Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Oh, mirror in the sky
What is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?

Eddie: That first tour… it had been bad. It had been… he doesn’t like thinking about it most of the time. Doesn’t like remembering his part in it. He tries not to blame himself, because it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t! None of it. Billy was a grown man, he was responsible for himself. And Camila was grown too- she knew who she was marrying. But when he thinks about that tour, all he can manage is guilt and regret.

It wasn’t his responsibility to tell Camila what Billy was doing on tour. She wasn’t his girlfriend. She was married to the lead singer of a rock band, what the hell did she think was going to happen? But that excuse feels thin, tired. Because even if Camila wasn’t his, she was his friend. His oldest friend, and thinking back, he wonders if things might have been different if he had said something.

He remembers talking to Karen one night after a show. Denver maybe? Or somewhere in Arizona? The shows mostly ran together after a bit. They were all drinking too much, doing too many drugs, not getting enough sleep, trying to ignore what was happening with Billy and the feeling that they were on a sinking ship.

Karen follows him out to the hotel balcony where he's smoking and trying to sober up. The air is cold- it must’ve been Denver, cause he remembers seeing the very start of the sunrise over the mountains. Karen looks at him, not quite sober but serious, her eyes wide and mascara smudged halfway down her cheeks.

“What are we going to do about Camila?” she asks.

Her name feels like a punch to the gut and he couldn’t help but look back to the hotel room. Billy was asleep on the couch, but there’s a girl under his arm and a bottle of whiskey in his other hand.

“What’d’ya mean?” he asks, turning back to the mountains. He forgets trying to sober up, grabs the bottle of beer he’d set on the railing. He can’t look at Karen. Doesn’t want to think about what she’s asking.

Karen’s words slur a bit around the edges, but she tugs his sleeve, forces him to look at her. “Should we tell her about Billy?” She asks him outright, straightforward as always.

Eddie wants to shut his eyes, ignore her completely. Ignore the guilt boiling in his stomach. Trying to forget the anger he was feeling.

He thinks about Camila, seven years old with grass stains on her knees, sticking her tongue out at him from across the street. He thinks about Camila, home, alone, with a baby on the way.

He thinks about Billy, passed out behind him, throwing away the best thing he’s ever done in his entire miserable life. Eddie grips the beer bottle till his knuckles turn white.

He doesn’t say anything.

“Should we tell her?” Karen asks again, swaying on her feet. She sounds torn up, just like he feels, and he’s glad Camila has another friend in the band, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. “She wants to come out and surprise him.”

“No!” The response was automatic. Camila could not come out here. Could not see Billy like this. Not now, not when things had fallen so low. She shouldn’t have to see this. Shouldn’t have to go through this. Eddie couldn’t bear the thought of her being hurt, not now, not with a baby on the way. No, she absolutely could not come out.

---

But she did. She surprises them all and everything falls apart around them.

He’d been getting high with Graham, walking back to their shitty motel when they see her. He thinks Graham makes some mad dash attempt to distract her, but his mind’s gone numb. It’s too late anyways. Before he can fully process what’s happening - it feels like a dream, his vision gone all hazy and sideways- Camila is pulling open the van door, the damn thing squeaking on its hinges like it had been since Pittsburg.

He isn’t exactly sure what happens next. All he knows is Camila’s face twisted in anger, tears already threatening to spill over, her hands shoving him hard enough that he stumbles backwards. All he knows is that he feels like the worst piece of shit to ever walk the earth, a hard feat when he’s been sharing hotel rooms with Billy Dunne for the past six months.

Camila: She isn’t stupid. She’d known something was wrong during that first tour. She’d… known the whole time. Even when she was pretending everything was okay, she’d known. It had eaten away at her, those long months alone.

Pregnant and alone, she wouldn’t wish that on anyone. After Billy stopped answering her calls, she’d felt the entirety of her life stretching out in front of her, a long lonely span of regret and pain. She’d always known what Billy was doing; that surprise visit had just been the final confirmation. When she has Julia, alone in that cold hospital room, her heart is breaking. She’d trusted BIlly, she’d put her whole heart into him, and there she was, giving birth alone.

Every single member of the band meets the baby before Billy does.

She remembers introducing her to Teddy at the hospital - he’d stopped by to tell her he’d taken Billy to rehab. Camila knew she should have been relieved; Billy was okay, he was getting help. But she couldn’t swallow the bitter pill she tastes, realizing the first person to meet her child was her husband’s music producer.

Graham and Karen come by to drive her home from the hospital. Graham is taken with Julia instantly. Karen holds her like a hot potato, as stiff and unnatural as Camila’s ever seen her. But it’s Karen that sits up with her that first night, and the five after, helping her change diapers and fix dinner until her mother makes it out.

Warren meets Julia by accident. They’re in the driveway walking back from the store; he seems surprised to realize she’d actually given birth to a real life human. He leans down to the stroller and introduces himself all proper, and it makes Camila laugh.

But Eddie… Eddie honest to god calls before he comes over. He calls down to the cottage from the main house and asks when’s a good time to visit. Like he’s scheduling a dentist appointment or something. Camila had been in the middle of giving Julia a bath, her shirt covered in spit up. She hadn’t slept properly in nearly three days, even with her mom’s help, but she says sure, come down any time.

She watches him make his way out to the garden, stop, turn back, then back again. Julia’s down for her nap, her mom out to the store, and Camila leans against the window frame, watching as he slowly makes his way down to the cottage door.

“Took you long enough,” she says, opening the door for him once he finally makes it all the way down.

He looks sheepish, running a hand through his hair as she collapses onto the couch. She’s so tired - it takes him looking at the ceiling with a blush before she realizes she’d forgotten to put a clean shirt on. She's slouched across from him in just her sturdy maternity bra and a loose skirt. It’s less revealing than what most girls wore to their shows, and his embarrassment almost makes her laugh.

“Eddie, will you just sit down,” she says finally. His pacing is making her nervous, and she can finally relax when he perches gingerly in the chair closest to her. “Julia’s just gone down for her nap,” she says belatedly, “but she’s just through there if you want to see her.”

“No, that’s alright,” he says stiffly. When she raises an eyebrow, he clarifies. “I mean, maybe later. But I actually wanted to talk to you.”

It’s then that she realizes she hadn’t seen Eddie since the motel. Since it all fell apart. She’d shoved him, hadn’t she? She can’t believe she’d done that. Taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the way he nervously plays with the ring on his thumb, she realizes why he’s there. Why it took him so long to visit.

“Eddie,” she says, sitting up a little straighter, “it’s alright. You don’t have to- We don’t-”

She doesn’t want to talk about it. It hurts to think about, hurts to remember. Her husband was still in rehab, Julia still hadn’t met her father. Reminders of what had happened were constant; she doesn’t think she can bear talking about them.

Eddie grimaces. “I know. I know you probably want to forget all that. But I just gotta say I’m sorry. Will you let me?”

Camila looks at him. Looks at the boy she grew up with. He wasn’t a boy anymore. He’d grown up, broad shouldered with laugh lines and a crease between his eyes. He was frowning and miserable looking, and Camila decides, yes, she would let him apologize.

“Alright,” she says finally, sitting back and crossing her arms. “Go ahead.”

He flushes under her scrutiny, but clears his throat. “Camila,” he starts, every syllable of her name pronounced and steady. Had he practiced what he was going to say? Had he prepared some type of speech? Or was the tender way he said her name how he’d always said it, and she’d just never noticed?

“I’m sorry. I knew what Billy was doing on tour and I didn’t do anything to stop him. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Cause I should’ve. I should’ve told you, and it was stupid of me not to.” She thinks the speech has dissolved into something else, but she nods, allows him to continue. “You deserved to know. And you deserved to make your own decision. And I was stupid. I already said that, but it’s true. I just didn’t want you to get hurt. Really, that’s the only thing I was thinking: that I didn’t want to hurt you and I didn’t want Billy to hurt you. It was stupid. I was stupid. I’m sorry.”

He’s sort of out of breath by the time he’s done, and he looks almost scared. When he reaches out a hesitant hand towards her, she realizes her cheeks are wet.

“Damn you Eddie,” she cries, dissolving into tears. There’s no heat behind the words and when he moves to the couch beside her, she collapses into him. She lets him pull her close and she buries her face in his chest. She cries and cries like she hasn’t allowed herself to do since the hospital. And Eddie holds her, wrapping his arms around her and letting her sob into his shirt.

She hadn’t realized how badly she’d needed to hear those words: I’m sorry. Because she’d been fucked over by all of them. Not just Billy, though that had hurt the worst. But she had considered all of them her friends and none of them had had the decency to tell her what was going on. And after, even when things had gone back to semi-normal, none of them had had the decency to apologize.

Except Eddie.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. He’s stroking her hair, and Camila lets out a shaking sigh, trying to control her tears. If it had been anyone else, she would have been embarrassed. But it’s Eddie and he feels like home.

Eddie: There’s a weight lifted off his shoulders after he apologies. Camila doesn’t say she forgives him, not in so many words, and he wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. But she asks him to stay for dinner and he feels like maybe she does. They have spaghetti and meatballs with her mom. He asks Mrs. Alvarez about Camila’s sisters and she tells him how his mom’s garden is doing. They laugh about Mr. Johnson’s dog and complain about the new drugstore they’re putting in down the street from their old elementary school.

Eddie tries not to imagine a life where they’d stayed there. Stayed home. A life where they grow old on the same street where they grew up. It’s useless, painful, to imagine stupid shit like that. It wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t what Camila wanted. But still, he can’t help imagining.

Julia wakes up just as they’re finishing dinner. Mrs. Alvarez offers to clean up and Camila catches his hand, drags him back towards the bedroom.

“Eddie,” she says, leaning down to pick the baby up from the crib, “meet Julia.”

She’s the cutest baby he’s ever seen.

He’s never been much of a baby person. He knew Graham was, even if he tried to hide it, but Eddie had never really gotten it before. They all sort of looked the same. All lumpy and floppy. Kids were alright, but babies were just sort of there until they started learning to walk.

But Julia… God, she was cute. She had dark little wisps of hair sticking up everywhere and Camila’s eyes. Big brown eyes that took up half her face, so dark you could lose yourself in them. And the roundest cheeks he’d ever seen.

“She’s a bit crabby right after a nap,” Camila is saying, and without any notice, she’s pulling down her shirt for Julia to feed.

“Woah! Hey, sorry, I can-“ He gestures vaguely towards the kitchen, staring intently at the ceiling. He knows his face is beet red, can feel his ears burning. He knows there’s nothing sexual about it, it’s kinda amazing actually, like some kind of superpower Camila’s suddenly gained, but, god, was he unprepared.

Camila is laughing, those breathy snorts she does when she’s trying not to. And his embarrassment is worth it to see her smile. “It’s fine Eddie,” she says, settling into the rocking chair next to the crib. “She’ll be done in a few.”

Eddie can’t bear standing there next to her, fidgeting and trying to find something to look at, so he sits at her feet, back against the crib and pulls his knees up to his chest. He fishes a cigarette out of his pocket just to have something to do, puts it to his mouth but doesn’t bother lighting it. Camila is humming some wandering fragment of a song as she feeds Julia. It’s not one he recognizes, but it’s nice. He’d always liked her voice.

“Are you okay?” he finally asks. It’s the real reason he’d wanted to visit, too scared to do it sooner. He’d seen her in the garden with Julia, had asked Karen how she was only to receive a lukewarm response. He knew she was hurt and he’d been scared to face his role in it.

There’s a long beat of silence as she stops humming and his question hangs in the air. He knew the answer but it felt important to ask.

“Not really,” she says finally. There’s a wobble in her voice, but when he looks up at her, she manages a thin smile. “I’ve been better.”

He feels anger heating up just below his skin and has to look away. “I hate him. And I know it’s partially my fault-“

“Eddie,” Camila warns softly.

“But Billy’s an asshole. I’m never gonna forgive him for this, Cam. What he did was fucked up.”

Again, silence stretches around them. Eddie worries that he’s overstepped, but he can’t bring himself to regret his words. Billy said they were family, but family doesn’t do this to each other. And Eddie is always going to care more about Camila than he does about Billy. The band could fall to pieces if it meant Billy wouldn’t hurt her again.

“You’re not wrong,” Camila says finally, and Eddie can breathe again. She’s done feeding Julia, has fixed her top and slides down to the floor next to him. “I mean, who does that? I thought you were supposed to make it big before you started acting like a total jackass.”

She gives him a sad smile, half joking, half pain, and he can tell she doesn’t really want to talk about it. But he’s glad he made his opinion clear.

“Want me to beat him up for you?” he asks, grinning and only half kidding.

“Yes, please,” she says with a laugh, her knee warm where it presses into his thigh, “and after that would you mind cutting the grass, running to the drugstore, doing the laundry, and watching Julia for a couple days so I can finally get some sleep?”

She’s joking, but he can’t help but notice the dark circles under her eyes. “I will,” he says seriously, “if you want me to.” He hesitates, “I mean, I’ve never watched a baby before, but I could learn. I mean- I think…”

Some of the color’s back to her face, and Camila’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “You could, could ya?” she teases, raising an eyebrow. And then suddenly she’s passing Julia off to him, leaning over and tucking the baby close to his chest.

Eddie sort of gapes and flounders, struck by the sudden warmth in his hands and the smell of baby powder in Camila’s hair. “Oh,” he says dumbly, his limbs held at awkward angles as he focuses on not dropping the tiny person in his arms.

“Relax,” Camila says laughing. She shifts his hands and arms until Julia is held against his chest, his hand cradling her head. “Lesson number one: burping.”

Camila talks him through it, sounding very knowledgeable and confident for someone who just became a mother a few weeks ago. He thinks she must have read through half a dozen baby books in those months here alone, and his heart stutters painfully. But she’s laughing at his nervous expression, and he tries not to think about sad things any longer.

“That’s not your favorite shirt or anything is it?” Camila asks, “cause she might spit up on you.”

He did actually quite like the shirt he was wearing. But he just shrugs and grins: “I don’t mind.”

Chapter Text

I was defeated, you won the war
Waterloo
Promise to love you for ever more

Camila: It was a Tuesday. She remembers because Eddie had come over to take the trash out.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said, just like she did every week. He’s back in the cottage, adding a new bag to the bin and washing his hands.

And, same as he did every week, Eddie shrugged, and said: “I’m taking ours out anyways.” There’s a cigarette hanging from his lips, his hair hanging in his eyes. It had grown out since Pittsburgh.

“If you wanted to see me, you could just say so,” she teases without meaning the words. Eddie was a good guy, a good friend, but she was self aware enough to realize she was probably the least exciting part of his day.

She felt like she was finally getting the hang of the whole parenting thing, but, man, was it exhausting. Julia woke up at all hours of the night, and even with her mom’s help, Camila was barely getting any sleep, let alone time to shower as often as she’d like. As it was, she hadn’t changed out of her robe in three days. She knew Eddie had better things to do than hang out with her, but she appreciated the help.

“You’re awfully full of yourself Alvarez,” he quips, grinning. Her stomach flips at the use of her maiden name. He’d called her that before, a hundred times while they were growing up, but it had been a long time since she’d been anyone but Billy Dunne’s girlfriend, Billy Dunne’s wife. The reminder of who she used to be blindsides her into silence.

Eddie doesn’t seem to notice her momentary lapse. She wonders if he even noticed what he’d said. He’s busy leaning down and pulling Julia up from her crib. She settles against his chest easily, comfortable in his arms. Eddie sticks his finger out for Julia to latch onto, her tiny hand wrapping around him instinctively, and he smiles, soft and sweet. Looking back to Camila, there’s something so gentle about the look he gives her that it almost brings her to her knees. “Who said I’m here to see you?”

They sit out in the garden, Julia propped up in Eddie’s arms, Camila across from them. The sun feels good on her skin and she lays back in the grass. It was still winter, but winters in California weren’t anything like the ones she’d grown up with. They’re having a mid-winter heat wave, and all she wants to do is sit outside.

She can hear Graham plucking out some notes on the guitar, the sound floating out from the upstairs window and down to the yard. It’s not a song she recognizes, but she thinks she hears Karen’s voice weaving in and out between the notes. Eddie’s humming something too, the two melodies conflicting but soft enough to bleed together. She wonders if it says something about them, about the Six, that even when they’re apart, they’re connected.

She wouldn’t say it’s been easy these past two months. She’s tired all the time, lonely and stressed. She’s barely had time to process the hurt Billy left her with, let alone her worries for him. She tries to keep her bitter thoughts at bay, tries to keep them from poisoning her daughter. Two months without a father; Camila tries extra hard to make up the difference.

Her mom has been invaluable. Karen and Graham, and even Warren have been life savers too. But she knows, without a doubt, it would have been a hundred times worse without Eddie by her side. She’d been close to breaking, that day he first met Julia. She’d been lost and scared, alone and anxiously counting down the days till her mom went back to Pittsburgh with a heavy heart. But then Eddie was there and - even if it was little things: taking out the trash, bringing the groceries in from the car, asking her how she was - she suddenly felt less alone.

She turns her head to the side to look at him and her baby. Eddie is waving a flower he picked from the garden in front of Julia who gurgles cheerfully, watching the movement intently. The sight made her heart thud happily against her chest.

“Where did you say you went last night?” Her hands are twisting lazily through the grass at her side, her eyes slipping closed. If she’s not careful she’s going to fall asleep. But she can’t bring herself to mind; she’s grateful for these little moments of peace and she likes listening to his voice.

There’s a beat of silence that lasts longer than she expects and Camila forces her eyes to open again. He’s gone pink all up his neck and to his ears, and he steadfastly ignores her gaze. Camila frowns in confusion before she realizes what he thinks she’s implying. “Oh,” she says, her own voice gone thin with embarrassment, “I just meant, how was the party?”

Eddie’s shoulders drop in relief and he starts to tell her about the club in West Hollywood he’d gone to with Warren the night before. It’s a funny story, but Camila is stuck on his reaction to her initial question. Had he been out with a girl?

His reaction implied yes. She thinks back to that morning: she’d been up early with Julia, had heard a car pull up the drive before the sun had fully risen. She hadn’t thought much of it - Warren was seeing someone and had started spending nights away from the house, and Karen was known to get up early for coffee from that little place down the road. But had it been Eddie, coming back from a night with some girl he’d met at the party?

The thought shouldn’t bother her. It didn’t bother her. She knew he’d had girlfriends and casual flings and one night stands. She wasn’t some nun, horrified at the thought of casual sex. She wasn’t clutching her pearls in shock or anything. She talked to Graham and Warren about their dates, and with Karen about guys. And yet… something about it hits her funny. For some reason, it’s not the same with Eddie, even though she’s known him longest, knew him best. As if there was this whole other life, this whole other part of him that she didn’t, couldn’t know.

She decides to be brave - to push past the uncomfortable itch that’s started just below her ribs. She raises up onto one elbow, looks at Eddie. He’s closer than she thought, her hip inches from his crossed knee. Julia’s bare feet are close enough to touch, so she does, catching one ankle and bumping her nose against the bottom of her chubby foot. It’s one of those ridiculous things that she never would have imagined doing before she had a child of her own. Now the silly action fills her with indescribable joy. It’s almost enough to drown out the discomfort her next words bring.

“You know you can talk to me about girls, right?”

The pink is back, staining his cheeks. “Right…” he says, the word drawn out as he looks away and out towards the hills. “Course.”

He looks almost painfully uncomfortable and she thinks it’s just the fact that Julia’s on his lap that keeps him from running back to the house. While she’s relieved that she's not the only one feeling awkward, she hates that this wall has somehow formed between them. “I’m serious,” she says, putting a hand on his knee, “I really appreciate you hanging out with us, but I know you have more important things going on in your life. And if that involves a girl, I want to hear about it.”

When Eddie looks back at her, he looks confused. “What’d’ya mean?”

It’s Camila’s turn to blush as he stares down at her. She pushes her hair back over her shoulder, wishing she wasn’t so tired. Wishing she was better prepared to articulate her thoughts. “Just- you know, you’re a rock star right? I’m sure girls are throwing themselves at you everytime you leave the house. And we’re just…” she catches Julia’s foot again, “here.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “I’m not Billy,” he says finally, and she’s surprised by the cold edge to his voice. “Just because I can, doesn’t mean I’m sleeping with every girl that looks my way.”

Camila pales, stunned by the mention of her husband’s infidelity. “I wasn’t- I didn’t-” The implication shocks her into sitting up. She’s almost insulted that he would assume that’s what she meant. How had he even come to that conclusion? And yet, maybe there was a kernel of truth in what he had said. Maybe she had been conflating the two, no matter how unfair and inaccurate the comparison. She’d been blindsided by Billy’s actions; maybe her unease had stemmed from her fear of yet more secrets.

“That’s not what I meant,” she starts again. She tries to keep the hurt from her voice. Eddie’s jaw clenches and she fights back the urge to smooth her thumb over the stubble there. “I just meant that I’m your friend. And just cause I’m stuck at home right now, doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear about what’s going on in your life.”

When he looks back at her, his expression is softened. His eyes search her face, and she isn’t sure he finds what he’s looking for. But he doesn’t sound angry or upset when he finally responds. “You and Julia, the band. Those are the most important things in my life right now. If I’m not telling you about something, it’s because it’s not important. And if there ever is,” he swallows thickly, “someone, you’ll be the first to know.”

Camila nods, feeling chastised but not quite satisfied. A weight has formed in her stomach, and instead of relief at his words, it somehow seems worse, like poking a bruise. But she’d gotten what she wanted, right? Cleared the air or whatever. She wants to go back to the easy peace she’d felt earlier. So she nods. “Okay.”

Camila: They’re at the breakfast table when the phone rings. Graham is making faces at Julia, Karen’s telling them about a new art gallery, and both Eddie and Warren are slouched in their seats, ridiculously hungover. Camila is feeling almost giddy as she butters her toast. Her mom had gone into the city for the day, and as much as Camila appreciated all her help, she can’t help but feel a little freer with her out of the house. It feels a bit like summer vacation, lounging around with her friends.

The mood shatters as soon as Warren answers the phone.

“Yeah,” he says into the receiver, his words slurred and sleepy. They didn’t get many calls - just Teddy, or girls from the bar, or their landlord mostly. But they can all tell from the way Warren straightens his spine that this isn’t one of their usual callers.

“Oh,” Warren is saying, his voice unnaturally somber, “uh, yeah. Hold on a sec.” When he turns back to them, his expression is almost comically grim. “It’s the hospital,” he says. She can tell, they can all tell, from the way he stretches out the word, that he doesn’t really mean the hospital. He means Billy.

They’re all looking at her, waiting for her to take the phone. But she can’t do it. She can’t face whatever is going to come next. “I-” She looks helplessly at Graham.

Bless him, he takes the hint, grabbing the receiver from Warren. “Hi,” he says stiffly, “this is Billy’s brother.”

Whoever is on the other end talks for a while, interspersed with “uh huh’s” and “okays” from Graham. Camila can feel Eddie watching her, but she’s focused on Karen, watching as the other woman nervously bites her nails. When Graham hangs up and turns back to them, his face cracks into a relieved smile.

“He’s getting out on Monday,” he says, happiness clear in every word. There are relieved shouts and vague congratulations from each member of the band, but Camila feels sort of numb. She smiles when they look at her, but she can’t quite make her emotions match what she knows she should be feeling.

She should be happy for Billy. Happy for herself. This is what she wanted. She wanted Billy to get help, and he had. Things were going to be better now. They were going to be a real family. But she can’t help the sinking feeling that was forming at the pit of her stomach.

The others were clearly thrilled at this development. They were already planning out practice sessions for the next week, excited to share with Billy what they’d been working on in his absence. Camila is reminded of the band as she’d first met them: a bunch of kids she went to school with, looking up to Graham’s older brother. But he wasn’t just Graham’s older brother anymore, he was her husband. He was a father. He’d been both those things before he left for tour and he’d thrown them both away.

Camila had picked up a couple of pamphlets on addiction at the doctor’s office; she knew it wasn’t as simple as making a few bad choices. She knew Billy hadn’t been completely in control when he’d done what he’d done. But it had still hurt. It had broken her, and she was still healing. As much as it had hurt to not have him around for the past two months, she still wasn’t sure she was ready to face him.

She wasn’t sure she was ready to forgive him.

“Do you mind watching Julia for a bit?” she asks no one in particular, standing up from the table. “I have to run to the store.”

Graham steps up and responds, frowning at her sudden declaration. “Um, sure. Is everything alright?”

They’re all staring at her as if she’s grown two heads, but Camila is struck with a need for air. Not just air, she’s desperate to get out. “I’m fine,” she says, lying. “I just forgot I had some errands to run.”

They watch her as she presses a quick kiss to Julia’s head before grabbing her purse and car keys and heading to the door.

Once outside, her momentum falters. She gets as far as the car before she comes crashing back to reality. There was nowhere for her to go. No where for her to run. This was her life. She couldn’t turn her back to it just because she was scared.

Eddie finds her still sitting in the driveway ten minutes later.

“I thought you had errands to run,” he says as he slides into the passenger seat beside her.

Camila bites her lip. She doesn’t know if she should feel embarrassed by her white lie. She feels a little chastised now that he’s found her, but her head is such a wreck, she can’t bring herself to feel bad about it. Mostly she feels restless, rudderless, like she’s drowning but the crashing waves refuse to pull her under. She grips the steering wheel, swallowing thickly as she stares out the windshield. She can’t look at him, can’t bear to see the concern on his face as she asks: “Wanna get out of here?”

