As Much As I Ever Could

by Brandy Woods Snow

  With my free hand, I tap my browser icon and sweep down the list of messages, all the way back to the first of May and his name. “Here it is, and I quote: ‘CJ, things have changed so much this last year I think….’”

  Trent steps up beside me and grabs the phone from my hand, holding it close to his eyes, then flips the screen out in front of me. “God CJ, you didn’t even open the email! You just read the first few words of the preview.”

  I peer at the screen. His name’s still highlighted in bold with the word unread in tiny, slanted font on the right-hand side. I’d never actually read the email in its entirety. I’d just assumed. I yank the phone from his hand and press my thumb to the link. My breath catches in my throat when the words appear, and I can hardly read it out loud without pausing to swallow the air that keeps expanding against my chest.

  * * *

  To:

  From:

  Date: May 6

  Subject: Decisions

  * * *

  CJ, things have changed so much this last year I think that time away will do you good. Do us both good. Sorry if I acted like an ass the other night when you told me. You need to clear your head. I get that. So do I. We used to be good together. There’s still something there, right? Let’s use this summer as a reset. I’ll give you your space, but I’ll be here when you get home in August.

  Trent

  * * *

  Oh my God. How could I have been so stupid?

  But even that’s not the worst part.

  My other hand’s empty. When I read the email, the part about there “still being something there,” Jett’s fingers, which had been interlaced with mine, went limp and slipped to his lap. Now they’re balled into fists so tight I can’t see his nails, only the blue veins that spider across his wrist pulsating in quick rhythm. He springs to his feet and the swing arches backward, then slams into the backs of his knees with a thud as he stands at arm’s-length from Trent. They stare at each other; the spot in front of Jett’s ear throbs with each jaw clench. Without a sound, Gin sneaks her hand out and grabs Bo’s arm. He leans forward as if waiting to break up anything Jett’s thinking of dishing out.

  But Jett doesn’t draw a fist, only shakes his head. “So nice to meet Cami’s…boyfriend.” His rigid jaw nearly flattens out his chin dimple, and before I can ease in a word edgewise, he waves his hand toward me, offering me up like a Price is Right showcase. “By all means, dude…come get your girlfriend. I’m all done here.” He turns and stomps across the property line to the Johnsons’ driveway, the metallic jingle of the keys in his pocket following behind him.

  I run to the edge of the yard and yell, “Jett!” He won’t look back at me. He doesn’t even flinch when I scream out his name again and again. Bo steps behind me and grips my shoulder, his fingertips pressing to the bone. I angle my head to catch his gaze, his eyes dark and intense.

  “Bo,” I whisper in his ear. “Please make him understand this is all a colossal mix-up. He’ll listen to you.”

  He nods and takes off across the lawn, sliding into the passenger side as the Jett’s Dodge roars to life. After three thunderous revs, the Challenger flies backward into the street, back wheels spinning as it jerks into gear and speeds away. My stomach crawls to my throat as the rumble fades into the distant hum of the waves breaking on shore. All that’s left in the Johnsons’ driveway are two long smears of black and the stench of burnt rubber.

  Gin paces back and forth along the underside of the house, hands on her hips, flip-flops slapping against her heels in the yard’s one patch of green grass, saturated from the hose run-off where we washed the sand from our feet earlier. Slap, squish, slap, squish, slap, squish, slap squish. Pause and repeat.

  I toss my phone into Trent’s hands. “Take this and wait for me upstairs on the front porch. I’ll be there in a minute.” He stares at me, flipping my phone over and over in his fingers, not moving. There’s no time for this crap. “Move!”

  He and Gin both jump when I scream. Trent darts to the front of the house, and once his clomping on the wooden steps silences, I turn to Gin. “I have to handle this.” I point above me then grab her hand in mine, the ragged nails she’s chewed away poking into my skin. “Text Bo. I need to talk to Jett. This is not what he’s thinking.” I squeeze her hand harder, and she grimaces like I’m crushing her knuckles under the pressure.

  She nods and jogs toward her house, stopping midway to look back over her shoulder. “CJ? What are you gonna do with two boys who care about you?”

