CHAPTER TWELVE

I must have looked like a deer in the headlights. All the blood rushing out of my face, every nerve in my body on edge, hanging onto Chris's words. The tall, lanky cashier was blinking at me, a thin smile plastered across his face.

Chris nudged me gently with his shoulder and I stumbled forward a step. "Good morning!" I said, too cheery, my voice cracking. A low laugh came from Chris and I shoved my elbow hard into his ribs.

"Ow!" He yelped as I smiled sweetly at the boy behind the counter who didn't look older than fifteen. Thick black-rimmed glasses were pushed all the way to the top of his freckled nose, making his dark eyes appear wider behind the lenses. The kind of doe-eyed innocence you'd expect to see on someone who grew up in a place like this. When he smiled, you were met with a slender gap between his front teeth.

"Good morning," I said again, calmer this time. "Can I please have an iced oat milk latte with extra ice and...four cinnamon rolls." I peered through the glass display case at the pastries.

"I hope one of those is for me," Chris teased over my shoulder.

"Behave yourself and it might be."

I could practically hear the innuendo playing in his head, but he didn't say anything other than his order.

"I'll take three bacon, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwiches on plain bagels, please. Oh! And three orange juices," he pulled several Tropicana bottles from a cooler beside the register and placed them on the counter.

"You don't drink coffee?" I asked.

Chris pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and handed a card over to the cashier. "Do you really want to see what pure caffeine can do to someone like me?"

In high school, I sat next to a boy in English that would chug an energy drink every morning before walking into class. His breath smelt like battery acid and he'd practically be vibrating in his seat half way through the period.

I made a face at Chris. "Good point."

"Can I have a name for the order?" The cashier asked, his voice an octave higher than expected.

"Natalia," Chris said, tucking the debit card back inside the wallet.

Customers waited for their orders by a milk station in the far corner of the cafe lined with napkins, straws, and carafes. Chris and I congregated off to the side.

"So, are you going to text Macy?" I wiggled my brows at him. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little jealous at how casually she'd put herself out there. The way she reached her perfectly manicured fingers into Chris's front pocket like it was second nature, made me both envious and protective. Never would I have done something like that. The closest I've ever come to making the first move was with a guy I'd met in the concessions line at the movies once. I was going to see the new IT by myself and we started talking about our favorite horror franchises. I said Scream and he said The Conjuring. Thinking he was flirting, I offered to give him my number so we could get coffee sometime. That's when he said his girlfriend was in the bathroom. I ended up sitting in the same row as them during the film and spent the whole two hours sunk into my recliner with the popcorn bucket blocking my face.

Chris pulled the slip of paper out of his front pocket and laughed dryly. "Yeah, no."

"Why not? Not your type?"

"First of all, I don't have a type." He looked down at me. A soft shadow of stubble was starting to form along his jawline. "Second of all, I can almost guarantee that the whole interaction is going to be on the internet by the end of the day. They'll probably start assuming I'm dating you."

I blanched. "Why would they assume that?"

Reaching over the milk station, Chris dropped the piece of paper in the trash. "You really don't know how this whole thing works do you?"

The question wasn't cruel, but made me feel small.

I shook my head slightly, meeting Chris's eyes. I didn't think I'd done anything to make those girls think Chris and I were together together, but I wasn't exactly an expert in the relationship field.

Falling in love was something I'd only done once, and it was something I never wanted to do again. When you're sixteen, it almost doesn't matter who it is that likes you, just that they do. Because when you're sixteen and a girl, living in a dying city, you'll do just about anything to feel alive.

When Corey Waters had started showing interest in me after nearly six years of being in school together, I didn't know how to function. He wasn't the hottest boy by any means, but hot nonetheless. Built like a 2000's heartthrob, Chad Michael Murray hair and all, Corey had an air about him that made you hold your breath.

One day, in study hall, he slipped a note onto my desk asking for my number. We talked every day for two weeks straight about school, graduation, how much we liked each other. During that time, I started staying up later and later, waiting for a response and he'd flirt with me in Mr. Varnon's by tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and saying, "You should let people see your face more."

Each time my phone vibrated, a spark would catch in my belly at the thought of it being him.

It was pathetic.

Though, not nearly as pathetic as the way it ended.

After those first couple of weeks, Corey had asked me to send him a picture. Naively, I sent one of myself smiling to which he replied, As beautiful as ever, but what about what's underneath?

I was shocked I hadn't worn a hole in my carpet with all the pacing I did trying to decide whether or not I should send him a real picture.

In the end, I did, and the asshole showed all of his friends at school the next morning.

"Oh, come on, Nat," he said, jogging after me in the hallway. "Everyone's impressed."

He thought it was a compliment. Like he'd done me a favor. Some girls tried to reassure me that it would be old news in a week or two, while others joined in on the gawking. I didn't think it was possible to be that embarrassed, but it's safe to say after Corey, I never really opened up again.