To her surprise, he laughs. “Hell yeah,” he says leaning back in the seat. “Where are we going?”

She is embarrassed when instead of an answer, her voice breaks into sobs. She buries her face in her hands, glad she hadn’t bothered to put on mascara that morning, and cries big pitiful tears. How embarrassing, how sad, that it’s news of Billy’s recovery that finally pushes her over the edge. What kind of wife, what kind of mother was she that the only thing she wants to do is escape. “I don’t know,” she moans, voice cracking, “I just want to go somewhere where nobody knows my name.”

Eddie is silent for a long moment. She can’t bear to look at him. What would she see if she did: judgment, pity? She knew she was losing her mind, and couldn’t stand to see it confirmed in his eyes.

She’s pulled from her spiraling thoughts by a gentle pinch to her elbow. “Alright, move over,” Eddie is saying, swinging his feet back out the door, “I’m driving.”

Camila slides over to the passenger side, awkwardly scooting over the center console. Eddie gets into the driver's seat and before she has time to second guess herself, they’re pulling out of the driveway.

She lets him drive, music turned up and windows down, and he lets her cry. She catches him looking over at her, biting his lip between his teeth, but he doesn’t say anything. She’s grateful- she doesn’t know how to explain how she’s feeling and eventually the tears stop, dried by the warm California sun.

She leans her head back against the headrest, tries to lose herself in the wind on her face and the music from the speaker. She feels tired and numb as she rolls her head to look at Eddie.

He has a loose one handed grip on the steering wheel, one elbow crooked out the window. He’d left his jacket behind; his shirt is tight, pulling taut against his chest. He still looks a little hungover, his hair mused and dark circles under his eyes, but he’s tapping his fingers along to the song on the radio.

“Where are we going?” she asks finally. Her voice feels breezy, sleepy, and she’s worried her words will be lost to the wind. But he hears her. He always hears her.

He turns to her, squinting against the sun, and grins. “I have no idea.”

The thought is thrilling and his voice is comforting. She falls asleep to the sound of the radio and the ocean waves as they turn south onto PCH.

—-

She doesn’t know how long she sleeps. When she wakes up, the sun is high in the sky and Eddie is pulling to a stop in front of a cafe beside the ocean.

“Where are we?” she asks blurily, rubbing her eyes. The air feels hotter, thick with salt from the ocean. There are little cottages lining the pier across from them. A dog barks, running alongside its owner on the boardwalk. Camila squints and she can see a group of surfers bobbing across the surface of the water, waiting for a wave to hit.

“San Diego.” Eddie says it the same way he would say the grocery store or the park. As if it was a totally normal place to be. Camila gapes at him as he crosses to the other side of the car and opens the door for her.

“Eddie,” she says, unable to stop the scolding astonishment in her voice. “What are we doing in San Diego?”

He laughs at her bewilderment. “I guarantee no one knows you here.” Camila follows him, still stunned, up to the cafe. “Teddy told me about this place. I always wanted to check it out.”

“But…” She isn’t sure what she’s trying to say. It was at least a two hour drive from LA. Frankly, she’s astonished she’d slept that long. Amazed he’d let her. “Don’t you have stuff to do today?”

Eddie shrugs. “Nowhere I’d rather be.”

---

They order two breakfast burritos and a plate of seasoned potatoes to share, sitting out along the boardwalk. The waves crash along the beach below, and Camila is grateful for the silence as they eat. She’s slowly putting her thoughts back into place, making sense of her tangled emotions.

“Wanna go for a walk?” Eddie finally asks her, once they’ve finished eating, and she nods.

He orders two coffees in to-go cups and they wander down the boardwalk.

“You want to talk about it?”

She’d know the question was coming, how could it not? Eddie had been casting worried glances towards her for hours. Camila sighs, takes a long sip of her coffee, and tries to organize her thoughts in a way that made sense. “Do you ever wish you weren’t yourself?” she finally lands on.

Eddie gives her a funny look. “Absolutely not,” he says. There’s something carefully light about the way he says it. She has an urge to poke at his answer, to figure out the meaning behind his ears turning pink, but she puts the thought aside. She takes his joking grin at face value and laughs.

“Of course you wouldn’t, you arrogant ass,” she grins and rolls her eyes. But when he meets her gaze again, his expression is serious. With a sigh, she continues. “It’s not that I want to be someone else, it’s just-” It’s harder to explain than she’d thought, and she worries about getting tongue tied over the words. “The person I am right now, this version of Camila, she has a lot going on. A lot she, I, have to deal with. Sometimes I just wish I could be someone else for a bit. Someone that didn’t have to deal with it all.”

Silence stretches between them, comfortable but thick with unspoken words. “This is about Billy?” Eddie finally asks. And of course it is, but his name still makes her flinch.

“Yeah.”

Eddie just nods, lets her continue when she’s ready.

“I just- he’s going to be home soon, and I don’t know what to expect. He hasn’t seen Julia yet. He hasn’t even been home in almost a year.” It’s Eddie’s turn to wince. She knows he still harbors a bit of guilt over what happened on tour, despite her insistence that it wasn’t his fault. “I know I should be happy for him, and I am, but it’s hard to be happy when I haven’t figured out how to forgive him yet.” It’s the most honest she’s been in years, and she can’t bear to look at Eddie, staring out to the ocean instead.

“You don’t have to forgive him, you know.”

Eddie’s words make her gasp. When she turns back to him, he doesn’t look smug or incendiary. He looks frank, honest, as if what he were suggesting were at all within the realm of possibility.

“Yes. I do. He’s my husband.” She feels a horrid sort of righteousness overcome her, and glares at him. He’s unphased, and pulls a face, snorting at her indignation.

“So what. He’s an asshole. I love the guy, but honestly, no one would blame you for kicking him out of the house.”

Camila purses her lips, and tosses her coffee into a nearby trash can with more force than is strictly necessary. Eddie didn’t know what he was talking about. How could he when the last serious relationship he’d had was senior year of high school. He couldn’t understand the pressure she was under. The pressure to make things right. “He’s Julia’s father,” she finally counters.

That sobers him and he sighs. “Yeah, well, he’s not doing a great job of that either,” he says under his breath, quiet enough that Camila chooses not to hear. He tosses his own coffee in the trash, swearing to himself. When he comes back to Camila, there’s an angry flush creeping its way up his neck.

“Okay,” he says, fishing a cigarette out of his pocket. “Fine. Great. You forgive him. The band forgives him. Everything goes back to normal.” He holds his arms out, waves them out to the beach around them. “So what now? What are we doing here then? What’s the problem?”

His voice isn’t mean, but there’s frustration creeping into each word. A shimmering spark waiting for the match to drop. She knows because she feels the same restless itch beneath her own skin and it’s driving her crazy.

“I don’t know!” she cries, loud enough to draw looks from passersby. She runs her hands through her hair. “I don’t know! I just want one day to be someone else. One day to just be myself before I have to go back to being Billy Dunne’s wife.”

Eddie looks at her. His chest is heaving just a bit, his eyes narrowing as he takes her in. And then he’s dropping his newly lit cigarette, putting it out with his boot and nodding. “Alright,” he says, voice determined as he grabs her hand, “come on.”

“Eddie! What-” Camila lets out a sputtering laugh of surprise as he pulls her alongside him, through the sand and down to the crashing waves. “What are you doing?”

“What are we doing,” he corrects, letting her hand go as he begins to pull off his boots and jeans. She shrieks in surprise as he pulls his shirt over his head, but follows suit, caught up in the euphoric spontaneity of it all. She pulls off her shoes and her dress until she’s left in her underwear and a thin silk slip.

He looks at her, eyebrows raised, a manic glint in his eyes, nodding towards the raging ocean.

“It’ll be cold,” she says, suddenly shy, standing there at the edge of the damp sand with her oldest friend.

But he grins, quick and wicked. “I’ll keep you warm,” he says, and before she has time to flush at his words, he’s picking her up and over his shoulder, carrying her down to the water as she lets out a stream of surprised shrieks and giggles.

“Eddie!” she screams as the first icy wave hits them. He drops her down, but she clings to him, stunned by the cold. “This is crazy! What are we doing?”

He holds her steady around her waist, keeps the shivers at bay. The water is waist deep and she throws her arms around his neck to keep the waves from knocking her to her knees.

“I’ll tell you what we’re doing,” he starts, interrupted as a wave crashes up above their shoulders. Her lips are salty and he pushes her wet tangled hair back over her shoulder. “You’re Camila Alvarez, an award winning journalist from Pittsburgh. It’s your first time in California, and I’m going to show you around.”

Camila can feel her lips twisting up into an amused smile, even as tears prick her eyes. This was what she needed, what she’d wanted, and the kindness behind his suggestion fills her with gratitude. She’d wanted to be a different person for the day, a person with a different life, and she flushes with childlike glee, imagining the woman he’s conjured her to be.

But there’s something sad about it too, the implication that things could have been different. That they might have been better.

She pushes the thought from her mind as another wave hits, crashing high above their heads. Neither of them was ready for it, and for a moment, Camila is weightless, pulled away from him, water on every side. The wave ebbs and as her head breaches the surface, she hears him calling her name. He sounds nearly frantic and grabs onto her, pulling her close, and Camila, cold and stunned, wraps herself around him. “Do you think we could move onto the next stop on the tour?” she asks, teeth chattering.

Eddie’s eyes are wide, face ashen, and he nods with a chastised grin. “Anything you want.”

---

They make their way back up the beach, cold, wet, grinning. He’s staring at her, at her slip clinging to her skin and it fills her with a nervous, giddy sort of energy. She knows he doesn’t mean anything by it, but it still makes her stomach flutter, reminding her of earlier days - before Billy, before she became a mother. A different her.

“Eddie!” She laughs, slapping his arm, “fuck off.”

He laughs, opening his eyes comically wide and innocent. “What?” He says, trying and failing to keep his words from collapsing into laughter, “you look cold!”

Camila rolls her eyes and shoves his shoulder, making him turn around as she pulls off her wet slip and pulls her dry dress back on. She finishes before he does, and she watches as he pulls his pants up over his wet boxers. Watches water drip from his hair onto the broad panes of his back. She could count the notches of his spine as he leans over, and has to stop herself from running her finger along them. She bites her lip, hard, shaking her head clear to stop herself from staring.

---

They’re back in the car, five hours later, the highway nearly empty as they make their way back to LA. It had been a good fucking day. They’d wandered around Old Town and listened to music and ate delicious food. Eddie had paid someone to take their picture, one of those overpriced tourist things; Camila is sitting on a surly looking donkey and Eddie is caught mid blink. The quality is terrible, but Camila makes him give it to her. She wants to send it to her sister.

It’d be easy to feel guilty about the day spent away from home, but she doesn’t let those thoughts sink in. She was fucking happy for the first time in months. Tomorrow she would think about dirty diapers and laundry and her shopping list. Tomorrow she would worry about what she was going to say to Billy. About how she was going to put her life back together. But for one day, she allows herself to put all her worries aside.

She feels like a different person than she had that morning. Freer. Softer. Happier. She feels like herself again, as if the weight that had been pulling her down for months had finally been severed. She feels stronger too, ready to take on whatever might come next. It’s exciting, this realization that she hasn’t been completely lost these past few months. She was still herself. She was still here.

“Turn it up!” Camila suddenly gasps, reaching over to the dial to do it herself. “I love this song!”

The music is loud, and Camila sings along. It’s a good song, happy, and it thuds happily in her chest, and lungs, and into her bones. She can see the ocean alongside the highway, the setting sun turning it pink and orange.

“Please tell me you do not actually like this song,” Eddie is complaining, but his fingers are tapping against the steering wheel. His hair is curled from the salt water, making him look younger, his profile silhouetted by the sunset. Camila wants to press a kiss to his cheek, wants to thank him with her whole chest for giving her this day. For making things better. But she just sings louder, dancing in her seat as much as she’s able. He bursts into laughter as she grabs his sunglasses, puts them on and holds out an imaginary microphone to him. “No way,” he says, smile quirking up and drawing out his dimples, “you’ll ruin my reputation Alvarez.”

Camila is undeterred; she holds her fist to her mouth, singing against it, her voice coming out a bit off key as she sings through her laughter. She throws her head back, belting the chorus out to the open road, her hair pulled back and tangled by the wind. Eddie is watching her from the corner of his eye, and Camila smiles. “Couldn't escape if I wanted to… Waterloo… Knowing my fate is to be with you…”

Chapter Text

Well, did she make you cry
Make you break down
Shatter your illusions of love?
And is it over now, do you know how?
Pick up the pieces and go home

Eddie: Billy comes home and Eddie honestly feels kinda stupid. He isn’t really sure what he’d expected to happen. He isn’t even sure what he’d wanted to happen.

He’d had some vague, fuzzy hopes. Things he wouldn’t admit, even to himself. Hazy fantasies that he’d had late at night, after the Canyon had gone quiet. Thoughts and dreams he kept locked up tight, not letting himself dwell on them for too long. Putting them away before they had a chance to sink into his every day. Silly, useless dreams about The Six making it big. About Julia smiling up at him. About Camila in his arms.

Stupid really, these thoughts that have no bearing in reality. No hope of coming true. If he’s really lucky, he might get some small part of his desperate dreams, but there’s no reality in which he gets everything he’s ever wanted.

And because he’s the unluckiest fucker in LA, he gets none of it.

Billy comes home and Camila takes him back. Because of course she does. Billy comes home and promptly quits the band. Because of course he does, the selfish bastard.

Eddie tries not to let it bother him. He tries to lose himself in the band and the music (and the drugs and the girls and the parties). He tries not to feel bitter as this new reality sinks in.

The Six could make it without Billy, he really believes that. They were good musicians, all of them - they could find a way. But he’s not naive; even if they manage to come together again, to fix that jagged scar Billy’s drawn through the band, it’s gonna take a hell of a lot of work to repair their broken momentum. He tries not to blame Billy, but hell, they were really making progress before it all fell apart. Even if they manage to find a new front man, manage to move forward without Billy, it’s gonna take a hell of a lot of work to build up the broken relationships they’ve made in the industry. They’ve tried not to think about it, but they’ve all noticed that Teddy is the only one still keeping tabs on The Six.

But Billy… fuck, he doesn’t even know what to think. Eddie’s feelings towards Billy have always been complicated. He remembers looking up to the guy for years. He’d always been the cool one, a few years older, and sometimes Eddie can’t help but feel like he’s still back in high school, standing off to the sidelines in an ill fitting suit as Billy takes the stage. And it’s still hard not to feel a pang of resentment as he remembers that first tour. They had been doing so well, it was finally happening! And Billy had fucked it all up.

And now he’s home and he’s sober and he’s trying to make things right. Even Eddie can see that. He doesn’t necessarily think it’s possible to make up for all the hurt he’s caused, but he can at least acknowledge the effort. And it’s pretty hard to fault a guy who is so obviously trying his best.

Billy quits the band and starts taking care of things around the house and trying so hopelessly to make Camila happy. And Eddie watches from the garage with his newly made guitar and a band that’s hanging on by a thread, and feels completely and totally obsolete.

All the little things he’d started doing while Billy was in rehab, are no longer his to do. Billy’s up at the crack of fucking dawn cutting the grass, and without band practice, Billy has a hell of a lot of time to run errands. Eddie ambles down to the cottage to pick up the garbage, like he’d been doing for over two months, and Billy stops him on the front porch. “Thanks, man,” he says, slapping Eddie on the shoulder, “I already got it.”

Eddie hasn’t seen Julia or Camila in over a week, and is starting to eat at him like an itch. Like he has a fucking virus making it’s way under his skin. It shouldn’t fucking bother him this much - he’d always known Camila was going to take Billy back. He’d always known she was going to chose her family over anything else, because she was a good fucking person. And because he knows her, knows how important family is to her. And fuck if that wasn’t one of the things he loved about her.

But fuck, was Billy driving him crazy.

Every time Eddie steps out to take a smoke break, Billy is stalking around, fixing things with this grim sort of determination on his face. Like he was going to war. Like the amount of dirt and grease he had under his nails at the end of the day would prove he was a good person. It was a fucking vibe killer. Eddie wishes he could complain about him to someone, but everyone in the house has proven themselves to be solidly pro-Billy. The traitors.

Still, it’d be almost worth dealing with Billy’s high strung handiness if he could hang out with Julia and Camila. It shouldn’t be a big deal, heading down to the cottage for a few hours. But the distance between the house and the cottage seems to loom larger than it ever had before. So Eddie smokes, and he practices, and he goes out to parties with Warren. And he tries not to think about Billy holding Julia. And he tries not to think about why the thought makes his chest hurt. And he really really tries not to think about that day in San Diego.

He feels sort of stupid because he kinda thought maybe Camila had heard him. That she had heard what he’d been trying to say that day by the beach. That she’d been able to see between his words and hear what he’d been trying to say. What he’s always saying.

I love you. I love Julia. Billy doesn’t deserve you and neither do I but I’m willing to try. Let me try because I love you. I love you.

It’s stupid and he feels stupid when he thinks about it too much. His ears burn and his stomach clenches, because he shouldn’t still be in love with the same girl since high school. He shouldn’t be pining over a woman who was married, who had a child. He should be able to move on, to find someone that will let him love them. But he can’t help it, and he feels sort of miserable and achy every time he sees Camila and Billy together.

Because it wasn’t just that Eddie was pining for Camila, wishing he was the one holding her at night. Because, god, he knows deep down that he’s never gonna be that lucky. But he’d sort of thought that day in San Diego might have knocked some sense into her.

Because he’s known Camila a long time. Longer than he’s had this stupid crush on her. Longer than Warren and Graham. A lot longer than fucking Billy Dunne. He can sort back through his memories, all the way back to the very beginning and there she is. Every step of the way.

He sees her as she is now, Julia at her hip, hair pulled back and sweat at the nape of her neck, as she watches Billy cutting the grass in the backyard.

He remembers her at their first real show in LA, giggling from the champagne they’d all been drinking backstage. He remembers her at their senior prom, hair curled, wearing a stunning blue dress, as she tugged a scowling Billy behind her. He remembers her from Sunday school, her dress shoes clicking on the sidewalk as they walked home together. And he remembers her at five years old, gap toothed and pigtailed, racing him up the tree behind his house.

She’s there, cut into his ribs - beautiful, smart, funny, stubborn. He sees the whole of her, every goddamn fantastic inch, and it kills him that she doesn’t see it. It breaks his fucking heart to realize she saw herself as Billy Dunne’s wife.

Billy Dunne was a goddamn footnote, and it killed him that she couldn’t see it. He sort of wants to take her by the shoulders and shake, but he knows there’s nothing he could say to change her mind. She was determined to make her family work, even if it killed them all in the process.

---

“Hey!”

Eddie flinches against Camila’s cheery greeting. He’s wildly hungover from the night before, and had stepped out for some air while his coffee was brewing. It takes him a moment to locate the sound of her voice; he raises a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, squinting towards the cottage.

Camila is on the small patio, Julia on her lap and waving to him. Eddie lifts his hand in response, feeling his heart thud against his chest as she smiles.

He’d gone out the night before to try and take his mind off of her and Julia and the Billy of it all. He’d done shots with Warren and made out with a pretty girl with dark hair. He couldn’t remember her name, but she’d written her number on his arm, a big, black scrawl across his skin. Eddie pulls his sleeve down to his wrist.

When he doesn’t move from his spot against the door frame, Camila stands, shifts Julia to her hip and leans against the railing. “We haven’t seen you in a while,” she calls down to him.

Eddie’s heart aches.

“Yeah,” he says, voice rough with sleep, “it’s been…” He trails off, shrugging. He doesn’t know what to say. It’s been busy? For fuck’s sake, he didn’t even know if they had a band anymore. The truth? It’s been painfully awkward and painfully painful to be around you since Billy came home? Fucking pathetic.

“Come up,” Camila says, nodding towards the stairs, “Julia’s missed you.”

And because Eddie is fucking weak, he does. He pushes himself off the wall, forgetting about his coffee as he follows the sound of her voice up to the patio.

“Where have you been?” she asks, a teasing note in her voice. But she’s clearly distracted by Julia who’s wiggling in her arms.

Eddie comes up beside her and can’t help but sort of stare at the baby. “Is she… bigger?”

Camila laughs. “Yeah, a bit,” she says, shifting Julia to the other hip. Eddie comes closer, watching in amazement as Julia smiles up at him. She’s the first baby he’s been around for any extended amount of time, and he feels dizzy at the realization of how much she’s grown in just a few weeks.

Eddie can’t stop staring as Julia waves a set of toy keys around. “Can she… do anything?” he asks, his brows creasing. He knows it's the wrong thing to ask, but he really doesn’t know anything about babies.

Luckily, Camila takes pity on him and lets out a snort of laughter. “She’s not a dog, Eddie. She can't do tricks,” she says, rolling her eyes. But then: “Oh, but wait, watch this.”

Camila passes Julia off to Eddie, who takes her without question. Julia blinks up at him and Eddie is struck by how natural it feels to hold her in his arms. He doesn’t want that feeling, not when he knows it can’t last, but he can’t help but let himself sink into it. Knowing it was finite didn’t make him want it less.

Camila rolls out a floral playmat onto the patio floor and scoops Julia up before laying her down on the ground. Eddie kneels down beside them. “Look!” Camila says excitedly as Julia pushes herself up with her arms and sort of flops around on her stomach.

“What am I looking at exactly?” Eddie asks, staring in amusement at Camila’s excited expression.

“That!” Camila gestures broadly at Julia between them. “She couldn’t do that a couple weeks ago.”

“Oh.” Eddie still isn’t sure what he’s supposed to be looking at, but Camila’s excitement is contagious. “Nice work kid.”

They sit around for a while, watching Julia wiggle on the playmat. She manages to roll onto her back and Camila gives Eddie a beaming smile. It hits him right between the ribs, straight through to his heart and he feels a little breathless. He has to look away from her and focuses back on Julia, holding out a brightly colored toy for her to grab at.

“You don’t have to stay here with us, you know,” Camila finally says, as the minutes stretch on. “You can go back in.”

There’s something sad about her voice. Mellow, deflated. It makes his heart hurt, even as her words cause a streak of embarrassment to flare through him. She was right; he didn’t have to be there. Why the fuck was he there, torturing himself with a life he couldn’t have?

But he can’t bring himself to leave, even as embarrassment makes his ears turn red and causes him to trip over his words. “I mean- I want to.” I love you, I love you, I love you.

He fights the urge to bury his face in his arm. “I missed hanging out with this little troublemaker.”

They both smile fondly at Julia, and maybe things aren’t as bad as they seem. His heart feels full when he looks at her, and he lets himself pretend for a moment that things are okay.

The moment is shattered as Billy passes by at the end of the porch. He’s got his big stupid toolbox in hand, wearing an old t-shirt like he’s a fucking handyman or something. He shoots Camila a grim smile which she returns, and Eddie wants to sink into the ground.

“So, uh,” he starts after Billy leaves, clearing his throat. He knows he shouldn’t. He should just leave it alone. There was no answer she could give that would make him feel better about the situation. But he asks anyway. Because he’s a masochist and he’s never been able to resist poking a bruise. “Everything’s just back to normal with you guys? Just like that?”

Camila doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and he wants to snatch back the words. He wants to choke himself on them rather than see the flicker of pain that cuts beneath her smile. “Sorry, I just don’t-” He stumbles on his words, feeling like a jackass for suggesting Camila leave Julia’s father, even if it’s what he believes. “I don’t know how you can-”

Finally she looks up at him. “Have you ever been in love before, Eddie?”

He can’t do anything but stare at her for a long moment. It feels like a fucking joke. Some horrible game that she’s decided to play, and he wants to scream. Have you ever been in love? What kind of sick question was that when she knows- she knows- she has to know he’s been in love with her for years.

I love you, I love you, I love you, please let me try.

Eddie has to look away. He feels queasy, as if the universe had delivered a swift kick to his gut. He can’t even respond; what would he even say?

I love you, I love you.

Camila is talking again, and Eddie wants to die. Wants to throw himself into the ocean rather than hear about how she’s forgiven Billy Dunne. But her words hit harder than that. They hit him square in the chest and he wants to cry. “You don’t just stop loving someone because things get hard. You know?” Eddie clenches his jaw. He can’t look at her. Can’t bear to look at the woman he loves.

She sighs and he can hear the exhaustion in her voice. He hears her hope and her desperation and her love.

“At least I don’t.”

And Eddie breaks. He looks at her and he knows they have something else in common. They were the same in that way. Camila couldn’t give up on Billy, and Eddie couldn’t give up on her. She was going to break his fucking heart and he had no choice but to let her.

Eddie: Honeycomb is big. Bigger than any of them thought it would be. Well- he doesn’t think Daisy is surprised. The girl moves through life walking on water, sure everything will go her way. He doesn’t know if it’s willful optimism or past experience that makes her so sure she won’t drown.

They were playing Honeycomb in the fucking grocery store the other day and Eddie almost had a heart attack. He nearly tripped over the display of canned beans at the end of the aisle and had to stop himself from asking the cashier what she thought. Teddy sends over a fruit basket and the record label sends them tickets to a basketball game. His mom calls and tells him she’s been calling in to request it from the local radio station nearly every hour.

Eddie feels like he’s flying when the first royalty checks come in. One for each of them, his name typed in tight dark letters on the line. They all trudge down to the bank together, deposit their checks with giddy smiles. The poor teller stares at them, but they’re all too hyped on their own good fortune to pay her any mind.

