared over dinner and jokes shared over bourbon. Charlie and I did a sort of dance around each other, never existing within the same space for long before one of us was swept off somewhere else. But I was aware of her, and she of me, just like we always had been.
I wondered, distantly, if I would ever find a woman to make me feel the way Charlie made me feel. Would my future wife know what to say on the hard nights, how to bring me comfort only by existing. Charlie didn’t even have to have the right words that night — she just needed to be there. To exist.
With her, with the way I felt for her — that was enough.
She’d always been enough for me, even when I’d had to sit on my hands to keep from touching her when we were younger. Five years had separated us then — five long, cruel, forbidden years. I didn’t have the power to change those years, to warp time, to make it okay for a twenty-one-year-old to fall for a girl still in high school.
But as Charlie and Cameron said goodnight to everyone, I realized those years weren’t what separated us any longer. I held her a beat longer than normal when she leaned in for a hug, thanking her for what she’d given me that night, and then I shook Cameron’s hand, all the while wondering if what I’d heard about him was true.
And I realized it then.
He was what separated us now.
And he was only a man.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
* * *
Charlie
The following Tuesday, my parents hosted all of us for game night.
It had been a tradition when Graham and I were younger, one we’d included the Walkers in on once our families had become close. We’d all sit around the big coffee table in our living room, playing different board and card games for hours on end. Eventually, the parents would filter off into the kitchen to drink wine and bourbon and talk about more adult things, but with the kids, we were always caught up in the competitive nature of the night.
It was the first game night for Cameron.
We were kickstarting the tradition up again, and I wondered how he felt about it.
His ha
nd was on my knee on the car ride over, but he seemed distant, lost in a thought somewhere down the road where his eyes rested. I thought about asking him what was on his mind, but the truth was I needed the silence, too.
Reese and I had shared such a powerful moment at the fundraiser, one where he let me in the way I had let him in the night on the Incline. I realized that night that he needed my friendship even more than I realized, and that he was hurting in the same way I had been for years.
Death changes us. It takes everything we thought we knew about our lives and fast pitches it out the window, shattering the glass in the process. Wind whips in, hard and cold, and throws everything we’d had neatly in place flying around the room.
No one is the same once they lose someone they love.
They just have to learn to exist in the new world, no matter how messy it is.
It took that night at the fundraiser for me to realize that having Reese’s friendship again would be a good thing — for both of us. Talking to him about Jeremiah and Derrick was easy. It was effortless. And if I could be there for him, too — if I could be one little piece of home, and someone he could talk to? Well, that’s exactly what I would be.
My parents already had the first game set up when we arrived, the coffee table littered with Monopoly pieces and money. Reese was there, too, and they all stood to greet Cameron and me. We hugged Mom and Dad first, and I watched Reese carefully as he and Cameron shook hands.
He didn’t seem as tired tonight, his eyes not as heavy as before. Maybe he was feeling better after the fundraiser. Maybe I had helped.
“How are you?” I asked when he leaned in to hug me. He smelled like bourbon and cigars, likely a result of starting the night in Dad’s study.
“You know,” he said, catching my eyes when he pulled back. “I’m feeling pretty great tonight. How are you?”
I smiled. “I’m pretty great, too.”
Cameron gently placed his arm around me, walking us over to the coffee table with a squeeze on my shoulder. He seemed a little stiff, like he didn’t want to be there at all, and I didn’t have to guess to know he was thinking about work.
He always was.
“I’m so excited for this!” Mom said once we were all seated. She brought over a homemade pitcher of sangria, pouring each of us a glass as she beamed. “We used to have game nights all the time when the kids were younger, Cameron. It was just so fun. Did you ever have game nights?”
Cameron smiled, but he still seemed distant, like he was in another world altogether that evening. “Unfortunately not. You guys will have to go easy on me.”
“Well, it won’t be us you have to worry about,” Dad said. “Reese and Charlie here will be the ones giving you a run for your money. Always were so competitive.”
“It’s okay, babe,” I said, patting Cameron’s leg. We were all sitting on the floor, and his knee touched mine. “I won’t rub it in too bad on the way home.”
“Pshhh,” Reese chimed in. “Keep dreaming, Tadpole. You’re going down.”
I stuck my tongue out at him, and Mom and Dad laughed, but Cameron just stared at Reese.
“Tadpole?”
Reese paused where he was distributing money to each of us, his eyes flicking to mine before he shrugged. “Yeah. Just an old nickname I gave Charlie when we were kids.”
“Oh, I remember that!” Dad said. “That was the day we couldn’t pay her to get out of your new pool. Remember that, Gloria?”
“She spent nearly thirteen hours in there. Her fingers were wrinkled for days,” Mom added with a laugh.
I smiled, but I watched Cameron curiously, wondering why his brows were set in a scowl, his mouth in a thin line. He didn’t laugh or smile at the story. He almost seemed annoyed by it.
“Well, let’s get this started, shall we?” Reese said, and he rolled the dice to see who would go first.
Just like it always did, time flew once the game had begun. We were all snatching up properties as fast as we could, making under-the-table deals that were technically illegal in the game, and just like always, Mom and Dad seemed more excited to watch us play than to actually have any stake in the game, themselves.
