James laughs and moves to put his arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin on the top of my head. “Not true,” he says. “We always wait until you’re asleep.”
I laugh and push him off me. But Miller still doesn’t agree to join us, promising that he will next week. I don’t want to leave him behind, but I don’t think I can stay in town, either. I like being out in the woods. I like pretending that there’s no Program.
And so we say good-bye to Miller and climb into James’s dad’s car, heading for the coast.
• • •
When we were younger, Brady and I would go camping together. My brother was an expert outdoorsman, so our parents let us go when I was just twelve and he was thirteen, although they’d come and check on us a few times. And when I was fifteen, they finally let us go on our own, as long as James was there too.
That first night, as I sat next to the fire pit, I watched James put the tent together while Brady was across the site, chopping wood. James had just turned sixteen, and his blond hair had grown out so that he had to swipe at it with the back of his hand. He was such a boy, shirtless and sweating, muscles already cording on his tall frame. And at one point, he looked sideways at me, almost startled to see me sitting there, staring at him.
Then his mouth spread into a grin. “You checking me out, Sloane?”
My face must have gone completely red because he apologized immediately, but I had already gotten up to walk to the spot that overlooked the ocean, unable to answer. He was right. I had been checking him out. It had never occurred to me before that moment that I thought of James as anything more than a friend, my brother’s friend. I even had a boyfriend, Liam. Sure, I didn’t much like him, just one of those “we have classes together so let’s go out” type of relationships. But still, Lacey told me it’d be weird if I said no to Liam. I hadn’t even let him hold my hand in the two months we were together—and believe me, that counted as pretty weird in everyone’s book. And yet, there I was checking out James Murphy.
I sat on the sand embankment and bent my knees, resting my elbows on them. James had lots of girlfriends, never any serious. And now that I thought about it, James dating other girls twisted my stomach. I groaned out loud, wondering how I could have let myself be so stupid.
“God, Sloane” I heard. “I was only kidding.”
I straightened my back, unable to turn to face James. But I knew him, and there was no way he’d leave me without finding out what was going on. Then, sure enough, he was standing over me. “You okay?” he asked. His voice held no hint as to what he was thinking; whether he was embarrassed for me, whether he had even noticed that he was right about the way I’d been looking at him.
I nodded, but he just chuckled. He tossed a tent pole on the sand in front of us and dropped down next me, bumping me as he did. James was big, and I fell to my side, catching myself with my hands. Normally I would have pushed him back, but I didn’t want to touch him. I wanted to figure out how to make my feelings go away. Me, James, and Brady were a team. I didn’t want to mess it up.
“Holy hell,” he said, sounding amused. “You really were checking me out.”
“I wasn’t,” I said quickly, turning to him. But it was too late. James read the truth all over my face. His easy smile slid away from his lips.
“Sloane,” he whined my name. “You don’t get to do that. This can’t . . . We can’t . . .” He stopped, his beautiful eyes holding nothing but pity for me. So I did the only thing I could. I punched him in the chest, making him gasp, and got up and walked away.
And here we are, over two years later. Once again I’m watching James build a tent, but this time my brother’s dead. James’s hair isn’t in his eyes, but he brushes at his forehead absently anyway. At one point, he looks sideways at me, but he doesn’t smile like he did that day. Instead his eyes are weary from putting up the tent by himself. He presses his lips together in an “I miss him too” sort of expression and I look away.
The team broke up, but it wasn’t me who did it. It was Brady.
• • •
The fire crackles, the heat licking out toward my boots. The sun set a few hours ago, but neither of us said much throughout the day. It was nice that we didn’t have to.
James taps my leg with a thin stick and I take it from him, looking next to me. “Marshmallow?” he asks, holding one out between his thumb and finger. I watch as the amber light plays off his features: his strong jaw, his golden hair. I smile.
“You’re beautiful,” I say.
“I look good naked too,” he adds. “You didn’t mention that.”
“I forgot.”
“You forgot?” He pretends to be offended, and then takes a bite out of the marshmallow before tossing the rest into the fire. James immediately drops out of his chair, crawling over to mine and grabbing me, pulling me down into the dirt with him.
“James . . . ,” I start to say, laughing. But his lips are on mine, tasting sticky and sweet. He lays me back, his knee nudging my legs apart as he starts kissing my neck. “James,” I murmur again, only this time it’s with longing.
I love this—this moment. Because as we roll on the ground, the fire burning hot as James peels off my clothes, I can block out everything else. I can focus on how good I feel right now. I can pretend that there is nothing else but us.
And when we’re done and James is panting next me, proud of himself as he should be, I stare at the stars in the sky. I lie there for a long time as James pulls his T-shirt back over his head, collecting the wrapper to toss out. When he comes back, he gets down next to me, moving my head onto his lap as we watch the sky together.
“Brady’s a star up there,” he says, “in some distant place where he doesn’t hurt.” James’s voice cracks and he stops talking. He sniffles, the tears rolling down his cheeks. He always lets his guard down enough to talk in moments like this—the only time his feelings are so raw he can’t hide them.
“He loved you,” I say, curling up against him. “No matter what he did, you were the best thing in his life.”
James looks down at me, wiping his tears. “You were.” He stares at me in a way that reminds me that he’s only human. That he’s as fragile as I am.
“I was just his sister. You were more than a brother. You were his other half.”