Warren buys his boat first thing. Eddie tags along down to the marina, tours the little yacht yard and they pretend they know what they’re talking about.

They’re from Pittsburgh; the only thing Eddie knew about boats was the little rowboat his dad sometimes hauled to the lake to go fishing. But Warren picks one out, spends his entire paycheck and then some on the boat and a place to dock it. It’s a nice little thing, not big enough to live on or anything, but they haul some beach chairs onto the deck and have a couple of beers to celebrate.

“You gotta name it man,” Eddie says. He might be a little drunk, but he felt good. It had been a good day. A good week.

“Her,” Warren says, flipping the top off another bottle.

Eddie squints over at him. “What?”

“Her,” Warren says again, as if it were obvious. “Boats are always girls. We gotta name her.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Alright. Well, what are you gonna name her?”

Warren chews over it for a minute, taking long sips of his beer and furrowing his brow. Eddie doesn’t really care. He’d just asked to fill the silence, but he doesn’t really mind listening to the gentle lapping of the waves.

The sound of glass against metal is loud as Warren brings down his bottle. Eddie flinches, looks over at Warren with a groggy glare.

“What about The Camila?” Warren says, tipping his bottle towards Eddie with a self satisfied grin, as if he’s figured something out.

“What? No way. What’s the matter with you man?”

Eddie pushes Warren’s bottle away from him, looking back out to the water. His stomach has soured at the sound of Camila’s name. He’d been trying not to think about her. Trying not to let his feelings sour the band or their success. This was what he always wanted: for The Six to have a hit song. He won’t be able to appreciate it if he’s thinking about how in love he is with Billy’s wife.

But Warren is undeterred. “C'mon man, think about it. I wouldn’t even have the boat if it wasn’t for Honeycomb. And we all know the damn song is about her.”

“Yeah, and water is wet. It’s still weird, man.”

It wasn’t really. He can imagine Camila might even be flattered. He can picture her reaction - that nervous giggle she had, hands hiding her mouth, but beaming. But the explanation seemed to twist the knife further. Of course, Honeycomb was about Camila, they all were. The money in his pocket was suddenly burning, and Eddie was hit with the miserable reminder that the only reason he got paid was because Camila’s husband wrote a song about her. Eddie made his living singing another man’s words about the woman he loved.

Eddie picks at the label on his beer bottle. “It’s not even the same song anymore,” he adds, not able to let it go. Warren has already moved on, digging through his backpack for the weed he’d stashed there, but he raises an eyebrow. “Daisy changed it completely. If anything, you should call her Daisy.”

Warren laughs. “Now that would be weird.” He points at Eddie with a joint between his fingers and Eddie tries to forget his discomfort. The weed helps. Soon he’s forgotten about everything but the sound of the waves against the side of the boat. He definitely isn’t wishing Camila was there with them.

---

Eddie buys a couple amps with his first paycheck. They’re the good kind - shiny and new, from a real music store in Downtown LA.

Not to be undone, Billy rents out a house for him and Camila.

When they tell the band, Eddie feels like the floor’s dropped out from under him. How stupid had he been that he’d never even considered the possibility that they might move away? He sort of thought- god, he was stupid. What had he thought? That they would all live together forever?

Camila is fucking giggling as they tell the band, staring at Billy like he’s hung the sun, holding onto his arm with both of hers. Eddie can’t breathe.

It was fine. Really, it was fine. For the best even. They couldn’t keep living there forever; Billy and Camila were just the first to leave the nest.

Their new place was only a few streets up, a ten minute walk at most. Eddie tries not to think about how it feels like an eternity, after a year of being able to look out at the cottage from the kitchen window.

They all pitch in to help them move their stuff. They spend an afternoon shoving boxes into Warren’s van and carefully wrapping dishes that they’ll have to unwrap as soon as they get there. Eddie and Graham somehow get stuck carrying Julia’s crib on foot, their shirts clinging to them with sweat by the time they make it up the hill.

The necessities get unpacked - the silverware, the towels, Julia’s things - but they unanimously decide to quit while they're ahead. (Almost unanimously: Billy argues they should keep going, that they’ll feel better once it’s all done. He’s swiftly voted down).

“Look at this,” Camila is saying, pulling a book out of her duffle bag. They’re all sitting around the empty living room, lounging on the floor, because Billy and Camila actually didn’t have much in the way of furniture. They’re on their third bottle of wine, because they have plenty of that, and drinking out of coffee mugs because no one could find the glasses. “I found it when I was packing up.”

She waves the book at them, the big, green hardcover somewhat familiar. Eddie catches the title and groans. Their freshman yearbook.

“You brought that shit with you?” Warren asks, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. “I only packed two pairs of shoes, but you had room to pack our fucking yearbook?”

“Shut up,” Camila laughs, stretching out on the carpet to kick Warren’s foot, “my sister brought it when she came to visit.” She flips through a few pages before holding one up for them all to see. “Besides, look how cute you were.”

On the page is row after row of their former classmates’ faces. And only because he knew him then, Eddie is able to pick out Warren on the upper right side. He’s babyfaced, with his hair slicked back, and wearing a tie. It’s decidedly not cute, and both Eddie and Graham burst into laughter.

“Let me see,” Karen says, leaning forward to grab the book from Camila. Karen is seated between Eddie and Graham, their backs resting against the wall. They lean over her shoulder as she begins flipping through the pages.

“This is so embarrassingly American of you,” Karen says, as she flips past pictures of the homecoming football game.

“Tell me about it,” Billy says, with a teasing grin for Camila. She pokes him and he pulls her to his side. Eddie looks back to the book, taking another long swallow of wine.

“Are you in here?” Karen is asking Billy. She’s flipping through the pages, but Eddie can tell most of it means nothing to her - unknown faces on a page. Eddie had lived through it, gone to school with those people for years, and it still meant next to nothing to him. It feels like another lifetime, his life in Pittsburgh. He was a different person.

“Here.” Graham leans over and thumbs through the pages towards the seniors at the back of the book, but Karen catches his hand, stopping midway through. She flips back to whatever’s caught her eye.

“Oh my god,” she gasps, pulling the book up to her chest as if she’s read some dirty secret. Startlingly, she stares at Eddie with wide eyes and then to Camila. “Did you and Eddie go out?”

Eddie nearly chokes on his wine.

“What?” Camila shrieks, with a surprised laugh.

Graham grabs the book from Karen and holds out the page for them all, his head falling back with a roar of laughter.

It’s a picture of Eddie and Camila at the Sadie Hawkins dance. The theme had been country, as usual, and in the picture Camila is seated on a barrel, with one of Eddie’s arms thrown over her shoulders. She’s wearing a checkerboard skirt and barefoot, and Eddie had on a pair of boxy jeans and a flannel. It was a ridiculous picture: they both have big toothy smiles, caught at that awkward age right at the start of puberty. They both look uncomfortable in their skin, unnaturally stiff despite their cheesy grins.

“Oh no!” Camila laughs, lunging forward to pull the book into her lap. She traces a finger over the image looking up at him. “I forgot about that!”

He had too, and he wonders how that's possible. But it’s true. It had been freshman year and back then Camila had been nothing more than a friend. The girl with perpetually bruised knees that he rode bikes with and walked with to Sunday school. He doesn’t think he thought much of anything about it when she’d asked him to go to the dance.

“Well?” Karen asks, voice full of amusement and curiosity. Eddie can feel Billy’s eyes on him, and he somehow feels guilty for something he didn’t do. Yes, Billy, he has the insane urge to blurt out, I’m in love with your wife. But I wasn’t then! We were just friends then!

He holds his tongue.

Graham and Warren are laughing at him. “Eddie?” Warren is cackling. “No way man. She was just the only girl that would ask him to the dance.”

Eddie’s ears are burning. “Shut up man,” he says, shoving Warren’s shoulder, at the same time Camila says:

“We were just friends!”

They were just friends, but it still cuts deeper than it should to hear her say it. He thinks about all those years they’d spent together before Billy, and he feels stupid for not taking his shot when he had the chance.

“It was just a stupid dance,” Eddie says, trying to ignore his flushed cheeks. “We went and ate bad food and listened to some terrible cover band.”

“Hey,” Camila pouts. She’s sprawled out on the floor, her halter dressing exposing the entire glorious expanse of her tanned back. She slaps his knee. “It wasn’t stupid. I had fun.”

Eddie’s heart stutters at her words, fluttering against his ribs and he beams at her. He can’t help it. But he quickly becomes aware of Billy glowering at him from across the room. Eddie just shrugs. “Yeah, well, so did I.”

Camila smiles up at him, but Karen is flipping back and forth between the pages. “And where were you during this?” she’s asking Graham.

Warren pulls the book towards him, flipping back towards their class. “Weren’t you in love with that girl- what’s her name-”

Graham is tomato red, and tries to snatch the book back. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

They spend the next hour drinking wine and mercilessly teasing Graham about his failed romantic exploits. Even Billy chimes in, telling a hilarious story about the time Graham fell in love on vacation. It’s a ridiculously good time, and Eddie’s side hurts from laughing.

He’d almost forgotten where they were when Julia starts to cry. She’d been playing in the small playcrib, but Billy scoops her up quickly. “I think it’s time for someone to go to bed,” he says, heading towards the stairs. “I’ll see you guys at practice tomorrow.”

Camila looks after them, a terribly fond look on her face. “I’ll be right up,” she calls.

The rest of the band exchanges a look. “I guess that’s our cue to go,” Karen finally says. Eddie tries not to feel like they’re being kicked out.

To her credit, Camila looks apologetic. “Please, stay if you want! It’s just… first night and all…” She trails off, looking up the stairs after Billy.

“First night?” Warren asks, elbowing Eddie with a crude grin, “gotta christen the bedroom.”

Eddie wants to throw up.

“Ew you pervert,” Camila laughs, “I meant the first night for Julia. I’m not sure how well she’s going to sleep.”

“Not a problem,” Karen declares for all of them, glaring at Warren in the process. “We were going to hit up the bar anyway.”

They begin to file towards the door, but Eddie feels this sort of horrible knot in his stomach. It’s as if his shoes have been filled with lead, and he can’t bear to leave Camila behind. “Let me help you clean up,” he says suddenly, hoping Camila doesn’t hear the twinge of desperation in his voice.

“Sure, that’d be great,” Camila says, while Eddie nods the others forward.

“I’ll catch up with you later.”

Eddie and Camila gather up the empty mugs and finished wine bottles, dumping it all in the kitchen. Camila begins to wash and Eddie to dry. He gets an achy feeling in his chest as he realizes how right it feels, to be there with her.

“It’s crazy, isn’t it,” Camila is saying as she rinses out one of the bottles, “how much has changed since that picture was taken.”

“We were just kids,” Eddie says. His voice sounds very far away. He feels like he’s stepping into darkness, about to step off a cliff into the abyss.

“Another lifetime,” Camila agrees, passing him a mug. “I mean- I’m married, I have a daughter. And you have a number one song!” Her voice sounds dreamy, and when he looks at her, he’s struck by how happy she looks.

“Yeah,” he says, but he feels like he’s on another planet, or looking at her through a pane of glass. She’s smiling at him, but it’s as if a wall’s formed between them, one he can’t quite see or touch or figure out, but it’s there, sucking the air out of his lungs and pulling them apart. Eddie frowns, but Camila’s already turned back to the dishes. “I guess you’re right.”

She chats on for a bit, tells him what color she wants to paint the nursery and about the housewarming party she wants to have once they get settled. And Eddie nods, manages a tense smile when she looks at him.

He still doesn’t get it - how she can forgive Billy. How she can move on. San Diego hadn’t been that long ago, when she’d been desperate to forget her own life. But she’s beaming and glowing and he doesn’t want to take that away from her, even if he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand.

“I’m really happy for you,” he says after they’ve finished. They’re the same words he’d said to her at her wedding, and acid boils in his stomach. He grabs his jacket and heads to the door, suddenly desperate for some air. He can’t stay there, in the house she shares with her husband. With the man she loves. The man who isn’t him.

Camila catches his sleeve before he can get too far from the door. She leans against the doorframe, bathed in light from the kitchen. Eddie scuffs his boots against the concrete step, shoves his hands in his pockets and looks up at her.

It’s painful. It hurts. But she’s so fucking beautiful. Her hair is pulled back, her cheeks flushed from wine. She hadn’t put on any makeup that morning, and had thrown a beat up sweater on over her dress. And he wants to kiss her so fucking bad. He wants to kiss her and hold her and tell her that he would take care of her. That he could give her this too. That she didn’t need Billy. Fuck Billy. He could give her the life she wanted and it wouldn’t have to hurt so fucking bad.

“Thanks for all your help,” she says, “for… everything.” And she leans down, presses her lips to his cheek. Her skin is warm against his. She smells like dish soap, and baby powder, and vanilla.

And then she’s gone, pulling away from him, her hand on the door. “Don’t be a stranger,” she says with a teasing grin, and Eddie manages a lopsided grimace before the door is shut, leaving him in the dark.

Chapter Text

Sweet summer sweat
Some dance to remember
Some dance to forget

Eddie: He walks home alone. It’s not so late, but the sun had gone down hours earlier. The silence, the darkness of the Canyon permeates everything. The houses he knows are there, are hidden behind trees and fences, and the stars are almost blindingly bright despite the LA lights and smog. He’s alone, as if the world’s dropped out from under him. He walks straight down the middle of the road and his lighter burns like the sun as he lights his cigarette.

He could meet the band at the bar. It wasn’t far, just a few streets down. All downhill too- it’d be an easy walk. He could get a drink or two (or three or four). He could get some weed off Warren (or something stronger). He could meet a girl or lose himself listening to whatever band was playing. He could find something to take his mind off the hollow feeling in his chest.

But he wants to go home and shower. More accurately, he wants to shed his skin, rub himself raw until he was a new person. Until there was nothing left of this version of himself, that sad, miserable son of a bitch. The person that couldn’t stop aching and pinning and burning over Camila.

The house is dark when he gets home. Empty. The others had gone to the bar, and Eddie stumbles his way back to the kitchen. There’s a half empty bottle of whiskey on the counter. It burns going down, a harsh contrast to the wine from earlier. It doesn’t do his stomach any favors, but he works his way through the bottle and he feels his head getting hazy, blurry, numb.

Good. He doesn’t want to think anymore. Doesn’t want to hurt. He wants to drink and forget and ignore the pain that’s settled deep into his chest. He doesn’t want to think about how Billy, as usual, has gotten everything Eddie has always wanted. He doesn’t want to think about the house Billy shares with Camila. About how Billy has decided he’s finally going to act like a father. Doesn’t want to think about how Camila lets him, despite the pain he’s caused. He doesn’t want to think about how Julia deserved better. How Camila deserved better.

Doesn’t want to think about how much he loves her. How much he wants her.

(Doesn’t want to think about her smile, or the tan expanse of her skin. Doesn’t want to think about the vanilla scent of her lotion, or the way her dark hair falls around her shoulders.)

He doesn’t want to think about anything at all, and the whiskey helps. He feels as if cotton’s been shoved inside his head, dulling his thoughts. It’s hot, and he shucks his jacket, letting it fall to the kitchen floor. He feels like crawling out of his skin, as if it’s too tight to hold everything that’s been building up, burning, inside of him, and he pulls his shirt off over his head as he makes his way to the bathroom.

The hot water feels good against his skin. Searing down to his bone, scalding his flesh, and relaxing his muscles. He stands there for a long time, leans back against the cool tiles, and closes his eyes tight to stop his head from spinning.

He can’t stop thinking, can’t stop himself from sinking into thoughts about Camila. But the drink had numbed his senses. It drowned his guilt and embarrassment and left nothing but his burning want.

He wants and wants and wants. And usually he was good. He tried so hard not to let himself imagine things like that- things that could break him once he returned to reality. But it was hard when they were things he wanted so fucking badly. Things that snuck into his dreams and stayed with him always. Always always always wanting.

And there, in that shower, the water turning his body hot, the alcohol chasing away all reason, and the Canyon yawning dark and quiet around him, he found it was impossible to keep from giving into the lust and love that burned constantly beneath his skin.

He thinks of her. Imagines her. Imagines them, what they could be. What he wishes they could do. He remembers that day in San Diego. He remembers her clinging to him, her skin hot compared to the icy ocean around them. Her chest pressed against his, her legs wrapped around his waist, as they brace against the waves.

What would she have done if he’d kissed her? Her full lips against his, salty from seaspray. If he had wrapped his arms around her, laid her down against the sand?

It’s warm in his imagination, the beach is empty, and Camila pulls him closer. She tangles her hands in his hair, moans into his mouth, and Eddie feels close to coming from that alone. He imagines leaning down into her, their bodies held impossibly close. She’s soft and warm and sighs happily as Eddie presses kisses to her neck, her chest, her stomach.

He’s burning for her, and in the space behind his shut tight eyes, she’s there with him. She’s there in the house they’ve shared. She’s there in his bedroom, on his bed. And he’s with her. He kisses her and holds her. And he touches himself as he imagines having her in every way he’s always wanted. And in his dreams she wants him too. She kisses him and touches him and takes him inside of her.

And she loves him.

I love you, I love you, I love you, please let me try.

Eddie comes, hard, his body shaking beneath the shower spray. He nearly falls to his knees, the alcohol catching up to him as he falls forward, dizzy and exhausted. He braces himself against the tile wall, his head swimming with thoughts of Camila. He doesn’t want to- can’t let the thoughts go, and as he stumbles out of the shower, collapsing into bed, she’s the only thing he sees before he’s pulled into the dark expanse of dreams.

---

He wakes up cold, naked in bed. The sun is out, burning bright through the open window, but there’s a chill that cuts through him. His head is pounding, a hangover wrecking his head and threatening to bring him to his knees as he pulls on the first pants he finds, the clean shirt he hadn’t gotten around to putting away. He needs water, he needs food. He needs a lobotomy. Anything to stop the pain that was ricocheting through his skull.

Warren’s bed is empty, but the doors to Karen and Graham’s rooms are shut tight. He could check if they were home, if he really wanted, but he can’t think past putting one foot in front of the other.

It’s eerily quiet as he stumbles down the hall, still, as if time had decided to skip over their house. As if the world had forgotten to tug them along into the new day. It’s like an episode of the Twilight Zone, as if he’s wandered into some alternate reality. He can’t figure out what’s different, why it feels as if he’s stepped into the wrong house, until he makes it to the kitchen.

It’s dark and empty. Half the cabinets are still open from the move the day before, the newspaper they’d used to wrap glasses still scattered across the table. Julia’s high chair is gone, and her collection of brightly colored bottles. The ridiculous picture of an owl Camila had so proudly hung up when they first moved in is gone too. It hadn’t been up long enough to leave a physical mark of its absence, but Eddie stares at the place where it used to be until his eyes begin to cross.

Camila wasn’t there.

He’d grown so used to her presence - she was always the first one up, the radio on, cooking breakfast as she fed Julia. The windows open, light streaming in, coffee brewing. And always a smile for them, a teasing laugh as she chastised them for drinking too much the night before.

She was gone, moved out, living her new life in her new house with her husband. Eddie’s heart pounds painfully against his chest, and he pushes forward, drawing back the curtains above the kitchen sink. He’s hit with the sight of the cottage across the yard, dark, empty.

It’s a sobering sight, and Eddie flushes as he remembers his dreams from the night before.

He was a fool. A miserable bastard who couldn’t take a hint. Was this what his life had come to? Was this what it was going to be from then on? He couldn’t do it anymore. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t spend his life fantasizing about a girl he could never have. A woman who only saw him as a friend. He couldn’t be that person, he didn’t want to be that person. He refused to spend his life pinning.

Eddie pushes open the back door, sits on the patio steps and stares at the empty cottage. He thought about Camila, about her smile, her laugh. He thought about how funny she was, how strong, how stubborn. He didn’t know how to stop loving her, but he had to try. It was killing him, this endless wishing and aching. He couldn’t move through life at the fringes, surviving on the crumbs of her affection.

It wasn’t her fault - she’d never done anything to encourage this stupid crush that had taken root years before. She’d been his friend and he had loved her for that too. But he had to find a way, had to force himself to accept that friendship was all there would ever be.

And fuck- shouldn’t that be enough? It was enough, it had to be enough. It was the one thing he could never live without. He would walk through hell if it meant they would always be friends.

But it was time to grow up. Those sun drenched dreams he’d been harboring of a life with Camila and Julia- it was never going to happen. Julia wasn’t his daughter, and Camila was never going to look at him as anything other than a friend. He couldn’t spend his life wishing for things that would never happen.

Why couldn’t he just be happy with the way things were? Honeycomb was one of the biggest songs in the country, the band was back together, they were going to perform at a fucking real music festival in fucking Hawaii. He should be on top of the world, not lamenting his broken heart. Wishing things were different accomplished nothing but making him miserable.

He wouldn’t do it anymore. He refused. He couldn’t waste his life loving Camila Dunne. She was Billy’s wife, she was Eddie’s friend, and that would have to be good enough. It had to be.

Camila: She drives Billy to the airport for the Diamond Head festival. Behind them, Julia is fussing in her car seat.

It was only for a couple of days, but Camila can’t help the knot of apprehension that’s begun to form in the pit of her stomach. As they pull up to the airport terminal, she knows Billy is feeling much of the same. There’s a deep crease across his forehead, and a frown that refuses to leave, even as he reaches across the center console to squeeze her hand.

This was his first time away from home since rehab, since the tour. His first time on the road since everything fell apart. He’d worked hard to make things better. He’s been good. And she knows this is part of the deal: Billy was going to be a world famous musician, and playing at festivals and going on tour was part of the job. She wanted that for him, and she would do everything in her power to make sure he got there. But she hadn’t accounted on the journey hurting this much. She knows she’s going to have to learn to trust him again if this was ever going to work, but it was so fucking hard. It was hard to put aside her memories from the last tour.

“Are you going to be okay?” she asks as they pull up to LAX. It’s an early flight; the curb outside Departures is nearly empty save a few workers having a smoke break by the door. Billy looks grim and she tries to keep her voice light, caring, so he doesn’t sense the anxiety she’s feeling. There’s a nervous energy running through him, a restlessness as he looks away from her. His fingers twitch and flex against his jeans, his knee bouncing.

Billy sucks in a deep breath before he turns to look at her. “Yeah,” he says with a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, “it’s gonna be great. It’s just a couple nights and then I’ll be back with my girls.”

Camila tries to draw strength from his optimism, but it’s hard when it’s so clearly forced. She doesn’t know what the solution is. She doesn’t know how to make this right, other than blind faith that he was going to do the right thing. And she wants to trust him, but her own heart is pounding with nerves.

During the last tour, she had been alone for nearly nine months. And she’d endured it, gladly, because she had assumed he was missing her, waiting for her, just like she had been. She had taken care of the house, called him daily, and carried their daughter for nine months. She had endured the crushing loneliness, the empty house, the quiet nights because she had thought he was missing her as much as she was missing him. Finding out that he hadn’t had felt like walking off the edge of a cliff, tumbling into the abyss. Like her whole world had shattered. And it wasn’t just the betrayal- it was the realization that she’d been a fucking idiot for not realizing what was going on. She’d felt stupid for being so trusting. She’d felt hopelessly naive to think that her loneliness had been worth it. Because she had been so fucking lonely those nine long months. She’d been alone in a new city, in an empty house, and he’d thrown her sacrifice back in her face.

Anyways.

That was the past. Things were going to be different. She tries to match his smile. “Monday morning, we’ll be here bright and early to pick you up.”

The others pull up behind them; Eddie, Graham, Karen, and Warren spilling out of a taxi, Teddy stepping out of a sleek black car. Billy gives her another kiss before stepping out onto the curb. He hefts his bag over his shoulder before he pulls open the side door to kiss Julia. Camila gives him a moment with his daughter, the sight giving her hope that this time things really would be different. She steps out of the car and goes to wish the others good luck.

“Want me to bring you one of those hula skirts? Or a pineapple?” Warren asks. He’s twisting his drumsticks between his fingers, a nervous habit. He’d confided in her the other night his fear of flying, how he’d never been on a plane before. Camila pulls him into a hug and rolls her eyes.

“A couple coconuts would be good too,” she says, leaning back against the car, “or a mai tai.” She wishes she could go with them, but the studio wouldn’t pay and they didn’t have the money for another ticket and a sitter for Jules. Camila brings her hand up to her mouth, stops just short of biting her nails, her own nervous habit. She wants to linger, wants to spend the day talking to her friends. She doesn’t want to face the big empty house that’s waiting for her. But their plane would be leaving soon and Julia was getting fussy; she should go, but it was hard to say goodbye.

Camila turns back to the car in an effort to remember that she was at the airport for a reason, and not just to catch up with her friends. She’s surprised to see Eddie already there, kneeling down beside Julia’s car seat.

He’s squishing Julia’s cheeks, making faces at her. Julia sputters and smiles, her hands waving in delight. Eddie smiles at her daughter, but Camila realizes he hadn’t so much as said hello to her. The rest of the band had, even Teddy had waved in greeting, but Eddie had managed to stay out of her way.

Julia lets out a gurgling laugh that’s adorable, but not enough to stop a sudden flicker of hurt. as Eddie continues to ignore her. Even when she moves closer, bumps her hip into the side of the car next to his head, he steadfastly refuses to acknowledge her. It takes her clearing her throat before he casts a quick glance in her direction, but his expression is unreadable, even more so as he swiftly pulls on his sunglasses.

