“And I don’t suppose you know what that is?”
“Some things are better learned than told.”
Nate nodded. It may have seemed like a vague answer, but that was enough for him. He didn’t want to know the particulars of his future. He always thought knowing something like that would shape the way he lived too much.
Nate started to stand, but Ronnie grabbed his hand.
“One more thing, Nathaniel. It’s about Camille.”
He sat back down.
“Camille is very special to me. She’s not as tough as she wants everyone to think. She doesn’t let many people in. But when she does . . . the girl’s got a lot of love in that heart a hers. But I’ve never met anyone more afraid of it. Be careful with her, okay?”
“I won’t hurt her,” Nate said, meeting Ronnie’s stern gaze.
“I know you won’t. I think you could be good for her, but she won’t make it easy on ya.”
“I’m up for the challenge. Besides, the best things in life are worth fighting for, right?”
A sullen look crossed Ronnie’s green eyes. He looked like he was going to say something else but instead he nodded before standing and walking toward the kitchen door. “Camille, it’s time you take this boy a yours home.”
She poked her pretty silver head out from the back. “Has he worn out his welcome already?”
“Never, but I can feel this storm gettin’ stronger. You better head out now while ya still can.”
“But I’ve got another two hours left,” Cami argued.
“Ain’t nobody coming out for sweets in weather like this. I’ll call Hector down to keep me company.”
“But my car’s at home. I didn’t drive today.”
“I know that, baby cakes,” Ronnie said giving Camille a knowing look. “But the rain’s gonna let up just about . . .”
The pounding of the rain stopped as if someone had simply switched off the faucet. It made Nate’s skin prickle. Was Ronnie really that psychic? But before he could ask the question, Ronnie held up his phone, smirking at the weather app showing the storm radar. “You’ve got about fifteen minutes ‘til it starts back up again. I’d run on home now if I were you.”
9
Cami
“So,” Camille asked as she put her Range Rover Sport in drive. “How’d your reading go with Ronnie?”
“Actually, much better than I expected,” Nate replied. “I don’t usually believe in that sorta stuff.”
Camille was still winded from running home from Sweet Thangs, but she managed a smirk. “Me either. But why’d you agree to do it?”
“I didn’t want to be rude.”
She couldn’t contain her laughter. “That’s so not a reason to let someone read your fortune.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“I’m definitely right. What if he told you something you didn’t want to hear?”
Nate shrugged. “Luckily, he didn’t.”
“Just be careful. Ronnie’s one thing, but there are a lot of people in this town who will take advantage of you. You’re way too trusting, California.”
“And you’re way too skeptical, Na’wlins.”
“I’m not skeptical.”
“Oh really? Have you ever let Ronnie give you a psychic reading?”
“No.” Not really much point in looking into my future when I know I’m terminally ill.
“Well you should,” Nate taunted.
“And why’s that?”
“Because then he could confirm that I’m the man of your dreams.”
Camille snorted. “Oh my God. Do you practice these lines in the mirror or something?”
Nate laughed, too. “No, actually that’s one of Ty’s. He was always way better with the ladies than I am.”
“Oh.” Cami was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I like talking about Ty. It makes it feel like he’s still part of my life, ya know? My parents never talk about him. They act like his name is a bad word. It drives me crazy.”
“Sorry,” Cami said again.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“Right. Sorry. I mean . . .” she sighed. “Apparently I’m not good at this.”
Nate grinned. “You’re better than you think.”
“So what did Ronnie tell you that made you a believer?” Camille asked after a while. “I mean, if you wanna share.”
“At first, he just said a lot of generic stuff that I’ve heard before, like you’re gonna be okay, you’re allowed to live your life, blah, blah, blah. But then, he said ‘nice shirt’ and winked.”
“And that changed your mind?”
“Ty gave me this shirt. I know it’s stupid, but when Ronnie winked at me with that crooked smile, I swear it felt like Ty was right there in the café with me.”
Camille watched Nate’s wistful smile twist his features while she drove through the pounding rain. She’d never really believed in psychic powers or mediums, but she knew many others did. And the idea that people took comfort in signs from those they’d lost gave her a sliver of peace. “It’s not stupid,” she said quietly.
Nate took her hand and squeezed. “Thanks.”
She drove like that for a while, in the silence, with Nate’s hand wrapped warmly around hers. His thumb traced blazing circles on the back of her palm, and Camille was grateful the rain forced her to focus on the road.
She followed the GPS and pulled up in front of a narrow purple shotgun house in the Bywater. It had definitely seen better days. The porch roof sagged and the pillars looked weary under the weight. Even the stairs leading up the house looked unstable. There was a ratty couch on the porch and the front door was open, only protected by a torn screen door.
This couldn’t be where Nate lived. The place looked abandoned. Camille was about to double-check her GPS when Nate interrupted.
“There’s nothing wrong with Google maps. This is the right place.”
She looked at him, trying to mask the shock from her face. “This is your dad’s house?”
“Yeah. It’s a ‘fixer upper,’” Nate said using air quotes. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I’ve been helping him renovate it. We’ve mostly been focusing on the inside, as you can probably tell,” he said lightly.
