The Goodbye Boyfriend (The Boyfriend Series Book 3)

by Christina Benjamin

  “You know I am. And it’s a second date kiss. Steamy!”

  “You’re sorta building this up in your head. I think the real thing might let you down.”

  Nate opened his eyes and smiled in a way that took her breath away. He moved closer, his hand cupping her cheek while his thumb traced her bottom lip. “Not possible,” he whispered. Nate’s warm lips grazed her cheek. “Goodnight, Camille.”

  In her head she said goodnight, but in reality, she’d lost the ability to speak—she’d lost everything, but the ghost of Nate’s lips on her cheek.

  Nate

  Nate lay awake staring at the cracks in his ceiling again. His heart was pounding. There was no way he was going to sleep anytime soon. Today had been the best day he’d had since Tyler died. And that feeling was both encouraging and terrifying. Nate loved the fact that he’d proven he could grasp that sublime joy that used to come easily before he lost Ty. Camille had a unique way of bringing it out in him. She was enchanting to be around, and it was impossible to look at her and not get lost in the glowing joy her shy smile evoked.

  But at the same time, when Nate was with Camille, he thought about Ty less. And Nate was so afraid of forgetting his brother that it physically hurt. Sometimes he would think of Ty until he felt his throat tighten and tears prick his eyes. He wanted to be certain he could still remember every detail of his brother to the point of excruciating pain. Being able to call forth that familiar ache somehow made Nate feel less alone. And he was grasping for any way to hold on to his brother.

  Nate closed his eyes and visions of Camille floated before him. If he thought he’d been drawn to her before, now he was obsessed. Seeing the fear in her eyes turn into a triumphant smile after they swam in the Mississippi was addicting. It’d awoken something in him, and Nate realized he’d do just about anything to continue to make Camille smile. And don’t even get him started about the way she looked when she’d climbed out of the river—all soft curves and wet clothes.

  Thinking of Cami made Nate want to do things that he barely had the willpower to control. But now, with the feel of her so sharp in his memory . . . the way she’d clung to him, her chest heaving against his, the trust in her eyes when she took his hand . . . he couldn’t stop replaying it. Camille lingered near every time he closed his eyes. Nate could almost smell her lavender fragrance if he concentrated hard enough. He wanted to steal something of hers so he could keep it with him always.

  Nate had never met someone so wonderfully intoxicating. Camille was like a snowflake—fragile and unique—and he never wanted to let her go. But he was terrified the fierceness with which he wanted to hold onto her would shatter her loveliness apart.

  He rolled over and looked at the Polaroid he’d taken of Camille. Maybe if he looked at her enough he wouldn’t be constantly stunned by her beauty. Yeah right. He’d have a better chance of winning the lottery than not losing his breath every time he looked at her.

  Nate thumbed through his collection of photos from Camille. He now had four. One she’d taken of him on the day they met, one of their feet in the Mississippi, and two of her lying by the river. She’d written Goodbye Mississippi on the photo of their feet. Nate thought back to the photos he’d seen on her Before I Die wall, realizing that they had Goodbye written on them as well. What a sad thing to write after such a fun experience.

  Nate grabbed a pen and crossed out Goodbye, writing the word Hello, instead.

  15

  Cami

  It was nearly impossible to think of anything but Nate on Sunday. Luckily—or unluckily—Camille’s phone was destroyed in their impromptu swim in the Mississippi. Otherwise, she’d be tempted to text him. Or at least see if he texted her.

  Who was she kidding? It was Nate. He’d definitely text.

  Camille was actually half surprised he hadn’t shown up at her house already. She was dressed just in case—wig and makeup securely in place.

  She’d checked Mississippi River off her wall and taped the Polaroid of her and Nate’s feet to her bedroom wall last night after taking a long hot shower to wash the pollution off of her. She was still checking her temperature today, worried she might have swallowed some of the water, tempting her already fragile immune system to throw in the towel. But so far, so good. She’d survived another family Sunday, lying to her parents about her treatments and plans, trying to smile as they talked about summer vacation and college courses.