  I force a smile and shake my head. “Trent’s confused, and Jett…” I swallow hard and motion toward the empty street. “I thought he cared, but then he just…left. Now I don’t know.”

  Gin snorts. A smile stretches across her face as the sun glints off the row of metal on her top teeth. “Funny. That’s how I know he does.” She winks, then turns and runs to her house.

  “You want to be with him.” Trent leans back in the wooden rocker and props his feet on the porch railing. He massages the stubble on either side of his chin.

  I prop myself against the porch column, pretending the wooden beam is my second spine, and stare back at him. My gaze is locked on his icy-blue eyes; the same ones that used to send shivers coursing through me. Now it’s more like reconnecting with an old friend. “So what? You’re into Emmalyn.”

  He jerks his feet to the porch floor, sliding to the chair’s edge as cherry-swirls tint his cheeks then crawl across his neck. “I…I mean, we…”

  I cock my head to the side and bite my lower lip, watching him fidget with his class ring. “She’s my best friend, Trent.” I pause, take a deep breath, and look out over the front lawn. “Yeah, I know…I’ve pushed everyone away this past year, but she never gave up on me. I’m trying to be a better friend.”

  His eyes widen and the muscles in his neck flex as he swallows over and over.

  “She felt awkward about the two of you, but I told her to go for it.”

  He sighs and drops his shoulders, looking at his shoes. “Are you mad?”

  I push off the post and sit beside him in the matching rocker. “No. Y’all make more sense than we ever did. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this past year…” My mind spirals backwards in time, spinning like an out-of-control merry-go-round. Everything’s blurry, the memories mixing with the dreams in an abstract mishmash of sirens and screaming and crying and sulking alone in my room. I sink my head in my hands. “Okay, I don’t know what I’ve learned…”

  “CJ?” Trent tugs my hands from my face, forcing me to look in his eyes. “I see a difference. This guy Jett must be good for you. It’s like the old CJ’s finally coming back.”

  A warmth covers my shoulders like a sweater and filters down from there. “That might be the best compliment I’ve had in a long time.”

  He nods and then frowns, forehead wrinkled. “From the way he glared at me when I called you my girlfriend, it’s obvious the guy is falling for you.”

  The words spawn a tornado in me, fueled by the thought of Jett somewhere out there thinking I lied to him. Why didn’t he wait five minutes so I could explain? Why did he leave me? Fiery flames lick my stomach, and I wrap my arms around my middle, pressing into the twisted guts. “I thought maybe he was starting to, but now…I’m not really sure.”

  It’s a little after six when Bo stomps in the Johnsons’ front door. It slams behind him so hard, Mrs. Johnson’s display of collectible bells tinkle on their glass shelves. Trent slouches on the couch, perusing the movie channels, while Gin and I sit in the open foyer in front of the full-length mirror. She smears a boatload of make-up on my face, dabbing the sponges in little circles over my cheeks and eyelids, obviously trying to keep my mind off the Jett situation.

  Bo squats beside us, sweat rolling off his forehead, T-shirt soaked underneath the armpits and chest heaving in and out with each pant.

  I grab Gin’s hand, stalling the eyeliner pencil in mid-air. “How is he?
Why didn’t he come back with you?”

  “He wouldn’t listen. He kept…” Bo pauses and looks at the floor.

  “Kept what?” When Bo hesitates, I shove his shoulder, and he topples backward, catching himself on one arm.

  He huffs out a loud breath. “Kept saying he wished he’d never met you. That he should’ve known better.”

  The words are bullets, ripping through my heart. Shredding it. Obliterating it. Being mad is one thing. Regretting me—us—is another. Jett’s hurt. He believes the worst because he’s been conditioned that way. Still, it’s me. He should know I’d never lie to him.

  I pick up my phone and check again. Nothing. “He won’t answer my texts. I’ve sent like a million and he won’t…”

  “He turned his phone off. Then his racing team showed up and started drowning him in beer.” He shakes his head, teeth gritted. “I tried to reason with him, but it’s useless.”

  My heart crumbles. I’ve got to find him. Make him listen. Make him remember I’m still the one he can lean on.

