I didn’t know that it had happened multiple times. But wow. As furious as I am with the whole situation, that’s honestly not how I expected things to go. What do I say to that? I know Eric. I know him. And he knows me.
He’s not any of those things that she called him. Whatever happened between them had to be bad, if she’s still that pissed about it. I want to know, and yet I don’t want to know.
I’m curious, but I can’t take any more of him being ground into the dust by Leena’s words. I’m too sad for that. It’s already too hard.
I don’t respond to her message, and put the phone back on the nightstand, screen down so I can’t see the light. There’s the sound of vibrations on the wood as she keeps texting, but I ignore it. I turn away from it, and let myself cry until I fall into sleep.
22
Eric
Present
This day is shit. Last night was shit. Everything is shit.
It’s the hottest day of the year so far, and even with fans pointing at me it’s nearly unbearable. I’m answering emails in my cabin and enjoying the relative peace.
Some of the staff have gone into town for the weekly supply and mail run, and I’m glad it’s the weekend. Because I feel awful. I didn’t move for a long time after Seph left the waterfall, and I could barely sleep.
Seph is mine. The statement is still so true that I don’t doubt it. She’s mine and I am hers. It’s the only way any of this makes sense.
I refuse to believe that there’s a way that we can’t get past this. There has to be a way. I need to convince her that it’s always been her, because it has. Leena never made me feel the way Seph did. Does. And I was with her half the time out of obligation. The few times we hooked up over the past couple years were stupid mistakes that I made, desperate and sometimes drunk. I regret them.
But Seph is so convinced that it’s a barrier. How do you tell someone that the person who is their best friend in the world isn’t the person that they think that they are?
The fan next to me dies, and I look over. Did the plug fall out? No, it’s still plugged in. I look at my laptop, and the little battery charger symbol isn’t working. Shit.
Fuck. Shit.
Please don’t tell me that what just happened just happened.
I stride out onto the porch of my cabin, examining the dark clouds in the sky. The air is thick and humid—we’re probably going to have a thunderstorm this afternoon. But my stomach curls with dread when I already see a few counselors heading my way.
“Generator?” I call.
“Yeah.”
I sigh. This is the last thing that I need right now. “Do we know what the problem is?”
“Looks like it’s just the plug into the building. The generator itself is working, but the power isn’t going anywhere.”
Not good. The generator powers the entire camp. Including the kitchen. I need to get that fixed, but I’ll have to wait. Because the only vehicle that’s left at camp right now is the bus, and I haven’t had a chance to get a new tire. I can’t drive all the way to town on a donut. Not on the kind of roads there are around here. And I can’t call the staff to pick this up. It’s a different town which has the hardware store.
The universe really loves me today.
“I’ll try to get it fixed before dinner,” I say. “Do we have enough stuff for a cold lunch?” It’s about the time when lunch starts being served.
The counselor nods. “We’ll make it work.”
“Okay.”
Hands on my hips, I lean my head back to the sky. God, the last thing I want to do right now is this. I want to go back inside and sleep off the pain that’s underlying everything. The desperation to change how last night ended. Especially after the mind-blowing, perfect sex that told me I’m more in love with Seph than ever.
“My car is here,” A voice says from behind me. “I can drive you.”
I turn to find the very object of my thoughts standing there. And it is no consolation to me that she looks no better than I do. Dark circles and puffy eyes. Her night and morning have been just as bad as mine. I want to haul her against my body and make both of our pain go away. My instincts are screaming that the way to make this better is to touch her. Hold her. And I fucking can’t.
“I can wait,” I say.
She sighs. “We’re adults, Eric. This sucks, but we need power. I can spend a couple of hours in a car with you, even after everything.”
I manage a small smile at that. “All right. I appreciate it. Let me grab my wallet.”
“I’ll go get my keys.”
I want to pull her back as she walks away. Circle her in my arms and kiss her. I love you. It’s always been you. Always.
We meet in the parking lot, and we slip into her little blue sedan. I didn’t know she had a car here. Most of the counselors don’t. It’s easier to just use the camp vehicles and leave their cars for their families to use over the summer. But I’m glad that this one is here, whatever the reason.
It’s silent at first. Neither of us know what to say right now. And it grates on my nerves. The atmosphere doesn’t seem particularly tense, but it’s not comfortable either. Finally, I reach forward and press the button for the stereo. Music suddenly blares from the speakers. Loud and brassy and bright. It’s summer pop. A more recent artist. In fact, the artist that I played the other night for the bonfire.
I loved playing that song. But this doesn’t really seem like Seph’s type of music. I glance over at her and smile. “Really?” I’m imagining her driving and singing at the top of her lungs, widows down and hair swirling, and I love that image.
“Don’t judge me for my music choices,” she says. But the words aren’t sharp. “I know you love her too.”
“She’s a good musician. And very kind.”
Seph suddenly looks over at me, before jerking her eyes back to the road. “How do you know that?”
“I met her.”
I watch Seph’s eyes fly into her hair. “On the music circuit I guess?”
“You could say that,” I smirk. “That song that I played. The first one at the bonfire.”
“Yeah.” Seph reaches for the radio and clicks through the songs on the album until the beginning of it supposed to play. “What about it?”
“I wrote it.”
“What?” Her voice fills the car. “Are you serious?”
I laugh. “Completely.”
“Eric, everybody knows this song. It’s one of the best ones out there right now.”
“That’s kind of you to say.”
She shakes her head. “It should be yours. Why isn’t it yours?”
I shrug. “Because in music you have to pay a lot of dues, and record labels don’t always take chances on brand new artists, even if your songs are good.”
“It should be you.”
“I’m still hoping that it will be,” I say quietly.
We return to silence, the ballad filling the air between us. But the atmosphere in the car is more relaxed than it was. “Let me know if you need to crack some heads,” she says. “I’m more than willing to come to New York and kick some ass.”