Chapter 18
CAM WOKE UP the next morning, smelling like campfire smoke and regret.
He should have showered last night when he got home, but it only would have washed away the smoke. The regret was here to stay.
He’d planned to tell Tate he’d turned down the job. In fact, she heard the voice mail about one minute before his planned speech. And fuck if that surprise didn’t blow up in his face. He didn’t know why Mr. Marino left a voice mail anyway. He’d already spoken to him, so why he called was weird.
But it didn’t matter now, because Tate threw it all in his face.
Cam had done it this time, put himself on the line to fight for this relationship, and he was tired of it. Tate had to want it as bad as he did.
He closed his eyes as he remembered the time in the tent before she listened to that stupid voice mail. When she told him she wanted him. When she came apart in his arms. When she acted like there was nowhere else she’d rather be. Ever.
How could she so easily give it up? Even now, he felt like his heart was splitting open.
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
His door creaked open and he turned to see his mom walk inside. She looked good. The pain lines no longer dug into her face. Thank God she’d finally found a pill cocktail that worked. “How you doing, Ma?”
She folded her arms over her chest. “Since you slept here last night, alone, I think you’re the one we need to be talking about.”
He groaned and held a pillow over his head.
The bed dipped beside him and then his fingers were pried loose from his protective plush covering.
“Camilo.” She shoved the pillow back under his cheek when he raised his head. “What happened?”
He lay on his side, facing her. He wasn’t sure where to start. “Why’d you call my cell?”
She waved a hand. “It wasn’t important. Just something I saw on the news. I wasn’t thinking and called to tell you, then hung up when I figured you were a little busy on your date.”
Cam groaned. “Yeah, and things were going great until it all went to shit.”
She stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.
He sighed. “I love her, Ma. More than anything. Why can’t she accept that I’m not giving up my future when I can’t see my future without her in it?”
“Did you tell her that?”
“Yeah, and I could tell she regretted reacting like she did, but it pisses me off that that’s her reaction. And she should feel that strongly, too. She should be fighting this out with me, trying to make this work.”
“You don’t think she wants to?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I know she’s got a lot going on, but damn it, we’re not kids.” He looked up into his mom’s brown eyes. “I want to marry her someday. Have kids. Why can’t she see that me staying in Paradise is the only option for us? That it’s the only option for me.”
“You talked like that about her in high school. And I thought . . . I’m not sure anymore. But I guess I finally see now that she makes you happy.” She ran her hands over his hair. “Did you tell all of this to her?”
Did he? He wasn’t even sure. God, their whole conversation last night felt like a blur. “Well, things got a little messed up. Because she accidentally listened to a voice mail Mr. Marino left me earlier.”
His mom cocked her head. “Why’d he leave you a voice mail if you already talked to him and turned down the job?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t listened to it yet.”
She stood up with her hands on her hips. “Where’s your bag?”
He shifted his arm out from under the covers and pointed to the floor of the closet. “There.”
She went over, unzipped it and began digging around. Her arms stopped moving and then she pulled out a box of condoms with a raised eyebrow.
“Hey, you told me to be safe,” he smirked.
She rolled her eyes and went back to digging in his bag. And he sobered up to realize he probably wouldn’t be using any of those condoms for a long, long time.
His mom pulled out his phone and walked over to the bed. She held it out to him. “How do I work this thing?”
“What do want to do?”
She sat down on the bed again. “I want to listen to the voice mail.”
“Oh.” He swiped his thumb across the screen and pulled up the voice mail app. “Here you go. Just press that little arrow there.”
She did and then held the phone to her ear. She listened to it, her face placid at first. Then her eyes slowly widened and her mouth dropped as she turned to look at Cam.
“What?”
She didn’t answer him yet, still listening to the voice mail, then held the phone out to him. “You didn’t listen to this voice mail?”
“No, not yet.”
She shook the phone at him and then whacked him in the nose with it. “Ow, Ma!”
“Listen to this voice mail right this minute!”