  Trent’s footsteps sound behind us. He stands there, hands shoved in his pockets. “Should I talk to him?”

  “No.” Bo’s jaw stiffens as he hurtles to his feet. “If Jett won’t listen to me, he sure won’t listen to you.”

  The one thing I’m absolutely confident in right now is Trent should NOT be the one to talk to Jett. And if he refuses to listen to Bo, then it has to be me.

  It can only be me.

  I just hope it’s not too late.

  The half-sun piggybacks the water, painting the salty ripples in smears of orange and gold. The party’s only been going for about an hour when we get there, but the bonfire flames lick the darkening sky and the sweetly-sour stench of beer floats on the breeze. The beach is thick with scantily-dressed bodies running, dancing, and falling into each other. We push through them, rocking back and forth with the flow of people shoving beside us in all directions. Bo grabs me and pulls me back to standing when I nearly trip on the legs of a couple making out on a beach towel at the far edge of the crowd.

  I’m not paying attention to them. I scan the mob for Jett, the only face I want to focus on in this sea of craziness. I lift up on my tiptoes as we walk, searching the nameless heads for his face, when I spot a pink ponytail bobbing across the uppermost edge of the crowd. Rachel steps into a clearing, hand-in-hand with Trévon, and I wave my arms in the air to nab their attention.

  “Rachel! Trévon!”

  She stops, glancing around. When her eyes land on me, she nudges him with her elbow and points in my direction. I jog toward them with Bo, Gin, and Trent in tow. “Have y’all seen Jett?”

  Trévon nods his head down the beach. “He’s by the water on the other side of the jetty.”

  The four of us collectively turn in that direction when Rachel grabs my arm, her grip tight and uncomfortable. “Let him be, CJ. Can’t you see this is for the best?”

  “No one cares what you think.” The tension oozes through my gritted teeth. Bo steps forward, wrenching her hand from my arm, and pulls me in the direction of the monstrous rock-and-cement jetty.

  Bo and Trent scale the rocks first and then pull up both me and Gin. The top affords us an expansive view of the beach, and it only takes a minute to locate Jett.

  Frayed jeans and a black T-shirt, Jett sits alone in the sand, out of reach of the water lapping the shore. His fingers grip the longneck of a bottle.

  He stares out across the horizon where slivers of waning light dance on the water as they’re swallowed by the purple haze of night. Today got so screwed. We should’ve come to this party together the way we planned. It should be us down there. Not him there and me here.

  Gin nudges my arm and nods her head toward Jett, but no sooner do I step forward on the rocks than a shrill giggle cuts through the dusk. That’s when I see her, running along the water’s edge in the shadows of the jetty. I freeze, my breath trapped in my throat as a pain shoots through my chest. Weird pinpricks of fire scatter throughout my limbs.

  She skips along the water’s edge, kicking up fans of ocean foam that rain down on her cut-off jean shorts and cropped, sleeveless blouse, tied up under her breasts, exposing her impossibly perfect body.

  “Who’s that?” Gin leans in, glancing back and forth between Bo and me. Her voice is barely audible over the waves crashing just a few feet away.

  Bo rolls his eyes. “Dani…somebody. I can’t remember her last name.”

  Dani. The famous Dani. The one Rachel claims is Jett’s perfect match. The Dani who shares his passion for racing. The one who’s been in his life way longer than me and will still be here after summer’s come and gone.

  Another giggle rings through the silence. I squint my eyes, straining to see her against the shadows. As much as my insides are twisting on themselves, I need to know how this will end. So, I stand motionless, quiet.

  Watching.

  Dani drops to the sand beside Jett, their bodies only inches apart, and leans her head onto his shoulder. Every muscle in my body turns to steel, immobile and paralyzed. I can’t breathe. I can’t rip my eyes away, and on the inside, my silent screams bubble up but find no voice.

  What are you doing? Did I mean nothing?

  Not so many weeks ago, I was numb. Nothing affected me. But now, the pain snakes in, constricting itself around my heart, squeezing it to the point I’m sure it’ll burst. Tears sting my eyelids, puddling to the point they run over and trickle down my cheeks. It’s been months since I’ve cried. The last time was before the memorial service.