Chris was nodding to himself. "I suppose that's a good thing," he said quietly.

I looked at him confused. "Why would that be a good thing?"

He sighed heavily, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the end of the milk counter. "It's not necessarily a good thing, but it's also not a bad thing."

I squinted at him. "That means absolutely nothing to me."

He inhaled deeply before letting out another long breath. "We don't get to be around very many of our girl friends because of our fans. Boundaries aren't always respected, and learning to navigate this lifestyle isn't for everyone. We do our best to protect the people we care about, but that doesn't mean we haven't lost some of them along the way. Especially with you - things could get dicey."

"Especially with me?" I repeated bitterly, crossing my arms. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Chris stood up straight and put a hand on my arm. "Woah, woah. That's not what I meant. I'm saying that we especially don't want you to have to deal with unnecessary hate. That's the last thing I or the boys want."

I hadn't thought about that. Obviously, I knew that there would be some adjustment that came with being friends with them, but I hadn't paid much thought to the fact that rumors could take on a life of their own.

"I can handle myself," I said indignantly, turning away from him, his hand falling back to his side.

"I have no doubt that you can."

"But?"

Chris side-eyed me. "I didn't say 'but.'"

"You implied it."

He paused. "Do you have feelings for Matt?"

Somewhere in the cafe a glass shattered. I snapped my head towards him. "What?"

Everyone was looking around, trying to find the source of the noise, but all I saw was Chris's blue eyes piercing through me. My breath halted.

"You heard me." My gut told me he wasn't looking for an answer, only a confirmation.

Sweat gathered on my palms. Had he heard us last night? Or was it just that painfully obvious?

I shook my head fiercely. We were not talking about this. "No, no of course not."

He didn't look away, eyes steady on mine. "Nat, come on. I might be an idiot, but I'm not dumb. There's clearly something going on between you two. Whether you know it or not."

Suddenly, I wanted to be anywhere but here. Saying I didn't have feelings for Matt wasn't a lie, but it also wasn't the truth. Partially because I didn't know what the hell I felt. Did I find myself thinking of him when he wasn't around? Yes. Did I really want to kiss him last night? Absolutely. But did I want to risk everything - him, his brothers - for something as volatile as love? Fuck no.

"You're seeing things that aren't there," I defended, shaking my head. "Matt and I are just friends."

Part of me hoped if I said it enough times it would become true.

"Like we're just friends?" Chris asked so quietly it took me a second to register what he'd said.

My hand involuntarily found his wrist. "Of course."

There was a shift then. Like I'd just locked something into place that had been slightly dislocated. Chris's body went rigid. His only response was a curt nod before busying himself with a nonexistent piece of lint on his hoodie.

I stared at him dumbly. There's no way, I thought. Not me, not him, not this. It wasn't until he moved his arm that I realized my fingers were still holding onto him. I gave his wrist a light squeeze hoping for a head turn, a glance, anything. But he looked everywhere except at me.

I let go of him, folding my arms across my chest. We stood together in silence until one of the cafe workers called out my name.

"Thank you," I said, politely, taking the large brown bag and coffee from the pick-up counter. "Ready?" I asked Chris, the newfound distance between us wasn't lost on me. He forced a smile and trailed me out of the shop.

Hoards of people were out and about shopping, talking, eating. Some were families with young children and others appeared to be couples. All of them in their own little worlds. Chris appeared to be in his own, too.

My stomach made an unpleasant sound from hunger or anxiety, I wasn't sure. I peered over at him as we reached the car, the sun's rays reflecting across the sleek black finish and onto our faces.

"What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?" I probed, mimicking what he said to me in Barney's.

He climbed into the passenger seat and buckled himself in before grabbing the food from my hands and placing it on the floor by his feet. "Nothing. Really."

I sucked on my bottom lip. In the short time I'd known Chris I'd learned he wasn't one for sulking or silence. But I knew better than anyone to push a conversation clearly neither one of us wanted to have.

Pulling out of the parking lot, I turned onto the main road, headed back towards the cabin. Patches of vibrant leaves covered the asphalt, their colors stark against the blacktop.

"What's your favorite color?" I asked, nervously drumming my fingers along the steering wheel.

Chris looked up from his phone. "Blue, I guess. Why?"

"We don't know much about each other." I shrugged.

"Asking the important questions I see," he said coolly, returning his gaze back to the screen.

I ignored the sarcasm. "Mine's blue, too. More like a periwinkle, though." My voice was higher than normal. "You know that really pale bluish-purple? Reminds me of these little flowers that used to grow down by the stream of the summer camp I went to as a kid."

Chris cracked his window and a cool rush of air filled the front seat. "You went to summer camp?"

"Yeah, I loved it."