“Okay, okay, keep your pants on,” he grumbled.
He pressed PLAY and listened to it. And then his eyes widened. And his jaw dropped. And by the time Mr. Marino was done talking, Cam wondering if he was having a heart attack. Because his heart was beating out of his chest and his hands were sweating.
“Holy shit,” he said, staring at the now-silent phone.
“You need to call him back!” his mom screeched.
“I know!” Cam yelled back.
“Camilo, this is huge—”
“Big.”
“Important.”
“Life changing.”
And then an idea began to form in his head. He complained about Tate not fighting for their relationship? Well, he still had some weapons. He could still fight.
And damn it, fight he would. For the future he wanted with the girl he wanted.
Now all he needed was to get to New York.
EVERYTHING SMELLED LIKE campfire smoke. She’d forgotten how that scent seeped into clothes and hair and every fabric within a mile vicinity. Three days later and it was still lingering despite four showers and two loads of laundry.
Normally, she didn’t mind it. She loved camping and loved the smell. But now it reminded her of so many things she didn’t want to remember. Like being in Cam’s arms. Like that voice mail. Like that epic fight.
And she still hadn’t gotten up the nerve to call him. Because calling him meant admitting she was okay with his decision. That she was okay with him placing his life on hold for her. And maybe other girls would love that. Maybe other girls would be charmed. But Tate wasn’t other girls. And this rankled and dug under her skin.
Between the two of them, how many dumb decisions had they made for each other?
Maybe there wasn’t hope for them. How could they have a relationship when they kept fucking up this badly? Maybe the world had other plans for them. She wished she could look ten years into the future. She liked to read romance books, and they were all about the journey. Because romances always ended in happily-ever-afters for the couple. So she knew to root for them the whole way through the book.
But her own life? Who were the hero and heroine? Whom was she supposed to root for?
Cam’s words swirled over and over in her head. If I’m the only one fighting for us, then it’s never going to work.
She had to leave for work soon, but for now, she turned on her TV and picked up her controller. She hadn’t checked Utope since camping and when she signed in, she saw that Cam hadn’t been on since their fight. Which made her stomach hurt.
With her avatar, she walked through the house, running her little pixel hands over the walls and petting their dog. She walked out into their backyard and stared at the rain forest full of poison dart frogs. And then she headed up to the bedroom. In the corner sat the stuffed pony Cam had bought her. She patted its head. Then she went out the front door and sat on the porch swing, where Cam’s avatar sat.
This was what they dreamed of, but in real li
fe. A home with the two of them and a dog, minus the deadly rain forest. She tried to imagine her life years in the future, with Cam and without. And as the tears burned hot in her eyes, she couldn’t deny that to be truly happy, she wanted Cam there.
She turned to him and said, “If I promise to fight, can we still have this?”
Her finger hovered over Cam’s avatar, prepared to bring up the speech bubble so he’d answer. But then she paused the game. Right there. With that question hovering in the air above their heads.
And she hoped Cam signed in to the game to see it. Because her heart felt like it was in a vise and she knew his answer held the key to freeing it.
ANNE HAD BEEN in a somber, pissy mood all morning. By the time the breakfast rush had slowed, Tate knew she had to talk to her. Maybe if they commiserated together about her father’s cancer returning, it might not be so hard on each of them.
She left Margo out front to deal with the counter and stomped her way to the back room, where Anne was shelving cans in storage.
She was grumbling to herself and slamming cans so that the whole metal shelf rattled. Tate shut the door behind her and leaned back against it, arms over her shoulders. “I know, the whole thing sucks.”
Anne didn’t turn around. “Damn right it does.”
Tate scuffled her feet on the floor and looked down. “But we’re all together, and that’s what matters.”
Anne didn’t answer. Another slam of a can.
“I know you’re upset but—”
“Upset?” Anne whirled around, a can of diced fruit in her hand. “Oh Tate, I’m not upset, I’m pissed.”