  It was torture lying to her family. But she couldn’t exactly say, “Mom, Dad, those plans sound great, but I’m done. I’ve lived a good life. Much longer than any of us expected. But enough is enough. I’m tired of fighting and I’ve made my peace with it. I’m ready to say goodbye. And I want to do it on my terms.” They wouldn’t understand and the worst part was, she couldn’t even blame them. But her mind was made up. She was tired of fighting cancer. And she didn’t have the energy to fight with her parents about it.

  Camille was currently lounging on her bed with Poo in her lap. She was scrolling through Pinterest, which was never a good thing. She’d typed Bucket List into the search bar and was torturing herself by looking at all the things she didn’t have the courage to write on her wall.

  Damn Nate and his smile. It conjured infinite possibilities.

  And now Camille was thinking about his smile, and how sexy it was, and how much she wanted him to kiss her for real and not just in his mind. Ugh!

  Camille typed Boyfriend Goals into the search bar. That kind of torture was even worse than the bucket list torture. The bucket list photos were just dreams on steroids—unattainable things for even the average non-cancer diagnosed teenager. But a boyfriend . . . Nate was right in front of her, asking her to take a chance on him, to go on a date, to go to prom. And suddenly, she wanted to. She wanted all those things like a drowning victim wanted air.

  This is so stupid, Cami! Get a grip.

  But she was hopeless. She might as well just admit she had feelings for Nate.

  “The sooner you admitted you have a problem, the sooner you can solve it,” she muttered.

  Camille was sure she’d read that in one of her coping with cancer books. But the problem was, she didn’t want to get over liking Nate. He was kind and funny and adorable in his own weird, addicting way. He’d snuck up on her and now that she’d seen inside his big, beautiful heart, she couldn’t get him out of her mind.

  The faint sound of the doorbell rousted Poo from Camille’s lap. Her door was cracked open just enough to let Poo escape. Cami climbed out of bed chasing after him to spare her parents more scars on their toes from her ferocious guard dog. But by the time Camille got to the stairs she heard Nate’s voice and her heart tripled in size.

  “Hi Mr. LaRue. Is Cami here?”

  “Hey, Nate. She is.” Her father turned to call her, but Camille was already thundering down the stairs.

  She greeted Nate breathlessly. “Hey, I was just thinking about you.”

  “You were?”

  Camille couldn’t believe she’d just blurted that out! And in front of her father! Luckily her mother walked into the foyer and saved her the embarrassment of answering Nate’s question.

  “Hello,” her mother said. “May we help you?”

  “Hello. You must be Cami’s mom,” Nate said grinning as he glanced between the women, noting their resemblance.

  “And you are?”

  “Nathan Hawthorne. I go to school with Cami.”

  “Josephine LaRue,” she said shaking Nate’s hand.

  “I was just stopping by to see if Cami wanted to get beignets with me?” Nate said.

  “I’d love to,” Camille replied.

  Camille’s mother gave her a stern look. “It’s Sunday, honey.”

  “I know but—”

  Camille’s father interrupted. “Ah, let the kids have some fun. We were just going to watch a movie anyway.”

  Camille had never heard her father disagree with her mother, who presently looked stunned. But Camille wasn’t about
to wait for her mother to recover. She grabbed her coat and purse from the hall tree and dragged Nate out the door.

  Nate

  “So, you were thinking about me, huh?”

  “Oh, shut up,” Camille replied nudging him with her shoulder.

  He could tell she didn’t really mean it by the way her cheeks blushed, so he took a chance and reached for her hand. He couldn’t fight his smile when she slid her fingers through his like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because it most certainly was not.

  Everywhere their skin touched was like getting shocked by tiny pleasant bolts of electricity. Camille’s touch made Nate come alive. He wanted to run his fingers over every inch of her pale skin. It looked especially radiant in the moonlight as they strolled toward Jackson Square.