“Hello to you too,” she says, frowning, confused, as he stands and finally faces her. She crosses her arms as she takes in his perfectly neutral expression. He’s dressed for Hawaii, not the chilly LA morning. The collar of his short sleeve button down is crooked, but she resists the urge to fix it, staring at him expectantly instead.

He juts his chin out in greeting. “Hey,” he finally says. It’s flat, emotionless, and she raises her eyebrows in question. But he doesn't give her any answers or explanation for his lackluster reception. Instead he turns from her, pulling his bag over his shoulder and going to stand by Warren before she can ask him what’s wrong.

It gnaws at her, Eddie’s empty greeting. He hadn’t said a proper hello, let alone goodbye. It shouldn’t bother her; he was probably just hungover or nervous about the flight, but she can’t help but feel like something was wrong. There’s a thrum of anxiety coursing through her, tangled with the fear that he was pulling away. That she was losing him. The thought hollows her out, leaving her breathless. It was stupid, an overreaction, but she feels like she’s back at the empty house. Alone, alone, alone. The feeling eats at her and she can’t help staring at him, even as she gives Billy a final kiss goodbye.

Camila is back in the car, buckling her seatbelt with shaking hands, when Karen slides into the passenger seat beside her. “Are you alright?” she’s asking.

“Yeah,” Camila says slowly, staring out the window at Eddie. He seemed to be carefully avoiding looking in her direction, staring up at the airport sign while they waited for Karen. “He’s acting so weird.”

Karen frowns, following her sight line. “Who? Eddie? When isn’t he?” Camila tries to smile at Karen’s teasing grin, but she can’t help the feeling of unease that’s settled over her. Karen didn’t know Eddie like she did. She didn’t know him well enough to realize when something was wrong.

“I meant, are you okay with Billy going?”

Camila turns back to Karen, startled. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” Camila frowns at her own nonchalance. There’s concern in Karen’s eyes, a certain intensity. Camila suddenly understood what the other woman was asking: did Camila understand that this wasn’t going to be like last time? Did Camila understand that it might be exactly like last time? Did she understand that either scenario was possible? Was she okay?

She was worried, her earlier anxieties flooding back, though she supposes it hadn’t really hit her yet. Was she prepared for her husband to come back on Monday a complete mess, to start the healing over again? It’s a brutal cycle of forgiveness that looms in her future if he messes up. It should shake her, scare her. She should be thinking about Billy, not imagining things to be wrong with Eddie. But she doesn’t want to think about her husband and his past and potentially future mistakes. She wants to believe that things will work out. They had to.

She can’t go back to that empty house.

“It’s only a couple days,” she says lightly.

“Of course,” Karen said, nodding in agreement and encouragement. Camila smiled; she was grateful for Karen’s support. Already things felt different from the last tour. Karen nods again, seemingly reluctant to leave her alone, hand hesitating on the door handle. “Well, call me if anything comes up. Or- fuck, I’m sure they charge astronomically to call Hawaii. Call Teddy, he can afford it.”

Camila laughed, shoving Karen back out the door. “You’ll miss your plane.”

Karen stood on the curb, the boys behind her as Camila put the car in drive. Warren and Graham wave, Billy blows her a kiss, and Eddie doesn’t look at her at all. Camila tries not to show her hurt.

“Look after them for me,” she calls out through the open window to no one in particular.

She sees Daisy Jones stumbling out of a bright yellow taxi cab just as she pulls away from the curb.

---

The house is quiet when she gets back from the airport. Of course it is, she doesn’t know why she’s surprised. But it reminds her painfully of the months she spent alone in the old house while The Six were on tour. She almost wishes she were back there, on that sunny patio where she’d spent her pregnancy; at least she knew that place, instead of this big house she was still getting used to.

She loved their new home, the one she shared with Billy and Julia. It felt right, like everything was working out just the way it was supposed to. Marriage, baby, house. Right on track, nevermind the hiccups on the way to get there. But the house was still new. She hadn’t quite gotten used to the creaks in the stairs or the way the shower handle sometimes stuck. Half their things were still in boxes, and the other half was scattered haphazardly around. It was their home, but it didn’t quite feel like home.

Especially not as she walks in with Julia on her hip to the still silence. She’d barely been alone since Julia was born. Karen had been at her side after she got home from the hospital, and then her mom, and Eddie. Even after her mom had gone back to Pittsburgh, Camila had spent her days with the band, one of them always within earshot, even when she was alone in the cottage. After Billy had come home, he’d been determined to make things right, and had been almost aggressively present.

She wonders if it would be weird to go over to the old house, to sit amongst the familiar clutter and mismatched furniture. Perhaps. Still, the thought is tempting. But no. No. She couldn’t. The thought punishes her, flooding her with memories of empty days and lonely nights while the band was on tour. The endless waiting and wondering and loneliness. For every bright sunny memory she has with her friends in that house, there are dozens more of aching loneliness. It hits her viscerally, her stomach tensing, as she flinches away from the thought. She could not go back to that empty house.

Camila tries to keep busy. She organizes and cleans. She makes lists of things they need to buy, things they need to get rid of. She tries a new recipe and takes Julia for a long walk around the block. She plays Honeycomb and Seven Eight Nine on repeat. She calls her mom and tries to make small talk with her new neighbors. Anything to keep the crushing loneliness and worry from closing in on her.

It was only a few days alone - she’d been on her own for much longer before. But it feels different this time. Before she’d been full of youthful optimism. In love. Naïve. She knows it’s only been a few months since that last tour ended, but she feels like a different person. Smarter, stronger maybe. But also less trusting; she knew what could go wrong. And she tried, she really tried to believe the best in people, but it felt like she was walking on eggshells waiting for the other shoe to drop. A few days with this newfound knowledge felt like an eternity, and if she sat still for too long she would go insane.

---

On Sunday, she takes Julia to a Mommy and Me class down at the YMCA. They’d been going for a few weeks. It wasn’t much of a class; the kids were too small to do much more than roll around on their stomachs, but she liked talking to the other moms. It made her feel less alone.

It hadn’t been easy making new friends in LA. There were a few neighbors she’d become friendly with, and girls that she’d met at the studio, or the dark room. But there’s something uniquely comforting about talking to another mom, another woman who understood what she was going through. Other women who understood what it was like to try so desperately to be perfect for your children, and yet face the certainty of failure. Women who wouldn’t judge, even when Camila felt like she was falling apart.

They’re in class, seated on the floor in a circle. They have their legs spread, their babies laying between them. It’s supposed to be some type of meditation, but the women spend the time talking amongst themselves. Theresa, the woman next to her, is about her age, a bit older maybe. She’s short, blonde, with a round cherub face to match. But she has a dark sense of humor, isn’t shy about talking about her ex-husband, and has a penchant for trashy romance novels.

Camila desperately wants to be her friend.

Theresa has a son, John, who was just Julia’s age. Camila tries not to let her imagination get away from her; visions of playdates and coordinated park outings swim hazily through her mind. It was silly- she feels like she’s ten years old, trying to make friends on the first day of summer camp. She’s old enough not to know not everyone is meant to be a friend, and even then, it was a special thing to make a good friend. Still, it wasn’t ridiculous to want to make a friend on her own, was it? To meet someone that had nothing to do with Billy or the band. Someone who understood what her life was like. Someone that made her feel less alone.

Camila is telling Theresa a story, one she wouldn’t dare say anywhere else for fear of judgment, but she somehow knows Theresa will understand. It had been a relief to join the class, to realize that those feelings of exhaustion and failure and frustration she’d been feeling since Julia was born, were normal. That she wasn’t the only one to feel overwhelmed and scared. She wasn’t the only one oscillating between pure joy and terror on a daily basis.

“The high chair starts tipping over and I swear it’s going in slow motion. My heart is pounding out of my chest, but I’m all the way on the other side of the room. But Eddie drops his guitar, jumps over the couch and pulls Julia out before she even gets close to the floor. And we’re just staring at each other in shock, like, did that really happen? And Julia starts laughing. Real laughs, like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever seen.”

Theresa pulls a face, somewhere between horror and laughter. Camila knows the feeling. Even recounting the story makes her heart thud with anxiety. But when she remembers Eddie’s expression afterwards, eyes wide as saucers, she can’t help but smile.

“Your husband sounds like such a good father,” Theresa says, leaning forward to catch John's hands. Her hair falls over her shoulder, hiding her expression, but Camila could pick up the wistful yearning in her voice. “Honestly, I’m jealous.“

Camila smiles, pleased to have Theresa’s approval, before she realizes what she means. “Oh,” she frowns. “Eddie isn’t Julia’s father.”

When Theresa sits back, she looks impressed. She gives Camila a once over and raises an eyebrow. “Wow,” she says, looking at Camila with almost gleeful interest. “Raising another man’s baby; you really did find a good one.”

It takes Camila a moment to work out what Theresa’s implying. Surely she doesn’t think- The implication makes Camila blush. She doesn’t know why. But there’s something about the suggestion, about the imagined life Theresa’s concocted for her, that makes her skin heat. “No,” she says, shaking her head, feeling a little lightheaded, “I mean Eddie’s just a friend. My husband, Billy, is her father.”

Theresa pales, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh my god,” she gasps out, “I’m so embarrassed. I knew you were married and you’ve mentioned Eddie before, I just assumed… God, I’m sorry.”

Camila swallows thickly, trying to bury her own embarrassment. Theresa had thought Eddie was Julia’s father? The thought was ridiculous. And yet… memories flash through her mind of Eddie and Julia together. It was an irrelevant thought; the mixup was embarrassing enough without scrounging for some justification. Had she really mentioned Eddie so much that strangers assumed he was her husband?

“No, it’s okay!” she insists. Her skin feels flushed, and she resists the urge to bury her face in her hands. “Really,” she continues, “I’m the one that should be embarrassed. I clearly haven’t done a very good job of introducing myself.”

Theresa waves her away. “Don’t be silly! I shouldn’t be making assumptions.” The other woman shrugs, and Camila hopes the conversation is dropped. “Let me take you out for a coffee to apologize.”

Relief floods through Camila. She doesn’t know why thinking about Eddie had made her so jumpy; perhaps it was the awkward way they had parted at the airport, but she’s glad to move on. “No apology necessary,” she says smiling. “But I would never turn down a free coffee.”

---

“So, Eddie…”

They’re at the coffee shop after class, around the corner from the Y, tucked away at one of the little tables by the window. They each have a baby stroller flanking them, Julia in one, Theresa's son John in the other. Camila’s grip tightens on her mug at the utterance of Eddie’s name; she had really hoped they’d moved past that.

“God, I’m still so embarrassed,” she says, picking at the muffin in front of her. “I didn’t even realize I was talking about him so much.” And then because she feels the overwhelming urge to explain: “He’s in a band with my husband, so we’re all together a lot.”

Camila frowns. They had been together a lot; but that was before she moved. It had only been a couple of weeks at the new house, but she felt something close to regret settle painfully in her chest. Or… not regret really. Longing, maybe, or nostalgia? Such strong words when what she really meant was: she missed her friends. She missed having breakfast with the band, her long talks with Karen in the garden, seeing Eddie and Graham and Warren play with Julia in the grass. Things were different now, and she felt a pang of longing for those sun drenched days at the old house.

She wondered what they were doing right then, out across the ocean. Nobody had been sure about what time they were performing, and she couldn’t remember what the time change was anyways. She hopes they’re having fun, though she can’t help the sliver of bitterness that slips beneath her skin at the thought. There she was, thinking about them, worrying about them, wondering what they were doing; but she doubts any of them had thought about her. Were any of them wondering what she was doing? She turns back to Theresa, more determined than ever to make a friend.

Theresa is waving her away. Her nails are painted electric blue, bright against the white of the mug. She swallows her coffee, before she says, “Oh don’t worry about it! That’s not even what I was getting at.” She laughs, a bit self-deprecating, her mug rattling against the saucer as she sets it down. “I was just wondering, is he single?”

There’s a buzzing in Camila’s ears, and she feels her mouth drop open. It takes her far longer to respond than it should, and she blinks hard to stop from staring. “Is he-” Even as she attempts to respond, the words get caught in her throat. For fuck’s sake, it wasn’t a trick question. She looks at Theresa; the other woman is watching her with anticipation, and Camila doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with her voice. Just answer the fucking question.

“Oh! Um, I don’t know.” She finally gets some semblance of a response out, her words pitched and nervous. She doesn’t know why, it wasn’t an insane question to be asked. Frankly, she’s surprised she hadn’t been asked about it before. The Six were becoming more well known, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that people would want to meet them. She doesn’t know why the thought of Theresa’s interest hits her so funny, but she finds herself frowning into her coffee cup. “I mean, I didn’t realize you were looking.”

Theresa doesn’t seem to notice her discomfort. She passes a toy to John, before looking up at Camila with a bemused smile. “Honey, I’m always looking for a good guy. They are notoriously hard to find in LA.” She shrugs, honey blonde hair falling forward around her shoulders. “And, well, he sounds like a good guy. From what you’ve said.”

Camila’s ears are burning. “He is!” she blurts out, “all the guys in the band are.”

She feels a bit nauseous, her cheeks hot, and takes another sip of her coffee. It felt strange to talk about her friend to a woman she barely knew. Stanger still to think about Eddie as a potential love interest. He was… he was just Eddie. Her friend. Her best friend maybe. Definitely her oldest. And of course he was nice and kind. He was one of the funniest guys she knew. Sure he was a bit hot headed sometimes, but he was always patient and forgiving. Yes, he was a good guy, but it still felt strange to say aloud.

Camila clears her throat. “I don’t even know your type.”

Theresa laughs at that. “You said he’s good with kids, right? That’s pretty much all I’m looking for these days.”

“Oh.” Camila frowns into her coffee. Eddie was great with kids as it turned out. She never would’ve guessed, if you’d’ve asked her back in Pittsburgh. But he’d taken to Julia almost instantly, naturally. Faster than Karen and Warren. Faster than Billy. She thinks about Eddie making faces at Julia at the airport. She can’t imagine him not being in her daughter’s life.

“Well, yeah,” she finally says, “he’s great with Julia.”

“Think you can introduce us?” Theresa asks, smile bright and eager. And Camila so wants to be friends with this woman. With anyone really, so long as it meant she wouldn’t have to face the crushing loneliness again. She would do anything to keep this woman in her life, if it meant starving off the emptiness of her past. She can’t go back to that empty house.

Camila wants to say yes. She wants this woman’s approval. But, this was Eddie. As much as she wants to earn Theresa’s friendship, she feels ridiculously possessive over her friendship with him. She wants to bottle it up, hoard it against the world. Keep him packaged and stored on her closet shelf where he’ll always be there when she needs him. Like he’s always been there before. She thinks of his cold greeting at the airport and it only makes her want to tighten her grip. She wants to pull him to her, tie a string around their wrists and keep him with her always.

He wasn’t hers, not in the way Billy was, but she feels him, his life, twisting in and around her own, stretching back decades, and the thought of letting that go hurts. And the thought of introducing him to someone that might pull him away from her, hurts too. It hits her funny, sparking a possessive streak that she hadn’t known she’d had. A protectiveness that makes her want to bear her teeth at the other woman.

But… if it meant she could keep Theresa…

If it meant warding off the pull of loneliness.

(She could not go back to that empty house.)

Theresa seems to notice her discomfort. Her indecision. She taps her ring against the mug, the ting, ting, ting pulling Camila from her spiraling thoughts. Theresa shrugs. “I mean, if it’d make things weird, don’t even worry about it. But you know how hard it is to meet people when you’ve got a kid. Gotta take my shot, right?”

Camila finds herself nodding. Finds herself wanting to take the risk. She doesn’t want to give up this newfound friendship, this newfound understanding. She wants to be understood. She wants friends that will listen and share and understand what she’s talking about. She wants her own life and she wants to fill the empty cracks in it that form when the band is away. She taps her nails against her own mug. “I can check,” she hears herself saying, “find out if he’s seeing anyone. I mean, sure, why not?” And then because she’s feeling impulsive and greedy, and because she wants to fill her days with everything she’d missed that year in that empty house, she says, “why don’t we all meet up at O’Malley’s on Monday. You can meet everyone. Warren and Graham are great guys too. And you can meet Billy and Karen, and we can talk about something other than kids for a change.”

She feels a sinking feeling in her stomach, but she wants to stuff her life so full that she can’t think about her loneliness anymore. She smiles at Theresa, who smiles back.

“That sounds fantastic.”

Chapter Text

Mirrors on the ceiling
The pink champagne on ice
And she said, 'We are all just prisoners here
Of our own device”

Camila: She lets the refrigerator door fall shut with more force than is strictly necessary. The resulting slam makes the row of hanging mugs clatter together; Camila feels a twinge of regret as Julia shifts restlessly in her sleep. But Jules doesn’t wake, even as Camila carries her up to her crib.

When Camila comes back downstairs, Billy hasn’t moved. Arms still crossed, his denim shirt pulled tight over his shoulders, leaning back against the couch with a scowl across his face. They’d been going back and forth for the better part of an hour, with time running out and Camila’s patience was wearing thin. “I just don’t understand why you don’t want to go with me.”

Billy’s sigh is long, drawn out, his shoulders hunching as if what she was asking was some physical burden, weighing him down and pinning him to the floor. You’d’ve thought she was asking him to go to the moon instead of down to the local bar for a couple hours. “I’m exhausted, Cam,” he says, catching her elbow and pulling her close. He smells like soap, the ends of his hair still damp from the shower he took earlier. “I’ve been on the plane all day. I really don’t feel like going out again.”

Camila tries to be more understanding; she wants to be a good wife. And she did understand - she knew it wasn’t easy for him to be around alcohol and drugs, and the last thing she wanted was to threaten the course he was on. But irritation had already begun to sink in. It made her tongue sharper, her temper hotter. It made her reckless and less forgiving.

She’d told him about her plans with Theresa that morning when she’d picked him up from the airport. He’d hemmed and hawed and given a vague response that she had assumed meant he would go with her. Only for him to tell her he’d rather stay in. Only after she’d already spent over an hour getting ready.

She leans into him, pushes herself against his side until he wraps his arms around her. She wants him to go with her. She wants a night out with her husband and she’s tried to tell him so. But he seemed steadfast in his decision, despite her protests. “The guys were on the plane too, and they’re all going,” she tries, unable to keep the whine from her voice.

He goes stiff beside her, looking away and over her shoulder. “You know it’s not the same for me,” he says, his words tense. Even when he tries to correct, to soften his voice, and hold her arms, there’s a distance to his voice. “I just want to spend some time with my girls.”

Camila softens, but she feels restless. She knows it’s hard for him, but it was hard for her too. She missed going out to bars and parties, and she’d been looking forward to spending time with the band and Theresa. She wants to see Theresa, wants to make a good impression. “I have to go, Billy,” she says, pulling away from him. She can’t meet his eye- she knows he’ll be looking at her all sad and dejected. She knows she isn’t strong enough to say no to him if he really tries.

“I already called the sitter and Theresa’s going to be expecting me,” she says instead, stepping back, pulling on her coat.

Billy crosses his arms again. She knows the conversation is done. He knows the conversation is done. There’s an irritated resignation to his voice, even as he attempts one last time to sway her. “Cancel the sitter, Theresa will understand.”

He doesn’t get it. This wasn’t for Theresa; this was for her. She couldn’t stay in this house for another night. Couldn’t bear the reminder that her life was only full when he was there. She couldn’t live her life locked away in this house, waiting for him, no matter how much she loved him. Tomorrow she would stay home and cook dinner and ask him about his trip and run her fingers through his hair and pepper his skin with kisses. Tomorrow they would be the perfect couple, the perfect family in their perfect house. But tonight she was restless. Tonight she needed more. And as much as she wishes Billy would go with her, tonight there’s a pull in her gut, a desperation, that she needs to follow more than she needs him.

“Billy,” she finally says, exhaustion creeping into her voice. She grabs her purse, her house keys, her heels clacking against the floor as she crosses to the door. She doesn’t want to leave him like this, but she can’t stay. “You can call and cancel the sitter, but I’m going. I’ll see you when I get back.”

---

Karen finds her at the bar. There are dark circles under her eyes, but her skin is glowing with a fresh tan. She pulls Camila into a deep hug, clearly already drunk as she greets her with a giddy smile.

“You made it!” Karen beams, leaning against the bar beside her, “I missed you!”

Camila laughs, but feels flush with satisfaction. Karen had missed her. Karen had thought about her. “It’s only been a couple days!”

“Where’s Billy?” Karen asks, but Camila doesn’t want to talk about her husband. Her conversation with him had left a sour taste in her mouth and she wants to wash it out. She wants to forget the aching want and loneliness and surround herself with happy, lovely things. She wants to match Karen’s uncomplicated joy.

She pretends not to hear the question, instead leaning forward to wave down the bartender. “Want anything?” she asks Karen, before ordering four shots. Two for each of them.

They swallow them quickly and Camila orders a third and a fruity cocktail before they go to find the boys. Karen, even in her own inebriated state, eyes Camila warily. It was too much, too fast- Camila knew that. She would likely feel sick in the morning, and need help getting home that night. But she doesn’t want to think about that. She doesn’t want to think about the future or the past. She doesn’t want to think about her husband, or things that have happened or might happen. She doesn’t want to think about her loneliness or her empty home. She wants to drink until she stops thinking. She wants to drink and laugh and love. She wants to see her friends and make new friends and to fill her life so full that the empty crevices are overflowing. She wants to be happy and young and selfish. Just for one night. Just once.

Eddie, Warren, and Graham have staked out a couple of beat down couches by the stage. A group of girls has found them too. They’re young, younger than Camila anyways, and they cling to each other in that giggly way Camila hadn’t experienced in a long time. They’re laughing with the boys, far too enthusiastic for whatever middling joke she’s sure has been said. Camila and Karen are left standing to the side, leaning against the back of the couch, shoulders squished together. Camila might have been annoyed that they hadn’t saved them seats, that they were too distracted by the other girls to notice her presence, but she feels warm and fuzzy and there’s nothing that could bother her now. Karen shares a look with her, rolling her eyes good naturedly, and Camila laughs. Far be it for them to deprive the boys of living out their rockstar fantasies.

But when she catches Eddie’s eye, a stab of hurt cuts through her. He didn’t look happy to see her, and the awkward way they had parted at the airport comes back to her in a rush. Her spiraling thoughts that began at the terminal drop-off days earlier came flooding back. If her oldest friend could pull away from her, where did that leave her?

He meets her eye across the group, staring at her despite the girls on either side of him, his eyes wide. If Camila had been sober she might have wondered at his stunned expression. At the way his cheeks flush as she refuses to break eye contact. But she’s decidedly not sober. She’s, frankly, quite drunk, and the alcohol pushes her forward and to his side. She squeezes in, pushes her way between a short red head, and perches herself on the arm of the couch. Eddie follows her every move with a wary stare. He swallows thickly as she kicks off her shoes and bends her knee up, resting her foot between the couch cushion and his thigh. Camila finds she likes the attention, she likes making him notice her. It’s far better than the muttered greeting they’d parted with.

“Camila!” Warren shouts over the din of the bar and the band. He leans over a girl and Eddie, and gives her something that barely resembles a one armed hug. His forehead knocks against Eddie’s shoulder and his drink splashes onto the girl’s lap.

“The hell man?” Eddie yells, as the girl between them shrieks, jolting up from her seat. Warren looks sheepish, but Camila, drunk and hazy, finds it hilarious. She throws her head back, laughter bubbling out of her, and leans forward herself. She stretches out over Eddie and clinks her glass against Warren’s.

“Where’s my pineapple?” she asks, laughing into her drink.

Warren winks at her. “I promise I brought you one, but Eddie ate it. I swear on my life.” He runs a finger across his heart and holds up his hands in surrender. Eddie scowls, shoving his shoulder.

“Fuck off.”

It’s then that Camila notices the other girls have vacated their seats. They’re clustered together and casting irritated looks her way. She knows that look - they were annoyed, put off by her arrival. At her inside jokes and familiarity with the boys they’d been vying for. And normally Camila would feel bad. She’d call out to them, draw them back to the conversation. Ask them their names, buy them drinks, invite them to her housewarming party. But the alcohol is singing beneath her skin, buzzing, a livewire that makes her selfish and reckless and petty. And as she looks at those girls, young, happy, clinging to their friends with their whole lives ahead of them, she wants to prove herself. She wants them to know that these were her friends. That she had a place here. That she belonged to them in a way they never could.

The girls are shifting, growing restless, and Camila feels a twinge of satisfaction as Warren continues telling her a story. As she feels Eddie’s thigh warm against her toes.

“Eddie, can you help us with the drinks?” one of the girls throws out. She’s pretty and smiles brilliantly. The girl that had been sitting next to Eddie. The one Warren had spilled on. She holds her smile, stares at Eddie expectantly.

And Eddie gets up to follow. He’d been sitting stiffly, hands clenched tight around his glass, and jolts upright at the sound of his name. But Camila feels an overwhelming sense of possessiveness as he begins to stand. And a streak of fear. He was her friend first. He was her friend, and she wanted to spend time with him. She wouldn’t let him slip away. (She wouldn’t go back to that empty house). She refused to let him go.

“Stay with me,” she says, pushing his shoulder until he’s sinking back into the couch. And for good measure, she slides down until she’s sitting on his lap. He’s gaping at her, but she feels fuzzy from the alcohol, warm and light, and reality begins to blur. In this world, this was normal. In this world, everything worked out just as she wanted. In this world, Eddie is pleased to see her, wants to see her. In this world, he is her very best friend, just like he used to be and that funny business at the airport had never happened. Things were lovely and wonderful and happy. She throws her arm around his shoulder, beaming at him. “I get to keep you.”

