Make It Last

by Megan Erickson

  “Cam?” came a deep voice from inside.

  Tate whirled her head around, so her loose ponytail on top of her head flopped. “Dad, I think he needs to go—”

  “I can stay for a little and say hi to your dad—”

  “But—”

  “Baby, open up the door!” There were some whispered words, and then the door opened wider. Tate stood off to the side, fidgeting uncomfortably as Ted’s figure filled the door frame.

  And it took all of Cam’s self-control not to gasp.

  Because this was not the large, muscled man he remembered. The man who worked at a factory building high-end motorcycles.

  His hair was mostly gone. He had no mustache or five o’clock shadow. He probably weighed half what he did the last time Cam had seen him.

  But he still had that smile and those bright hazel eyes Tate had inherited. “Cam.” He extended a thin, wrinkled hand. “Good to see you, son.”

  Cam shook his hand, feeling a slight tremor in the body of the other man. “Come on in,” Ted said, waving him in. Cam followed him inside, shooting Tate a what-the-fuck look behind his back. She at least had the decency to look ashamed.

  Ted took a seat on a recliner and Cam’s eyes fell on an oxygen tank beside him.

  “Van brought some doughnuts this morning. Baby, why don’t you get me another doughnut hole? And offer one of those apple fritters to Cam. He always liked those.”

  “Okay, Dad.” Tate arranged a blanket around his frail legs and then without a look at Cam, turned and walked into the kitchen.

  Cam took a deep breath and followed her.

  In the kitchen, she set out plates and began placing doughnuts on them. Her hands were shaking and she was biting her lip.

  “Tate—”

  “Do you still like apple fritters?”

  “Tate—!”

  “I don’t know why Van even gets them. You’re the only person I know who ever ate them.”

  “Tate, for fuck’s sake, what’s going on?”

  Tate stared at the doughnut on the plate in front of her, breathing deeply. And Cam waited. Ted had always treated him like another son. He’d been so accepting of his daughter dating one of the few minorities in this town. And to see him looking . . . so weak . . . made Cam sick to his stomach. He certainly didn’t want a fucking doughnut. Apple fritter or not.

  “He has lung cancer.” Tate’s voice was soft. She picked off a flake of glaze from one of the doughnuts and stuck it in her mouth. “Diagnosed a couple of years ago. He just had his second round of chemo. They’ll test soon to see if it worked.”

  He glanced at her trembling fingers, remembering how she used to smoke. “Is that why you quit?”

  She nodded, picking more glaze off the doughnut.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Tate looked up at him. “Thank you.”

  Cam rested a hand on the counter and leaned closer. “I feel like when I was gone, no one told me anything about what was going on back here. How come no one told me about his cancer?”

  Cam shrugged jerkily. “I think you made it clear that anything about me was no longer your concern.”

  He threw up a hand. “Seriously? Your dad has cancer and because we broke up, you think I didn’t care about him anymore? What kind of robot do you think I am?”

  Tate placed one foot on top of the other and scratched her cheek. “I don’t think you’re a robot. I just . . . Everything happened so fast. He got diagnosed and then it was this whirlwind. We were caught up in the tornado of cancer treatments, and I don’t think we’ve touched the ground yet. Sometimes I wonder if we’re just in the eye of the storm right now. Where it’s calm before all hell breaks loose.”

  “Did you think about what I said? I’ll help, Tate.” They could be friends, couldn’t they? And her family meant something to him.

  Tate pursed her lips. Then picked up a doughnut and took a big bite. Once she chewed and swallowed, she gave him a small smile. “I’ll think about it.” She was being evasive. She was brushing him off. But he wasn’t giving up, especially not now that he knew what she’d been dealing with since he’d been gone.

  Cam broke off a piece of fritter. Because even though his stomach hurt, it smelled good and Tate’s smile was easing that sick feeling in his gut. “I can drive him to appointments or anything. Whatever.”

  “I said I’d think about it.” Tate’s voice was edged with irritation.

  “Hey, where’s my treat!” Ted called in from the living room.

