Shark Out of Water (Grab Your Pole, #3) (43 page)

I snapped.

And I snapped clean off. The thought, the
idea
of anyone else running their hands over her body, having their lips on her, or being insi—oh God…it just…it made me insane and that’s when I carted her off. I wanted to prove my point and do it better than anyone else. Show her that she doesn’t belong with anyone else; that she and I were made for each other and that’s just how it’s gonna be. That’s what I was intending to do by kidnapping her. Plus, we were screaming at each other in front of
everyone
and I couldn’t take it anymore. But, walking through the parking lot, I realized my plan was severely flawed and I started to come to my senses. Yeah, I
started
to…didn’t actually get there though. A little but highly insecure and vicious voice inside me started to work the math and that’s when I came up with probably
the
worst theory I’ve ever thought of in the entirety of my almost eighteen years of life. That she’d been seeing this guy behind my back for months.
And
that she’d already had sex with him. When, I have no idea and it didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things because she’d had sex. Camie’d had sex and it wasn’t with the one person who loves her beyond anything he’s ever known. It wasn’t with me.

So, that’s where my head was when I reached the bus and ultimately why we didn’t come crashing together like we have in the past after our initial boil over. Because if it wasn’t for that fucking dagger that was sticking out of my chest again, we would’ve. I saw the flash of recognition and anticipation in her eyes, but when I set her down inside the bus and then immediately moved to the opposite side, it vanished and she started venting about how my tantrum probably just caused her to lose her date to the dance and all the apologizing she’s gonna have to do so he’ll still take her.

I didn’t think I could speak without falling apart, and I knew I couldn’t look at her, so I kept my eyes on the floorboards and whispered, “How long, Camie?”

“What?”

I cleared my throat and turned up the volume, but I think I still sounded like that beaten dog I was a couple of weeks ago… “How long? How long has it been going on?”

“How long has
what
been going on? What the hell are you
talking
about?” She sounded angry still, and baffled but, people do tend to be surprised and/or confused when they get caught doing something they never expect to get caught doing. I know. I know because that’s exactly how I sounded at Mike’s Halloween party when Camie tried to tell me how she knew what I’d done. I couldn’t fathom her seeing it with her own eyes so I didn’t understand what she was talking about.

“How long have you been ch—cheating on me?” I asked and finally looked at her. However, saying the words out loud, I started to get pissed again. Still hurt and bleeding, yes, but the anger hadn’t quite ebbed like I thought it had.

“
Cheat on you?
How in the name of
Hell
can I cheat on you?!
We’re broken up
!”

“You know what, that’s a
really
good fucking question, Camie!
How
, how could you?! Because if I recall,
you’re
the one who wanted this fucking contract so desperately!” I shouted while violently pulling my shirt off to point to the flaming words arched above all the symbolism the baseball diamond holds inside it on my shoulder blade, all to give her a crystal clear understanding of what I was talking about. “And I honored it! For
you
, Camie! For ninety-six fucking days and nights, I’ve honored this commitment because I believed it was important to
you
!”

“Oh my God, you’re serious,” she whispered in a sort of shock when it finally dawned on her that I was indeed accusing her of screwing around on me. “Tristan, Scott and I
are
just friends for one thing, honestly, he’s taking me to the dance, that’s it, but, you and I are
broken up
…I mean, last night…I know…but, that doesn’t mean we’re back together…”

“I am
not
just talking about catching you on
this
date, Camie, thus asking
how long
you’ve been cheating on me,” I ground out, fucking sick of hearing her say that we’re broken up, that I broke up with her, or
any
variation of it.

“Holy shit, Tristan! You think I cheated on you
before
we broke up?” She asked and I felt my nostrils flare. “You’re certifiable! I
loved
you, Tristan, I would never,
ever
cheat on you!”

Two things about what she said; one, I believed her. Immediately and without question. She had tears in her eyes and the hurt in her voice told me she was being absolutely, one hundred percent genuine. Two, she used the past tense of love.

“Did you
really
love me?!”

“YES! I did!
So
much! But did you?! Did you ever really love
me
?!”

