The Edge of Us

by Veronica Larsen

  Camille mentioned the same time frame before.

  "Three years ago? What happened three years ago?"

  "Look, if you want to know what he was up to, you'll have to ask him."

  "Did Camille know this whole time?"

  "No. Cole's father didn't trust her. She didn't find out until Cole told her himself, almost a year later when he first came back to the city."

  I hold still even as traces of a shiver pass through me. I don't want to think of all the times Cole came back and didn't bother looking for me. It only makes me angrier with him. Because why now?

  By the time Camille had found out what happened from Cole, a year after he left, I'd already pushed her far away. As the months passed, I grew bitter toward her. I thought she knew more than she let on. It never occurred to me she'd been in the dark all that time, too. Cole's father never accepted her as his daughter, but the cruelest part is her own brother ghosting her for a year.

  I remain rooted to the spot for a few seconds. Grant passes me, but pauses at the door. He waits for me there, watching as I come back to my senses and approach him. He tries to open the door for us, but I take his hand in mine and force him to meet my eyes. His expression goes slack as his gaze moves from my face down to where my hand rests over his.

  "Why didn't you tell me, Grant? Why would you let me suffer in the dark?"

  He glances down then back up at me, with a slow regretful shake of his head.

  "Cole didn't want you to know. It wasn't my place to tell you. I'm so sorry, Mila."

  I go still, my hand dropping to my side.

  I'm so sorry.

  The words have an effect I don't anticipate. I wasn't aware until this moment how much I needed to hear them. This is why I haven't healed. There hasn't been a moment where anyone acknowledged any wrongdoing. There hasn't been a single moment of clarity or remorse. No moment where I could admit my own role and forgive myself.

  I knew Cole was an addict, but of all the things I'd worried about, that was not one of them. He'd been sober for over a year when I met him, and he seemed so intent on staying that way, doing everything he could to weed out the negative influences in his life. Simply put, I thought he loved me more than the drug. I was a stupid, stupid girl to think love had anything to do with staying sober.

  Grant's apology is a tiny chip in an iceberg, but it causes a crack that runs down and makes me realize how deep this goes.

  THIRTY

  ANDREW

  THE KID ON THE ladder is the first one to notice me. Cole turns to look, and even from a distance I can tell he's not pleased. He stands by a mural on the side of the building. It's incomplete, but the sketch is visible enough for me to make out the profile of a woman.

  One by one, each of the kids turns their attention from the mural to me. Every single one of them eyes me with distrust, as though the suit I'm wearing is a sign of trouble.

  Music plays from an apartment nearby, loud and energetic, but it feeds into the tense silence of the parking lot. Cole sets down whatever was in his hands, says something to the kid on the ladder, and heads in my direction. I stop at the edge of the sidewalk and wait for him to reach me.

  "What do you want, Andrew? I'm working."

  "I have just one thing to say and then I'm gone," I say.

  "See those kids back here?" he asks, nodding to the parking lot behind him. "They're my responsibility. So, how about you take ten steps back and thirty steps sideways?"

  "Don't worry, I promised Mila I wouldn't punch you again."

  "Is that right?" he asks in a flat tone. "And here I was really looking forward to showing you what happens when you do."

  "Don't go looking for Mila again. Stay away from her."

  Cole glances away and laughs. The sound grates on my nerves worse than his unconcerned posture.

  "You think this is funny?"

  "Yeah, man," he says. "I do think this is funny, and I'll tell you why. You came all the way here to—hang on, how'd you find me, anyway?"

  "Your receptionist is eager to tell strangers where you are. You should probably get a new one."

  Cole picks up again as though he didn't hear me. "You came all the way to tell me to stay away from Mila? But what are you going to do when she comes looking for me? Are you going to warn her against coming near me? Because I'm sure you're aware no one tells Mila what to do."

  His question takes me off guard, but I recover.

  "What makes you think she would come looking for you? She hates you more than ever, last I checked."

  He doesn't answer right away, just looks at me. He looks at me the way he used to when we were in school. In the same condescending way of someone who has seen much more, and knows much more than me. And frankly? It fucking pisses me off. My fingers twitch, craving to curl into fists.

  "She's going to come looking for me when she finds out the truth of what really happened."

  "Yeah? And what's that?"

  He doesn't answer at all this time, just tilts his head up and stares at me.

  "You left her. Unless you were kidnapped by the Italian Mafia, you're not coming back from that. Not after eight years. I was there for her, by the way. I watched what you did to her. I'm not going to let you do it again."

  "What—did you go looking for her after you heard what happened? Are you really that petty?"

  "She came into a bar looking for someone to scratch an itch you couldn't. I didn't know who she was. If I'd known she was your ex, I'd have fucked her right then," I spit the words out just to get to him. I don't mean them, but they feel wrong all the same.

  Cole's jaw flexes, but when his brows lower over his eyes, I realize my mistake.

  "But you didn't, did you? And you still haven't. Isn't that right?"

  A word begins to form on my lips, but the sound doesn't follow.

  Cole nods, a slow smile building on his face.

  "Yeah, see. I caught on to that. You're not really with her, are you? You just want to be. You always had a thing for the ones that wanted me first."

