Dec. 19, 2021: An alternative chapter to how Taylor tells Camille he loves her.
If a place could look like a person, the O'Rourkes' basement apartment would be Camille's identical twin.
I guess that makes sense, though, considering she has been living in Nancy and John's underground space for the past two years, after she decided she needed more space than what she had sharing an apartment with Angela and Lawson. It was farther away from the downtown core that contained the university, which meant a longer commute but a quieter living pace. Something that for Camille was a worthy trade. She needed her down time and that's, ironically, hard to get in downtown Toronto.
The fact that this is where Camille calls home is so evident in the way she's decorated the compact and homey space. Soft, powdery blue walls. Candles with names like Reviving Green Tea and Romantic Rose on her wood dressers. A twin bed that's made up but crumply because Camille's almost always sprawled out across it.
And two girls who almost knock into me with their excitement and acrobatics.
Even though Lisa and Marissa O'Rourke aren't a permanent fixture in the apartment, they may as well be for how often they visit their grandparentsâand Camille.
"Lisa, watch! You almost kicked Taylor in the shoulder!"
"I've told you before! Stop bossing me around just because you're older! I so did not almost kick him. Besides, he's so big I doubt I'd actually hurt him."
She had a point there. Carefully maneuvering my large frame around the arguing nine and ten-year old, I make my way to Camille's soft bed, which I plot down onto.
"Okay, girls, let's take a breather. It was my fault, because I should have been more careful when I came in through the door." I glance between the two faces, which are growing calmer by the moment. "I'm guessing you two have a competition coming up?"
Nancy was always going on about how well her girls were doing in competitive gymnastics. Camille and I joined her for afternoon tea sometimes, and that was all she talked about when she wasn't asking me if she could poke my ass.
"We do," Marissa sang as she performed some wizardry that launched her body upside down.
I couldn't help but wince. There wasn't enough room down here for these tricks and it was only a matter of time, I thought, before someone got their teeth knocked in.
"Where's Camille?" I asked Lisa, who was throwing her hands in the air and making power poses in front of my friend's mirror.
"Bathroom," she answered.
"She's been in there a while," Marissa added. "She was crying when we came down here and as soon as she saw us she told us she had to use the washroom."
What? Camille was crying?
"Hey, she said not to tell Taylor!" Lisa admonished.
I open my mouth to say something, to console the young girl, but the worry that coursed through my body over the thought that Camille was upset made me slow.
A "Why thank you, girls. Hi, Taylor," hit the air before my words could.
"Camille. Hey," I said quietly, assessing the damage as she finished walking the few feet from the bathroom to her bedroom area.
Her face was shiny and a few curly, loose tendrils had escaped from the knot on her head. She was wearing a pair of white cotton shorts and a loose black t-shirt. And although she didn't look particularly happy, it was hard to tell if that was because she had been crying or because the end of August in Toronto was pretty fucking hot. And humid.
"Why don't you guys go upstairs for a bit?" I suggest to Lisa and Marissa. "I'm sure your grandparents are missing you."
They hunched their shoulders and mumbled how their grandparents had just seen them ten minutes ago but they obliged. Camille and I stayed quiet until the sound of their light yet annoyed footsteps disappeared.
"Hey," I said, turning toward Camille.
She had taken a seat on her bed and was pushing a thick statistics textbook out of the way. She was in the third year of her PhD and I couldn't imagine how much hard work that involved.
"Hi."
She was growing uncomfortable under the weight of my inspection; I could tell because she broke off eye contact and picked at an imaginary thread on her comforter.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, of course," she responded quickly.
I reached out my hand so that it was an inch away from her palm, giving her a lifeline in case she wanted it.
"The girls said you were crying," I murmured.
"Yeah, I heard."
"And?"
"I'm okay," she insisted.
She lay back on her bed, on her side, so that her half of her face was smushed against a pillow.
"Can you please put that blanket on my legs?"
"It's boiling down here."
She made a noise of agreement. "I like being cozy."
"I know," I said as I tucked the plush material around her lower body, trying not to get distracted by their shape. "I've known you for five years; I know you like being cozy. And I also know you like talking about things that are bothering you. So, spill."
But I give her a look that says but only if you want.
Camille nods and massages her palms into her eyes. "I had a date last night," she admits.
