Page 53 of Meet Me Back Here

“You want to leave here?” Forrest asks.

“Of course I do,” I say with a disbelieving chuckle. Who wouldn’t want to leave here? You can reach the town limits in ten minutes or less in any direction “Not like tomorrow, but yeah. I need to see more.”

“Oh.” He’s so gentle with me. “You sure you’re ok?”

“I’m ok. I promise.”

Does it feel good to hear people have been using homophobic slurs to talk about me? Of course not. But I know there’s nothing wrong with me or who I like. And I’m not going to let the ignorance of Tanner Clark ruin my day.

Not when I’ve got somebody like Forrest so ready to stand up for me. That feels much more important than whatever Tanner thinks.

I rub a hand on my hip. “Except for maybe my ass. That fall hurt.”

“I’ll take my driving test during break so you won’t have to walk anymore,” he says.

“And you’ll stop hitting people who say dumb shit?” I press.

Forrest hesitates before answering. “I’ll think about it, but I can’t make any promises. That guy really needed to be punched in the face.”

I want to argue more, but I also don’t. People like Tanner should be shut up. I just want to protect Forrest too.

We sit quietly for a bit, our conversation over, but neither of us wanting to go, even with how cold it is.

Then Forrest lurches forward and wraps his arms around my shoulders, squeezing me to him.

“I’ve always got your back,” he says. “Always. And I love you too.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

another year older, still not a millionaire, but this feels pretty close

PRESENT

“Happy Birthday, Forrest,” I say quietly, right into Forrest’s ear while I tickle his face with the end of a streamer. He’s curled up on his side in a tight ball, wedged in the top corner of the bed.

“Mrgrrrf.”

At least, that’s what it sounds like Forrest says as he swats at the streamer. I jump back just in time to avoid being batted in the face. I keep annoying him with the crepe paper though, while he unknowingly does a great impersonation of Jigsaw playing with a feather toy.

“Fooooorrest,” I singsong his name again, drawing it out as long as I can on the same breath.

“Happy Birthday, Cam,” he grumbles, barely pulling down the blanket so he can open one bleary eye at me.

I take that as an invitation to blow hard into the noisemaker I have at the ready. He launches away from me when it smacks him right in the face. He blinks a few more times, looking around and probably trying to figure out what’s real and what’s a sleepy post-dream hallucination.

Joke’s on you, buddy. It’s all real.

I can almost hear the gears turning in his head as he takes in the literal hundreds of strips of paper in every color imaginable hanging from the ceiling. I got it all—from the balcony all the way to the front door, including over his bed without falling on him. If he got up and checked, he’d see they continue into the bedroom and bathroom too. I didn’t come here to fuck around.

“Cam, what on earth…” Forrest trails off, the question clear in his voice as he slowly pushes himself up, getting a face full of streamers in the process. They make a light rustling sound as he sweeps them aside.

“I’ve been up for a bit,” I say, laughing at the expression of disbelief on his face. “It took a little longer than filling the treehouse, but I’m no quitter. You should probably do some kind of sleep study. When I fell off the chair and you still didn’t wake up, I was worried you might be dead.”

“I sleep deeply. You know that,” he says, rubbing a hand down his face and squeezing his eyes shut for a few more moments as he fully wakes up.

He’s right. I do know that. I’m just surprised he’d so easily bring up the fact that we used to share a bed on the regular.

I remember one time I woke myself up after elbowing him in the throat, worried about the damage I’d caused just to realize he was still happily oblivious in snorkmimi land. Then, I shook him awake just to tell him how insane it was that he hadn’t woken up.