Tate took a step forward. “Well, you can be pissed. I’m pissed, too.”
Anne’s eyes narrowed, and a weird sensation crept up Tate’s spine when Anne answered. “Well, then you should have done something about it. But now he’s gone.”
Tate’s head spun. She put out a hand to brace herself on the shelf and waved the other in front of her face. “Whoa whoa whoa. What could I have done? He’s not gone, he’s at home watching baseball!”
Anne’s eyebrows rose. “He’s most certainly not at home. He left yesterday.”
Tate stared at Anne. “I saw him this morning!”
Anne opened her mouth, but then her mouth flapped open soundlessly as her face paled. “Wait, who are you talking about?”
Tate threw up her hands. “My dad. Who else?” But as soon as the words left her mouth, a sick feeling churned in her gut. “Oh no. You’re talking about . . .”
“Cam,” Anne finished on a whisper.
“Cam.” Tate rolled the name on her tongue. “What . . . what do you mean he’s gone? Where’d he go?”
Anne’s entire posture oozed sympathy, in the way her eyes focused on Tate’s face, in the way her arms hung loose at her sides. “He left for New York.”
And that sick feeling in Tate’s stomach gained strength. Rolling and bubbling and threatening to toss out her breakfast. “What?”
Anne shifted and scrunched her lips. “You didn’t know?”
Tate shook her head. “I haven’t talked to him in a couple of days. Not after . . . well, you know about our fight. But he . . . he left? Without saying anything?”
Anne looked horrified. “I wouldn’t have said all that if I didn’t know—”
Tate blinked, barely keeping herself together. “How do you know he left?”
Anne reached out and grabbed Tate’s wrist. “Tate . . .”
She shook her head. “How did you find out?”
Anne bit her lip. “I ran into Mrs. Ruiz at the grocery story this yesterday.”
Yep, breakfast was going to come up. Any second now. “Was she smugly victorious?”
Anne stepped closer. “Oh, Tate—”
“Was she? Was she happy that the white trash was out of her son’s life?” This hurt. Her stomach, her heart, her head. Everything hurt so bad. Because she’d fucked everything up and Cam. Was. Gone.
“Don’t say that.” Anne’s hands gripped her shoulders and shook her gently. “She did seem happy. Hopeful. But I doubt it has anything to do with you.”
Tate snorted. “Sure. Right.”
Anne was silent for a beat. “What’re you going to do?”
Tate shrugged and tried to step away from Anne’s touch. She didn’t want anyone near her. She wanted to go to the bathroom and curl up in a stall and cry until there weren’t any tears left. “He made his choice.”
But Anne didn’t let go. “Yeah? And what’s your choice?”
Tate scanned the room, eyeing the shelves of cans. The cat yoga calendar that still said it was May. Her frayed apron. Anne’s concerned eyes. What was her choice? If Cam answered yes to her question in Utope, what would she do?
The easy decision would be to collapse into Anne’s arms. Let her hold Tate as she cried. Then wipe her face and keep working. She’d go home to her dad and her brother and she’d throw out Utope once and for all and find another hero to root for.
Or she could make the hard decision. She could hold her chin up. And step out of Anne’s arms. And she could fight and be the heroine of her own story.
So that was what she did. She took a deliberate step back. Anne’s arms fell away along with her face. But Tate raised her chin and clenched her fists. When she spoke, her voice was steady. “My choice? I’m going to fight for him. For us.”
Anne made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. She hauled Tate against her body for one quick hug and smoothed a hand down her hair. “You need help?”
Tate shook her head. “I’m doing what I should have done weeks ago. I’m going to have a visit with Teresa Ruiz.”
Anne patted her cheek. “Good luck, baby.”
By the time Tate finished her shift, she was steel determination. She’d called her dad to check in and told him everything. She’d been avoiding him since her fight with Cam, making excuses about why her boyfriend hadn’t been around. And now that her dad knew, she could hear his strong voice in her ear, letting her know he supported her in whatever she wanted to do.
