Make It Last

by Megan Erickson

  Tate considered herself a strong person, but she’d been strong once—or so she thought—and look where it had gotten her.

  Cam was her weakness. And she resigned herself to the fact he always would be.

  She didn’t know how long she lay there in the early morning, drifting in and out of sleep, between the real world in her bedroom and the dream world where she was on a porch swing with Cam.

  Eventually the noises of her household set her permanently in the real world. She stretched and rose, padding out of her room and down the hall to the bathroom. While doing her business, she wondered how the hell she was going to deal with Jamie today. Last night, he’d shut himself in his room by the time she made it back in the house, and she was too tired and drained at the time to deal with him. Today, though? That was another story.

  When she walked out of the bathroom, her father was on his way toward her. “You need help?” she asked.

  “I’m good, baby.”

  Tate walked past Jamie’s door, which was still shut. She was tempted to bang on the door and drag him out by his hair or his ear or his ankle, whichever was more painful, but she needed coffee first.

  She’d at least been conscious enough to make the coffee last night so all she had to do was press the START button. She stood in front of it, staring at it as it brewed, like that would make it work faster.

  She heard her father shuffle into the kitchen and lower himself on a chair at the table. “Toast okay?” she asked him.

  “Do we still have some of that quince jelly?” His voice was hopeful and although she hated to give him the sugar, it made him happy.

  “Just had Anne pick up some more.”

  Her father made a face she couldn’t decipher, and Tate turned away from him so he didn’t see her smile. She always thought Anne and her father had feelings for each other, but neither was willing to make the first move.

  Except for this weird quince jelly arrangement. Which Tate didn’t think was very romantic, but whatever.

  Her father was a month out from his second round of chemotherapy. It had taken a while to get his strength up to begin this second round and he was slowly starting to come back into himself. She hoped this was it, that he’d beaten the lung cancer once and for all. But she knew he’d never fully recover. He’d lost too much weight and muscle mass.

  They had some pension money from his factory job, but they had to budget everything down to pennies. Which was one reason they sold her father’s car. He never drove much anyway. Jamie had bought his old sedan for less than a thousand dollars, and he needed it for his pizza delivery job.

  Tate had thought about finding another job, but the diner paid her well and gave her the flexibility to take her father to his appointments. And when her whole life was spinning out of control, it was nice to have a place that grounded her. Where she knew exactly where she was supposed to be and what she was supposed to be doing.

  She poured herself a cup of coffee and turned around, eyeing her dad over the rim of her mug as she took a sip. “How are ya feeling today?”

  He shrugged as the toaster popped. Tate slathered it with margarine and quince jelly and slid the plate in front of him along with a large glass of apple juice.

  He picked up a slice, which Tate cut into triangles just to annoy him, and took a bite. “Fine,” he mumbled around a mouthful of bread and jelly. “Did you have a good time last night?”

  Her father didn’t always sleep well, a mixture of feeling ill and the medication he was on, which gave him the jitters, but apparently last night, some god had smiled on her, because he seemed not to have a clue what had gone on.

  She took another sip of her coffee. “Yep.” She glared down the hallway, silently daring Jamie to show his face right now so she could tear him a new asshole.

  But he didn’t show. And so she silently seethed.

  There was a knock at the front door and a feminine “Hello?” Then Van came into the kitchen holding a wax paper bag, large sunglasses covering her eyes. She plopped the bag on the counter and then took her glasses off, sliding one end into her shirt. “I brought doughnuts and—” She held up her hand as Tate opened her mouth. “Your father can have one measly doughnut hole.”

  “I want more than a doughnut hole,” he grumbled.

  “You just eat your toast,” Tate shot at him.

  Van pulled out the doughnuts and plopped one on Tate’s father’s plate. Then she licked her fingers and dug out a chocolate glazed. Tate bit into a Boston creme.

  Van chewed and swallowed. “So, wanna talk about how Cam’s back?”