  Tate laughed, the first real laugh he’d heard from her since he’d been home. “We’re coming, keep your pants on!”

  Cam spent the next hour eating doughnuts and drinking coffee with Tate and her dad. They caught him up on the new businesses in town, and he told them stories about Alec and Max. Tate took an interest in Kat, Alec’s girlfriend, and said she’d love to meet her.

  When he left the house, he called his mom.

  She answered the phone. “Did you get lost at the grocery store?”

  Cam laughed. “No, I had to stop at Tate’s house.” He turned on his truck and sat back in his seat. “So, how come you never told me about Tate’s dad?”

  His mom was quiet for a moment. “It’s complicated.”

  “How is it complicated? You call me and say, ‘Hey, Camilo, Tate’s dad has cancer.’ You had to have known. This whole town is one dysfunctional family.”

  She sighed. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

  “I know you don’t necessarily like Tate—”

  “I don’t dislike her,” his mom grumbled.

  Cam signed and ran a hand over the steering wheel. “Makes me feel weird, being gone and missing everything.”

  “You were off living your life. Getting a degree. That’s better than most people in this town.”

  He bit his lip, because it wasn’t like he deserved it more than anyone else here. “Okay, well, I’m heading to the grocery store now. You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Go and make sure the ice cream doesn’t melt.”

  Cam laughed. “Okay, Ma.”

  Chapter 8

  TATE GLANCED UP at the sound of the bell over the door of the diner and watched as Cam sauntered inside. He glanced around at the half-full tables and then swung his gaze to where she stood behind the counter.

  A small smile touched his lips, and then he made his way toward her. He slid into a chair opposite her at the counter and jerked his chin to the ice cream machine. “Behaving itself today?”

  Tate rubbed the small scar on her hand. “I guess so. Temperamental bitch.”

  Cam laughed. “Well, I won’t make you do battle with it today. Burger and a Coke?”

  Tate nodded and wrote it down on a slip of paper, then slapped it on the counter behind her for the kitchen. “Order!”

  It’d been this way for about a week. This tentative truce. Cam showed up at her work, dropped off take-out dinners at her house, anything he could do to help. Even though she hadn’t asked for a thing. But he was pushing his way into her life again without her knowing when it had started. She knew she should put a stop to it. Tell him to back off and deal with his mother and his own life.

  But she hadn’t. And she didn’t intend to. Maybe she was a masochist because she knew how this would end when he left. But the instant gratification of having him now won out.

  Anne walked out from the back room, smoothing down her apron. “Hey there, Cam.”

  “Looking good, Anne. You just had a birthday, right? Twenty-five?”

  Anne psshed. “That charm and those dimples, boy. Gonna get you in trouble one day.”

  “Already has.” Cam winked and took a sip of the soda Tate slid in front of him.

  “Trouble,” Anne muttered, but her smile let Tate know she enjoyed the teasing.

  Tate grabbed the bin of silverware and began rolling them in napkins before the lunch rush.

  “You talk to Jamie yet?”

  Tate dropped a knife and it clattered on the counte
r. She picked it up and placed it in the napkin with its friends, the spoon and the fork. “He’s avoiding me.”

  “Well, make him not avoid you.”

  “It’s not that easy. I don’t want to get Dad involved right now, so unless I go make a scene at his job, it’s hard.” She dropped a silverware package in another bin and eyed Cam. “Oh, and he’s got a girlfriend.”

  Cam raised his eyebrows and took another sip of his soda, crunching an ice cube. “Yeah? That good or bad?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t met her yet but he’s spending the night there. So that’s a whole other issue I have to deal with.” She leaned closer and spoke lower. “I need to make sure he’s being smart and using protection.”

  Cam pointed at her. “Okay, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll talk to Jamie about the drinking and the screwing. But you have to tell your dad, too. If I know Ted, he’d be hurt about being kept in the dark.”

  Tate’s hackles rose. “You think I don’t know my dad? I’m trying to make the right decision—”

  “Tate.” Cam’s voice was firm. “I’m not judging you. I’m trying to help, okay?”