  "You always were a spoiled asshole."

  "And you? You always worked hard to bring me down like it would make you a bigger man. But look at you, still the kid I knew in high school. Still pining after a girl that doesn't even want to be with you."

  I bite out a laugh, half turning from him to regain my composure. Because I swear to God, I'm going to drive my fist into his face again.

  I turn back to him and take a step closer even when I know I shouldn't.

  "You have no idea what you're talking about," I say.

  "Don't I? You come all this way, acting like she belongs to you. But if you really knew Mila, you would know she's not the kind of woman you claim. She's the kind of woman who claims you."

  I take several steady breaths, reeling myself in. He's got me worked up while he seems unaffected. The kids behind him are walking toward us, anticipating a fight.

  "I just came to tell you to stay away from her."

  "Why? Because you think you have a chance? You say you've been there for eight years and you're just now realizing you want her? Bull-fucking-shit. What is this really about? You can't overlook someone like her for eight years."

  "Are you fucking kidding? That's exactly what you did."

  Anger flashes past his eyes and though it brings me satisfaction, I brace myself for a fist to come hurling toward my face. But Cole doesn't make a move. Instead, he puts his hands in his pockets.

  "Don't tell me what I did, I know exactly what happened. And soon, Mila will too."

  "I'm serious, Cole, stay away from her," I say through gritted teeth.

  "What are you going to do? You can't spread a rumor this time, you can't get me kicked out of school to get me out of your way." He shakes his head with a bitter laugh. "You fucking knew those drugs weren't mine. You knew I was only keeping them from Camille—"

  "I didn't spread the rumor."

  "Oh, no. You only meant for the girl to know. Right? You only
meant to look better than me in her eyes. But did it work? Did you get the girl? Because I don't think you did. It didn't work then, and it's not going to work now, brother."

  "Don't call me brother. We're not friends, Cole. I don't think we ever were."

  His gaze darts across my face, and realization dawns in his expression. All my layers are out in the open with my inability to contain my frustration, and Cole's using my weakness to read me like no one ever has before. His smile falters. He looks down for a moment then back up.

  By the look in his eyes, he can see the secret guilt behind my hatred. The remorse I carry about everything he went through after what I did. I ruined his life, then. Back when he was supposed to be one of my closest friends. But this isn't about that. This is about what he did to Mila.

  "You should go ahead and walk away, Andrew."

  The kids are close enough to hear us now, they jeer and snicker to each other. Cole glances down and shuts his eyes for a second, frowning. This isn't what I wanted, either. I put my hands up, more for the sake of the kids.

  "It's over, Cole. Let her go."

  He doesn't respond. I back away for a few feet before turning and heading down the block to my car. I'm flooded with dread when I yank open the door. Cole Van Buren has always been Mila's greatest weakness, and the one person with a proven capacity to shatter her. He's also one of the most defiant people I've ever known. In trying to warn him off, I might have just enticed him more. I might have just made everything worse.

  THIRTY-ONE

  COLE

  "I ALREADY TOLD YOU, Cole, I don't do meetings," Camille says before nodding to the box beside the register. "So take your donuts before I change my mind and charge you for them."

  My sister stands behind the counter, her attention on the notebook she's scribbling in. It's the third time she's written the same number down and she thinks I haven't noticed.

  I'm tired and it's only a quarter past five. This is the second time today I've had to argue with someone I don't want to argue with. At least this time, there are no kids present to witness it.

  "Come with me tomorrow night," I say. "You've never been to a meeting, you should at least see what it's like."

  Camille shakes her head at my suggestion, her face hollowing out as she sucks in her cheeks. She's lit by the glow from the kitchen behind her. All of the other lights have been turned off. From somewhere in the building comes the soft clanking of cooling equipment. The eerie sounds of a store after hours.

  "I'm busy, Cole," she says, still not looking up. "I've got so much to do. I'm looking to hire an assistant manager to help me run this place, but finding the right candidate has been more time consuming than just doing it myself."

  Her energy is light, so at odds with her appearance. I swallow back the guilt creeping up. It's been months since I've seen her face-to-face. When I called to ask her for the address of Mila's office, Camille had offered to pick up the invitation from my studio and deliver it in person. I figured she just wanted an excuse to reconnect with Mila herself.

  I wasn't there when Camille came by. Had I seen her like this, I would've worried sooner. I put my hands in my pockets and bow my head in front of her.

  "You're using again," I say, and brace myself for what comes next.

  Camille freezes for a moment then sets down the notebook and slams the register closed, her light energy zapped in an instant.

  "Did you come here to make accusations?" she snaps. "I thought maybe you came to visit me for a change. You know? The sister you wish you didn't have."

  I tilt my head, my mouth falling open in surprise.

  "Oh, don't look so confused, Cole. Do you really think I don't notice you avoid me like the plague? You come in and out of the city and never once do you stay with me. Then you finally call me and it's for a favor? Do you realize I'm the only one in our family that gives a fuck about you? I wonder why I bother."

  The sting of her words settles, but I keep my voice even, calm, as I hold her gaze.