  Tate began to choke on her bite of doughnut, and Van slapped her back until Tate held up a hand.

  “Cam’s back?” her father said, his mouth hanging open in wonder. Because back in the day, he and Cam each had this mutual hero worship thing going on. At the time it warmed her heart. And now it soured her stomach.

  “You couldn’t lead in with a ‘How are ya?’ or a ‘Good morning’?” Tate asked. “You had to ruin our lovely and pleasant doughnut breakfast by hopping right into the big questions?”

  Van popped the last bite of her doughnut in her mouth. “I’m still having a lovely and pleasant time.” She turned to Tate’s dad. “Aren’t you, Ted?”

  He nodded vigorously. “Quite pleasant. Never been pleasanter.”

  Tate glared at both of them. “I don’t like when you two team up.”

  Van wobbled her head and made a face. “Whatever. So, Cam?”

  “I have a bone to pick with you about that anyway.” Tate pointed at her friend. “How could you not tell me he’s back and working with Trevor?”

  Van wrinkled her nose. “Trev never told me. He’s not going to be happy with the words I plan to say to his fact-omitting ass.”

  Tate snorted, and then picked at the icing on her doughnut. There were things she wanted to say, but not in front of her dad. Actually, she wasn’t sure she wanted to say them out loud . . .

  Her father cleared his throat and rose from the table. “Well, I’ll leave you two to do your girl talk—”

  “Dad, you don’t have to do that.” Tate grabbed his plates and placed them in the sink. “You can stay to chat—”

  He held up his hand with a chuckle. “I can see this is a time where your old man isn’t wanted. All I want to say is that I’d love to say hi to Cam sometime. Maybe bring him around?”

  Oh jeez. Oh shit. That’s exactly what she wanted to avoid. But instead, she bit her lip and nodded.

  Her father gave her a smile and then walked out of the kitchen.

  Tate collapsed into a kitchen chair and propped her chin in her hand. Van settled down beside her with another doughnut.

  “So Cam helped you with Jamie or something?”

  Tate gave her a brief rundown of last night’s events, including Cam’s insistence on helping her.

  “Well that’s good, right?” Van’s face brightened. “That he wants to help? You could sure use it.”

  Tate sighed and raised her hand, fingered a dent in the wooden tabletop. “But that’s the problem, Van. I could use it. And then what happens when he leaves again?” She lowered her voice. “And he doesn’t know about Dad.”

  Van cocked her head. “Then tell him. He’d want to know. Especially now that your dad took chemo so well.”

  Tate pursed her lips. Cam back in town and inserting himself in her life was complicated. It dredged up all the old memories and mistakes and decisions. She’d finally come to terms with her life and her responsibilities. And the fact that none of her new life involved Cam.

  But now he was back, making her want things. Making her wish she’d done things differently.

  And it hurt. It hurt places she swore she’d caulked until they were sealed airtight.

  But Cam always had a way of worming himself inside.

  A door slammed open and Jamie stomped down the hall. Tate rose. “Jamie, we need—”

  “Gotta go.” He didn’t even look at her as he
made his way to the front door, keys jingling in his hand.

  “Excuse me?” Tate didn’t have to force the attitude in her tone. It was there as she cocked out a hip and placed a hand on it.

  “Sorry. Got an appointment.” And then he was out the door.

  Tate contemplated running after him and slashing his tires or something drastic. Instead, she stamped her foot and growled in frustration. Then she sat down on her chair and stuffed a doughnut hole in her mouth.

  “What the hell is his problem?”

  “I don’t know,” Tate said through a mouthful of sweet carbs. She brushed glaze crumbs off the table. “But we still need to talk about what happened last night. He’s obviously avoiding that conversation. Hell, I don’t want to have it, but it needs to be done.”

  “You going to tell your dad?”

  Tate shrugged. “Yeah, but after I talk to Jamie and get things settled. I don’t want my dad to have to deal with this stress.”

  “I’m sorry.” Van placed a hand on Tate’s forearm.