  I swore I’d never cry again.

  I force my eyes open. She reaches up to ruffle his hair, the same way I had earlier on the beach, and then trails her fingers over his neck. Jett doesn’t move. At all.

  My friends’ hands grip me, pressing into my muscles, consoling me, holding me back from murder, or possibly keeping me standing on two wobbly legs now threatening to collapse.

  “I can’t do this.” I spin on my heels and face plant into Rachel.

  Nose to nose, she purses her lips with fake concern. “Sorry, CJ, but I tried warning you.” As I elbow my way past her, she grabs my shoulder and spins me back to facing her. “Jett needs to focus on all things racing. That’s what he’s doing. I get that you’re hurt, but this is for the best. For everyone.”

  “For everyone”—I shake her hands loose and thrust my finger in her face—“or for you?” When she tries to swat my hand away, I grab her wrist and shove. She trips over her own feet and lands butt-first in the sand.

  Trévon steps between us, holding out both of his hands like stop signs, but there’s no need. She and her games can lie there in the sand like the slug she is. Gin and Trent stare at me—obviously waiting on me to scream, cry, explode, something—but the shock glues me in place. Gin’s fingers wrap around Trent’s forearm.

  “Ouch,” he groans. “Let go.”

  It’s enough to break my trance.

  No. I will not cry. I will not fall apart. Not in front of all these people.

  The lump in my throat gets bigger and rises, pressing on my palate, making my nose and throat burn. I grit my teeth, sending subliminal messages to my tear ducts. Don’t cave to the pressure. Be strong.

  But the tears betray me. They sting until they stream down my cheeks, faster with each passing moment.

  I backpedal out of the group, the only thought in my head being how quickly I can get off this beach.

  “CJ, wait!” Gin yells, her voice so loud it echoes above the blaring music, but Bo grabs her arm, holding her in place with a head shake.

  The ruckus, however, draws a crowd, including the pair down the beach. Dani jumps to her feet, giggling, and clamps her hands over her mouth, and Jett jerks back, looking over his shoulder. His hand slips in the sand, throwing him sideways onto both elbows. He lifts his head, eyes zeroed in on me. The soft glow of the bonfire is the only light dancing through the darkness at this point, and it faintly illuminates his face. His mou
th twitches, then his lips enunciate one word.

  Cami.

  Chapter Nineteen

  A row of houses peek over a cluster of palmetto trees, faintly illuminated in the yellow glow from the streetlight. No cars or people crowd the main highway that parallels the beach, which is perfect because I just want to be alone.

  Except I’m not.

  “CJ, stop! Wait a minute!” His voice booms over the waves and I pick up speed, the sand grains spraying up on my legs like a thousand tiny razors as I slog through the dunes. He has nothing to say to me. Let him go check on his girlfriend.

  Up ahead, the pier breaks the horizon, its underneath dark and quiet. If I could just get there I could disappear into the shadows, away from the drama and the excuses and the pain.

  “CJ, dammit, I know you hear me!” Closer this time. He keeps gaining on me, his heavy breathing in sync with the crashing waves. I dig in with all my strength, but instead of going faster, my feet sink lower into the drifts and slow me down. A heavy hand grabs my shoulder. “Listen to me, chick.”

  Chick. I hate being called chick. The memory of the first day I met Jett in the market floods my brain. My first instinct was to push him away. Why didn’t I listen?

  I stop and whirl around as we come face to face. “Who are you calling chick?”

  “Ha!” He laughs and juts his finger at me. “Jett mentioned…one time…how much you hated that. I knew it’d get you…to turn around.” He pushes out the words through heavy pants and presses two fingers to his neck, so dramatic-like. “Dang. Are you…trying to kill me with that marathon sprint?”

  I deadpan. “What do you want, Trévon?”

  He takes a deep breath and plants his hands on his hips. “I know you’re pissed…and hurt…but don’t give up on Jett. You’re good for him.”

  My jaw about hits the sand. No way would he say something like that if his girlfriend was in earshot. I snort and jab my finger at some indiscriminate spot down the beach where I know she’s standing. Probably laughing. “That’s not what Rachel thinks.”