Page 22 of Break Your Fall

My wandering feet stop moving once they’ve carried me halfway up Julian’s driveway. I’m not here for Julian—the Jeep is missing, anyway—and I’m not here for Camille—fingers crossed she’s gone, too. I realize as my feet stop moving at the front door now that I’m here for Banks.

On the walk over, my mind has been trying to salve my belief that I’ve lost all of my friends. I haven’t lostallof them. I’ve just been focusing on the wrong ones.

So, now I’m here, taking a risk. Banking on Banks.

Camille stalls her spinning of a bread bag, our eyes connecting as soon as I enter the house. It seems luck is only on my mother’s side today.

The last time I was in here, the last time we looked at each other this way—pained and betrayed and staring at an end—I had lied about letting Grumbles go. I had told Camille and Julian that I deserve better than them. I still believe I do.

There’s a list of things I had said and done here that night that I’ve never said and done before. Camille and I have had our squabbles, but they’ve always felt temporary, even in the midst of the fight. The one from that night has painted a black mark between us, the built-up divide too thick to cross.

We hold our positions for a moment before she sets the bag down to the island and shifts her focus to preparing a sandwich. “Lost?”

“Yeah,” I say honestly with a nod, returning Naomi’s umbrella, that I’d stopped realizing I was holding, to the side table.

Camille stalls her spreading of peanut butter and looks up at me. I shift on my sandals.

“Where’s Julian?” I cringe and curse myself.

“The beach,” Camille sighs out, adding banana slices to her bread. “Curl & Crest Surf Shop is helping with the event this year.”

“The event?” I curse myself again for engaging.

“You really are lost,” she says, and I look away at the gibe. “It’s the Fourth.”

Independence Day.Oh wow—look at the time.

“Lazy?” I throw back at Camille’s presence here, helping herself to a sandwich instead of helping at the beach.

“I’m taking these down there,” she says, after half failing to hold back an eye roll.

“Hey,” she calls as I start toward Banks’s closed guest room door, and I stop automatically, my stare turning slowly to hers. She opens her mouth, tapping the knife against the plate, then folds her lips between her teeth, sighing before trying again.

“Don’t force yourself.”

“Thank you,” she spits out with a pointed look at my tone, then softens her own. “For not really letting Grumbles go.”

I nod. “Well, I’m not you.”

Camille chuckles, and it’s that chuckle that makes me walk away. Everything’s a joke.

“Cut Tommy some slack,” she advises to my back again, the words stopping me outside the guest room door. She always says the exact things Idon’tneed to hear. And she’s the last person to be giving anyone advice, least of all to me, about things that aretheirfault.

I face her with a scoff. “Why don’t you guys cut me some?” She gives her knife a wave with a small, tight smile.A big joke.

I shove open the door and turn back to Camille, catching the face I knew she’d make at seeing me walk through here right before I close myself inside.

With Banks.

I breathe easier.Right call.

Through the light peeking in from the curtains, I see him lying in a heap under sheets and blankets, a pillow pressed over his face.

“No,” he protests. “Go away.”

A laugh breezes past my lips as I step to the bed. “It’s me.”

Banks shoots up to sitting, the pillow falling from his face to his lap, the covers falling over his bare chest to his hips, his hair sticking in all directions. A slow spreading smile creases his cheeks. “I knew it.” He scoots over to give me room. “Get in.”

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