  “So,” Camille asked. “Where are we going?”

  “I told you.”

  “More beignets? Really?”

  “Oh, did you think I was kidding about trying them all? I looked it up. Did you know there are three Café Beignets?”

  She laughed. “Yes, but everyone knows the best one’s on Royal, and I already took you there.”

  “Well, tonight we’re going to the one on Decatur.”

  “Decatur? Really?” Camille practically snorted a laugh. “I didn’t think you’d show your face on that street again after our shopping spree.”

  “It takes a lot more than screen printed boobs and shiny pants to scare me, Camille LaRue. Besides, I have a new plan to woo you.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  Nate smiled and held out his skateboard that had been tucked under his arm.

  “Oh good, you fixed the death trap?”

  “Yep and I’m gonna teach you how to ride it.”

  “Um, no way.”

  “Come on. I noticed it’s not on your Before I Die wall.”

  “And neither is splitting my head open or breaking bones.”

  Nate stopped walking. His voice turned serious. “I’d never let that happen to you.”

  Camille gazed up at him, her eyes widening at whatever she read in his expression. “I know, Nate. I was just teasing.” She ran a hand up his arm and it gave him goose bumps. “Are you, okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Sorry. I think . . . never mind.”

  “What?”

  Nate shook his head. He’d hoped seeing Camille would put him in a better mood. He wanted to keep things light between them. But today was the anniversary of Tyler’s death. His dad was at work and he hadn’t been able to get his mom on the phone, which only increased his bad mood. Nate hadn’t planned to come to see Camille, especially after she’d told him Sunday was family day. Who was he to steal her family time just because he didn’t have his own anymore?

  He’d taken the streetcar to the French Quarter and rode his skateboard aimlessly through Latrobe Park for a while before he found himself standing at Camille’s door.

  She was staring at him now, her eyes like glittering satellites reflecting the full moon back to him. She took his hand, squeezing life back into his fingertips. “Hey, come on. Let’s go get beignets.”

  They got their food and coffee to go. Camille was right, the Decatur Street Café Beignet had nothing on the quaint Royal Street location. The only advantage was Decatur Street was a stone’s throw from the Mississippi.

  Nate followed Cami back up to the wide promenade overlooking the river.

  “I see why they call it the Moon Walk,” Nate said gazing at the sparkling path the moon carved on the rippling water.

  “Actually, it was named after Mayor Maurice “Moon” Landrieu . . .” Camille trailed off when she caught Nate’s raised eyebrows. “Sorry, I know a lot of useless facts about New Orleans.”

  “I love that about you.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, among other things,” he said, nudging her with his shoulder.

  “Like?”

  “For one, you’re a really good kisser.”

  Camille laughed.

  Nate didn’t think he’d ever get enough of that sound. “And . . . I love the way you squeal when you’re scared.”

  “Hey! That was one time. And don’t get any ideas, mister. Night swimming is not on my bucket list.”

  Nate smirked. “Noted.”

  Cami

  Camille followed Nate to their bench—not really sure when it became ‘theirs’. But somehow, sitting there together two days in a row seemed to make her feel a strange possessiveness toward it. They sat side-by-side, sipping café au laits and eating beignets. It was nice—just being with Nate. He didn’t have that need to fill the silence with chatter like most people did.

  Camille watched him as he sipped his coffee, staring out at the river, his head bent, eyes following the boats trudging upstream. She liked him like this—distracted. She could study him up close, absorbing the perfect planes of his face. The breeze from the Mississippi played in the soft curls of his dark hair, exposing hidden places she wanted to touch—the nape of his neck, his temples, his forehead.

  Camille studied Nate until the faraway look haunting his normally bright eyes began to worry her. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

  Nate seemed to come back from wherever he’d been. He smiled. “Yeah.”

  But his smile was only half it’s normal wattage. Definitely not alright.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

  “My brother.”

