by Lynn Stevens
Oh my God, Dad was probably freaking out.
I splashed water on my face and finger brushed my teeth with the toothpaste beside the faucet. My hair was a tangle of knots. There wasn’t a lot I could do with it other than smooth it down and pull it back in a ponytail with my ever present elastic holder on my wrist. Once I did that, I felt almost human. Just a human with an alien sized headache.
When I stepped back into the bedroom, Dylan sat on the freshly made bed. I swallowed hard. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Actually he wasn’t wearing much of anything except a pair of white mesh shorts. His hair was bed-messy and his usual swagger was gone.
“I need to get home. My parents are probably worried,” I said in a small voice.
“I took care of it.” He pointed to my phone on the nightstand. “Your dad knows where you’re at.”
“You told them I was here?”
“Yeah, I told him the truth. You had too much to drink celebrating your graduation and you didn’t want him to see you like... well, that. So you crashed here.” Dylan raised an eyebrow. “Good enough?”
Not even close. I just stared at him.
“You just going to look at me like I’ve grown two heads?” Dylan grabbed my phone and handed it to me. “See for yourself what I said.”
I took the phone and opened the messages. This is Cam’s friend Dylan. We celebrated too much last night. A friend drove us back to my place. He didn’t know where she lived. She’s safe and crashed on my couch.
It wasn’t too bad, but still. He could’ve lied and said I was at Iris’s. Or Miranda’s. God, Miranda. How could I have done that to her? As if she knew, my phone lit up with her smiling face. I didn’t want to answer, but I knew better than to put off the inevitable.
“Hey,” I said.
“Fuck you, Cami.” That was all she said before ending the call.
I crumbled, sobs wracking my body like never before. Dylan caught me around the waist and held me up. My body pressed against his, relishing in the comfort I needed. We stood together, my arms around his waist, his around my shoulders, for a good ten minutes.
“Tell me,” he said.
“Miranda’s been in love with Eddie since... well, forever.” That was an understatement. “I need to call her back. I need to apologize.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. He did.” He squeezed me tighter. “Something tells me calling her back isn’t the best idea right now.” He steered me toward the door. “Come on. First things first. My hangover cure-all, breakfast, and you can tell me what’s really going on. Then I’ll take you home. We still have a show tonight.”
“Oh God, I can’t even...” The thought of standing on a hot stage stopped me cold. “How can I...”
“If you want to be a singer, you have to learn to go on no matter what.” He led me down the hall into the too-bright kitchen. My eyes rejected the light. “You can’t pick and choose when you’ll go on. You signed a contract, you perform.”
He was right. Of course he was right. He pulled out a chair for me and helped me sit. Well, he helped me not collapse into it. I stared at the wooden table, my eyes tracing the patterns of the grain. My brain understood this. Patterns, not thoughts, just focused on the natural way the wood ebbed and flowed. It was almost calming.
My phone lit up again. I picked it up and stared at the text from Iris.
WTF? You better call me now.
It took me a few minutes to figure out what to say. Even that felt like an eternity. A glass of thick red liquid appeared in front of me. I glanced up at Dylan.
“Don’t think, just chug it. Your headache will be gone.” He waited expectantly. When I didn’t pick up the glass, he sighed and pushed it closer. “Pinch your nose. It’ll go down faster.”
I really didn’t want to drink it. And I didn’t want to know what was in it either. “I need to call Iris.”
“Yeah, you probably should, but you’re not really coherent yet so drink the damn juice.” He tapped the glass. “Get it over with.”
I picked it up. It smelled like tomatoes and spices I couldn’t identify. If I didn’t drink it myself, there was a slight chance he’d pour it down my throat judging by the look on his face. I pinched my nose and thought of anything but the rank taste.
“What the hell is in that?” I asked, setting the now empty glass on the table with a thud.
Dylan laughed as he stepped toward the fridge. “A Bloody Mary.”
“You’re trying to help me get over my hangover by having me drink more alcohol? What kind of sick logic is that?”