Camille schooled her features. Apparently she wasn’t doing a very good job hiding her worry. “Right.”
“I’d invite you in,” Nate said, “but it looks like the AC went out again. Thank God for the rain or I’d probably be sleeping on the porch again.”
Camille’s eyes widened with alarm. “Nate—”
“Kidding. I know it’s not Casa LaRue, but it’s nice enough inside. You don’t need to look so worried.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Right,” Nate said tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “If your eyes got any wider I’d be able to see your brain, which come to think of it, might not be such a bad thing.”
“Why’s that?”
“Cause I think you only say about ten percent of what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.” Nate leaned closer. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Camille LaRue.”
“I’m thinking, if your house is so great, why are you still in my car?”
Nate grinned. “That’s easy. I just want to enjoy our date for a little bit longer.”
“This isn’t a date.”
“In my head it is, and this is the part when I kiss you.”
“Okay, even if this was a date, I would not be kissing you right now.”
Nate leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes. “Shhh. You’re ruining it.”
“Ruining what?”
“Our first kiss.”
Camille swatted him.
“Wow,” he crooned.
“What?”
“You’re a really good kisser.”
She blushed but couldn’t help laughing. “Oh yeah?”
Nate grinned and leaned over the center console until
his face was mere inches from hers. For a brief second, Camille thought Nate was actually going to kiss her. And for an even briefer second, she kind of wanted him to.
Instead, Nate whispered, “Yeah,” in her ear, sending a heat wave over her skin. He leaned back and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride, Cami. And thanks for letting me talk about Ty. He would’ve liked you.”
“You’re welcome. And I’m pretty sure I would’ve liked him, too.”
“Good night,” he said, giving her hand a quick kiss before grabbing his things and dashing up the rickety stairs to his house.
He gave her a giant smile and waved before disappearing inside. Camille waited a few minute before pulling away, just in case he’d been lying and the house really was inhabitable. But when he didn’t come back out she backed out of his driveway, her heart heavy with the feeling that for once she’d have to change her plans. Because it seemed Nate needed her to let him in, more than Camille needed to lock him out.
Nate
Nate lay on his back staring up at the cracked ceiling. The fan creaked noisily, circulating the humid air. He’d been right about the AC being out. But that was the least of his worries. His dad was having another bad night. Nate found him passed out on the couch with an empty bottle of bourbon in his hand. After getting him to bed and opening all the windows to get some air into the stifling house, Nate retreated to his room.
He couldn’t stop picturing Camille’s face when she’d pulled up to his rundown house. The place wasn’t really that bad. It’d just been neglected for a while. With some rehab and attention it could easily be fixed up. The thought made Nate smirk, because it was basically an analogy for his dad. He hadn’t always been such a mess. But after Tyler died, he just sort of fell apart. And instead of leaning on each other, his parents tore each other apart with blame over the accident. But it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Tyler was killed in a car accident. It sucked, but it wasn’t anyone’s fault. He lost control of his car. He wasn’t drinking or on drugs. It was just an accident.
Nate studied the jagged crack that ran the length of the ceiling. It split off into dozens of tiny fissures that ran off in different directions. It was hard not to think of them as different paths his life might have taken if Tyler were still alive. Would he be in New Orleans? Would his parents still be married? Would his mom have taken the job in London?
She would absolutely freak out if she knew how bad Nate’s living situation was. The house looked exactly the same as it did when Nate’s dad bought it. His dad grew up in New Orleans, but moved to California for college, where he met Nate’s mom. After Hurricane Katrina, his dad came back to NOLA to help the first responders. He’d stayed for a while, helping rebuild homes in his old neighborhood and apparently bought this house in the process. He’d supposedly been working on it on and off for a few years whenever he visited New Orleans while touring with his band. But from the looks of it, his father must’ve done more partying than fixing. Half his dad’s problem, according to Nate’s mom.
Nate thought back to what he and Ronnie had talked about. All good things are worth fighting for. Nate studied the cracks in the ceiling again. He would never have chosen this path for his life, but this was where he was now. His only choice was to make the most of it. And although he didn’t normally put a lot of stock into Ronnie’s type of fortune telling, Nate did believe things happened for a reason. He still wasn’t sure why Tyler was taken from him, but this new path Nate was on had brought him to Camille, and from the moment he met her, he knew that he was meant to know her. Now if only he could convince her of that.
10
Cami
Saturday morning Camille laid in bed with Poo, reading—or trying to read. It was sort of impossible to focus with the flurry of texts from Nate. She’d been doing her best to ignore them, but her stupid eyes kept wandering to the blinking notifications on her cell phone.
Nate: Good morning sunshine.
Nate: What do u wanna do today?
Nate: Wanna get donuts?
Nate: Come on, I know you do!
Nate: Are u at work?
She decided if she texted back she’d just be feeding his obsession, or whatever this was. When she’d dropped Nate off last night, she’d had a moment of weakness, thinking maybe she and Nate could be good for each other. But by the light of day, she’d come to her senses. Camille couldn’t offer Nate anything. The sooner he knew that, the better.