  She sighed. “Yeah, me too. Story of my life.”

  Operation Catch Jamie, Avoid Cam, Help Dad was in effect. Easy-peasy.

  Chapter 7

  CAM STARED AT the TV in his room. He hadn’t touched it since he’d been home. They’d canceled cable long ago to save money, since his mother’s only source of income right now was disability. And his TV only made him think of video games. And Utope.

  And Tate.

  He closed his eyes and sighed. The pain of what she’d done had been so fresh yesterday when he first saw her. But now that he’d seen she had a lot going on in her life, his feelings had shifted.

  He’d always want to be there for her. He’d always want to help.

  Before he could think too much about what he was doing, he sat up and grabbed the case for Utope and slipped the disc into the game system. He gripped the Catharsis controller and lay on his bed on his stomach, propped on his elbows and started the game.

  His fingers hovered over the START button and he pressed it, then pulled up the Ruiz saved game, typing in the password.

  And there they were. Avatar Cam and Avatar Tate, together on the porch swing. They were just pixels of CMYK, but Cam could still close his eyes and feel the weight of Tate’s head on his shoulder, the smell of her hair, the feel of her skin.

  A notification popped up in the lower right-hand corner, letting him know there’d been activity on this game since he last checked in.

  Had Tate . . . ? No, she probably took this game and smashed it or something.

  But no one else knew the password . . .

  He clicked on it and the past scene replayed. Tate raised her head and looked at his avatar in the game, and a little speech bubble appeared over her head. Thank you.

  Cam’s whole body jolted and he nearly fell off the bed. He scrambled to his feet and then slid to his knees in front of the TV. He replayed the scene again.

  Thank you.

  And again.

  Thank you.

  And that was it. That’s all she’d done. But she’d done it. He frantically pulled up the menu to see when she’d played it last. The time stamp showed that it’d been done about three hours earlier. Only three hours ago. She’d been awake, and she’d played the game just to tell Cam thank you. And before that, she hadn’t played this game since the day before he left for basic.

  He’d run miles with a fifty-pound ruck on his back, and he’d entered battle simulations and he’d shot a gun at targets but he wasn’t sure his heart had ever beat this fast. If his hands had ever been this clammy.

  He dropped the controller and placed his palms on his thighs, breathing deeply, feeling the ache in his chest, the pull toward Tate. Sometime in the last twelve hours, she’d hooked her chain to his heart again. And she was reeling it in.

  He couldn’t deny it. And he didn’t know what to do about it.

  When he got his heartbeat and breathing under control, he picked up the controller, clicked Z for action and B for speech.

  His character kissed Tate softly on the forehead and said, “Always.”

  CAM GLANCED AT the clock as he drank his coffee and figured it was about time to check on his mom. She was usually awake by now. Part of him wanted to put it off and just wait for her to come out on her own, all chipper and moving freely with no pain.

  But that was wishful thinking.

  He sighed and walked down the hall, touching her door with the tips of his fingertips so it slowly swung open.

  His mom lay on her side, staring at the door. When she smiled at him, it was strained.

  “Mom?” Cam said, walking in and taking care to sit on the bed gently so he didn’t rock her.

  She blinked a couple of times and licked her lips. “No laundry today, Camilo.”

  Cam exhaled roughly and fisted the sheet so he didn’t punch a wall. That was their code phrase for a bad pain day. Fibromyalgia was a tricky bitch. And anything that involved his mom moving her arms a lot, especially over her head, caused extreme neck and shoulder pain. He glanced at a basket of folded laundry in the corner and pursed his lips. “I told you I’d do that.”

  “You were working.”

  “Damn it, Ma!” Cam’s voice rose and when she flinched at his tone, he took a deep breath to calm himself before he spoke again. “That’s why I’m here. To do things for you, like fold laundry so we don’t have days like this.”

  She walked her fingers forward until she covered his hand with her own. She squeezed gently until he relaxed his fist. Then he turned his palm upward and twined his fingers with hers.