“Deeply.”

“Then why?!
Why did you do it?! Why did you stop?!”

“For Christ’s sake, Camie! I
didn’t
! I
never
stopped!” I yelled at her, feeling the knob on the stove being turned and the temperature rising rapidly.

“Yes you did! You did, Tristan! Because if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have done it, you wouldn’t have hurt me like that! And you did! You broke up with me! You stopped loving me and you broke up wi—”

“Goddamnit, Camie!! I DIDN’T break up with you!!”

Out of control. It just flew out of my mouth. The second I shouted one of the two things I’d promised myself I would never tell her, I slammed my mouth shut, closed my eyes, and turned my head as I inhaled through my nose, trying to prepare for the monumental pain that’s gonna come when I pull the dagger out of my chest by myself and then drive it into hers.

“What did you say?!”

I didn’t look at her and I didn’t speak. I just stared at the roof of my bus like I could see the face of God, and bitterly shaking my head, I mentally told Him where He could go. I used much harsher language in telling Him off; I just don’t particularly wanna repeat how, exactly, I told God to go fuck Himself.

“Answer me, Tristan. Did you just say you
didn’t
break up with me? Because if you did, I’m gonna have to beg to differ. I was there. I remember. It was raining. It was my birthday,” I finished telling God off and looked at her then, imploring her with my eyes to stop. “You didn’t even wish me a happy birthday, you just said we needed to talk. And then you broke up with me and disappeared and left me shattered. And I want to know why you did that. I want to know why you broke up with me. Tell me. Tell me now.”

She was so calm. So sure of herself. And it made her beautiful.

“I can’t give you a reason for doing something I didn’t do.” It’s the truth. And it’s a lie.

She started to shake as she mentally replayed it and her brain told her that what I’d said was possible, that she’d essentially been played this whole time. That the last three weeks, all the pain, hurt, anger, confusion, the whole thing was, basically, a farce and that I’d let her believe it was true. And then she realized there had to be a reason.

She took a staggered step towards me, turned in denial with her hands in her hair and then looked back at me. “You let me bel—” she said, wanting to disbelieve what her head told her was true, and then with tears streaming down her face in earnest now, she closed the gap between us. “Wh—I—I don’t understand why you would do that…why would you
do
that? Tell me why, Tristan,
please
. Don’t lie to me anymore.
Please.
”

To say that I wanted nothing more at that moment than to turn back the hands of the clock, to take an enormous handful of sand out of the glass that’s been keeping the time of our lives and scatter it in the wind to go back to the day of her birthday party…fuck, Jillian’s birthday party would be better…would be an understatement of epic proportions.

“You won’t tell me, will you?”

I
couldn’t
do it. I couldn’t tell her, so, I left the knife where it was. My instinct was to reach out and pull her to me. Not to kiss her or anything like that, but simply to hold her. To feel her close to me and let her feel me. We needed that. Our hearts were crying out for that. For the warmth and reassurance we would gain that would help us heal and know that regardless of what’s happened, that the love we have, or had…hopefully still have…was and is and will always be real.

I didn’t listen to my instinct.

She was in shock. I know she was. It’s the only thing I can think of to explain why she said what she said. “I—I have to go. I need to go home and call Scott and apologize.”

“No, Camie, please don’t. He’s a snake.”

“I want to…” Through the windshield, she saw Jeff pull into the parking lot and still shell-shocked and without saying anything else or looking back at me, she opened the door to the bus and left.

Like I said, it’s not supposed to be like this. Because if this is what love is like, I want no part of it…

Eighteen

Sunday, Week Four

One round left in the chamber ~ Jeff

“Well, at least she’s not catatonic anymore, that’s good,” Pete commented quietly as I lined up my stick with the cue ball and took aim at the three ball.

“I know. I honestly expected him to chase after her though…what do you think he said to her?” I asked after sinking my shot.