“Dad’s a pro at hangovers.” He grabbed a liter of water and tossed it at me. “Electrolytes. Chug that too. You’ll be back to somewhat normal in time for breakfast.”
I opened the bottle and took a sip. My stomach rolled at the thought of breakfast, but it wasn’t long before the water was gone. I’d drank it faster than the disgusting Bloody Mary.
The oven beeped that it was preheated. Dylan slid a pan of biscuits inside. He stirred something on the stove that I couldn’t see, humming to himself the entire time.
My body begged for more water. I stood and grabbed another bottle from the fridge. The top two shelves were filled with them. The bottom shelf had booze. The crispers were filled with fresh veggies and fruit. The meat drawer held ham, steaks, and hamburger. Condiments filled the doors along with a gallon of milk.
“Why all the water?” I asked.
Dylan didn’t turn around as he stirred sausage in the skillet. “I drink it.”
“Duh,” I said with an eyeroll. “I get that, but why so much?”
“It was on sale.” He glanced over his shoulder. “So I loaded up when I was at the store.”
“You don’t seem like the type of guy to shop the sales. Or to cook for that matter.” I sat back down and sipped the second bottle. My headache disappeared slowly.
“Oh?” He poured the sausage onto a plate and dabbed away the grease. “What type of guy do I seem to you?”
“You rented a house for the summer instead of staying at the cabins on the resort,” I said.
Dylan laughed. “True and not true. I bought a house to stay in over the summer. It’s an investment. And I needed to be away from Dad.”
I raised my eyebrows and waited. Dylan put the sausage in the pot of gravy. The timer beeped and he pulled the fresh biscuits from the oven. It was all so domestic. Then it dawned on me that we needed to eat on something. I stood and opened the cabinets until I found the plates. Dylan pointed to a drawer where he kept the silverware.
“Investment?” I finally asked after setting the table.
Dylan put the biscuits in a bread basket and the gravy in a bowl in the center of the table. We sat down and filled our plates.
“I started when I was eighteen.” He opened two biscuits and spread butter on them. “When my trust fund kicked in. Mom used to be a real estate agent before she met Dad. Once they married, she didn’t need to work. Then they separated.” He poured the gravy. “So she started flipping houses.”
“Flipping houses?” I took a bite and a moan escaped. “This is amazing.”
“Thanks,” Dylan said with a smile. “She’d buy the houses cheap, upgrade them, then sell them for a profit. She’s somewhere in New York state right now. I forget where, but’s it’s in a town close enough to New York that New Yorkers are snatching up property as weekend getaways.”
“So you plan on flipping this?” I didn’t see how that was possible. The house was already in great shape and in a high class neighborhood.
“Nah, I don’t flip all my properties.” He took a few bites then sipped his coffee. “I’m going to keep this as a rental. Great neighborhood, summer tourist spot, it’ll make good money. When it doesn’t, I’ll sell.”
“I’m sure the neighborhood association will love that.”
“I can’t rent it long term. That’s against the association’s rules, but I can use it as a daily or weekly rental. I’ll just have to find a mana
gement company to clean it in between.” He shrugged. “I’ve got several properties in L.A., a couple of places in New York, and a few cabins in Gatlinburg. Nets me a nice income.”
“That’s... surprisingly responsible,” I said as I took another biscuit. “If all that fails, you can cook for a living.”
Dylan grinned. “That I can. Mom worked a lot, so I had to figure it out on my own. Thank God for the Internet.”
“Why not eat out?” I asked. The restaurants in L.A. must be amazing.
“Believe it or not, it gets old.”
“I had to start cooking once Dad had his stroke.” The sausage gravy had a hint of something I couldn’t quite place. “Mom went back to full-time at the restaurant. Jake and I had to figure it out. Once Dad came home, I had no choice but to keep cooking.”
“Don’t you have any other family around here?” He grabbed another biscuit and smothered it with butter.