Even though my muscles tense and my heart falls to my stomach, I try my best to stay neutral.
"And how did it go?"
Yeah, fuck that. There is no way I can keep my primal emotions out of my tone.
She shrugs, a small gesture.
"He never showed."
What?
"Camille, I'm so sorry."
She closes her eyes for a moment. "He was someone I met at school, in another grad program. He's getting his PhD in Chemistry. I thought we were hitting it off so I invited him out for dinner. He said yes but never showed. I called and texted for over an hour, waiting there like a moron, until I went home. Then half hour ago he texts me that he's sorry for leading me on but that this isn't the direction he wants our relationship to go." She shuts her eyes again and the skin on her cheeks crinkle. "Asshole," she whispers.
"Camille," I sigh as I wrap my arm around her body, pulling her closer to me. "I don't give a holy fuck that he's getting a PhD. He's so fucking stupid, you have no idea."
I'm angry now. Angry at this nameless jerk and at myself. Because this situation reminds me of something. My own stupidity.
"I didn't even like him that much," Camille says. "It's not just this..." Her words trail off and she absently rubs circles on her stomach.
Holy fuck.
"Are you pregnant?" I blurt.
She narrows her eyes and whips her head toward me. "What? Why the hell would you think that?"
"I...I...I don't know, but you were touching your stomach and..."
"You know my tummy hurts when I get upset."
Leave it to this girl to be twenty-six and still use the word "tummy."
"Right, yeah, never mind."
I give myself a few moments for my muscles to relax. A million scenarios had flashed in my mind, and I swear I was ready to support Camille in any way she needed. I would've raised another man's baby if that would make her happy.
"That's impossible, anyways," she says suddenly.
"Hmm?"
"Never mind, forget I said that," she says, hiding her face in her pillow.
"No chance. What do you mean?"
Camille sighs but answers me anyways. "I haven't since..."
I nod. She doesn't have to finish that sentence for me to know what it means. It's still only ever been me.
More tears fall from my girl's eyes, breaking my heart. I put my hand underneath her shirt and move my hand over the soft skin of her lower back.
"Don't cry, Camille," I beg.
"He's a fucking asshole for leading me on!"
My hand freezes and her body tenses at the exact same moment.
Camille looks at me and says, "Taylor, I'm sorry, I didn't mean... I don't think that..."
"Hey, stop. You're not the one who should be apologizing here."
"I know, but, I didn't mean to bring it up again. It was a long time ago."
Five years is nothing when what I did to Camille is something I'll spend a lifetime hating myself for.
"It doesn't matter," I insist. "What I did to you was horrible and I know I've said sorry, but each moment I spend with you makes me question why you ever wanted to be friends again when I fucked up so badly."
"I got over you," she admits. "I swear, I got over you."
This wasn't the first time I had heard her say this but the words don't make me relieved like they once did.
I take off my Saints cap, ruffle my hair, and put the hat back on.
"I don't think I'll ever forgive myself," I tell her.
"You should. I forgave you a long time ago. You made a mistake, but you were young, and you couldn't help how you felt. I thought we went through this and had moved on."
I nod slowly. I thought we were too. God knows we had spent enough time acting platonically toward the other in the past few years.
"Come on, do your hair. I want to take you out for dinner tonight."
Her right eyebrow lifts an inch. "Do my hair? Are you saying my hair looks bad?"
"You know I think you're beautiful. But I've noticed that you only wear your hair like this when you're upset. I want you to feel good about yourself."
"Fine. You got a point."
I had gotten over Taylor Hudson. I swear I had.
And you know what, if I'm being honest to myself, I really and truly do believe that. There was a time when I could think about this boy, or see this boy, or talk to him and not feel that longing or heartbreak. The problem was that that boy had become a man. A handsome, thoughtful, caring man who still had the ability to make me feel special.
So, I had gotten over the boy. And fallen for the man.
Sitting across from him on the patio of a restaurant on the Harbourfront, it's too easy to see why I've fallen back in love. Taylor's clothes are casual and his two tattoo sleeves are on full display. There's a bit of facial hair on his cheeks and that, combined with the cap he's wearing, just does it for me. It's a balmy late August night, and even though this is supposed to be our down time, before we start the new hockey season and school year, I'm much too anxious to be relaxed.