  "You know I care about you. You know why I had to keep my distance."

  "Right. Because I'm such a bad influence. Because I ruined your life." She speaks in a sardonic tone, but pain rims her eyes.

  I swallow, shaking my head, discouraged at my inability to respond. What could I say? She's always felt guilty for being the one who introduced me to drugs. They weren't a big deal to her, she was just a fucked up kid herself, who'd managed to use for years without our parents ever noticing. She kept up her grades and seemed fine. But me? I fell right down the rabbit hole and never recovered.

  "I'm worried about you," I say.

  She bites out a laugh and heads through the open doorway to the kitchen area. When she glances back, she seems both pleased and upset I've followed her.

  "I've been taking care of myself for way longer than you have. Look, you should go. You're starting to really piss me off. If I didn't know better, I'd think Mila sent you. She was on the verge of accusations the other day—"

  The name distracts me, pulling me onto a different track.

  "Mila came to see you? When? For what?"

  She looks to the ceiling, thinking.

  "It was Monday morning. She was angry with me because I convinced her to go to your exhibit and it mind-fucked her halfway to Long Island."

  "What did she—" I cut myself off, shaking my head. "Okay, look, forget Mila. This is about you coming with me, just for one night."

  "I already said no. Why are you suddenly worried about me? I'm sorry to break it to you, little brother, but I'm not the one with a problem. How many times have I been sent to rehab? Hospitalized?" she asks, waiting. "No, I mean it. Tell me. How many times?"

  "None."

  She points to me, pleased.

  "That's right. Not a single time in my whole life. I've always managed to keep my shit together, Cole, so stop projecting your issues onto me. Look around. This is my business. I run it all by myself. I'm fine."

  "You're not fine. Look at you, you're wasting away. And the way you're acting—" My heartbeat picks up. "Are you high right now?"

  She shakes her head, glancing away from me.

  "I'm feeling good, Cole. I'm not you, I know my limits." She gives me a pointed look. "Now do me a favor and get the fuck out of my bakery."

  I turn from her, every step I take echoing in the silence. Before I reach the doorway, she sighs, then whispers, "I'm sorry."

  I go back to her, hoping to latch onto the window of opportunity, but it only ends in yet another circular argument. We end up back at the same place, with her ordering me out of her shop. I leave, knowing I'm not getting anywhere with her this evening.

  When I step onto the street, I pull out my phone and dial Grant's number.

  "Did you go see her?" he asks, by way of greeting.

  He'd been the one to warn me she was looking worse for the wear when he ran into her yesterday.

  "I did. You're right. She needs help, Grant. I've never seen her like this."

  Camille's always been a high-functioning addict. Hardly anyone has suspected her drug use, and those who figured it out never worried because she's never shown the typical signs of needing help before. It's been easy to tell myself she was fine. I don't know what she's doing now but whatever it is, she's in way over her head.

  "She didn't listen to you?"

  "No. And apparently, she didn't listen to Mila, either."

  There's a moment of silence on the other end of the line, then Grant says, "Maybe get ahold of your parents?"

  I scrub my hand over my face. "She's walking a tight rope, Grant. They would send her right over."

  "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. But you can't force her to get help. You know that better than anyone."

  "Maybe this isn't a one-person job," I say, an idea dawning on me. "Maybe it's a three-person job."

  "Meaning?"

  "An intervention. You, me, and Mila."

  THIRTY-TWO

  COLE

  MY MUSE HAU
NTS ME most when my brain is full. She's elusive and tantalizing, showing up at unexpected moments and dangling ideas in odd brushstrokes and bright colors until I have no choice but to make the thing in my head come to life. Sometimes it's a painting, sometimes it's a sketch of ideas for an exhibit. I only finish half of what I start and can only stand to look at a quarter of what I finish.

  I head to my studio right from Camille's bakery and work for an hour, until a knock on the door interrupts me.

  I frown.

  No one bothers me here. I rent this space out exclusively to work. It's away from the office, where I run my outreach nonprofit. It's away from the exhibit, which is still closed to the general public.

  I lift from the creaky chair in front of the canvas where I've been sitting for hours and head to the door. I'm sure it's Grant coming to talk to me about what I said to him on the phone about Camille. I wouldn't be surprised if he came all this way to tell me he didn't want to be involved. Grant hated having to talk about uncomfortable things.

  But when I pull open the door, the person framed in the doorway is not Grant.

  My head pulls back in surprise and I'm dumbfounded for a moment, sure I've fallen asleep while painting and am imagining her appearance. It's Mila.

  "Can I talk to you for a minute? Grant told me you'd be here."

  I've been waiting to hear the first part of her statement for a long time, but the small bubble of hope in my chest pops at the realization she's here to talk about Camille. A greedy, selfish part of me hoped she'd come to talk about us.

  "Of course," I say, stepping aside to let her in. "Come in."

  The entry hall is narrow and she passes just a few inches from me. A deep, intoxicating scent follows her in, wrapping around me just as it did the first time I met her. I used to think it was perfume, but she told me once it was her shampoo.

  Mila walks all the way down the hall and into the large open space of my studio. She looks around from one unfinished piece to another, lips parting.