The girls send her nasty glares over their shoulder as they head to the bar. Karen and Graham and Warren shoot her curious looks, but she can’t bring herself to care. They’re drunk too, and any oddness is quickly accepted. But Eddie…

He’s staring at her. He’s watching her with wide eyes, and because she’s so close she can see the way his ears turn pink. The hair at the back of his neck tickles her inner arm, and he’s warm against her. But he’s tense and motionless, watching her with an incredulous look, like he was seeing her for the first time. And it’s not quite the reaction she was looking for; she wants him to laugh and pull her close and pinch her knee like he used to when they were kids. She wants him to give her a lopsided grin and a deadpan quip and make her laugh until her sides hurt.

Instead the look he gives her feels almost dangerous, as if she were wading into unknown waters. It feels as if she ought to tread carefully, but the alcohol rolling in her stomach makes her limbs loose and her smile easy.

“Did you miss me?” she asks, and because she’s feeling silly and stupid, she reaches up with her free hand to pinch his cheek.

He swats at her, nose wrinkling, but it breaks the tension. It cuts through the icy wall that had built up between them and he gives her a wry smile. “You wish,” he says, pulling up one knee with enough force to knock her off his lap. But he doesn’t follow through, lets her fall back onto his thighs, a bark of laughter slipping from him as she yelps in surprise. She punches his shoulder, which makes him laugh again, as she settles firmly against him. She pulls him close, deliberate, and his hand falls against her thigh. She isn’t sure if he notices. But she does. It’s warm, even through the layer of her dress.

She doesn’t move it away.

The band tells her about the festival, after Graham brings them another round of drinks. They’ve all had too much, their tongues loose and limbs heavy. But everything is fantastically funny and Camila has lost all concept of time and place. All she knows is the voices of her friends twisted in laughter, the taste of sweet fruity drinks, and Eddie’s warm body beneath her thighs and wrapped around her side.

They’re telling her about Daisy Jones. Daisy, Daisy, Daisy. Camila is desperate to meet her. She’d seen her in pictures. Daisy Jones had been splashed across the society pages their first year in LA; the It girl on the arm of every up and coming musician. The girl at the parties in the glittering dresses. The red hair and shining jewelry had seemed like the embodiment of Hollywood glamor, even through the inky pages of the newspaper. She’d fallen off while Camila was pregnant, disappeared from the scene. But when Billy first mentioned working with her, Camila had felt almost starstruck. She knew Daisy Jones was going to be big. It was an instinct, a gut feeling, the same thing she felt when she thought about the Six.

She had a feeling the others felt so too; they had nothing but praise for the girl, even as they laughed over the chaos she’d brought to the performance.

“You should’ve seen Billy’s face,” Warren laughs. He’s drunk, slouched down on the couch, his head resting heavy against the back. She thinks he must forget sometimes that they’re married, because he doesn’t hold back as he makes fun of Billy. Or maybe it’s just the alcohol making his words slip out without thought. It’s all good natured, but his laughter is uninhibited as he describes Billy’s irritation.

“Shut up,” Camila laughs. She doesn't really mind, and she’s more than willing to allow a little ribbing towards her husband. She stretches out one foot, kicking Warren’s knee. When she draws it back, Eddie’s hand, the one against her thigh, flexes. His other arm has snaked around her and pulls her back, close. She shifts back against him, and with a start, realizes he’s hard beneath her.

Her cheeks burn at the realization, and she knows he knows she knows. He goes tense, his hand going tight at her hip. She doesn’t look at him, can’t look at him, but she wants to. She wants to see the want in his eyes. If she were sober, she might be horrified. Terrified about what this might mean for their friendship. But she’s not. She’s drunk, far drunker than she’s been in a very long time. And instead of filling her with trepidation, she’s burning with a brutal sort of satisfaction. He wanted her. She existed outside the four walls of her empty house, and she was wanted.

It’s a giddy sort of satisfaction that brings a pleased smile to her lips, even as she refuses to look at him. It was enough to know, to feel, his wanting. It makes her heart pound happily - a reckless feeling that seemed to match her mood that evening.

“No offense, Cam,” Karen is saying, pulling Camila away from her dangerous thoughts. She turns to look at Karen, and she feels Eddie’s warm breath against the back of her neck. It sends a delicious thrill down her spine.

Karen is sprawled out across the other couch, her feet up and across Graham’s lap. Camila wants to examine the way Graham is carefully holding Karen’s ankle, but she forces herself to pay attention to Karen’s words.

“No offense,” she says again, waving a straw at Camila, “but Billy was kind of a dick to Daisy.”

And Camila can’t help it. Something about the words in Karen’s accent cracks her up. She pitches forward in laughter. “I’m serious!” Karen sputters in protest, trying to prove her case despite her slurred voice. “Daisy makes us better and he was a total arse to her.”

That pulled them all into belly deep laughter, and a wholesome bloom of joy spreads through her as she feels Eddie’s chest shake against her.

“And what do you think about Daisy Jones?” She finally turns to Eddie. She wants to look at him, wants to see the laugh lines around his eyes. She draws out her words, clipping them with a teasing drawl. Her mouth is already curling up at the corners, because she wants to laugh. She wants to make him laugh. Her voice is low, only for him, as she asks: “Was my husband being an arse?”

There’s a heat behind his eyes, even as his mouth ticks up into that teasing smile she knew so well. Smug, arrogant, an ass in his own right. “I think you already know my answer to that,” he says, leaning towards her until their foreheads were nearly touching, his voice low, deep, conspiratorial.

“And Daisy Jones?” she asks, her voice equally hushed. She likes this game they’re playing, them against the world. It reminds her of being young, of running wild through the neighborhood, Eddie at her side. “Is she pretty?” she asks, her voice mischievous as she feels his breath hot against her lips.

“Stunning,” he says with a smirk, even as his hand tightens around her waist. Even as she feels the hard ridge of him through his pants. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Camila raises an eyebrow, her own grin smug and feral and reckless. She cards her fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck, the strands soft as she tightens her grip. “Are you lying?”

And because she’s ridiculously unlucky, she hears someone calling her name.

“Camila?”

Her first feeling is relief that it’s Theresa and not Billy watching her with a questioning stare. Her second is bone deep embarrassment, because what the fuck was she doing?

She springs up off Eddie’s lap, her cheeks already burning. Luckily, the others were too drunk, too high, too absorbed in their own conversations to notice anything unusual, but Theresa had. She had seen Camila sitting on the lap of a man that wasn’t her husband, their faces inches apart, her hands running through his hair. Camila feels sick, unsteady as she stands. She’d had too much to drink and she stumbles as she tries to make her way towards Theresa.

“Hey! Hi!” she says, as she finally reaches the other woman. She knows she must look ridiculous, her words slurred, swaying on her feet. She can’t bear to look back at Eddie. Her heart stutters at the thought. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it!”

Theresa gives her a thin smile that Camila is too drunk to decipher. Was she disappointed, embarrassed, ambivalent to Camila’s rumpled state? “The sitter was late,” she finally says as Camila directs her towards the bar. She thinks she hears Warren calling after her, but she can’t face them right now.

“Is that Billy?” Theresa asks as they lean against the bar. Because of course she does. Why wouldn’t she assume the man Camila was nose to nose with was her husband?

Camila almost gives into the insane urge to lie. To say that yes, yes that was her husband. Because how could she explain that no, it was Eddie, the man she already mentioned so much that Theresa thought he was Julia’s father.

But she can’t do that. She wanted Theresa to be her friend, she reminds herself. She couldn’t lie- not about something like that. A lie so easy to unravel, it might as well not even be a lie to begin with. She wanted Theresa to meet Billy someday, to be a part of her life.

She had promised to introduce her to Eddie.

The thought rolls in her stomach, and again, Camila thinks she might be sick. Actually sick this time, because she can taste the vodka coming back up. She grips the edge of the bar, breathes deep through her nose and picks a point to focus on, anything to steady herself.

Theresa lays a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You alright hun?” she says, and she doesn’t sound judgmental. She sounds concerned, and Camila manages a weak smile.

“Sorry,” she says, asking the bartender for a glass of water. “I haven’t had this much to drink in a while.”

Theresa waves her away. “Don’t apologize. I wish I had gotten here sooner; I would be right there with you.”

Camila is reminded of why she likes Theresa. She likes her easy confidence, her nonchalance.

“So was it?” Theresa asks again once she’s gotten a drink. “Billy? I’d love to meet him.”

And Camila realizes the only thing she can do is play it off. To ignore the aching embarrassment she’s feeling. “Hmm? Oh no,” she says carefully (as carefully as she can when her head is spinning), looking away from Theresa, “that’s Eddie.” And then, before she can think better of it, she loops her arm around Theresa’s and pulls her back towards the band. “Come’on, I’ll introduce you.”

She doesn’t see her reaction, but she feels the pull back as Theresa takes in what she’s said. Her steps falter and if Camila wasn’t pulling her forward, she thinks she might have stopped altogether. As it is, she follows Camila, stands at her side as they reach the band.

With a fresh set of eyes, Camila can see that they look the way she feels. Sleepy, loose limbed, slouched across the couches. Karen is chewing idly on her straw, Graham staring at her with a tired sort of fascination. Warren is rolling a joint, but his movements are slow and easily distracted; he keeps losing his grip as he and Graham attempt to hold a conversation. Only Eddie notices as Camila and Theresa make their way back to them.

He’s bent forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his folded hands. He’s watching her, intently, as they rejoin the group. His stare makes her blush; it’s stripped of all self consciousness, the lack of sobriety making his gaze piercing.

Camila swallows thickly and pulls her gaze away from his. She’d been acting stupid, but she hadn’t done anything. It wasn't as if he were some stranger she’d been flirting with. It was Eddie. Whatever had transpired between them had been born of drunken camaraderie. It hadn’t meant anything and there was no reason to be embarrassed. Even if embarrassment was burning bright and hot in the pit of her stomach, turning her cheeks red. Even if looking at him felt like staring at the sun.

“Hey guys,” she says, drawing their attention. The band looks up at her with hooded, bloodshot eyes. “This is my friend Theresa.“ She introduces the rest of them, and they respond with enthusiastic, if lethargic, greetings. Theresa smiles and nods and says how glad she is to finally meet them. But there’s an uncomfortable edge to her voice. Camila wishes she were a better host, a better friend so that she might make this less painful. But she does the best she can with her head swimming and her stomach rolling.

And all the while Eddie is watching her. She’s too drunk to parse out the way his eyes follow her but it makes her feel seen. Exposed, when all she wants to do is sink into the floor. She’d promised to introduce Theresa to Eddie, and if he keeps looking at her like that, she never will. Because with his eyes on her, observing her every move, the act of introduction feels wrong. It wasn’t; it was normal, an ordinary thing to do, but the thought chaffs against her like a too small pair of shoes. But she’d promised, and she would follow through. She would be a good friend. She could do this, despite the constricting tightness she feels in her chest.

She crosses to Eddie’s side, and he stares up at her. There’s a breathtaking hopefulness in his face that hurts to look at. Hope for what Eddie? What were you looking for? What do you want? She looks away, shoves his shoulder till he shifts closer to Warren.

“Sit here,” she says, waving Theresa over to the now empty spot. Theresa blinks at her, wide eyed, but crosses to the couch and sits gingerly where Camila is pointing. Camila watches as she shoots Eddie a quick smile.

“Eddie,” Camila says, and he looks back up at her, his expression horribly expectant. “Tell Theresa about the festival,” she says before stepping away from them. Before looking away. She squeezes in beside Karen on the other couch, taps her nails against her water glass, and tries to pay attention to whatever Karen and Graham are arguing about.

It’s hard though. She can hear Eddie talking to Theresa, the low rumble of his voice cutting through everything else. She hears Theresa’s laugh interspersed, and Camila tightens her grip on her glass, forces herself not to look. This was good. This was nice. She should want her two friends to get along. She doesn’t know why the thought feels so wrong.

The not knowing becomes unbearable and she allows herself a quick glance towards the other couch. Theresa is leaning towards Eddie, her hands and drink resting on her knees as she matches his position. She’s telling him something, some story, but Camila can’t pick up any of the words. There’s a buzzing in her ears, a fuzzy drone that makes her head spin. Her chest feels tight, her breathing shallow, limbs tense. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She must have had too much to drink because all she wants to do is breach the space between them and grab Eddie’s hand, drag him behind her and out into the empty LA streets.

He catches her eye, catching her watching him. His expression is a painful mix of confusion and hurt. She can feel his eyes scanning her face, can feel him trying to figure her out. His observance makes her breathless and she quickly looks away back to her drink. His questioning stare hurt to look at and she doesn’t understand what’s wrong with her, what’s wrong with him. He should be happy, he should be thanking her. She’d gone out of her way to introduce him to a beautiful, smart woman - isn’t that what every guy wanted. She remembers the girls that had been sitting with him when she’d arrived. Remembered the girls that smiled boldly at him from the crowd when the Six performed. Remembered the girls that screamed his name as if he’d hung the sun. Stared as if they were willing to do anything for him.

Camila looks at them from the side of her eye. She sees Theresa’s knee pressed against Eddie’s thigh. Their heads are turned towards each other, and she feels alone. She feels abandoned, and she blames it on the alcohol, but the creeping loneliness cuts into her heart and she needs some air.

When she stands, they both look at her, but she can’t meet their eyes. She wants to escape, to feel her emptiness alone. She wants to be a good friend, to separate them from her spiraling thoughts. She pauses at Theresa’s side, brushes her hair over her shoulder in response to her raised eyebrow. “You two talk,” she says, already turning away, “I’ll be right back. I just need some air.”

She pushes through the late night crowd, heading for the back door. She needs to get out, needs to feel the night against her skin. She needs to breathe.

As she finally makes it out the door, she collapses heavily against the side of the wall. She sucks in deep lungfuls of air, presses her palm to her heaving chest. This was a mistake, this was all a mistake. She didn’t know what was wrong with her, but it feels like she’s ruined everything. Paranoia sinks in, causing regret to thrum down to her bones. And she doesn’t know why this is so hard. Why it was so hard to make friends. So hard to keep them. Why it was so hard to starve off the crushing loneliness. Surely other people had done it, surely she wasn’t alone. But how? She didn’t know how to do it without feeling as tenderhearted and possessive and indecisive as a child. This feeling, this horrible pulse of wanting and regret, she didn’t want it. It didn’t fit into the lovely, wonderful, happy life she had dreamed for herself. She wanted her life to be perfect. She wanted to be perfect, and this drumbeat of greedy indecision did not fit into the pretty life she had imagined.

Her thoughts are shattered as the door slams open and Eddie stumbles out. He’s bathed in gold from the light above the door, his brows drawn in irritation as he searches for her. And she knows she’s drunk because there is something so breathtakingly beautiful about it all; that he could be here and she could be here and they could have come so far. So far from the treehouse behind her house. Together. And the ugly knot of fear tightens in her chest because she could not lose him. She could not live without him.

When he finally spots her, he shoves his hands in his pockets, and even from a distance she can see the way his jaw clenches. He makes his way over, slow, measured, despite the hurried way he had burst through the door.

She feels hidden, the light not quite reaching the edge of the building where she’s tucked herself away. As he reaches her side, she expects to feel caught, as if he’d stumbled upon the truth of her miserable life. Instead she feels found.

“Did you leave Theresa in there alone?” she asks, because that’s what she’s supposed to ask. It’s what a good friend would ask. Her voice sounds frayed and loud after the din inside.

Eddie doesn’t respond for a long time. He looks at her, looks away, and she can see the muscle in his jaw tick.

“What the hell Cam?” he finally says. The words are strained, not loud, but there’s a vulnerable intensity to them that makes her flinch back against the wall. Hurt, confusion, anger flicker interchangeably behind his eyes, and she shies away, turning her head so she doesn’t have to meet his gaze.

“What?” she asks, her voice purposefully lofty. She knows something is wrong, she can feel it aching beneath her skin, but she can’t put the feeling into words. She can’t figure out what’s wrong with her, and she’s scared that he can. That he’ll tell her exactly where she’s gone wrong. Exactly how damaged she truly is. She couldn’t bear it, to be seen so completely.

When he doesn’t say anything, she looks back at him. His nose is sort of scrunched up, his eyes squinting as if it hurt to look at her. He grinds his boot into the loose gravel at their feet, and it’s his turn to turn away as if the words are painful to say. “Were you trying to set me up with your friend?”

It feels as if the floor’s fallen out from under her, and she gets the same swooping feeling in the pit of her stomach as when she misses a step on the stairs. It knocks the wind from her lungs even though it was true. It’s exactly what she’d been trying to do. It was supposed to be something nice, something friendly. So why does he say it like she’s spit in his face? Why does she feel like she’s stabbed him in the back?

Camila shrugs. She doesn’t want to confirm it. Doesn’t want to say the words out loud. “She wanted to meet you,” she says instead.

Eddie swears under his breath, turns his back to her, kicking up gravel as he paces further into the parking lot. When he turns back, there’s a deep red flush up his neck, across his cheeks. He looks miserably embarrassed, but more so, there’s anger flashing across his features. His jaw is clenched, his eyes hard and narrowed. “Then what the hell were you doing sitting on my lap?” The words sound as if they’ve been pulled out of him, but there’s hurt and anger threaded through every syllable. “Touching my hair- What the hell was that shit?”

Frustration is radiating off of him. It clings to every word he volleys at her, and she can feel it like heat radiating off a flame. It feels as if he’s slapped her and she stares at him, stunned. “That was just messing around,” she finally says, but her words are thin. She’s face to face with the consequences of the greedy reckless energy that had been driving her all evening. She wants to bury it, ignore her mistakes. She wants to go back to her pretty perfect (lonely) life. “We were just drunk. You know it doesn’t mean anything.”

Eddie winces, and Camila wants to take back her words. And replace them with what? It was the truth: it didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything.

He’s looking at her, those big eyes staring at her and she wants to run away. Wants to avoid the consequences of her actions. But she stands her ground- she’d done nothing wrong. She had nothing to be ashamed of.

Eddie sighs, looks up to the stars and Camila watches his throat bob as he swallows thickly. “It sure felt like something, Cam,” he says, and she’s reminded of the heat of him beneath her thighs. She feels her of skin flush. “It sure fucking felt like you were trying to do something.”

“Eddie…” she says, but she has no follow up.

When he looks back at her, the anger has faded, replaced with pure frustration. “I don’t know if you were trying to make Billy jealous, or get rid of those girls. Or if this was all some sort of power play-”

“I wasn’t-” she interjects, offended at the accusation, but he cuts her off.

“But I know how smart you are Camila. I know you weren’t just messing around.” There’s a hard edge to his voice that makes guilt take root in her chest.

“Eddie, we’re friends-” She tries to defend herself, but he stops her with a hard shake of his head.

“Then fucking act like it,” he says, and frustration is seeping from every word. His eyes are wide, desperate. “Just be my friend and stop-”

He stops himself, wincing, jaw clenching, as he looks away from her and back towards the dark parking lot. But Camila feels cornered, exposed, and she pokes at it. Digs for his missing words.

“Stop what?”

He looks back at her and he looks so fucking beautiful. Sad and hurt, but beautiful. He stares at her and she stares back, and she feels his unspoken words, she feels the space between them stretch and contract like a living thing. She feels their history, their future. She sees the pain and hope burning behind his eyes, and she has to look away. She can’t see those things. She refuses to see them. If she sees them, really sees them, she’ll never be able to go back to her pretty life, her loving husband. Her perfect house.

She looks away and he sighs, deep, tired, exhausted. She watches from the side of her eye as he fishes a cigarette from his pocket, lights it. The smoke tickles her nose and she hears him take a deep inhale. He exhales, drawn out and purposeful, before he responds.

“Just stop… Just be my friend okay? Just act like my friend and don’t pull me into your plans.”

Camila feels miserable, a hollow guilty feeling forming in her stomach and she doesn’t know how to respond. She hears his boots against the gravel before she can wrap her head around what’s transpired. “Where are you going?” she calls out to him, her voice weak.

He’s walking away from the bar, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He doesn’t turn around when she calls to him, and when he answers, his voice is muffled by the cigarette in his mouth. “I’ll be back. Just need some air.”

She takes a few stumbling steps after him before she pulls herself to a stop. “Eddie,” she calls instead, “Are we okay?”

He doesn’t stop, looks at her over his shoulder, the lit end of his cigarette a small pinprick of light against the dark. “Yeah, Cam,” he calls back, “we’re good.” But he’s already been swallowed by the dark of the night, his voice already sounding very far away.

—-

Camila had woken up with a splitting headache and a guilty conscience. In the bright light of day, everything about the night before had seemed crass, sloppy, foolish. She’d been ridiculous, unbearably reckless with the delicate balance of her life. Whatever had happened, whatever she had felt, it had no place in the life she was trying to build.

She made breakfast for Julia and Billy, and drank her coffee with as much enthusiasm as she could manage. She feels grateful for her family, for the life they’ve created.

But there was still a shard of guilt lodged in her throat. The feeling that she had hurt Eddie, that she might have damaged their relationship in some irreversible way. The thought weighs on her, heavy and somber, and she couldn’t bear it if it were true. She couldn’t bear it if their decades-long friendship was ruined because of one night of drunken laughter.

She spends the morning baking, her thoughts cycling through her hazy memories of the night before. She bakes and thinks, and regrets and hopes. And then she packs a bag and walks the three blocks down to the old house.

At the front step she pauses, worries her lip between her teeth. Normally she’d walk in, her familiarity with the house holding strong. But after the night before, she hesitates. Eddie had said they were okay, but she remembers his face, there beneath the golden glow of the bar’s back light. The hurt in his eyes. He’d said they were okay, but he hadn’t come back in. Hadn’t said goodbye.

Camila leans against the door frame, stares into the house that used to be hers. The door is open, and she looks in past the black lattice of the screen door. It hadn’t changed much, but even the smallest changes felt monumental. The neverending passage of time laying its hand on the place she still considered home.

There’s a movement from the living room, a flash of a dark blue button down. Heart thudding painfully in her chest, Camila reaches out and knocks on the door, her knuckles wrapping three times against the flimsy metal frame.

Eddie cranes his neck, stares at her from across the room, but makes no effort to come closer. He looks surprised to see her, and Camila swallows her own discomfort in the face of his. She would fix this. She would put things back to normal.

“Are you gonna let me in?” She calls through the screen door. He shifts from foot to foot as if he can’t decide if he’s going to ignore her or not. He must decide avoidance isn’t an option because he finally crosses the room, his mouth drawn in a tight line across his face. “I brought cookies,” she says as he stares at her through the screen. She holds them up to demonstrate. “My mom’s recipe.”

It sways him, like she knew it would, and he finally pushes open the door, grabbing the Tupperware from her as she passes. “What are you doing here?” he says, his voice rough with sleep and tight with apprehension.

Camila crosses her arms tight across her stomach before spreading them wide in a shrug. “I wanted to apologize for last night,” she says, leaning against the back of the couch. He crosses to the kitchen, eyes her warily as he passes. “I felt bad… about everything.“

“So these are apology cookies?” he asks, one of them already halfway to his mouth. He raises an eyebrow, but the hurt and anger from the night before is gone. “Cause you tried to pimp me out?”

Camila’s mouth drops open. “I did not-“ she sputters in protest, but she cuts herself off as Warren crosses the room on the way to the garage.

“Sweet, are those chocolate chip?” he asks, eyeing the box. But Eddie holds them out of reach.

“Fuck off man,” he says, his mouth full, “these are my apology cookies.”

Warren scoffs at him and looks to Camila for support, but all she can do is cover her smile with her hand, offering a not especially apologetic ‘sorry.’ He mutters something under his breath, looking between them with narrowed eyes, before he heads outside.

Camila watches him go before she continues. “The truth is,” she says, perching on the arm of the couch, and stares down at the beaded bracelet on her wrist, “I didn’t even want to introduce you to her. I mean she’s great,” she hurries to say. “But, uh, I only did it cause she wanted to meet you and I really wanted to be her friend. I guess I just wanted her to like me.”

The words hurt more than she expected them to. They feel like a failure, as if the gaping holes in her life were on display. As if she’d been found lacking.

Camila hears the tupperware scraping against the counter but doesn’t look up. Her eyes are starting to wet with tears and she feels stupid. She feels flawed. “Does that sound totally insane?” she finally asks, forcing a smile, and a breathy laugh that she doesn’t mean.

Eddie comes to stand next to her. He smells like soap and coffee, and he bumps his elbow into hers. “Nah,” he says, and when he shrugs, his shirt is scratchy against her bare arm. “Lame, yes, but not insane.” His lips quirk up into a smirking smile, lines forming at the corners of his eyes as he looks down at her.

“Shut up,” she laughs, punching his shoulder. She rolls her eyes and feels forgiven. He was real, he was there, and he was smiling at her. The achy worry she’d felt all morning begins to dissipate; she hadn’t ruined things. But she remembers the possessive grip that had possessed her all evening, and she knows that she isn’t alright. There was something eating at her, something that had broken at the same time Billy had broken her trust. Her blind faith that things would work out had been shattered, and in breaking, had started a ripple through her life. She felt fragile at the strangest of times, and she knows now that the Diamond Head festival had brought forth more pain than she had realized. It had brought up all the pain and longing and abandonment she had been trying to put behind for the sake of her family. It had brought it all to the forefront and turned her into a desperate clawing person. A person desperate to avoid the loneliness she had felt before.