“My uncle Martin lives in Colorado. He used to come back during Christmas until my grandparents died. Then he stopped.” I shrugged. Uncle Martin was creepy anyway. Or that’s how I remembered him. “Mom was an only child. Her parents divorced when she was a kid. She took off when she was eighteen and ended up here. She doesn’t talk to them.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean...” Dylan finished his sentence in his head as he took a bite of his biscuit. “Dad’s parents are in England still. I don’t really know them. Mom’s dad died a few years ago, but she has lunch with her mom every Sunday when she’s home. I’m not invited.”
“Why?”
“I’m the bad seed.” He put his silverware on his plate and stood. “Anyway, enough tragic back-story for the day. You feeling better?”
Surprisingly, I was. “You’re a miracle worker.”
Dylan laughed and took my plate. “You gonna call your friend now?”
I glanced at my phone. Iris had sent two more messages. “I’m going to have to.”
“What’s the deal anyway?”
I took in a deep breath and gave him the shortened version of Miranda’s tragic love for Eddie. Every time I said his name, I wanted to throw up.
“Rip off the Band-Aid. Tell Iris the truth. Maybe it will get back to Miranda,” Dylan said as he turned around to rinse off the plates. “If you want some privacy, it’s gorgeous outside.”
I stood with my phone in hand and headed toward the sliding doors off the kitchen. “Thanks, Dylan. For breakfast.”
“No problem.” He didn’t turn around as he methodically cleaned the stove. No wonder my first impression had been wrong. He was a neat freak.
I opened the door, hit with a warm breeze off the lake. He was right. It was gorgeous outside. The sun bounced off the lake. In the distance, a boat sped along in the distance. It was peaceful. The last thing I wanted to do was ruin that sense of peace, but I had to talk to Iris. I sat in on the couch and hit call on my phone.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Iris answered.
I closed my eyes. I didn’t deserve that, even though it felt like I did. “I—”
“No, wait, I don’t know if you can even justify this. Eddie? Seriously? Of all the people at the party, you fucked Eddie.”
“Whoa, I did not have sex with him.” I sat up straighter.
“That’s not what he said. He was telling everyone about it. Andy they all saw you walk toward the lake with him.” Iris sighed into the receiver. “And Miranda saw you with him. She saw you kissing him. No matter what happened after she walked away, she saw enough. How could you do that to her?”
I glanced toward the door in the kitchen. “I didn’t kiss him. He kissed me. I tried pushing him off, but I had too much to drink.”
“So this is all his fault? You’re going with that excuse.”
“Excuse?” My throat constricted. I could barely get the words out. “It’s not an excuse. He kissed me, and I turned my head. I never consented to him kissing me. I’d never do that to Miranda. Every time... you know what. Never mind. I don’t have to justify it to you.”
“You’re telling the truth,” she said almost awed by the mere idea of it. I’d never lied to her. Not even when her too short skirt showed her Powerpuff Girl undies when she bent over.
“You can ask Dylan if you don’t believe me. He yanked Eddie off of me.”
“Jesus, Cam.” Iris sighed. “Miranda’s never going to forgive you.”
Tears streamed down my face. “I know. She’s got some sick obsession with Eddie. No matter what shitty thing he does, she always believes him over anybody else.”
“You rarely drink. What happened? And why was Dylan there?”
I glanced toward the door, grateful Dylan couldn’t hear me. “He wanted to blow off steam after the show. I thought it was a good idea to go to the party. He... he ordered me around, told me not to drink, then started flirting with Lola. It just... it bothered me more than it should. So I decided to try and forget everything by downing as much booze as I could in a short amount of time.”
Iris snorted. “That’s so not like you.” She paused then sighed loudly. “Look, give Miranda time to cool off. Don’t call her, text her, or anything. I’ll try to keep her from doing anything stupider than she normally does. I’ll.... Just focus on your show.”
I nodded as she ended the call. Not only had I lost Miranda, I had a feeling I’d lost Iris, too. They were the best friends. I was the third wheel in our trio. Usually if there was a fight between us, I was the one left out because it was normally between me and Miranda or me and Iris. Miranda and Iris never fought with one another.