He can't do this to me again. I can't do this to myself again. What happened with Brandon last night just reminded me of how much the unreciprocated feelings would hurt coming from someone I actually loved.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Taylor asks, abandoning the piece of crème Brule in front of him.
"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Sorry. Just worrying about school," I lie. "Some people finish their PhDs in the fourth year, but that's a lot of pressure."
Taylor leans in. "So, take an extra year. Don't be so hard on yourself."
I nod and tuck a lock of hairâwhich I straightened while Taylor scrolled through his phone on my bedâbehind my ear.
It's not my intention to ignore Taylor, but the beautiful surroundings have won the battle for my attention. It's been a scorching few days but down at the lake, it's bearable. Families and couples and groups of friends have taken over Harbourfront, grabbing a meal or just taking in the setting sun.
The waitress comes with our bill, which Taylor pays. He also gives her a hefty tip, no doubt. Even though the Saints haven't won a cup yet, they've made the playoffs each year since Taylor has joined the team. They still worship him and Taylor gives back by being extremely (almost inhumanly) kind to everyone he meets.
"Want to walk along the water?" he suggests.
I nod, stand up and tuck my chair in, and exit the bistro's patio. The lakeside walk of Lake Ontario is one of my favourite things about the city. We walk along the wooden path, so close that our bodies brush one another with each step.
A few feet ahead of us is a young family playing. Even though I typically reserve my judgements of others, I'm surprised the parents are okay with their small son and daughter being that close to the water. I'm sure it's fine, though. I just happened to be raised by a father who has a fear of drowning.
"Camille," Taylor begins. "Did you mean what you said earlier?"
"About what?" I glance at his attractive face for a moment. I turn back around just in time to see it happen.
Time seemed to simultaneously slow down and speed up.
The girl who was playing in front of us loses her balance, trips, and falls into the lake. So, I do the only logical thing. I run and jump into the water after her. It's freezing and the displaced water from our bodies is rushing around us. My head bobs in and out, cutting off the screaming from her parents. And Taylor. I manage to grab her and push her up into her father's arms.
"My dolly!" she screams.
I look around and, sure enough, there's a doll laying on the water. I reach out for it and a wave crashes over me. It feels like water fills every crevice of my body, pulling me deeper. Two things capture my attention. First, that I'm holding the doll in my hand, and second, that a pair of strong arms has lifted me out of the water.
"Camille! God, Camille, you're so fucking stupid!" Taylor yells as he lays my body on the hard floor. "So fucking stupid, Camille!"
He continues to yell and curse as he pumps on my chest and blows air into my mouth.
"Camille, you'reâ"
Breath.
"Soâ"
Breath.
"Fuckingâ"
Breath.
"Stupid."
I cough up water and Taylor exhales, "Oh, thank god," and pushes me onto my side.
Like the world's strongest and warmest blanket, Taylor's large body cocoons mine, his mouth at my ear.
"You're okay, Camille. I got you, my stupid, stupid girl."
I'm in shock when Taylor opens the door to his apartment.
But not because I just jumped into a lake and almost drowned; it's because the way Taylor has been acting since he scooped me in his arms and carried me to his Jeep murmuring sweet nothings is colder than the freezing water.
Taylor flicks on the lamp in the entrance, illuminating the upscale space in a soft glow. That, combined with the last remains of the setting sun gives the apartment a rather romantic feel, but I'm too uncomfortable in my soaking clothes to appreciate it.
I watch Taylor stalk off to the direction of his bedroom like he's on a mission without uttering a peep. Just as he's about to step foot into his room he turns around and nods at me, signalling that he wants me to follow him. When I get there I find him pulling out clothes from his dresser and suddenly I'm twenty-one again.
We've done this before, haven't we? Me standing in clothes suctioned to my body and Taylor giving me things to wear. It was only a few months into my Masters, when Taylor told me he had a girlfriend and I was forced to accept the rejection, once and for all. The memory makes me uncomfortable. Funny how I've been in this apartment countless times since that night, the most recent being a few months ago, before we left for our respective homes to visit our families, and yet it's that night that feels most vivid.
"These are some of the warmest things I have," Taylor says, tossing some sweats onto his bed. "I'm going to get you a towel."