Camila sighs. “I’m just so tired of being lonely.”

“I know,” he says, and somehow she thinks he does. The smile he gives her is small, but it’s real. It hits her straight down to her heart, and lands somewhere between her mother and Julia. It’s the smile of someone that sees her, someone that knows the words she can’t quite say. She leans her head against his shoulder, matching her own breathing to the steady rise and fall of his.

“When we moved here, I had no idea making friends would be this hard,” she says, her voice still small with embarrassment. She wants to whisper the words, hold them tight so that only he can hear. She doesn’t tell him about the anxious waiting, the desperate longing. About the empty house. But she thinks he somehow knows. If anyone does, it’s Eddie. Eddie who’s known her since she was five years old. Who’s seen her in every state and every change of her life. She feels his shoulders shake with a wry laugh, and the sound settles into her chest like warm honey.

He pulls a cigarette from his pocket, passes her one. “It doesn’t help that people here are so fucking weird,” he says after a beat, holding out the lighter for her. Camila snorts at his words, surprised, amused. “This girl asked me to sign her tits the other night. And when I asked what her name was, she said she wasn’t looking for anything serious. Fuck, I didn’t know first names amounted to going steady in LA.”

“Eddie,” she gasps, her mouth twisting into a surprised grin “she did not.” But her scoffing laugh quickly turns into a fit of giggles, and she leans into him. And he’s laughing too; she can feel his chest heaving, warm, steady where her arm presses into him, and all the leftover tension between them melts away. It leaves her calm and steady and even headed. She feels a warmth spread through her, and she knows things are going to be okay.

“Promise me we’ll always be friends,” she finally says as her laughter fades. She catches his hand in hers, as she’s done a thousand times before. There are calluses on each of his fingers, and his hand wraps fully around her own, squeezing tight. The look he gives her is impossibly soft, but there’s steel beneath, a determination that gives her strength. His mouth twists up into a smile, his dimples just barely visible.

“Always.”

Eddie: His skin feels tight and warm to the touch as he lays in bed that night. He’d gotten a sunburn across his shoulders and the bridge of his nose. It would probably hurt in the morning, but for now, he could handle it. He presses his thumb against the pink on his forearm, reveling in the heated sting the pressure brings. He stretches out, his sheets cool against his tired limbs, and tries to commit the day to memory.

Camila had stayed, after her apology, after they’d split her tupperware of cookies. Karen and Graham came back from the store, and Billy brought Julia over in her stroller. They blew off band practice, despite Billy’s protests, and spent the day in the garden. Graham grilled them burgers and Karen poured them sweet wine, and they all sat in a circle in the grass watching Julia crawl between them. The sun beat down on them all, their laughter carrying out across the Canyon, and it almost felt like the old days. When LA was still shiny and new, when they had nowhere to go but up. Before things got complicated.

Eddie thinks about Camila, her smile beaming as she layed in the grass, her head on Karen’s lap. He can’t help but think about what happened at the bar the night before, but his thoughts keep straying to the way she looked sprawled out in the yard, chatting with Warren and playing with Julia. The golden tan of her skin, the shine of her hair, the way her dimples showed when she smiled at him.

He’d tried to set her aside, had tried to put distance between them. He’d tried so hard to stop loving her. But she’d been there, on his mind the entire time they were in Hawaii. And once they’d gotten back, she’d been there, touching him, holding him, smiling at him in every way he’d always wanted. And it had hurt to realize that what was impossible for him, was so utterly easy for her. All she ever did, all she would ever do was see him as a friend.

But she needed him, she needed him to be her friend. He could see that now. The pain and desperation in her voice that morning. The loneliness that seemed to cling to her like a second skin. She needed a friend, more than she needed his love. Because he did love her. He’d tried to stop and failed. But he could be her friend, he could be good at that. He would be there for her. However long she needed, he would always be there for her. Always.

I love you, I love you, I love you, please let me try.

Chapter Text

But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do, once you find them

I've looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go through time with

Eddie: “Why are you staring at Daisy Jones?”

He can’t help laughing as Camila jumps, startled.

“Oh!” She gasps, spinning to face him. Once she realizes who it is, her brow furrows and she grabs his jacket, pulling him behind the latticed pergola with her.

“What are you doing?” he asks again, his lips twisting in amusement as he takes another sip of his beer. Camila is leaning forward just enough to see around the vine covered lattice. Eddie leans forward too, peering over her shoulder, and sure enough, there was Daisy Jones. “Why are you spying on her?”

Camila leans back against the decking and crosses her arms. “I’m not spying,” she huffs. There’s something about the stubborn pout she adopts that reminds him of Julia, and he laughs again.

Eddie looks back and Daisy has left, weaving her way further into the garden. He fishes a carton of cigarettes out of his pocket, hands one to Camila. “Come’on Nancy Drew,” he says, nodding to the low garden wall, “she’s gone.”

Camila follows him, and they sit, knees pulled up as the housewarming party unfurls below them. She leans over as he holds out the lighter and there’s the barest scent of vanilla. But mostly he smells smoke and dried leaves carried through the Canyon as the seasons began to change. It had been a month since that night at the bar, and he’d only seen Camila a few times since.

But it was okay. It was fine. He feels settled, happy. Accepting. He could move forward, without an aching heart. He could reorient the sun, focus on moving forward instead of fixating on what-ifs. And if his heart still pounded against his ribs when she smiled at him, he would survive. He could set his love aside, let it burn quietly as he pushed onward.

He’d been busy anyways. Busy working on the new songs, practicing for the new album, and the distance had been good. They’d been too close before, he realized that now, stuck together in that little house. Constant, constant, constant, her presence sinking into his skin and taking root. The separation had been painful, but necessary. And now, a couple months passed, he realized it’s what he’d needed. Some space to breathe and think and let go. It had leveled his head out a bit. Cleared his mind and helped him focus on what was important. The music. They were so close to making it big, he could almost taste it. After Honeycomb, after the Diamond Head Festival - if they could keep the momentum going, they would be there. He didn’t have time to let his feelings get in the way.

He looks at Camila, her elbows braced against her knees, cigarette held delicately in her fingers, hair thrown over her shoulders, and lets himself settle into the familiar beats of friendship. Into the easy camaraderie that they had cultivated over nearly two decades. It was easier anyways. Easier to be her friend than to love her.

“Well,” he says, waving his cigarette out towards the patio in front of them. They can see Daisy’s red hair even from the distance, watch as she flits restlessly from group to group, conversation to conversion. “What’s with the espionage?”

Camila wrinkles her nose at him, but her gaze is fixed on Daisy. “Do you think it was a mistake to invite her?” she finally asks.

Eddie shrugs. “You’re trying to get her in the band, right?”

Camila nods, taking a long drag on her cigarette. “Do you think it’s a mistake? I don’t know her very well.”

“I already told you I think it’s a good idea.” Camila had called him the other day, asked what he thought about Daisy joining the band. Eddie didn’t know Daisy very well either, but he couldn’t deny that they sounded good together. He still gets shivers when he remembers the crowd's reaction to their performance at Diamond Head. If it was like that everytime, he doesn’t know how it could be a bad idea for her to join. “But you know convincing Billy is gonna be the problem. Which I’m guessing is why you invited her.”

She hums, non-committal, but from the way she looks away, he knows it’s the truth. Eddie smirks. “You should’ve called Teddy, he’s the only one Billy listens to.” When she doesn’t respond, Eddie gapes at her. “Did you?” He bursts out laughing when she bites her lip, still refusing to meet his eye.

“It didn’t help,” she finally says, “he said it was Billy’s decision.”

Eddie snorts. “You’re incredible,” he says, quickly bringing his cigarette up to his mouth to hide the sincerity in his voice. “Think he’ll go for it?” he quickly asks.

Camila shrugs. “I hope so. You guys sounded really good together. But you know how he is.”

“Yeah I do,” he says, rolling his eyes. They’d been playing together for seven years, and it was still all about Billy. “I guess we’ll just wait and see.”

Camila sighs. “We’ll wait and see,” she echoes, bringing her cigarette up to her lips.

There’s a long beat of comfortable silence. The night air is cooling off around them, and he can feel the heat of her beside him; their knees are just barely touching, his sleeve brushing against her bare arm. It was a good party - lots of people, plenty of booze, and good music. Camila had strung lights up around the yard and scattered chairs around. Everywhere he looked, people were smiling, laughing, enjoying themselves, and Eddie was struck by the fact that Camila, who had put all this together, was content to sit off to the side with him.

“Is Karen seeing anyone?” she suddenly asks, breaking Eddie from his thoughts.

“What?” He frowns at the question, confused by the abrupt change in conversion.

“Karen,” Camila says again, “she’s not seeing anyone, is she?”

Eddie squints at her. “I think she’d tell you, before she told me.”

“Yeah, well,” Camila beams, as if he’d paid her a compliment, “But have you seen anyone around the house? Has she been going out at all?”

Eddie scrunches his nose, tries to think, but comes up blank. Karen was a hell of a musician, and objectively, she was hot. But somewhere between shitty gigs at McNasty’s, she’d become one of the guys. He knew Graham had harbored a bit of a crush on her, but he honestly hadn’t given much thought to her love life in months. At the very least, he would’ve remembered if there were strange men wandering around the house. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” she says, nodding as if he’d provided some deep insight. She knocks her shoulder into his and points down to the patio where Karen and Graham are bent close together in conversation. “It’s nice that they spend so much time together, don’t you think?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, laughs at the earnest expression on her face. He had no idea what she was talking about, but he nods. “Right.”

Camila: There’s an energy bubbling through her and under her skin, threatening to spill out in waves of tears and giddy laughter. She holds it in- but just barely. Her cheeks hurt from smiling and she has to set the letter down on the table before her shaking hands ruin it. As it is, she runs her palms over it, smoothing out the creases and admiring the neat type, with her name printed all crisp and professional on top.

She covers her mouth with her hand - she doesn’t know why, there’s no one but Julia there to hear her breathless giggles. But she’s almost embarrassed by how stunned, how elated she feels. She can’t stop reading the letter, over and over and over, as if the words might disappear if she looks away for too long.

Dear Ms. Alverez,

Reading her name gives her a thrill straight down to her stomach and she has to pick the letter up again. She’d submitted using her maiden name, not wanting her work to be influenced by Billy or the Six. She wanted to do this on her own, wanted to make her own name, and seeing it in the dark print, she knows she’s made the right choice.

We’re pleased to inform you that your submitted photo, 2.2.75 on the Strip, has been chosen for publication. The photograph will be included in the July issue of Rolling Stone Magazine.

The letter goes on, describing the compensation, the terms, the article her photo would be attached to. But those first two sentences… she’s stuck on them, her eyes fixating on the words till they begin to blur. Rolling Stone Magazine. She feels lightheaded and sits down heavily on the sofa.

“Can you believe it?” she asks Julia. Her daughter shakes the toy in her hand happily.

It was just one picture, and the subject was nothing groundbreaking. She’d snapped the photo a couple months earlier. Stark black and white, the figure in it, an anonymous woman, hair long, down to her waist, bends to fix the strap of her heel. Her hair falls down hiding her features, but the light from the row of clubs behind her casts a nearly blinding halo around her, despite the late hour. The magazine would be publishing it attached to a small article about summer events on Sunset Strip.

It wasn’t her first picture to get published; there had been a couple, here and there. One in the local newspaper, a couple in Seventeen magazine, and a handful of shoots she’d done for advertisements. But this was different. This was Rolling Stone.

Camila reads the letter aloud to Julia, runs her finger along the page. She wants to scream from the rooftop that she was going to be in Rolling Stone.

She wants to tell Billy.

Excitement overflowing, she packs Julia into the car, neatly tucks the letter into her purse, and drives down to the studio. She doesn’t want to disturb them, she knows this album has been a challenge. Billy’s come home late and exhausted every night since they’d begun writing. But she can’t wait. She can’t sit home bursting with this unreleased happiness. Even if she has to sit in the lobby till they take a break, she will. She wants to share this with him. She wants to see him smile at her, to see the pride in his eyes. This is what they were working towards, both of them. His album, her photos - it was why they’d come to LA in the first place.

She should’ve realized something was off when she doesn’t see Billy’s car in the parking lot. But her head is fuzzy with happiness, and she doesn’t notice until it’s too late.

“Hey Deb,” she beams at the woman in the lobby. Julia is sitting heavy on her hip, and Camila shifts her weight as she pushes open the door.

“Cam!” Deb smiles at her, dropping the papers she’d been filing on the desk and coming to greet her. She gives Camila a kiss on the cheek before turning to Jules. “God she’s getting big,” she says, pinching Julia’s cheek. “And so cute. Her birthday’s coming up, right?”

“I know,” Camila sighs, pressing her cheek to the soft downy hair on her daughter’s head. “And yeah. We’re just gonna have a couple people over in the backyard. Give her some cake. You’re invited of course.”

“You’re sweet,” Deb says, crossing back around to her desk. There’s a light flashing on the telephone and Camila doesn’t want to keep the other woman from her work.

“Is Billy in there?” She asks, nodding towards the sound booth. She thinks she can hear the steady beat of Warren’s drums, but the heavy doors block out all other sounds. She doesn’t think they’ve started recording yet anyways. Billy’s hands were still stained blue with ink from writing.

Deb looks up, and her face does something strange, twisting into something close to a grimace for a fraction of a second. “Oh. No, sorry hun, he went out for a bit.”

“Oh.” Camila frowns, looking back towards the recording booth. She knows she saw the band’s van outside, and she swears she can hear them just faintly through the walls. But where was Billy? “Know when he’ll be back?”

Deb shakes her head, but seems hesitant to meet her eye. Even when Camila sits across from her on the faded couch. Even as she brings Camila a cup of coffee as the hour stretches on.

Camila shifts unfortunately, Julia on her lap. She’d brought a few toys, but she knew they wouldn’t keep Julia occupied for much longer. She’d been there for nearly an hour, and still no sign of Billy. She was growing restless, and the excitement that had brought her there in the first place was beginning to wane. She looks over to where her purse is resting next to her. The corner of the envelope peeks out, crisp white against the dark brown of her bag.

Maybe she should just go home. She could tell Billy later. It was just a letter after all. Just one photo. Just a small article. She looks over at Deb; her brow is furrowed, pen stuck between her teeth as she listens to someone on the other end of the phone line. Camila suddenly feels silly for coming there at all. They were busy, all of them, Billy, Teddy, Deb, the band. She shouldn’t have come to interrupt, not for something so trivial. Not for something that could wait till Billy got home.

Camila is starting to pack Julia’s things when the door to the recording booth finally opens.

“Cam?” Eddie is staring at her, a confused smile beginning to grow into a pleased grin, a cigarette halfway to his mouth. “What are you guys doing here?”

Her hand drops to her purse; she can feel the envelope burning through the leather. “We were just waiting for Billy. I had something to tell him, but Deb said he went out.”

“Ah.” He does that same sort of grimace that Deb did - something about it fills her stomach with ice. “Have you been waiting long?” He asks, looking down at the cigarette twisting in his fingers.

Cam notices Deb has disappeared, and she shakes her head. She doesn’t want him to know she’s been sitting around for almost an hour. “Not very,” she says instead. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

He sort of winces, stretching back and running his hands through his hair. When he finally responds it’s with a purposefully lofty tone that makes Camila instantly suspicious. “I dunno if he is,” he says, crouching down next to Julia who’s crawled over to sit on the couch. Camila narrows her eyes as he avoids her gaze. When he notices, he’s quick to explain. “He went over to Teddy’s pool house to write.”

Camila frowns. It's the first she’s heard of this. “By himself?”

“Uh, no. Daisy’s with him. Apparently we’re too distracting for them to work here.”

There’s a thudding in her chest that spreads to the pulse in her wrists, twists in her stomach and turns her vision hazy. “Oh.”

She thinks of the ink staining Billy’s fingers. Thinks of the way he tucks his face between her shoulder blades when he finally makes it to bed. Thinks of the wrinkled notebook pages he shoves hastily in his pockets every morning before he leaves. Thinks of how he never plays his songs for her anymore.

“Oh.”

“I mean, I don't know,” Eddie is saying, standing with Julia in his arms. Julia slaps her small fist against his chest happily. “He might come back. Sometimes he does.”

But sometimes isn’t good enough. She can’t wait around for sometimes. Her cheeks heat with embarrassment, and she looks back at the corner of the envelope sticking out. “It’s fine. It wasn’t important anyway.” She flips her hair over her shoulder, forces a smile. “I should go. I don’t want to interrupt you guys.”

She begins packing up Julia’s toys with shaking hands, slinging her bag over her shoulder. It was a mistake to come here.

“Wait, Cam,” Eddie grabs her elbow till she turns to look at him. There’s a crease between his eyes, Julia’s head tucked under his chin. “You should hang out for a bit. Hear the new stuff. It’s starting to sound really good.”

Camila hesitates, shifting on her feet. She would think he was pitying her, but there’s something so earnest in his expression. “Alright,” she says, forcing another thin smile, “but only cause you asked nicely.”

Eddie grins, nods for her to follow him into the studio. Julia is still on his hip as he pushes open the door.

“Look who I found,” he says, and Karen, Warren, and Graham cheer when they see her. It makes her smile for real, her previous embarrassment quickly slipping away.

“Hey guys,” she says, grinning as she goes to sit beside Karen at the keyboard. Graham had already wrestled Julia away from Eddie. “How is the album coming? Billy’s barely said anything about it.”

She doesn’t miss the way Karen tenses next to her, but she chooses to ignore the involuntary motion, looks instead to Warren who’s spinning his drumsticks in his hand with impressive speed. “Good enough to buy me another boat, I bet,” he says with a laugh.

“Do you want to hear?” Karen asks, flexing her fingers out along the keyboard. Her nails are painted a deep purple, like little jewels against the black and white. She raises an eyebrow at Camila.

For one impulsive second, she almost says no. She’d been the first one to hear all the songs for Seven, Eight, Nine. Some of her fondest memories were laying in bed next to Billy as he worked through the choruses of each. It almost feels wrong to hear the songs from someone else. But they’d been working on the album for weeks - that ship had long since passed. At this rate, the album would be out before she heard any of the songs on it, and that thought is too sad to contemplate. She needed to stop being so precious about these things; there would be plenty of songs, plenty of albums.

“Yes please,” she says, moving to take Julia back from Graham. They settle onto the beat up couch in the corner as the band moves back into position. “I’m ready to be blown away.”

“Jesus,” Eddie mutters around his cigarette, “no pressure or anything.”

But he was right: they were sounding good. It’s different from their older stuff. Not quite angry, but there’s a certain steel cutting under the lyrics. Parts are clearly Billy - she can pick out his rhymes and rhythms, the way her husband’s words fit together. And there are parts she’s sure are Daisy. They’re sweeping, grand, almost abstract, but the words are needle sharp, straight down to the very meat of the thing.

But there are parts, large chunks of lyrics where she just isn’t sure. Where the styles blend together so seamlessly, she isn’t sure she’d be able to separate them with a scalpel. It’s so different from anything they’ve done before, Camila almost doesn’t know what to think.

None of the songs are exactly done, the band is quick to point out. They’re all perfectionists in their own way, eager to let her know that it will get better. Eddie and Graham take turns singing the lyrics, their voices dropping in and out if they forget the words. They stop frequently, voices volleyed back and forth as they debate the tempo, the intensity. But God, it was good.

She wants to sit there all day, wants to insists they play all the songs on repeat, her own private jukebox. But Karen calls for a break, stretching out her fingers and asking if anyone wants to grab a soda from the vending machine. Graham and Warren file out after her, but Eddie stays back. He plops down on the couch next to Camila, long legs stretched out in front of him, throwing an arm over the back of the couch behind her.

“So,” he says, crossing one ankle over his knee, “what’d you think?”

“It was good,” she says, almost surprised by how much she means it. She’d gotten used to listening to half formed songs. Gotten used to seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, imagining how good it would be when it was all put together. But this… even without proper vocals, proper mixing, even without the tempo being finalized, it was really good. “I’m- wow. Really, Eddie, thanks for making me stay. That was amazing.”

He positively beams, the straight white line of his teeth shining bright under the studio lights. It was a full smile, a real smile, not the smirking grin he usually gave. Happiness thuds against her ribs at the sight, pleased she’d managed to pull that smile out of him.

But the brief flicker of happiness reminds her of why she’d come to the studio in the first place, her eyes darting to her purse she’d set down by her feet.

Eddie must sense her distraction because he leans forward into her line of sight, brows crinkling. “Hey, are you alright?” he asks, “you never said what you were here for.”

Camila chews her lip, looking up at Eddie’s concerned frown. She’d come to the studio to talk to Billy, because she’d wanted him to be the first to know. But she thinks of him off with Daisy. She thinks about how she isn’t the first one to hear his songs anymore. Thinks about how it was just a letter. About how it really shouldn’t matter all that much. It shouldn’t matter who she told first.

And it was fitting, wasn’t it, that it would be Eddie? Eddie who’d seen some of her very first photographs, who’d posed for photos when she’d gotten her very first camera. He deserved to know first just as much as Billy did. And really, what did it matter?

“Here,” she says, pulling the letter from her bag and handing it to him. The paper feels warm between her fingers. “It sounds more exciting than it is. It’s just the one picture.”

But even with her qualifiers, Eddie’s expression nearly splits with unbridled happiness as he begins to read. Like a dam opening, she watches his face flood with excitement as his eyes scan the page. His entire face lights up until he’s nearly glowing, beaming at her with such pure joy that she has to look away, her face heating under his gaze.

“Cam,” he finally says, his voice bright with astonishment, “is this real? You’re going to be in Rolling Stone?”

Camila passes a hand over her mouth, feeling the urge to hide the smile creeping over her face. “Well, my picture is.”

He laughs, breathless with excitement. “Holy shit,” he says, almost under his breath, almost as if he couldn’t believe what she was saying. “Oh my god. Oh my god Cam, that’s incredible.” He reaches out to her, shakes her shoulder, his smile stretched wide. Then he laughs, sounding almost stunned, and reaches for her, pulls her into his arms in a breathtaking hug.

Camila allows a full smile to form, her face buried in his shoulder. She allows her earlier excitement and happiness to return as she pulls him close, returns his hug. It was incredible. She was going to be in Rolling fucking Stone Magazine.

When he pulls back, he’s still smiling, gazing at her with a terribly fond expression. “How the hell did you keep this to yourself?” he asks, folding the letter back up with careful movements, as if it were something precious. “You listened to us fuck around for an hour and the whole time you had this in your bag?” He gives the letter back to her with a shake of his head and a rueful smile.

She shrugs. “I would’ve told you eventually.”

He snorts. “Eventually. Jesus Christ, this is Rolling Stone. Can we get a little more enthusiasm please?”

Camila laughs, her excitement bubbling back up. “Okay,” she says, unable to stop herself from bouncing up on the couch, her hands clapping together. “It’s amazing. I never thought- Okay, well, I’d hoped it’d happen, but to actually see it… And it’s just a small picture, but it’s mine! And it’s a foot in the door.”

He’s watching her ramble with obvious pride etched into the lines of his face. His eyes are shining and she doesn’t feel embarrassed or silly or like she’s overreacting anymore. She feels like bursting she’s so happy.

“Are you going to tell the others?” he asks. They can hear them in the hall through the slight gap where someone’s propped open the door. They’ll be coming back in soon. Camila isn’t sure if she’ll be able to settle her beaming grin before they do.

And what the hell? She’s flying, her cheeks sore from smiling and she wants to share her good news. She wants to share this with her family.

—-

There’s a chorus of whooping congratulations after she tells the rest of the band. They pass around her letter with hungry, gleaming eyes. It’s thrilling to have their praise and cheers. Almost as if they were sharing in her good fortune, as if her win was theirs too. They insist on taking her out to eat after they wrap practice for the day. They buy her a drink and take turns holding Julia and brag to the waiter about her photo. And the fact that Billy isn’t there hurts like a thorn in her side, but she allows herself to be buoyed along by her excitement. Let’s the enthusiasm shared by Karen and Eddie and Warren and Graham sink into her skin.

When they part ways outside the restaurant, the sun has already gone down. They each hug her under the glow of the streetlight, as Graham straps Julia into her car seat. There’s another round of congratulations thrown her way as she pulls out of the parking lot and she’s still smiling as she drives home. Smiling as she puts Julia in her crib. Smiling as she brushes her teeth and gets ready for bed.

But then, she’s there, laying in her cold bed, the night silent around her, waiting for her husband who has yet to come home. And the smile slips away. She stares at the moonlight coming in from the window and her happiness fades.

She’d gotten used to Billy’s late nights, gotten used to going to sleeping alone. But that was before. She’d thought- she’d assumed he was at the studio with the band all these long hours spent away. And she knows there isn’t anything inherently wrong with the fact that it’s just been Daisy instead. They were the writers, of course they would need to spend time together. But this revelation doesn’t fit with the mental image she’s been harboring. She’s not a jealous person, not naturally suspicious, but the fact that Billy hasn’t even mentioned this arrangement sets her pulse racing.

She’s still awake when the door finally creaks open two hours later.

“Hey,” she says, propping herself up on her elbow as Billy comes in. He jumps slightly at the sound of her voice.

“You're still up,” he observes, dropping his clothes in the hamper. He’s already showered, a towel wrapped around his waist. “Sorry it’s so late.”