Tate wasn’t sure what solution would allow her and Cam to be together. She still wasn’t willing to leave her dad to move to another state. But she was willing to compromise.
She hadn’t been to Cam’s home since he’d been home. As she hopped out of Cecil and walked to the house, the front door opened.
Mrs. Ruiz stood in the opening, watching Tate with an unreadable expression on her face. When Tate stood before her, Mrs. Ruiz cocked her head. “I was wondering if you’d come to see me.”
“Hello, Mrs. Ruiz.” Tate kept her voice firm. “I’m here to talk about Camilo.”
The women’s lips pressed together, making Tate think she was about to get chewed out, but then Mrs. Ruiz gestured to one of the chairs on the covered front porch. “It’s not too hot out, why don’t you sit down. I’ll get us some lemonade.”
Already, this was going better than Tate imagined. Unless Mrs. Ruiz slipped rat poison into the lemonade. “Okay.”
The older woman returned a minute later, her long skirt swishing around her legs, her bare feet padding on the wooden boards. On a table between the two chairs, she placed a tray that held a pitcher of pink lemonade, two glasses and a plate of cookies.
Mrs. Ruiz made the best cookies, chocolate chip ones with a hint of cayenne. Cam used to sneak them for her all the time.
Tate eyed them as Mrs. Ruiz lowered herself into her seat. She chuckled at the look on Tate’s face. “Go ahead.”
Tate grabbed a cookie and bit off half of it as Mrs. Ruiz poured the lemonade.
Tate picked up the glass, already coated with condensation, and took a sip. With a jolt, she spit out the lemonade and some of her chewed-up cookie. “What the hell is in this?”
Mrs. Ruiz grinned at her with the devil in her eyes. “A little vodka.”
“A little vodka?” It tasted like a little lemonade with a lot of vodka.
“Okay, so maybe more than a littl
e.” Mrs. Ruiz held up her thumb and forefinger an inch apart.
Tate huffed in the back of her throat. “Warn a gal next time, would ya?”
Mrs. Ruiz smiled, her dimples popping out, and all Tate saw was Cam. She ducked her head and took a deep breath. “So—”
“I’m sorry.”
Tate jerked her head up. “Excuse me?”
Mrs. Ruiz braced an elbow on the arm of her chair and ran a finger down her own cheek. “I always wanted so much for Camilo. His father has never been in his life. And he was a Hispanic in a white, often prejudiced town. I wanted him to rise above and be great and follow his dreams.”
“Mrs. Ruiz—”
“Teresa. Please.”
Tate swallowed her tongue. She’d known the woman since she was a kid and never once had the woman asked Tate to call her by her first name. Tate kept quiet.
Teresa chuckled sadly. “But I forgot what it was like to fall in love. Especially young love. It’s deep and consuming. But it often fades, yes?” She turned to Tate now and eyed her. Waiting for an answer.
Which Tate couldn’t give. Because her young love with this woman’s son never faded. Not once.
So she answered honestly. “It often does. But not always.” Her voice dropped. “Not for me.”
Teresa shut her eyes and then looked back at the street before opening them again. “So I supported him when he enlisted, and I cheered when he went to college. I thought you’d hold him back, but you didn’t, did you?”
“No.” The word was a croak in Tate’s throat.
Teresa faced her again. “He told me what happened. What you did.”
Tate didn’t know what to say about that. “Okay.”
“It was stupid, but it had the outcome you wanted, right? What I wanted? Cam stayed in school?”
Tate nodded.
Teresa’s eyes burned into Tate’s. “But this time, it’s not working how you want it to, is it?”
Tate shook her head.
“He loves you, Tate Ellison. He loves you so much, he’s miserable right now. And that makes me miserable.”
Tate bit her lip to keep herself from crying.
“So, this altruistic act needs to stop. Your decisions send ripple effects to a lot of people. And what I care about most, what I want most for my son is to be happy. What I want most is a woman who will fight for him.”
Make It Last Page 17