He says those words without making eye contact and I want to cry. I bite my bottom lip to keep the tears from falling free and begin to peel the clothes off my body. My bra is drenched as well, so I take it off, because Taylor's sweatshirt is large enough to cover my chest.
"Here's a towel."
Even though I knew he was going to come back, the sound of Taylor's voice startles me. In a jumpy motion, I turn around and face him. Instead of dropping the towel off and booking it, he stays, watching me. When his eyes go wide and his jaw slack, I realize what I've done.
I'm facing Taylor Hudson completely topless, my bare breasts exposed for his serious eyes. And yet, I just stand there. I don't make any attempt to cover up, because it feels like covering myself in Taylor's presence is all I've been doing lately.
When he finally draws his eyes away from my body, he gives me another small nod and leaves my line of vision.
The towel is warm and soft, but his clothes are even better, and I take my time before joining him on the couch.
I'm twenty-six now, not twenty-one. Don't let this end the same way.
"I'm sure you don't need the caffeine right now, but I think a bit of sugar will do you some good," Taylor says as I take a seat on the couch opposite of the one he's on.
A can of Diet Coke and a pack of my favourite candyâour favourite candyâare on the coffee table.
"Please eat a candy," he insists in a hushed tone.
I tear open the pack and chew thoughtfully on an acai-flavoured gummy. I glance at Taylor; he's leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, looking at me with a steely gaze.
"I think I'm having déjà vu," he admits.
"Taylor, can we not do this now? Please."
"Do what?"
I sigh. "Relive that night."
I don't want to go there right now any more than I already have.
He glares at me for an uncomfortable few seconds before he says, "Fine. So let's talk about what the fuck you were thinking jumping in that lake?"
He sounds so angry it unnerves me.
"She could have drowned! Someone had to save her."
"Yeah, I get that. But what I don't get is why that had to be you. Her father was there, I was there. Both of us much stronger than you."
"I was just trying to help," I admit in a small voice.
"So call an ambulance next time! Not fucking jump in a damn lake!"
And that's the straw that breaks the camel's back. A tear falls onto my cheek.
"Why are you being so mean to me about this?"
If I had expected him to soften at my distress, I would have been wrong.
"Because I can't live without you!" he roars.
Oh my.
Chills bloom on my skin, despite my warm clothing.
"Because I can barely survive going a day without seeing your face or hearing your voice and I don't know what the hell I'd do if something happened where I had to live my whole life like that."
What on earth? I'm at a loss for words. Taylor's looking at me expectantly, with wild, glassy eyes and flushed cheeks.
"I know I'm your best friend," I whisper.
In one swift movement Taylor gets off his couch and joins me, sitting so close our knees our touching. He brings his hands to cradle my cheeks. His eyes search mine feverishly.
"Did you mean what you said earlier? About getting over me?"
I nod and I swear I see something small break inside Taylor.
"Please don't do this to me again," I beg. "I was doing so well, I really was, and this is just a blip and..."
"Camille, I'm in love with you."
Silence.
That's all that follows in the next few moments.
"What?" I ask as his thumb brushes over the corner of my mouth.
"I love you, Camille."
I love you, Camille.
I love you, Camille.
"And I know you don't love me anymore and I probably deserve that because I sure as fuck am not good enough for you and maybe I blew my one chance when I was twenty and dumb and just making it in the NHL but I love you. I love you. I'm not sure when it all clicked but I know it now. I love you."
I'm so light it feels like I'm levitating.
"You love me?"
He nods. "I love you so much I don't know what to do with myself."
My goodness. This is everything I've wanted to hear from this man. Finally, the stars have aligned.
"I love you too, Taylor." There's a question in his eyes. "Somehow along the way I fell back in love with you."
"You love me?" he repeats my words.
"I love you more now than I ever did."
Taylor Hudson smiles the most beautiful smile I've ever seen, one whose brightness rivals the moon. He kisses me, sweetly at first but then deeper, moaning and groaning as he touches the inside of my body. When we can't take it any longer, he carries me to his bedroom, peels his clothes off my body and makes sweet love to me.
When our heads hit the pillow, we look at each other, Taylor's gold chain glimmering in the dim light.
"I'm so sorry for all I put you through," he says.
"It's okay," I insist. "I don't regret the storm. It led us here."