Camila watches him move around the room, half hidden in the moonlight. She’s been biting her nails, she realizes belatedly, and shoves her hand under the pillow. Billy doesn’t notice the movement, doesn’t bend to greet her, or ask about her day. She waits for it, lets the silence between them stretch, but he gives her no opening. There’s no subtle way to bring up the news she’s wanted to tell him all day.

“Rolling Stone is going to publish one of my pictures,” she finally says, her words landing heavy in the silence. “In the July issue.”

Billy looks over at her, finally meets her gaze. His eyes widen in surprise and the corner of his mouth ticks up into a smile, but she can tell, even in the darkness that she hasn’t shocked him. He isn’t beaming with excitement or pride like she’d imagined. Like she’d hoped. He doesn’t lift her into his arms or insist they celebrate. Instead he leans forward, tangles his fingers in the hair at the back of her head and presses a kiss to her forehead. “That’s great, baby. I’m happy for you.”

Happy for you? What the fuck?

He’s already turned away from her, bending down to pull on a pair of sweatpants. When he turns back, and lays in bed, he wraps his arm around her waist. But it doesn’t feel comforting, not in the way it used to. She rolls over, staring at the ceiling. There’s a hollow pit in her stomach, right beneath where his hand rests against her skin.

“You know,” Billy says into the dark. She doesn’t turn to look at him and it turns out it doesn’t even fucking matter. “Daisy said she might still have some contacts at Rolling Stone. She might be able to get someone out to talk about the album.”

Camila doesn’t respond. Frankly, she doesn’t give a fuck. Who the fuck did he think he was, thinking about some other woman while he was laying in bed next to her? Thinking about himself when she’d just told him about the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to her?

“How was practice today? You didn’t say.” She wonders if he hears the sharp challenge barely concealed beneath her words. But her voice is quiet so she doesn’t disturb Julia, and he’s too far up his own ass to notice anyways.

She gives him the opening he didn’t give her. Leaves space between them so he can tell the truth. Just tell me, she wants to shout, just say you were with Daisy. Just say the damn thing so we can move forward.

But he doesn’t. “It was good,” he says instead, “it’s coming along really well. I think you’ll like it.” And it’s not a lie, and it’s not wrong, but now that she knows the truth, she’s able to see the wide expanse of unsaid things between them. Now that she knows, everything feels different.

Chapter Text

I still don't know what I was looking for
And my time was running wild
A million dead-end streets
Every time I thought I'd got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet

Eddie: They’re running late, all of them. He doesn’t know why they were even having a studio session, when they knew they would have to leave early. But Teddy allows it, even passes a pastel yellow envelope over to Billy before he leaves for the day. Julia’s name is scrawled across it in tight letters.

Billy had been on edge all day, snapping at them for the smallest of errors. He barks corrections, his voice sharp and loud, and they barely make it through a song before Billy storms out the back doors. It rubs Eddie raw, the constant beratement, and his jaw clenches. He wants to snap back, to finally put his foot down against Billy’s controlling grip. But he sees the way Billy nervously eyes the clock, the way his gaze keeps flickering to the bundle of balloons Karen’s stashed in the corner. He knows today is hard for Billy.

So he bites his tongue, focuses on the music, and tries to ignore the headache Billy is giving him.

At two in the afternoon, they’ve pushed it as far as they’re able. He can tell Billy’s torn between the song and the party; for a minute he hesitates, looks between Daisy and the stack of lyrics they’ve yet to work through. But another glance at the clock seems to finalize his decision. Billy pulls his guitar over his shoulder and claps Graham on the shoulder. He calls out a quick ‘see you at the house,’ before he’s out the door.

“Figures,” Eddie mutters past the cigarette in his mouth. He can’t be mad though; if Billy had stayed, then they’d have a problem. If he’d bailed on Julia again… if he hurt Camila again, then he would’ve had to kick Billy’s ass.

The rest of them begin packing up, straightening out the room before they can leave to join the party themselves.

“The guy runs us ragged, working over that bridge a thousand times, and then he bails right when we’re finally getting it.” Warren puts Eddie’s thoughts to words, his drumsticks clutched precariously under his arm as he attempts to light a joint.

Graham shifts restlessly as he packs away his guitar. “Come’on,” he says, tightly, always willing to give his brother the benefit of the doubt, “it’s his daughter’s birthday.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, but manages to hold his tongue. Doesn’t say what he’s thinking, what he’s sure they’re all thinking. He catches Karen’s eye, but she looks away before they can see the understanding in each other’s gazes.

He couldn’t miss her birthday, (especially since he’d missed her birth).

“I don’t get what the point of birthday parties for babies is,” Daisy says, piping up from where she’s lounging on the couch in the corner. She’s wearing a thin tank top, her stomach bare, with a pair of sheer pants. She kicks her legs up to the armrest and the fabric floats up around her ankles and to her knees. Combined with those goddamn bangles she’s started wearing, she looks like the genie on tv. Eddie watches as she swallows two pills in quick succession.

“It’s for the mum,” Karen says, wrestling with the balloons she’d insisted on buying. “You know- to celebrate. Congratulations you made it an entire year without going crazy. Have a drink.”

“No,” Graham says, sounding vaguely scandalized, “it’s for the baby. They’re people too, you know. They deserve birthday parties.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, catching the keys Warren throws to him. Slowly, they all make their way to the car. “As long as they have booze and cake, who gives a fuck,” Warren wisely adds as they pile into the van.

“You coming?” Karen asks Daisy. She’s standing on the sidewalk, tipping back on the heel of her boot.

And none of them are surprised when she shrugs, climbs in the backseat besides Warren, and slams the van door shut behind her.

---

There are a few people already at the house when they arrive. A couple of the guys from the studio, Deb. The band is greeted by them as they wander into the backyard. It’s decked out in pink and orange streamers, a handful of balloons scattered around. It doesn’t look so different from some of the other parties Camila has hosted, except for the early hour, the warm summer sun still shining down on them, the intimate group of people, and the fact that he’s still stone sober.

It’s an easy fix - there’s a bucket of ice and beer on the patio step that Karen and Daisy make a beeline for. Warren had started smoking at the studio, and Graham had already gone to find Julia. Eddie picks up a bottle, the glass cool against his skin. But he drinks it slowly, reluctant to slip into intoxication. Call him old fashioned, or whatever, but he can’t quite square away the thought of getting drunk at Julia’s first birthday.

He thinks of his birthdays growing up back in Pittsburgh, small backyard affairs just like this one. He can see it, their shared childhood, their similar upbringings, in the party Camila’s put on for Julia. The simple decorations, the tables full of food. It’d be strikingly similar to the parties they’d each had growing up, if it weren’t for the Canyon hills around them and the backyard full of musicians.

Eddie scans the gathered group and is surprised to see it isn’t just people from the studio like he’d initially thought. There were a few couples clustered together, babies in their arms or toddlers stumbling by their feet. Parents from those classes Camila went to, he has to assume. Eddie watches them, watches the easy domesticity that’s almost aggressively on display. It’s foreign to him, and yet, he can’t help but feel a strange stab of envy. Likely a result of his childhood reminiscence, but he looks away with a strange sort of longing in his chest. It might be time to reconsider his stance on sobriety.

“C'mon you guys,” Camila is calling out to them from the kitchen, waving at the gathered crowd to come in. “We’re gonna cut the cake.”

The group shuffles in, with plenty of awkward bumping of shoulders as they all try to cram through the small doorway to the kitchen. It’s hot in the house, despite the open windows. It was the middle of summer, and the growing group gathered around the small kitchen table wasn’t helping much.

Julia was in her highchair at the head of the table, Billy at her side. A cake was set in front of her, homemade and decorated with pink flowers. “Took you guys long enough,” Camila says, crossing back from the kitchen with a carton of candles in hand. Her voice is low so only Eddie can hear, and she pinches his side as she passes behind him. She's gone before he has a chance to respond, already back to Julia, leaning over to add the singular candle to the cake.

Camila lights the candle, presses her cheek to Julia’s as they all begin to sing Happy Birthday. Eddie watches Julia, her cheeks still as round as the day she was born, her dark hair just beginning to curl around her ears, and feels a swell of pride in his heart. A stab of happiness so pure he almost doesn’t know what to do with the feeling. He loved that little kid damnit, and watching her grow has been one of the best things he’s ever done in his life.

But he can’t stop his gaze from flickering towards Camila. She’s wearing a pale blue halter top, an apron still tied haphazard around her waist, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. A smattering of freckles has appeared across her shoulders, and her smile is brilliant as she snaps a picture of Julia. She sings louder than anyone, and fucking hell, she looks fucking adorable.

Eddie shakes his head, clears his mind. Looks away from Camila and Julia and Billy, away from his dangerous train of thought, and out to the others gathered around.

His eyes land on Daisy. She isn’t singing, though not from a lack of attention. Her eyes are fixed on the little family at the center of the room, her gaze as focused as he’s ever seen it. She’s watching them with the same intensity she got in the middle of recording, as if it were some puzzle she was on the precipice of figuring out. He wonders what she sees when she looks at them.

He knows what he sees: he’d been there from its very inception. The pain, the love, the losses, the gains. Sucked into their orbit, unable to fully separate himself from the lives of Camila and Billy Dunne. He’s made his peace with it - with this aching in his heart. He knows things will never be what he wants them to be.

But he wonders what Daisy sees. If she’s realized how closely Camila and Billy cling to each other, as if they were desperately trying to keep each other afloat. As if only the other could keep them from drowning. How fully they believed that, even if it weren’t true. How desperate they were to fit into their picture perfect domestic fairytale of a happy family. Does Daisy see how desperate they are to make things work?

Because he isn’t stupid - he sees the way Daisy looks at Billy. He’d grown up watching girls make that very same wide eyed expression at Billy Dunne. He’d seen the way girls bent towards him, like flowers to the sun. And he’s the first to admit Daisy Jones isn’t like other girls. But then again, neither is Camila.

It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. There was nothing going on between Daisy and Billy, because Billy wasn’t that stupid. He couldn’t be that stupid. There was no way he would throw away all of this for some other woman. There was no way he would jeopardize this beautiful life Camila had made for them over some self-medicated musician, no matter how talented she was.

But when he looks back, he realizes he isn’t the only one with his eyes on Daisy. Billy is watching her too, even as his wife begins to cut their daughter’s birthday cake.

And Eddie feels a pain in his chest straight down to his stomach, and a sort of righteous anger threatens to bubble up. For the first time he understands what all those fucking storybooks were talking about- knights, and dragons and chivalry and shit. He wants to throw down the gauntlet and protect Camila’s honor. To defend Julia against her father’s self destruction. He wants to shake Billy’s shoulders and scream at him, what the fuck did he think he was doing?

Because he sees it now, what he’d been willfully ignoring. They’d let themselves be blinded by the music, let themselves get caught up in the fucking brilliant songs Billy and Daisy had been writing. Eddie, the band, they’d let themselves look past the way Billy and Daisy seemed to fold into each other. Their breathless laughter as they barrel into the studio. The passion simmering under the surface of each song they wrote.

God, they were all so fucking stupid. Eddie for not realizing what was happening right in front of him. Billy for being insane enough to jeopardize the best thing in his life. Again.

But then Billy’s looking back to Camila. He’s pressing a kiss to Julia’s head. He’s laughing at something Graham’s said. And Eddie takes a long swallow of his beer.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was overreacting.

(Maybe it was wishful thinking that Billy would fuck up again. That Camila would finally see him for the bastard he was.)

Eddie licks his lips, runs a hand through his hair, and tries to stop his spiraling thoughts. He was there for Julia. This was about Julia. Everyone there, gathered around the worn kitchen table, was there because they loved Julia. That’s what mattered.

Camila begins passing out the cake, and the crowd quickly begins to disperse. It was only growing hotter in the summer afternoon, bodies sticking together with sweat. Soon the party’s moved back outside where at least there was a breeze. Billy and Graham get put to work hauling fresh bags of ice from the freezer to the coolers on the patio, while Warren and Karen gather up the gift bags that have been scattered around. Daisy wanders out after them.

Eddie is about to follow when Camila calls his name. She’s putting the rest of the cake in the fridge, and he realizes it’s just the three of them, Camila, Julia, and himself, left in the house.

The air instantly feels lighter.

“Hold on” Camila is saying, pulling off her apron with one hand and grabbing her camera with the other. “I want to take a picture of you and Jules to send to your mom.”

Eddie, who had been making his way over, pauses at that. “You write to my mom?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Camila tilts her head, smile quirking up at the corners. “I mean we’re not penpals, but I’ve sent her Christmas cards.” Eddie crouches besides Julia’s highchair as she raises the camera to her eye. “Say cheese!”

Eddie wraps an arm around the back of the highchair and grins. It’s almost embarrassing how pleased he is to document this moment, even though he stands by his opinion that one year olds didn’t need birthday parties. Julia slaps her hand against the tray and a bit of cake flies off and lands on his jeans.

When Camila lowers the camera, she nods towards the small cluster of cards on the table. “Your mom sent Jules a card.”

Eddie flips through a few of the cards before he finds the one. It has a colorful elephant on the front, waving a flag. His mom’s handwriting stares up at him, loopy and small.

“To Julia on your first birthday. Lots of love from Pittsburgh,” Eddie reads aloud. It was strange to see his mom’s love inscribed on a letter not meant for himself. Camila used to tease him about being an only child, but this was different. He found himself wishing his parents knew Julia better, that they might meet her one day.

Camila is at his side, and leans over his shoulder to read with him. “She’s sweet,” she says, dropping down into a kitchen chair next to Julia. Eddie follows suit, claiming the chair on Julia’s other side.

Eddie is about to tell her about how his mom bought a copy of the Rolling Stone issue her picture is in, how she’d called him all excited, when he notices Camila is staring distractedly out the window. There’s a crease between her eyes, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Eddie turns his head and looks out to the patio, craning his neck to see what’s caught her attention.

It’s Billy and Daisy, bent close together, framed between the window pane as perfectly as if they’d planned it. He can tell Daisy is singing something, even if he can’t make out the words; he’s become familiar enough with her movements over the past months to recognize when she was working through a lyric. Billy was nodding along, interjecting every few seconds. But it wasn’t just what they were doing that stopped Eddie short; it was how they looked while they were doing it.

They’re so focused on each other, so singular in their attention, despite the party taking place around them. And that’s familiar too, the way nothing else seemed to matter when they were working on something. Half the time it was as if the band wasn’t even in the studio when they were recording, as if they were props in the background of the Daisy and Billy show. But it was strange to see that same focus outside of the studio. As if the entire world had fallen away except for them.

But it was work. It was just work. It was the music, and the songs, and the album. And as soon as they were finished recording, things would go back to how they’d always been. Daisy would disappear back to wherever glittering life she had come from. And Camila would welcome Billy back to the domestic bliss he didn’t deserve.

Cause, fuck… Billy was an asshole, but surely… He wouldn’t…

Eddie tries to ignore the flicker of hurt that crosses Camila’s face as she sits back heavy in her chair, picking distractedly at the leftover cake in front of her. He tries not to see the pain behind her eyes. Not because he didn’t care, but because he shouldn’t care. Because he cared too much.

If he thought about it for too long- about his newfound suspicions, about the pain in Camila’s eyes, about the ache he feels when he sees her frown- he might do something rash. Something crazy like hit Billy, or call out Daisy, or take Camila by the shoulders and shake her until she realized she didn’t deserve all this pain.

But no. No, he couldn’t do that. Camila had made it perfectly clear what she wanted. Who she wanted. Eddie couldn’t hurt her like that, couldn’t throw a wrench in the perfect life she had worked so hard to build. Even if he knew it was far from perfect. Even if Billy was an ass and Camila had always deserved better. If it was what she wanted, he wouldn’t ruin it for her.

Camila was his friend, and as badly as he wanted to protect her from whatever this was, he needed to protect himself too. He had worked hard to build space between them these last months. Space to move on. There was never going to be anything more than friendship between them, and Eddie had worked hard to accept that. All that space and time to clear his head would be for nothing if he allowed himself to be sucked back into the impossible black hole that was the relationship between Camila and Billy Dunne.

And besides, he didn’t even know if there was even anything going on between Billy and Daisy. Not for sure. Not for certain. He watches Daisy push Billy’s shoulder, her head thrown back in laughter, and tries to convince himself that’s true.

Camila’s voice is tight and she doesn’t look up from the table when she finally breaks the silence. “How’s the album coming along?”

Eddie nods, glad of the distraction from his spiraling thoughts and Camila’s worried frown. He pulls Julia from her high chair and onto his lap; she waves her spoon, crumbs flying across the table. “Good,” he says, truthfully. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep all week - Billy had kept them at the studio later and later as they worked mercilessly to get the recording right. “I think we’re getting close, but who fucking knows with Billy. It sounds good though.”

Camila’s eyes flash back to the window at the sound of Billy’s name. Eddie regrets saying anything; he doesn’t like seeing her upset. He taps his foot nervously, scrounging for something to say- anything to fill the tense silence.

“Be glad when it’s done though,” he finally settles on. “I need a break.”

Camila looks back at him, distracted, but she must have heard what he said because she manages a thin smile. “Yeah,” she says, and she actually sounds hopeful, “that’ll be nice.”

Julia sticks another messy handful of cake into her mouth; it makes Eddie wrinkle his nose but Camila laughs, pulling her back to the moment, breaking her from her grim countenance. “Do you think you’re going to go home for a visit? During the break?”

“I dunno. Maybe,” he says honestly. He missed his family, but Pittsburgh didn’t really feel like home anymore. He can’t imagine hanging out at the local dive bar, even if it was just for a visit. “Are you?”

Camila shrugged, and a long stretch of silence followed as she chewed her lip, clearly lost in thought. “My sister’s getting married,” she finally says, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Oh shit,” he says, grinning, “congratulations.” Eddie had always liked Camila’s younger sister. “This summer?”

“No. No, come on,” she laughs, looking back at him. “You think Marcella is going to settle for a last minute wedding?” They share a laugh; Camila’s sister had never been low key. “Another year at least, but I’m gonna try to get her to push it till the tour’s over. You’re invited by the way,” Camila adds, “they just haven’t sent out the invitations yet.”

Eddie smiles, bouncing Julia on his knee. “I’ll be there. If we’re not on tour, course I’ll be there.”

He tries not to feel hurt when Camila’s focus once more slides to the window and the backyard beyond. He can’t look, not with Julia on his lap, but he has to assume she’s staring at Billy and Daisy again. She has that look behind her eyes, sad, hurt, confused, and Eddie has to remind himself not to get involved. It wasn’t his fight. She didn’t want his help.

“It might be nice to go before the tour. To reconnect with family. Good for Julia. For all of us.”

She isn’t talking to him, not really. He knows that, and tries to bite his own tongue before he does something stupid like ask if it was all worth it. Was this pain worth it?

He holds back his words and lets her take Julia from his arms. Helps her clean up the table and follows her out into the summer sun. And he tries not to watch as she makes her way to Billy’s side. Tries not to see the way Daisy’s smile goes tight at the corners at the interruption and BIlly shifts from foot to foot nervously. Eddie tries not to stare. But he feels dizzy, uncentered, as if the world had tilted on its axis and he was the only one that noticed. Because he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get how they, all three of them, can walk headlong into speeding traffic. How could they not see that this was going to end in disaster.

Camila: Daisy and Billy were fucking. Of course they were. All those late nights writing. The way they had been drawn together at Julia’s party. The unfinished songs she had yet to hear. How Billy never really seemed to see her anymore. The longing looks he gave to Daisy.

She could see the way they looked at each other - she wasn’t stupid.

She had no proof of course. Sometimes she likes to pretend they aren’t. She tries to convince herself it’s all in her head. That it really was just music.

But she’s not that naïve. She can’t be, not after everything they’ve been through. It was a gut feeling, and she’d learned a long time ago to trust her instincts. They hadn’t failed her so far, had never been proven wrong. She knew there was something going on between Billy Dunne and Daisy Jones.

And she almost hopes it’s just fucking, because the alternative is almost worse. Because they’ve been through that before. Camila could fool herself into believing it didn’t matter. That as long as she was the one with a ring on her finger, no other woman mattered.

She isn’t blind though. She saw the longing looks Billy and Daisy shared at the party when they thought no one was watching. And she knows he always showers first thing when he gets home from the studio, even if it’s closer to morning than the night before. She sees how he still hesitates when he picks up Julia, as if he’s still convinced he doesn’t deserve to touch her.

And Daisy Jones isn’t just some girl. She isn’t some groupie that tagged along after a show.

That isn’t to say Camila didn’t like her- she did, she really did. But Daisy was a black hole, exploding in on herself and pulling everything around down with her. And Billy was trapped in her orbit.

And maybe it was just about the music. But Camila had been around musicians long enough to know music was never just about music. It was a push and pull, feelings and ideas, passions and thoughts. Maybe it was just about the music, but that’s almost worse. Cause if they weren’t fucking all those long hours and endless nights, what the hell were they doing? Drinking? Getting high? Was her husband staying out all night, waiting to sober up with some other woman?

Or, god forbid, were they talking?

About what, for fucks sake?

Because she knew her husband, knew that for all his arrogance and charm, he didn't like to talk about himself. It had taken months for him to open up to her, a year of dating before he finally told her about his father. Even now, after more than a year of marriage, he rarely talked about his feelings.

Camila would rather watch Daisy fuck her husband live on stage than find out they’d been talking all night.

In the end, she realizes it doesn’t really matter what they’re doing. Drinking, fucking, talking, writing an endless progression of songs that may or may not be about her. She wasn’t blind; whatever they were doing had tied a string around them so tight Camila knew nothing she could do would break it. And it broke her fucking heart.

But it didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. She wouldn’t let it. Billy was her husband. He was Julia’s father. And he loved them. And she loved him. She had meant what she’d said in her vows. She’d meant what she’d said in that hotel room. This was their life, their perfect lovely life, and she had worked too fucking hard for him to fuck it up.

Chapter Text

He talks about you in his sleep
And there's nothing I can do to keep
From crying when he calls your name
Jolene

Eddie: He presses his lips to the delicate skin of her neck, trails his tongue down the gentle slope, kisses the hollow at the base of her throat. She makes a contented noise, half sigh, half moan, and he smiles as he feels the vibrations from it.

She has her arms wrapped loosely around his back, their legs tangled together with the sheets. The sun was starting to get hot - they'd wasted most of the morning in bed. Eddie can’t find it in him to mind.

The album wasn’t done yet, but the finish line was so close he could almost taste it. And it was good. He’d been proud of Seven, Eight, Nine, but it had been Billy’s album. They’d all known it. Everything about their first album had Billy’s handprints all over it.

But Aurora really felt like something they’d made together. Like they’d actually been able to be musicians. A real band. And for all his apprehension about Daisy, she had made that possible. For the first time, the opinion of someone other than Billy was being heard.

Not that Billy wasn’t trying desperately to hold onto every inch of control he could. Eddie knew he spent hours in the sound booth with Teddy after the rest of them had left, adjusting and shifting the recording within an inch of its life. Eddie isn’t sure he even wants to hear the finished product; he knows all he’s going to hear is Billy’s touches.

But for now, he allows himself to enjoy it. Just a few more songs, then they’d be done till the tour. The journalist from Rolling Stone would be at the studio later that day, and the album shoot was in a couple weeks. He could hold out a little longer. He could make it through without strangling Billy.

Hopefully.

“Gotta get up,” he finally says, his voice muffled and reluctant. Eddie pushes himself up onto one elbow, looks down at the woman next to him.

Claire pouts, her cheeks flushed and lips swollen. Her brown curls are spread across the pillows behind her, and she’d thrown on his undershirt from the night before. Eddie wants to collapse back next to her, to laze away the rest of the day. But Warren would be pounding on his door soon, waiting to leave for the studio.

“Stay,” Claire says, tightening her grip around his neck. Her fingers scratch against his scalp in the most delicious way and he can’t help leaning down to kiss her again.

But no. No. He had to go. Just a few more weeks, he reminds himself.

“Can’t,” he says, pulling away from her and out of bed. He starts to dress, stretching out the muscles in his neck and his spine as he goes. They’d been out late the night before, at a party by the beach. He can still feel the grit of sand between his toes and the aftertaste of fruity cocktails on his tongue. “We gotta get to the studio on time or Billy’s gonna throw a fit.”

Claire sits up, watching him move around the room. He can feel her eyes on him, and when he looks back at her, she has the sheets pulled up tight to her chest.

“You’re still coming to dinner tonight, right?”

Eddie grimaces, hoping his expression is hidden as he rummages through the closet. He wonders which answer she would take best: that he’d forgotten or that he didn’t want to go.

“Don’t know if I can,” he finally settles on, pulling a shirt on and tightening his belt. “Billy said something about a new song. It might be a bitch to record. Don’t know how long we’ll be.”

“Eddie.” Her voice cuts through the room, all traces of sleep gone. Claire is frowning at him, irritation clear in her expression and in her voice as she scolds him. “You said you would come. I want you to meet my friends.”

He had said that, but the thought of following through makes his head pound. He liked Claire, they had fun together, but meeting her friends… That was real. That meant something. Something he wasn’t sure he wanted. Was it so wrong to want to keep things as they were?

“I met them last night,” he says, crossing to the side table to grab his half empty carton of cigarettes, lighting one and pocketing the rest. “I can meet them when the album’s done.”

It was the wrong answer. Claire stumbles out of bed, pulling on her clothes and shoes with impressive speed and a blur of dark hair. “Jesus,” she bites out, pulling on her sandals, “you’re such an ass.” She glares, throws his shirt at his head. “I’m obviously not as important as your stupid band.”