  She deflated a little. “Okay.”

  “And hopefully Jamie will listen to me. He did when he was thirteen.”

  Tate looked up at him through her lashes as she continued to roll silverware. “Yeah, well, thirteen seems like a lifetime ago.”

  “We’ll figure it out, okay?”

  Tate nodded, a pricking starting behind her eyes. All this we talk was hard to hear from Cam’s mouth. As much as she appreciated having him back in her life as a friend, it was hard to deny she was still in love with him. She’d repressed her libido for so long and one look at Cam in his tight T-shirts, those full lips grinning, those earrings she wanted to nibble, was almost too much.

  The day he started dating someone else, she might have to drive to the ocean and fling herself into it.

  Of course she knew he dated girls in college. She’d seen the pictures on Facebook when she snooped. Which was rare because it put her in a depression for about a week.

  But he’d never been around the same girl for long, thank God. She could deal with him doing his thing, playing the field. But him getting serious with someone? The jealousy screaming through her body was no joke.

  But he’d be gone by fall. To a big city. He’d meet some amazing girl, probably a Latina hottie with a great ass, and they’d make cute little Latino babies. But at least she wouldn’t have to see them walking down the streets of Paradise together. Hopefully.

  For now, though, she’d take him how she could. And if that was friends, at least she had him in her life somehow. They’d been friends first. In fifth grade, Cam had been small and scrawny. He’d been bullied for being different, for having a last name that stood out. He’d had his lunch stolen almost every day, until Tate sat beside him one afternoon and shared her peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich. He’d taken it with a quiet thank-you, and they ate in silence.

  Every day after that, she shared her lunch with him, growing wiser and packing two sandwiches for him. Until the bullies stopped bothering him because Cam wasn’t suffering from their theft.

  And then they’d played pick-up games of soccer together. And then they’d studied together. Until they had their first kiss over top of a biology textbook in high school, and they’d been together ever since.

  So she could do this again—be friends with Cam.

  As long as there were no biology textbooks.

  She rolled the last of the silverware and plopped it in the bin. Margo called Cam’s order and Tate reached for the plate, then set it in front of Cam.

  It was crazy how she could predict his actions for the next thirty seconds, and she watched his hands. Take the bun off. Remove onions. Rearrange lettuce and tomato. Take top bun. Shake a dollop of ketchup on top in an expanding swirl. Plop bun back on burger. Smoosh. Pick up. Take a bite.

  She smiled to herself as he hummed and chewed at the same time. “Is that all you plan to eat all summer? Burgers? You’re going to lose that physique the armed forces worked so hard on.”

  Cam pointed a finger at her. “Mind your own business. In fact, you could stand to eat a burger or two.”

  She propped a hand on her hip. “Excuse me?”

  Cam looked a little chagrined as he pushed his fries around on his plate. “Just saying you lost weight is all.”

  He was right. Tate only knew because her clothes had been fitting a little bit different. “Guess I need to eat more doughnuts.”

  Cam smiled.

  She stacked the glasses under the counter, then unstacked them and then did it again. Needing something to do with her hands to avoid looking at him when she spoke next. To pretend it wasn’t such a big deal. “I . . . uh . . . actually I do have a favor to ask.”

  He looked up expectantly. “Yeah?” His voice was tempered, she could tell, like he was worried if he showed too much excitement, she’d retreat.

  She shoved the cups away and began folding clean rags. “Next Wednesday, can you drive my dad to an appointment? He might only have to stay for a couple of hours, or they might keep him overnight for some tests. Jamie and I have to work. Normally, I’d ask Anne or something but she has to work too . . .”

  Cam held up his hand. “No problem. I don’t work Wednesdays.”

  She dipped her head. “Yeah, I know. I had Van check Trevor’s schedule.”

  “You could have called me or texted me. My number hasn’t changed. Unless you deleted it from your phone.”

  Of course she hadn’t. She lived in fear of drunk texting him, but couldn’t bring herself to delete it. “No, I didn’t.”