  “I’ve been dealing with this for years. I can handle it. It’s just going to be a bad day.”

  “But I want to help—”

  “You’re not going to be here forever. And I don’t want you to be. You need to live your own life.”

  He clenched his jaw. “Right now, my life is here with you.”

  When she smiled, it was sad. Wasn’t she happy that he was home to take care of her? He was sacrificing a lot to be here, so he at least wanted her to appreciate the help.

  He pushed that thought aside. “Do you need anything? I don’t have to work until later.”

  “I think we need some groceries. You mind running to the store?”

  Good, a job. A task that she needed completed. He could do this. He nodded eagerly. “Of course. Do you have a list?”

  “On the notepad on the fridge.”

  He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Want me to get you something to eat?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll get it myself. Just going to lie here for a bit.”

  He frowned. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  He stood up and fixed the covers over her shoulders. She huffed at him and rolled her eyes but he ignored her. “Call me if you need anything, okay?” He made sure her phone was within easy reach.

  “Just go already.”

  “Okay, I am!”

  He was wearing only a pair of camo shorts, so he went into his room and slipped on a shirt and an old pair of sneakers.

  As he walked out the front door, he called out, “Be back soon!” And waited for an answer. When he heard, “Drive safe!” he smiled and walked outside.

  At ten in the morning, the June sun was out in full force. The air in his truck was thick and hot and he turned up the air-conditioning full force, letting the vents blast the air in his face as it cooled. He reached for his sunglasses in the center console and accidentally knocked them on the floor of the passenger side. When he reached for them, he spotted the keychain first, a plastic My Little Pony charm he’d given Tate for her seventeenth birthday. He picked up the set of keys, running his finger over the face of the pony. Pinkie Pie. Tate’s favorite. Their Utope password. She loved the toys when she was a kid and still watched the cartoon.

  Her keys must have fallen out of her purse last night. Jamie and gone into the house first, so Tate might not have realized she didn’t have t
hem. “Shit,” he muttered. He’d have to take them to her.

  He glanced at the time, figuring she worked a later shift today if she went out last night. But even if she wasn’t home, hopefully he could catch her dad or brother.

  So when he backed out of the driveway, he headed away from the grocery store, and toward Tate’s house.

  He pulled into the driveway behind Tate’s Jeep, but he didn’t see Jamie’s car anywhere, which kind of pissed Cam off. He wanted to have words with the kid where he wasn’t drunk and angry. He’d have to talk to Tate about maybe taking the kid out for lunch or dinner. A neutral place where Cam could figure out where the hell all his anger was coming from.

  He knocked on the door and waited, shifting his weight from foot to foot and jingling Tate’s keys. When no one came to the door, he tried again.

  Finally he heard footsteps and then the door swung open. “Van, why bother knocking now—”

  Tate’s voice cut off and her eyes went wide when she spotted Cam on the doorstep.

  And he stared. Because she was wearing teeny-tiny shorts that showed off her long, tan legs and a tight tank top that clearly let him know she wasn’t wearing a bra.

  He didn’t mean to stare at her chest, but holy hell. She might have lost weight other places but not there. Damn.

  “Cam?”

  His gaze shot up to her face. And he cleared his throat in an effort to hide his blush. He held up her keys. “Uh, you left Pinkie Pie and her friends in my car, so . . .”

  He waggled them and shot her a grin. She blinked at the keys, then at his face, then smiled slightly and reached for her keys. “Oh wow, I can’t believe I didn’t notice.”

  “It was pretty hot in my truck, so might want to give Pinkie Pie some water, make sure she isn’t dehydrated.”

  Tate chuckled softly; her head dipped as she fingered the keychain. “Okay, I’ll do that.”

  A shuffling sound came from inside the house, and Cam craned his neck to see inside. “Hey, is your dad here?”

  Tate straightened and closed the door so he could barely see inside at all. “Um, he’s busy doing . . . stuff . . . so, I appreciate you bring my keys over—”