She looked at her phone, contemplating the proper etiquette for confessing she had cancer via text. Sighing, she put her phone down and gave up. She’d just have to wait until she saw him. It would be harder to break the news in person, but he deserved that much.
For a moment, Camille thought maybe Nate got the hint, because the texts had stopped. But after a half hour of radio silence, the messages continued.
Nate: Not at work, huh?
Nate: Ronnie says hi.
Nate: He thinks you’re being shy because we kissed.
Camille’s cheeks flushed scarlet. She slammed her book shut and caved, finally texting a response.
Cami: We did NOT kiss!!!
Nate: In my head we did.
Nate: And it was . . . wow!
Nate: Come hang out with me.
Nate: Ronnie says u should take me to Café du Monde.
Nate: If you don’t come out I’ll just come over.
Cami: I won’t let you in.
Nate: So you are home?
Crap. Camille didn’t reply.
Nate: I’m coming over.
Cami: Don’t come over.
Nate: Why?
Cami: I’m busy.
Nate: Busy thinking about me?
Of course she was busy thinking about him. Nate made it impossible to focus on anything else with his incessant texting. But even worse than that, he was right. Last night Camille’s dreams had been filled with Nate. Laughing with him, touching him, kissing him. But she couldn’t have those things. And the more she thought about it, the more upset it made her. She’d always known she wasn’t going to get to fall in love and she’d made peace with that. But then this tall, sexy boy with his goofy California smile showed up and screwed everything up.
It wasn’t fair—to either of them. Maybe Camille should just text Nate about the cancer already. If he knew she was sick it would scare him away. And it would be better for both of them if Nate gave up before getting more attached.
Camille was lost in thought when she heard the doorbell ring. Poo sprang off her bed, a barking blur of ferocity as he raced downstairs to the front door. Cami walked into the hall and peered over the railing. She saw her father walk out of his office toward the front door. Poo was already there, scratching, jumping and barking his little brains out.
“Poo! Bad Poo! That’s enough,” her father yelled, trying to shoo the tiny dog away from the door with his foot. “I said no more, Poo!”
Cami was shaking with laughter at her father’s word choices. And it only got worse when Poo latched onto her father’s bare foot.
He roared, trying to shake the dog off. “Camille! Can you please call off your hound?”
But Camille only ducked her head back from the railing so her father wouldn’t see her. She listened to him grumble as he scolded Poo before scooping up the crazed fur ball and opening the door.
She held her breath as she listened.
“Can I help you?” her father asked.
Please don’t be Nate. Please don’t be Nate.
“Hi, Mr. LaRue. I’m Nathan Hawthorne. I go to school with your daughter, Camille. Is she home?”
Shit!
Camille’s heart was in her throat. She was wearing polka dot pajama pants and her Cedric Diggory quidditch jersey. And that wasn’t even the worst of it. She had no wig or makeup on! Camille scurried back to her bedroom, trying to catch her breath. This had never happened before. No one ever showed up to surprise her. At least no one who thought she was a completely normal, healthy seventeen-year-old.
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A few minutes later, her father knocked softly on her door. “Cami, you have a visitor.”
“Tell him to go away.”
“Honey? What’s wrong?”
She cracked the door with tears in her eyes, revealing herself in her hideous true cancer patient form. “Dad, I can’t let him see me like this.”
Her father gave her a tight smile. “Honey, it’s not a big deal—”
“Dad, he doesn’t know!”
“Know what?”
Camille’s eyes pleaded with her father for understanding. She loved him to death, but he was never good with understanding the workings of his teenaged daughter’s mind. “About the cancer,” she whispered.
“Oh! Okay. Um . . .” Cami could see the confusion wash over him. “Well, I’ll stall him while you get ready.”
Camille knew it was stupid. She’d already decided she was going to tell Nate she had cancer to spare them both the heartache of whatever this was. What did it matter how he found out? She could have her father tell him, or just walk downstairs without her wig or makeup on. That would certainly send Nate running. But deep down, a tiny part of her didn’t want to give up the way that Nate looked at her—like she was beautiful and worthy and normal.
So she nodded to her father, watching him walk to the stairs. He paused to look back at her. “Honey, you know you’re beautiful just the way you are, right?”
“Dad . . .”
“I know, I know, it’s a dad thing to say, but it doesn’t hurt to remind you every once in a while.”
“Thanks, Dad. But please go distract Nate while I get ready.”
He gave her a thumbs up. “I’m on it.”
Camille closed the door and locked it, just in case Nate slipped by her father. She grabbed a pale lavender wig with shoulder-length waves from her hair tree, which was actually an old hat tree she’d painted canary yellow and used to house her array of colorful wigs. She secured her hairpiece and ran to her vanity to paint on her face. Her fingers were trembling as she drew on her eyebrows. Breathe, Cami. None of this matters. It’s all just an illusion. No matter how perfect you make it, he’ll see who you really are soon enough.
The Goodbye Boyfriend (The Boyfriend Series Book 3) Page 7