Neither one of them would ever talk me again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I avoided all contact with everyone over the next few days. Mom tried to ground me, and Dad came to my defense. He liked Dylan, but that wasn’t his argument with Mom. I was officially an adult, and I could spend the night at a friend’s house without their permission. It didn’t matter to her. I’d disappointed her yet again. Story of my life.
Every time Dylan even glanced my way at the theater, I went the opposite direction. It wasn’t easy, but it felt necessary. I needed to put some distance between us so I could think. Dylan wasn’t into me. Fine. It was what it was. I needed space to let it go though. And I had two days off to break free. No lessons, no show, no rehearsals, just time to fix everything that was wrong in my life.
I had two days off to figure out how to beg for Miranda’s forgiveness. I called her despite Iris’s warning not to. My call wasn’t ignored, it was flat out rejected. She’d blocked me. I called Iris.
“What, Cam?” Iris answered, not bothering to hide her irritation.
“I need to make this right.” I said. “What do I do?”
“You turn back time and don’t make out with the one guy Miranda’s been in love with since second grade. Can you do that?” Sarcasm dripped from her voice. “Or would you rather screw me over too?”
“Because you’re perfect? You’ve never made a mistake in your life?” I snapped. It wasn’t her fault, but damned if I was going to let her go all high and mighty on me. “Remember freshman year, Iris? Who made out with my boyfriend? I forgave you.”
Iris sighed. “That was a long time ago.”
“Yeah, it was. And I didn’t do anything to hurt Miranda. This was all Eddie. Miranda’s done worse. Way worse, but you always give her a pass.”
“Don’t make her the bad guy, Cam,” Iris said.
“I’m not. I’m just saying none of us are perfect. I screwed up. Big time screwed up. I know I never should’ve walked to the lake with Eddie, but I didn’t do anything wrong. Why can’t you believe that?”
“She needs time,” Iris said after a long pause. “She’s hurt and angry. Not just at you.”
“But at Eddie? I find that hard to believe.” I swallowed the bile filling my throat. If only she would’ve seen what a shitty person he was before she went out on the boat last summer. Eddie wasn’t a good guy. He’d shown her then, but she still obsessed a
bout him. “He’s an asshole anyway.”
“Then why’d you go with him?”
“It was just a walk. How many times do I have to tell you I didn’t hook up with him?” My face burned with anger and resentment. “I shouldn’t have to be forgiven, Iris. My friends should stand by me.”
Iris sighed loudly. “Yeah, maybe. And Eddie is an asshole. He hit on me before you showed up. He’s just slimy.”
“He’s a borderline rapist.” I shuddered at the memory. “What can I do? Seriously, I need to make her understand that I didn’t want this?”
“I don’t know if you can,” Iris said, doubt filling her voice. “Where’d you go after you left? Rumor has it you and Eddie met up somewhere else.”
“I passed out in his car and woke up the next morning at his house.”
“Wait, what? You and Dylan hooked up after all that?” Iris almost screeched.
“No, it wasn’t like that. I passed out. He let me sleep it off at his house. Nothing happened.” Although I wasn’t entirely sure why he didn’t just take me home. It would’ve been easier and the wrath of Mom would’ve... well, that would’ve been the same level only for a different reason.
“And the next morning?”
“He made me a Bloody Mary and breakfast. Then he took me home. Like I said, nothing happened.”
“What’re you going to do now?” Iris asked. Curiosity was always her vice.
“Work. Avoid Dylan. And figure out a way to get Miranda to talk to me.” Tears slid down my cheeks. “I really want to fix this.”
“What if you can’t? Miranda’s not going to forgive you easily.”
“I don’t need her to forgive me, Iris. I just need her to listen. To understand. She’s not that vindictive. She needs to know I didn’t do anything.” I collapsed on my bed.
“Give it a week before you try anything. She needs space. A lot of space. She’s not in a good place, Cam. She... Never mind.”