  He shook his head, his smile a little sad. “Yeah, me either.”

  LATER THAT NIGHT, Cam signed into Utope, thinking maybe he should feed their dog. Or check out their backyard rainforest.

  But instead, he saw that Tate had signed in earlier. He clicked to replay her actions.

  And there was her avatar, in the kitchen, wearing heels and a dress and an apron. She stood at the stove, and Cam cocked his head, like that would make him able to see better what she was doing.

  And then his avatar walked in and sat down at the kitchen table. Tate turned around and slid a plate in front of him. Cam squinted because it looked like . . .

  “I made you apple fritters,” Tate said.

  Cam, the real one, laughed out loud, as his character in the game picked one up and said, “Mmmm.”

  Cam watched it one more time, and then he ordered his character to go shopping. He walked to the nearby mall and headed into a kids’ store.

  For one hundred and fifty virtual dollars, he bought a huge, stuffed Pinkie Pie pony.

  His character couldn’t fit it in his car—he had a little sports car—so he had to take a bus. And all the other passengers glared at him as he squeezed into his seat with the huge stuffed pony. Cam laughed the whole time.

  And then he arrived home, where Tate’s character was outside gardening.

  He presented her with the gift, and she jumped up and down clapping.

  “Friends truce?” Cam asked.

  Tate repeated. “Friends truce.”

  Then he gave her a kiss on the forehead and walked into the house to eat the rest of his apple fritters.

  Chapter 9

  THURSDAYS WERE THE busiest nights at Deke’s. It was probably a mixture of the college Thirsty Thursday mentality and the weekly dollar-twenty-five draft sale.

  Either way, Cam was busy at the door checking IDs. He didn’t know if it was something in the water or what, but he’d already had to turn away a group of girls and two guys for all having fakes.

  The girls flirted and tried to get in anyway, but he wouldn’t budge. The one guy tried to slip him money to let him in and the other guy . . . well, the other guy tried to flirt with him, too.

  But Cam didn’t negotiate with terrorists and turned them all away.

  Tate was somewhere in the crowd wit
h Van. He hadn’t talked to her since he had lunch at the diner two days ago. He knew she’d seen the game, because she smiled shyly at him and rattled her Pinkie Pie keychain.

  He’d smiled back and then tried to keep his eyes off her cleavage.

  Then he wished it were winter so she had to wear turtlenecks.

  Trevor was busy at the bar and gave Cam a chin lift when he turned around to check on him. Cam swung his head back to the door, but on the way, his gaze met the familiar eyes of Marcus. The guy was over in the corner of the bar with a couple of his friends, near the pool tables. They’d never been friends and Cam knew he’d just been biding his time, waiting for Cam or Tate to screw up so he could swoop in and get with her.

  Bastard.

  Cam didn’t want to know why Marcus was sniffing around Tate now. And if he’d done more than sniff in the past.

  Cam focused on a group of girls coming inside. One of them was a girl he recognized. What was her name . . . Maya? Naya? Mara? Shit.

  She smiled at him, her tongue between her teeth in a gesture he assumed to be flirty, and handed him her ID.

  Cam glanced at it as he ran it through the machine. Kara Masters. He snorted to himself. So he was kinda close. He’d gone to high school with her, although he thought she’d been a year younger. One check of her birth date told him she was twenty-two so his memory wasn’t so bad.

  “Cam Ruiz, right?” Her voice was bubbly and giggly. And he smelled perfume and makeup and a little bit of vodka. They must have pre-gamed somewhere else.

  “That’s me.”

  “How are you?” She leaned closer, and her friends whispered to each other. Then she put a hand on his biceps, right under his tattoo, and squeezed her fingers. He felt like a steak being tested for doneness.

  “Good, Kara. You?”

  “I’m great.” Her breath coasted over him. Yep, vodka. He’d have to give Trev a heads-up on serving them.

  He stood up and jerked his chin toward the bar so they’d follow him.

  “You gonna buy me a drink?” she asked.