  Camille slid her hand into Nate’s and squeezed. “Do you miss him?”

  “Everyday.”

  She bit her lip. “How do you do it . . . still find the strength to be happy and smile after losing someone you love?”

  “I’d be lying if I said it was easy.” The smooth line of Nate’s mouth hardened. “I feel like I owe it to him to be happy. Like because I’m still here I need to live enough for the both of us.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “It sounds kinda stupid when I say it out loud.”

  “I don’t think so.” Camille thought it sounded like the best thing she ever heard, and she wished she had someone to live for her. Someone to do all the things she wasn’t brave enough to write on her wall.

  “I’m really sorry about your brother.”

  Nate turned to face her. His eyes were bright again. “Don’t be sorry, Cami. If you remember anything I ever say let it be this. Sorry wastes time. Ty never apologized for anything and my brother knew how to live. That’s what I want. To live my life full throttle. I don’t want people to say I’m sorry when I’m gone. I want them to say, ‘that guy knew how to live’.”

  Camille was quiet for a while, letting Nate’s words sink in. She finished her coffee while she pondered his philosophy. It was so simple, yet so perfect. Just live and don’t be sorry for any of it.

  She stood up and held out her hand to Nate, pulling him from their bench. “I’m ready.”

  “For what?”

  “Teach me how to skateboard.”

  A surprised smile spread across Nate’s handsome features. “Really? What changed your mind?”

  “Some cute guy told me to live like I’ll never be sorry. And I’ll definitely be sorry if I pass up free skateboarding lessons.”

  Nate’s grin ate up his whole face, returning his smile to its fully obnoxious level. “A cute guy, huh?”

  Camille rolled her eyes. “You always focus on the wrong words.”

  “I think I focus on the right ones.”

  Nate put the skateboard on the pavered Moon Walk and took Camille’s hands, guiding her onto the board. He kept a tight grip on her waist as she settled her hands on his shoulders. She was almost eye level with him, and that meant she was kiss level. The thought made her dizzy and she lost her balance, forcing Nate to pull her closer as the board zoomed out from under her feet.

  “I think that might be enough for your first lesson,” Nate said setting her down on her feet.

  Camille’s body missed the feel of Nate’s the instant he let go of her. “One more time,” she be
gged.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  Nate retrieved the board and helped her back onto it. “Okay, widen your stance a little. That’s it. And bend your knees.”

  “Like this?”

  Nate chuckled.

  “What? Am I doing it wrong?”

  “No.”

  “Then what’s so funny?”

  “I’ve never seen a pair of leopard print ballet shoes on a skateboard before.”

  “They’re Tory Burch.”

  “They’re hilarious.”

  Camille looked down. She laughed too when she saw the mash up of her leopard flats, green tights, and pale pink skirt above the skateboard. “I sorta wish I had my camera right now.”

  “Here.” Nate fished his phone from his pocket and handed it to her.

  “Yours still works after our swim?”

  “Waterproof,” he said smirking.

  Cami had to let go of Nate’s shoulders to take the photo she wanted of their feet and the skateboard. “Don’t let go,” she said, trying to hold still.

  “I got ya.”

  And she truly believed he did.

  16

  Nate

  Camille offered to give Nate a ride home once he’d walked her back to her house. Not wanting their time together to end, he’d quickly agreed. He said goodnight to Camille’s parents and followed her through the courtyard to the gated driveway, where her sleek white Range Rover Sport waited in its stall. There were two Mercedes SUVs parked next to it.

  Nate whistled low. “Sweet cars.”

  Cami shrugged. “I don’t know anything about cars. Are you into them?”

  “Not really.”

  “What kind to do you have?”

  “I don’t.”

  Camille paused. “Oh . . .”

  Nate scratched his head. “I used to have a sweet old pickup truck that me and Ty fixed up in Cali. But I sold it after his accident. Haven’t driven since.”

  Camille turned toward him. “You don’t drive at all?”