My heart swelled at the memory. Camp Canyon Creek was a huge part of my life as a kid. I only went a handful of times between eleven and thirteen, but, sometimes, driving down roads like this reminded me of a time I wish I could've bottled and brought into adulthood.

"It was a week-long sleepaway camp in the Sierra mountains," I continued. "We used to sleep under the stars and sing campfire songs before bed."

There used to be a rickety, single-car bridge that led you onto the grounds. The first time Mom and I drove over it, we could feel the buckling of the wood beneath the tires. I wasn't scared though. That bridge was a literal representation of crossing over into another life. One where I could be whoever I wanted and no one would know differently.

The cabins were perched on top of a hill that was usually dried out by the California heat early in the season, but the trees held onto their color well into July. Redwoods dominated the property, looming around the grove we'd sit at in the early morning fog. Counselors would wake us before the sun had fully risen and we'd sit sleepy-eyed on tree stumps, taking in the fresh scent of rain and damp earth. Most of the counselors were eighteen or early twenties from what I remembered and often had younger siblings. I guess that's why they felt like big brothers and sisters during the time away from our parents.

Or maybe that was just me.

"Did you ever go to summer camp?" I asked around the marshmallow-sized lump in my throat.

"I wish," Chris started. "Boston didn't have too many opportunities like that. Nick, Matt and I did little campouts in our living room or backyard a couple of times though."

"That sounds nice," I said, picturing the three of them nuzzled into sleeping bags, lined up beneath a makeshift fort in between couches. "Were those some of your favorite childhood memories?"

Chris tilted his head in thought, the sun catching on his cheeks. "There was one Christmas break, not that long ago actually, we were probably fourteen, when we came up to the cabin and spent the whole holiday watching movies and eating cookies." A huge grin spread across his face. There he is. "Our mom makes these amazing snickerdoodles from scratch. Nick and I almost always end up fighting over who gets the last one, they're that good. You'll have to try some this year."

I couldn't stop the smile from growing on my face. The thought of spending Christmas time with not only Nick, Matt and Chris, but being introduced to their family meant more than I could put into words.

"What about you? What's your favorite childhood memory?" Chris was back to his normal glowing self. Any awkwardness between us had dissipated and daylight haloed him in the passenger seat.

I squinted against the sunlight reflecting off the dash. "Honestly, I'm not sure," I admitted.

Chris turned the radio down until the music was nothing but a low hum. He waited a few beats before speaking. "It was just you and your mom for the most part, right?"

I nodded.

"You didn't have any grandparents? Aunts or uncles?" He was treading carefully, and I smiled softly to let him know it was okay.

"My mom was an only child, like I am. My grandparents passed away when I was young," I said, sadly. "I was...seven? Yeah, seven. But I remember spending the occasional long weekend at their house in Lake Tahoe. My grandpa was always splitting wood or smoking a cigarette on the front porch, watching the world pass. At sunset, he'd play this one song on the acoustic guitar and say he was singing the animals to sleep."

I laughed through the sudden rush of nostalgia. God knows how long it'd been since I thought of Papa. And God knows he'd be beside himself if he saw how things played out for me and Mom. She was their everything, and then I was. Even when we didn't visit for months, they were always a phone call away.

I was sound asleep when the landline rang, too early for good news, and I could hear my mother's sobs through the walls. I'd crawled out from beneath my zebra covers and tiptoed into the unlit hallway, where I stood in the shadows like the Grim Reaper, watching as my mother folded in on herself like wet tissue.

I was too young then to comprehend what death meant, but I knew it was supposed to hurt. I may have lost a grandma that day, but Daniela lost a mother. And then, a year later, a father. Both of which I'd come to understand could happen even while someone was still alive.

Sadness threatened to spill through the cracks in my chest. My knuckles went white around the wheel. Sometimes, it felt like my mother's grief was always meant to be mine. Like the only way for us to remain connected was through the inheritance of heartache.

The emotion rising in my chest was getting dangerously close to overflowing. I squeezed my fingers around the steering wheel, fixating on my skin stretching across bone.

Beside me, Chris was talking about his own grandparents and how they'd lost their dad's mother at a young age, too.

"We didn't know her very well," he said impassively, before going on to say something about his Granny Meredith who lived in Boston, not far from their parents' place. I was listening but not hearing. The words couldn't register over the pulsing in my ears. All I was able to manage was a nod in response.

I've worked so hard to get away from these parts of my life - myself - I forget they'll never actually leave me, no matter how many miles I put between us.

A warmth came over my knee.

I glanced down at Chris's hand resting on my leg, his thumb making small circles against the denim. The steady rhythm made it easier to regulate my breathing.

In. Out. In. Out.

Why was it that every time he touched me, the tension in my sternum softened?

Chris didn't say anything, didn't ask what was wrong, just kept his palm firmly in its place. This time, I didn't cry. I concentrated on syncing my breath with the pattern of his fingertip and pushed out all thoughts that told me this meant something it shouldn't.