Free Hush by Jude Sierra Page A

her way, and he catches a glimpse of her tucking her hair behind her right ear. He knows so well how it smells, like coconut and vanilla, in the hollow behind her ear.
    “I am… ” Cam says into the darkness. He can tell Nate is awake. “More complicated than I realized.”
    Nate just snorts a laugh.
    Cam closes his eyes and rolls until he feels the cool cotton of his pillowcase against his cheek. He’s tangled, less sure than he was before—because he feels guilty, somehow complicit and also, for some reason, relieved.
    “Dude, what was that about?” Nate asks him the next morn­ing. Cam shrugs, and then realizes Nate can’t see that when he’s in the closet. He finds the shirt he’s been looking for: a rich cobalt blue button-down with a light sheen to it and double pockets on the right side that Peyton gave him for his last birthday. She’d sent a huge package with all sorts of things he’d never buy for himself, as usual.
    “What was what about?” Cam says, checking in the mirror the way the shirt fits.
    “The crisis ‘I’m complicated’ shit,” Nate doesn’t look up; he’s doing something on the computer, clicking his mouse rapidly. Probably playing Candy Crush.
    Cam takes a breath. He buttons the last button. He’s never worn such a vibrant color before; the man in the mirror is almost a stranger. He sits on his bed, gripping the edge with his fingers.
    “Maggie broke up with me,” he says.
    “Oh man.” Nate turns away from his game. “That blows. Why?”
    Cam shakes his head, curling his toes to crack them. “She said we didn’t feel the same way about each other.”
    “Well…” Nate starts.
    “Well?”
    “It’s true, isn’t it?” Nate says.
    Cam tamps down a surge of irritation and takes a deep breath. Nate has a point, although his easy acknowledgment and unsur­prised demeanor are frustrating. It’s uncomfortable to know other people might see things about him so much more clearly than he has.
    “I guess so,” Cam says. “This sucks,” he admits candidly. “I think I really hurt her, and I never meant to. I mean… I’m—”
    Nate cocks his head and waits him out.
    “I’ve been confused. And I don’t know why,”
    “Well, isn’t that the definition of confused?” Nate asks.
    “No. I mean, yes. I— I don’t even know what I’m confused about. I just know that something doesn’t feel right, and with her, I couldn’t ever make it feel one hundred percent like I thought it should, like other people seem to—”
    “Cam, man. You cannot try to figure out your shit by comparing it to other people,” Nate butts in.
    “Well how else will I know how to do what’s right?” Cam retorts.
    “By figuring out what’s right for you ,” Nate says.
    Cam straightens the cuff of his shirt. “You should charge me for the therapeutic services you provide.”
    “I will eventually,” Nate jokes back. “Seriously, though—you okay?”
    “Yes and no,” Cam says, tipping his head from side to side. “A part of me feels like she’s right, but another—”
    “Hmm?”
    “I think I’m just going to miss her,” Cam says.
    Nate smiles. “She’s a great girl,” he says. “She’ll find a way to be friends with you.”
    “That’s what she said,” Cam says with a frown.
    Nate just smiles at him and turns back to his game. Cam pulls a scarf on, knotting it carefully before donning his new coat.
    * * *
    “Let’s get shitfaced tonight,” Nate says, pulling up a chair across from Cam. It scrapes loudly against the tile floor. Cam winces. He hates that about this coffee shop—well, he’s not really a fan of the place at all; it’s sterile, with its white tiles and big windows, its regimented rows of tables that are always a bit crooked by the end of the day. The coffee isn’t always fresh.
    But it’s cheap, it’s near campus, and it’s where his friends are today. And it’s hot, which is welcome, with the thick January snow falling outside.
    “Bad week?”