When Katy and I picked Pete up last night and Camie got in my jeep, without a word but with the blankest of blank looks on her face and wet cheeks, I thought he’d told her everything. None of us knew what happened once she and Tristan got behind the closed doors of his bus though and none of us knew what to do or say. She was a zombie. A living breathing zombie. She stayed the night at our house and Katy eventually coaxed some information out of her, but it was mostly what Pete already witnessed and had told me about. She gave up a little more this afternoon before I left for Mike’s Superbowl party—where Pete and I are right now—and that was just that Tristan had been lying to her. About what, she didn’t say.

He didn’t either when I called him. I didn’t wait until I hadn’t heard from him or anything like that, you know, in the fear of repeating the same mistake. I dropped Katy and Camie off at my house Saturday night and then driving Pete home, I called. I got his voicemail so Pete and I freaked for about a good hour and forty-five minutes, but then Tristan sent me a text in reply that simply said he was with Brandon and not to worry, he was safe.

So, here we are, ignorant of what actually happened and just waiting for when we’ll find out…well…anything.

“I really don’t know…it looked like they were just doing what they do sometimes, you know? Saying stuff they don’t really mean just because they’re mad at themselves and each other. But, whatever it was, he really did a number on her and it was done fairly quickly too, you know, they weren’t alone for that long. You hear from him today?”

“No,” I sighed, “And even though I’m sorely tempted to, I’m not buttin’ in. It’s gone past ridiculous now, but, I figure he needs to come to terms with what he needs to do on his own and just do it.” Which is tell Camie the truth.

Like I said, I don’t know exactly what happened, what was said by either of them in that bus, or what Tristan told her, but what I do know is that Camie is hung up on the fact that he lied to her. That’s it. Just that he lied. But she’s stuck on that so that leads me to believe he didn’t tell her the truth. Not the
whole
truth anyway. So in my mind, coming completely clean will be his only shot at getting her back and making things right between them. He’s got one bullet left and if he aims it carefully, it might hit the right target. That is, if he can bring himself to fire it at all.

Oh, and another thing I now know for certain; she still loves him. I just don’t know if it’ll be enough when after all this time, she’s finally staring down the barrel of the truth…

Behind the 8 ball ~ Tristan

I told him everything.

When Camie left me Saturday night and climbed into my best friend’s Jeep along with my other best friend to go call the guy I accused her of cheating on me with, I knew if I didn’t hole up with someone I can really trust, chances are I’d end up regretting another choice to deal with the hurt on my own. As warped as it is, the first person I thought of was Jillian. But come on, she’s Camie’s sister first and foremost, and really, there’s only so much I can hope for her to handle without deciding to take it upon herself to just put a final end to my misery. Next on my list was Mia, but of course, she
had
to be out, no explanation needed there.

So, I tracked down the only other person I could think of who knows a little about what’s goin’ on and who, like Mia, without bias, prejudice or judgment, would listen to me castigate myself for my utterly intolerant stupidity of accusing Camie of cheating on me, and how I overreacted to seeing her with that guy and so on. Actually, and because I was desperate, I hunted him down like a dog. I was surprised. He’s not all that easy to find like I thought he’d be and he wasn’t answering the texts I sent.

Through sheer persistence, I eventually found him at the fifth party I was sent to as he was just leaving and when he saw me he said, “Fuck, man, I’m glad you’re here, I was about to call you…let’s go shoot some pool…”

So we did. And apparently he wasn’t purposely ignoring my texts; he just hadn’t gotten any of them. He explained that he’d taken to turning his phone off because he was constantly checking to see if he’d missed a text or a call from
his
something and it was making him nuts. The Band had a rare night off and instead of sitting at home sulking over the breakup; he was trying to not think about it by party hopping. Or I guess you could say, running for his life.

I know the feeling. Sometimes you just really wish chicks would leave you the fuck alone, you know? Some of them are just being friendly and that’s cool, but I swear, the others make you feel like goin’ home, showering, and then finding every girl you might’ve ever consciously or unconsciously looked at like she was nothing more than a piece of ass just there for the taking and apologizing to both her and her parents. It’s bad enough when they’re sober and don’t respect you, but when they’re wasted and exhibit for all to see that they respect themselves even less, well, that’s usually when you wanna bail the scene.