Conversation flowed easily, too — especially when Reese told us he’d picked up a gig at one of the nicest restaurants in downtown Pittsburgh. Mom insisted we all go see him play soon, and Dad made a comment about how proud his parents would have been.
Reese’s eyes caught mine when they were mentioned, and I just offered a small smile. I knew the pain in his chest that had been ignited just by the mention of their names.
The game ticked by, the sangria drained down, and it didn’t take long for me to learn that Cameron was competitive, too.
He growled with frustration as he landed on another one of Reese’s properties about an hour into the game, this one stacked with a hotel, and Reese rubbed his hands together with an evil grin.
“Indiana Ave. That’s $1,050 with a hotel.”
I clucked my tongue, nudging Cameron playfully as Mom and Dad noted that it could mean the end of the game for him. Dad even high-fived Reese, which was the last thing I saw before the game went flying.
“Bullshit.”
Cameron stood as he tossed the money at Reese, the paper hitting our game pieces still on the board and losing everyone’s place. Mom gasped, and I reached for Cameron’s wrist to calm him, but he shrugged me off.
“He’s cheating.”
“What?” I asked incredulously, looking to Reese apologetically as I stood to join Cameron. I lowered my voice, offering him a smile. “Babe, it’s just a game. Reese is playing by the rules just like all of us.”
“No, it’s bullshit. He’s been sliding himself money every time he goes to the bank to pay himself. And how many times did you pass Go without him noticing and giving you the $200?”
Cameron was fuming, his fists at his sides as he stared down at Reese. That look couldn’t just kill, it could torture and maim.
We all looked to Reese, and my stomach turned at the possibility of this blowing into something more. But he just smiled, holding up his hands from where he sat on the floor.
“Hey, man, I promise — no cheating. I just got lucky this game.”
Mom looked at Dad with eyes that begged him to do something, and I just tried to pull Cameron away, but he wouldn’t let me touch him.
“Whatever. I don’t even care. It’s just a stupid game, doesn’t actually amount to anything.”
“Why don’t we go to my study,” Dad said quickly, standing to join Cameron. He clapped him on the shoulder, both as a friendly gesture and a warning to calm down. “We can have a cigar, catch up a little.”
Cameron was still staring Reese down, nose flaring, but Reese just smiled up at him.
“I think that’s a great idea,” I said firmly, and Cameron’s eyes finally met mine.
He softened a little then, and I saw the disappointment in himself creep over his features like a slow flood. He closed his eyes, forcing a breath, and Dad clapped him on the shoulder once more before leading him back to the study.
“Well,” Mom said. “I think I’m going to make more sangria.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” Reese agreed. “Charlie and I can clean this up.”
She smiled at him, collecting all of our glasses before disappearing, and then it was just the two of us.
For a moment it was quiet, Reese organizing the money back into its respective containers while I sorted the houses and hotels. I shook my head, wondering what in the world had gotten into Cameron, embarrassment heating my cheeks the longer the silence stretched between us.
“I’m sorry about that,” I said. “Cameron didn’t have the best home life growing up, I don’t think he ever played games like this.”
“It’s okay.”
“He gets like this in hockey, too. I don’t think he can separate it all. He just gets so caught up.”
“Charlie, it’s okay.”
“He’s not l
ike that. Usually. He’s really so sweet and kind, and—”
“Hey.” Reese stopped counting the money, his hand folding over my forearm until I looked up at him. He gave me a small smile, squeezing my arm with understanding. “I’m not judging him, and it’s okay. He got a little worked up. I’ve been there before, many times with game night. I’m sure you remember.”
“Yes, but you were also seventeen at the time.”
“And?” He shrugged. “Competitiveness gets the best of all of us. It’s fine. Really.”
I let out a breath, nodding and thanking him with a smile. Reese let go of my arm and moved the conversation to school stuff as we finished cleaning up the game. Once it was packed away, we made our way to the kitchen.
Mom was nowhere to be found, but the fresh pitcher of sangria sat in the middle of the kitchen island. Reese poured us both a glass, handing me mine before lifting his own to his lips.
“I wanted to thank you,” he said after his first drink. “For the other night at the fundraiser. It’s been a long time since I had a moment like that.” His eyes were on his hands, and he shook his head. “I’m just glad you were there.”
I smiled. “Me, too. And hey, I was just returning the favor. Remember the Incline?” I chuckled. “That was my breaking moment.”
“I remember.”
Reese’s eyes found mine, and I let him hold my gaze a moment before I took another drink.
“Congratulations on your new gig, by the way,” I said. “I’m excited to come see you play.”
“Thank you.” Reese smiled, but it was weak. “I love teaching, don’t get me wrong, but I miss playing for me. I’m hoping this will get me back to that.”
He opened his mouth to say something more, but Cameron and Dad joined us in the kitchen before he could.
“I think I’d like to go home, if it’s okay with you,” Cameron said softly, and I could tell by the heaviness in his eyes that my dad had forced him to talk. Cameron hated to talk, and my heart ached for him, my hand reaching out for his.
“Of course. I’ll grab our coats.”
He leaned into me, wrapping me in a hug before he let me go, and I slipped into the foyer. Mom was coming down the stairs after taking a phone call, and I let her know we were leaving just as everyone else joined us from the kitchen.
Best Kept Secrets: The Complete Series Page 15