Eddie gapes at her, at the anger behind her eyes. They fought often, but he still hadn’t quite gotten used to it. The slam of his bedroom door startles him into movement, and he pulls it back open to watch her go.

“I’m gonna call you!” he yells down the hall after her. Claire turns back and gives him the finger before she rounds the corner. He hears the front door slam shut a moment later.

She’d forgive him, she always did. Eddie didn’t want to think about whether he actually wanted her to.

“The fuck was that about?” Warren asks, emerging from the bathroom with wide eyes.

Eddie shakes his head, making his way to the kitchen to make some coffee. It was stupid and he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Did you guys break up or something?” Warren follows him into the kitchen, picks at the loaf of banana bread on the counter. Camila had brought it over a couple days ago. Eddie had been out when she came over, but he could tell it’d been her from the chocolate chips and walnuts she baked into the loaf. Just like her mom used to.

“Nah,” Eddie says, running his hand through his hair. “Fuck. I don’t know, maybe. She’s mad at me again.” He’d only been going out with Claire for a couple weeks. They’d met at a party in the Valley and they’d been having a good time so far. When they weren’t fighting. She was fun, she liked to party, and she liked that he was in a band. When it was convenient for her apparently.

“Jesus,” Warren says, his mouth full, “what’d you do this time?”

“Nothing,” Eddie says, though he knows he isn’t being fair. “I just told her I couldn’t make it to dinner tonight.”

“Why? You know Billy’s gonna kick us out of there as soon as we lay down the track. You should’ve just gone. Saved yourself the headache.”

Eddie shrugs, but he can’t help the twisting in his stomach. “Yeah. Maybe.” He picks off a piece of banana bread. “She wants me to meet her friends.”

Warren laughs at him. “And? Maybe they’re hot. You could introduce me.”

“Maybe I should break up with her,” Eddie says, leaning back against the counter, ignoring Warren’s comment. “We’re going on tour soon. I don’t think I wanna be in a relationship during that.”

When Warren doesn’t say anything, Eddie turns to look at him, eyebrows raised.

“Do you ever feel like you’re kinda… tired of hookups?” Warren asks, not meeting Eddie’s eye. He’s tapping his fingers against the counter top. “I mean… I think I am.” He doesn’t sound judgemental or condescending about it. In fact he sounds kinda sad. Eddie frowns when Warren finally looks up.

“I mean… no,” Eddie says, but that twisting feeling is back again. “I guess if I ever met the right girl it’d be different. But the right girl isn’t fucking Claire.”

Warren does look judgemental at that. “Then why are you with her, man?” He pushes off from the counter, grabs his drumsticks from the coffee table, twisting them restlessly. “And how do you know she isn’t the right girl if you won’t even give her the chance?”

Eddie scowls. “Fuck off man. When I meet her, I’ll know.” He finishes his coffee in one harsh swallow, following Warren towards the door. “Come’on, we’re gonna be late.”

Camila: Sometimes the dark room feels like her only escape. The only place in Los Angeles where she was still the woman she used to be. Photography seemed to be the only part of herself she’d managed to hold on to. There in the dark and the soft red glow, she wasn’t a wife or a mother. She didn’t have to worry about what to cook for dinner, or what her daughter was doing, or whether or not her husband was having an affair. She was just Camila.

And yet… And yet, there she is developing pictures of Daisy Jones and Billy laughing together.

Camila looks down at the watery images. They were old ones, from the housewarming party, a couple from Julia’s birthday. And yet, they’re the most recent ones she has of Billy. Even with him sleeping next to her every night, it felt like she hadn’t seen her husband in months.

It was already fall, the air turning crisp. The band would take a break as soon as the album was done. But then they’d be gone on tour. Somehow the year had slipped away. Another year attempting to starve off the creeping sense of loneliness.

She’d made a few friends in the past months, enough to fill some of the empty spaces in her life. But it’s still hard not to feel like she’s drowning, with no one there to even see, let alone help. Billy was distant, even when he was home, and it was hard not to feel like she was doing this whole parenting thing alone. She knew he was working hard, working towards a life they had both wanted. But was it so wrong to want him to see her? For him to notice what was right in front of his eyes?

And it wasn’t even about Daisy. Or maybe it was. Her thoughts are so twisted up, sometimes it was hard to figure out what she was really upset about.

Camila fishes a print of Daisy out of the water, clips it to the line. She really was stunning, Camila would freely admit that. Funny, kind, with a sharp tongue. Camila tries not to blame her for this aching distance she feels from Billy. And yet, would things be different if Daisy had never joined the band? Maybe then Camila wouldn’t lie awake at night wondering what secrets her husband was keeping from her. Wondering if he was finding comfort in some other woman’s arms while she cared for their daughter alone.

She tries to push those thoughts down, to find it in her to trust Billy. To believe the best in him. And yet…

---

It’s a five minute conversation in the dark room - they talk about photography and Camila embaresses herself with her terrible Spanish. But for the first time in weeks, Camila feels like a real person. She feels seen.

“Do you wanna go see a movie sometime?”

A warm flush makes its way across her chest. She almost wants to say yes. His attention feeds her vanity, pulls her from her grim musings. He’s smart, speaks Spanish, and when he smiles at her she feels like a teenager again. Like she was someone worth looking at.

That they’re speaking in front of a picture of her husband is both horrifying and exciting. She wonders if she’s supposed to feel guilty as she smiles at this handsome stranger. It’s not as if she’d agreed to go out with him. She turns down the date, but she wants to sit with the feeling for as long as she can. It wasn’t as if she’d done anything, and yet, there’s something delicious about having something for herself. Something Billy didn’t know about. Something she could think back on when she’s lying alone in bed. A secret of her own.

She feels a pulse of giddy satisfaction when she thinks back on the interaction. She’d almost forgotten what that feeling felt like - to be admired, desired. To have someone want to look at her, want to see her. It had been a long time since someone had looked at her that way. The last person to look at her with any sort of passion hadn’t even been Billy, she realizes bitterly.

(She thinks about the bar, that hazy night months back. Thinks about her desperate loneliness and the pounding music and the sweet taste of too many cocktails on her tongue. Thinks about her childish jealousy and her bitter recklessness. She thinks about the warmth of Eddie’s lap and his hand on her thighs, the dark flash in his eyes and the feel of his breath ghosting against her lips. She thinks about the burning desire she’d felt when he’d looked at her that night in the dim bar - from him, for him. She bites her lip, hard, and tries not to think about it at all.)

---

Camila is still in the bathroom when Billy finally comes home. She can hear the front door open, and hears him lock the door behind him. She can hear the clatter of his keys in the bowl by the door and his footsteps heading up the stairs. She hears him pause outside the bathroom, his nightly shower routine interrupted by her presence.

His footsteps retreat to the bedroom and Camila turns back to the bathroom mirror. She isn’t sure how long she’d been standing there, staring at her reflection. Long enough for the condensation on the mirror to fade. Her hair was still wet, the bath mat damp beneath her feet, but it was no longer dripping down her bare back.

Camila stares and stares and stares, and tries to find some part of herself that she recognizes. She braces her hands on the counter, leans in close and stares into her own eyes until her vision begins to cross. She had new lines around her eyes and her cheekbones are sharper. But it’s not her physical appearance that shakes her. She looks at herself and doesn’t understand how she’d gotten to this point. How she’s come so far and learned to live with this hollow feeling in her chest for so long.

Her talk with Karen had shaken something loose inside of her. How are things with you and the boss? Camila had seen the pity behind Karen’s eyes as she asked. It should be embarrassing - knowing that other people can so clearly see the cracks in her marriage. That she’s not embarrassed is even more troubling. Had she become so numb to her own unhappiness?

Camila pulls back, straightens her spine. She lets the towel drop in a damp heap around her feet and stares at her naked body in the mirror. She tries to recognize herself. Tries to feel like she was in control of her self, of her life.

She pushes her still wet hair back over her shoulder and walks back towards the bedroom, her feet light against the wood floors. Billy is there, sitting at the edge of the bed, jeans still on but shirtless. He looks tired, but he looks up when she walks in, eyes going wide as he takes in her state of undress.

“Cam?” His voice is confused, hesitant. She doesn’t like the way he looks at her - like this was something out of the ordinary. She remembers when they lived and breathed and melted together, when he would stare at her like she was the sun in the sky.

But she pushes through the painful ache she feels at the thought. She steps between his knees and she lets out a sigh of relief when he brings his hands to her hips. He holds her and she holds him, and as they fall into bed together she imagines she can will things back to how they should be. If she just tries hard enough, wants it enough, everything would be okay.

She lies back against the pillows as he pushes into her and feels a rush of determination deep in her bones. She could fix this. They could make this work.

She tries not to think about the smell of apples and weed on Billy’s skin. She tries not to think about how Billy buries his face in her neck. How he doesn’t meet her eye, how he doesn’t say her name. She tries not to think about how she doesn’t feel much of anything at all; there’s no rush, no passion, no anger, no pain. The love is still there, sitting heavy on her chest. She tries not to think about how it feels like a weight, pulling her down until she can’t breathe, swallowing her whole until she drowns.

She tries not to think about any of that. Instead she thinks about her daughter, her marriage, the perfect life Billy promised her. The perfect life she promised herself. She lays there and she tries not to scream.

Eddie: “Shit! Fuck. Hold on.” In his haste to pick up the ringing phone, Eddie had tripped over someone’s fucking boots, causing him to spill his drink all down his arm. Eddie swears again, cradles the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he attempts to wipe off the vodka mix dripping down his elbow.

“Eddie?”

It’s Camila, her voice concerned even through the phone. Eddie manages to get the cord wrapped around his arm and he can’t fucking concentrate with the music blaring in his ears. “Yeah,” he says, his voice clipped and irritated, “hold on.” He manages to untangle himself, waving wildly at Warren to turn down the music, and setting down his drink before he pulls the receiver back up, plugging his other ear with his free hand.

“Hey! Sorry, what’s up?”

“You know you’re yelling, right?” It’s Camila’s turn to sound irritated, her voice thin through the phone.

Eddie swears, suddenly aware of the hoarseness of his voice. “Sorry,” he says again, very aware of his words, “One second.”

Claire is staring at him from the couch, waving him over, pouting as he waves her off. But he can’t fucking hear what Camila’s saying. He can’t fucking hear himself think.

So he picks up the phone, carries it as far as the cord will allow, and shuts the bathroom door behind him. It’s not much, but the room is instantly quieter. He can hear Claire calling his name, her voice high and carrying over the music, but he lets out a sigh of relief in the sudden quiet of the tiled bathroom. “Okay, I’m here. Are you okay?”

He can hear Camila laugh on the other end of the line, a hollow huff of air into the receiver. Eddie looks at himself in the mirror as he waits for her to answer; his eyes are bloodshot and his hair disheveled, his shirt askew. He’d had too much to drink and hopes he isn’t slurring his words into the phone.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” Camila finally says. There’s something stiff about the way she says it, like the words were being pulled like teeth from her mouth. Eddie squints at his own reflection, wishing he could see Camila’s expression so he could work out the odd lilt in her tone.

He hadn’t seen her in over a month, he realizes with start, close to two. The countertop is digging into his hip as he leans against it, running his free hand through his hair. How strange, he thinks, rubbing his hand over the stubble at his jaw - how had that happened?

“Good,” he says, after a beat too long, his drunken thoughts finally catching up. “I uh- how are you?” He trips over his words, suddenly keenly aware of her absence in his life.

Camila snorts into the phone and Eddie’s lips twitch up at the corners. He isn’t quite sure what she’s laughing about - maybe he was just too drunk to figure it out, but he’s glad to make her laugh, even if the sound is laced with something darker than humor.

“I’m fine Ed,” she says with a tired voice, “I just wanted to-”

She’s interrupted by a banging on the bathroom door, loud enough that she must hear it through the phone. Eddie jumps in surprise, his knee banging against the cabinet as he swears. “What was that?” he hears Camila ask, but he’s already brought the phone to his chest, pulling open the door with a scowl.

He’s hit with the smell of weed and the blare of music. The party he’d just left suddenly feels childish, stupid, and he frowns at the interruption. It’s Claire. She’s glaring up at him, hands on her hips, lipstick nearly gone, mascara smeared. They’d been having a good time before the call, back together and without an argument for nearly a week. But he can tell from her sour expression that the peace was about to end.

“Who’s on the phone?” she demands, her voice clear and sure despite the many drinks she’s had. It was one of the things Eddie liked most about her, her confidence, but he grimaces at the accusation in her voice, suddenly wishing he was home alone.

“It’s just Camila,” he says, pressing the phone closer to his chest, “I’ll be out in a sec.”

Claire’s nose wrinkles and she looks unimpressed. “Then why are you hiding in the bathroom?”

Eddie sighs, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m not hiding,” he says, attempting to keep his voice level. He wasn’t in the mood for an argument, though he could sense one coming. “It’s too fucking loud out there. Just give me a minute.”

He closes the door before Claire can respond. And yeah he feels bad. The sober part of his brain screams at him and he knows he’ll regret it. But he shuts the door on Claire’s irritated expression and leans back against it. He can feel her palm slapping against the door, hears her say his name sharp and frustrated. The sober part of him knows he should hang up the phone and apologize to Claire - Camila would understand. But that tiny spark of sobriety is drowned out by the steady thud of selfish want. He doesn’t want to apologize. He doesn’t want to go back to the noise and the arguments. He wants to press his cheek to the cool tile of the bathroom wall and listen to Camila’s voice through the phone.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling the phone back up to his ear. This time he knows his voice is slurred and he winces at his reflection in the mirror. “I’m back now.”

“Are you having a party?”

He might be drunk, but Eddie thinks there’s a hint of hurt in Camila’s voice. Something pinched and hesitant about the way she asks. Something off about the drawn out silence that follows.

Eddie clears his throat, reminds himself to answer. “Nah. Not really,” he says, sliding down to sit on the floor, his back against the bathtub. “Just me and Warren, and a couple girls. Just blowing off steam.”

He can hear her hesitate through the phone. “I can call back later,” she finally says, “I don’t want to interrupt.”

Eddie laughs at the doubt in her voice. He isn’t trying to be mean, not when she sounds so put out, but Jesus, she’s known him for over twenty years - didn’t she know he’d always pick her over some stupid party?

That small sober part of his mind reminds him that it’s not just some stupid party - that they weren’t just some girls. It was Claire, who was supposed to be his girlfriend. It was Claire’s friends that he’d promised to meet.

And it was Camila…

“It’s fine. Really.” He leans his head back, his eyes shutting as exhaustion begins to overtake him. But he smiles when Camila sighs on the other end of the line. “Will you just tell me what’s going on?”

“Really, I can call later.”

“Really, just tell me.”

Camila huffs. “Eddie, you’re impossible,” she says hotly. But Eddie thinks he can hear a certain fondness in her voice, and his smile widens.

“You called me, remember?”

“Yes, I know. It’s just…” She stops, her voice trailing off. Eddie can hear her breathing through the phone and he’s drunk enough to let the silence stretch. He matches his own breathing to hers, feeling sleep creeping over him as his heartbeat slows, his thoughts calmed by Camila’s steady exhale on the other end.

“Do you think Daisy and Billy are sleeping together?”

The question shocks Eddie upright, his knee knocking against the toilet bowl, his eyes blinking rapidly to clear his drunken haze. “What?”

Camila takes a shaking breath, “It’s nothing, it’s fine. Forget I asked.”

“Wait. Cam.” Eddie rubs his hand over his face, attempting to clear his head. “What are you talking about? Did something happen?”

“It’s nothing,” Camila insists, “Please ignore me. I’ve been drinking.”

Eddie laughs hollowly. “That makes two of us,” he jokes, but his thoughts are spinning. He couldn’t forget what she’d said - the words are imprinted on his mind, thudding through him like a pulse. They repeat in his head, over and over and over, filling the silence that stretches between them.

“What did Billy do?”

Camila sucks in a breath - he can hear her sharp inhale. “He didn’t do anything,” she finally says. “It’s just a feeling. That song…” He can practically see her shaking her head through her heavy pause. “I’m probably wrong.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to sink into silence. He rubs his palms against his eyes, grimacing as he remembers his uneasy suspicions regarding Billy and Daisy. But like she said - they were just feelings. “Probably,” he finally says.

“So you don’t- you don’t think there’s anything going on?” The pain, the hope, in her voice hurts him like a knife to the chest. He’s been down this road before, has swallowed Camila’s pain and taken it as his own. He can feel himself falling into the same pattern, too drunk, too weak, to save himself.

“I don’t know, Cam,” he says, his words honest. He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything anymore. And because he’s stupid and drunk he adds: “That reporter, Jonah, thinks there’s something going on.”

“Oh.”

Eddie wants to kick himself. Wants to snatch back his words. “Come’on Cam,” he says, feeling his heart constrict at the hurt in her voice. He wants to make it better. “That doesn’t mean anything. The fuck does that guy know?” He licks his lips, wishing he was stronger. “If I knew anything, I would tell you. I promise.”

“Thanks Eddie,” she finally says, “I should go. Let you get back to your party.”

But there’s something so tragic about the way her voice trails off that Eddie bites his tongue in his haste to speak. “Wait, Camila, I’m sure it’s nothing okay.” And in a sudden flash of inspiration he adds: “Come to the photoshoot next week. You can see for yourself. See that it's nothing. Bring Julia, make a day of it. The studio hired some big shot photographer you should meet.”

When Camila finally responds, he thinks there’s a bit less worry in her voice. “Thanks Eddie, maybe I will.” He hates the way his heart contracts when she adds, “You’re a good friend. I’ll see you around, okay?”

---

He isn’t sure how long he stays in the bathroom after Camila hangs up. The dial tone is insistent and distant as he slowly stands, splashes cold water over his face.

Goddamn it, he’d been good. He’d put her from his mind. It’d been two months without seeing her, and he’d hoped she’d been relegated to the part of his head and heart where he kept the rest of his friends and the band and his family. But one phone call and his pulse is buzzing, his skin burning as he remembers the sound of her voice. One drunken phone call, and Camila was seared into his skin as if she’d never left.

When he finally pushes himself back from the counter and out of the bathroom, the haze of smoke and music hits him like a freight train. He feels woozy - lightheaded and sick. All he wants is to lay down in the quiet and attempt to shut off his spinning thoughts. He doesn’t want to think about Camila. Camila and Julia. Camila and Billy. Billy and Daisy. He doesn’t want to think about any of it, or his part in it. He doesn’t want a part in it, and yet, with one phone call he feels himself drowning in concern and hope and worry and anger and desperation.

He wants to sleep, but it doesn’t seem likely to happen any time soon, so he pushes past a few of the girls half asleep and giggling on the couch, past the pile of discarded vinyls, and out to the back patio. He sucks in a deep breath, hoping the night air will clear his head.

“Eddie.” Claire’s voice cuts through the still night. “What the fuck was that?”

She’s followed him out to the back yard, a deep crease between her eyes, her arms thrown out wide in question as she frowns at him. She’s pretty, even when she’s angry, her blue dress clinging to her, her hair a curled halo behind her shoulders, but Eddie braces himself for the argument that he’s sure is about to come. He leans heavy against the porch railing, and lights a cigarette. “I told you,” he finally says, only after it’s lit and between his lips, “it was just Camila. She was asking about the photoshoot.”

For a long moment Claire just stares at him, her big eyes blinking up at him. For one quiet moment, Eddie thinks maybe they won't argue. Maybe they can go to bed and forget this night ever happened.

But then Claire, is breathing deep through her nose, her chest rising and falling as she clenches her jaw. “Do you really expect me to believe that?” she asks, her voice scary in its stillness. “You were in there for almost forty-five minutes.”

Eddie’s nose scrunches and it's his turn to frown, irked by the thought of being watched. He thinks he might be too drunk for this conversation, but he takes another drag on his cigarette, trying to steady his thoughts enough to respond. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he finally says, stubbing out his cigarette with his boot. “It really was just Camila. I’m not lying; you can call her and ask her.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Claire lets out an exacerbated scoff, staring at him as if he’d kicked her dog. “That’s not what I meant,” she bites out. “I know it was Camila. It’s always Camila.”

She stops, looking out to the dark Canyon. Her face is half hidden in shadows, her arms wrapping tight around her waist. “Is there something going on between you two?”

Eddie feels his heart skip a beat, his chest thudding uncomfortably. His skin feels painfully hot, stretched thin. “No,” he insists, but his voice sounds strangled even to his own ears.

“No,” he says again, clearing his throat and pushing off from the railing. “That’s fucking insane. I haven’t seen her in two months.”

Claire scowls, turning back to him with her hands on her hips. “It’s not insane, Eddie. You talk about her all the time. Camila this, Camila that. Julia, Julia, Julia.” She narrows her eyes. “It’s like you’re in love with her or something.”

Eddie can’t breathe, can’t think. His mind is a roaring mess. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he finally sputters out, glaring at Claire. He can feel his cheeks heat with embarrassment, anger following close behind. He can’t bear to confront his own feelings, let alone have someone else point them out.

And it wasn’t as if he even thought of Camila in that way anymore. Sure, he would always have a soft spot for her. And maybe he wished things were different. But love? For fucks sake, he wasn’t a some starry eyed kid. He wasn’t sure if he even believed in love anymore, let alone be stupid enough to still think he was in love with Camila. Eddie crosses his arms, his voice hoarse as he manages to spit out: “She’s married to Billy. We’re friends. That’s it. That’s all it’s ever been. That’s all it’s ever going to be.”

Eddie wants to turn away, feeling light headed as his words sink into the silence between them. When Claire finally responds, her voice is thick with unshed tears. “What does she have that I don’t?” she asks, and there’s a wobble in her voice that almost breaks Eddie. He almost relents, almost pulls her to him and asks for her forgiveness. But when she looks at him there’s more than hurt in her eyes. There's pity. It’s clear as day and it makes Eddie feel sick to his stomach to see it directed at him. “Why is it so easy for you to love someone that’s never going to love you back?”

“I don’t love her.” The words are bitter, angry, though he isn’t sure who he’s most furious with at the moment: himself or Claire. Or Camila for bringing all this up in the first place.

Claire snaps at him, her voice sharp, cutting through the night air and the haze in his mind. “Then don’t see her anymore.” She says it curtly, as if it were a totally normal thing to say. A reasonable request.

“What?”

“Don’t see her anymore,” she repeats, oblivious or ignoring the incredulous stare Eddie is giving her. “If she really doesn’t mean anything to you, then don’t see her anymore.”

Eddie can feel his heart pounding, the echo of it pulsing up to his ears. Claire’s expression is defiant. Childish and clearly drunk. And as much as he doesn’t want to engage in such a ridiculous argument, he can’t help the horrible thrum of panic he feels at her words. “I didn’t say- this is stupid,” he manages to sputter out, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. “She’s married to Billy, of course I’m going to see her. What’s next?” he asks, feeling cornered and irritated. “Do you think I should quit the band too?”

Claire crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, actually, I do. You work too much and they don’t treat you right.”

Eddie knew he would regret complaining about the band to her. Just because Billy got on his nerves didn’t mean-- Just because the album was more Billy’s than it was-- Eddie bites down hard on his lip, regretting ever telling Claire anything. She didn’t get it. She couldn’t. She had no right to tell him to quit his own band.

“Jesus Christ, Claire,” he bites out, running a rough hand through his hair. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Her expression closes, all trace of pity or sadness disappearing. In its place is blunt disapproval as she steps back from him and moves towards the door. “Fine,” she says, hand on the screen door. “I’ll call you tomorrow when you’re sober. Maybe you’ll come to your senses.”

And Eddie feels sick. Sick with the thought of doing this all over again. Sick thinking about what he’s about to do. “No I mean, I can’t do this,” he says grimly, gesturing between them.

Claire pauses, her hand dropping as she takes in his words. “Are you breaking up with me?”

Eddie grimaces, rakes a hand through his hair. He’d never broken up with a girl before, never dated one long enough to have to. He doesn’t enjoy the feeling and wonders if it’s too late to take back his words. But he looks at Claire, her eyebrows raised in disbelief. He thinks about her words, her accusations, and he knows he can’t do this anymore. “I- yeah. I guess I am.”

She blinks at him, seeming more stunned than upset. But anger slowly bubbles up, spreading across her features in an angry flush. “Are you fucking serious?”

Eddie winces and looks away. He wants to go to bed. He doesn’t want to deal with this anymore. “Yeah,” he says, fumbling with a carton of cigarettes, desperate for something to do with his hands. He can’t look at her as he adds: “I’m sorry, but this isn’t working anymore. I don’t know if it ever was.”

Silence stretches between them for a long agonizing moment. Eddie can’t look at her, and stares down at the lighter twisting in his hands. But he can feel her looking at him. Can see her shadow stretching across the patio towards his feet. When she finally speaks, the anger in her voice is blistering. But the pity is back too and that hurts worse. “You’re an ass Eddie Roundtree,” she spits at him, her voice so harsh he has to look up at her. “For someone so fucking selfish, you seem determined to make yourself miserable.”

Her words hit him like a kick to the stomach. He chokes on them, drowns in them, feels them seared into his skin like a hot brand. And he has no way to deny it.

“Claire…”

The door squeaks painfully as she yanks it open. Eddie feels hollow inside as she steps through, pausing at the threshold. He wishes she would just spit on him and get it over with. Slap him, call him names, dump her drink over his head. He wouldn’t stop her, he thinks he probably deserves it.

“I hope you and Camila will be very happy,” she says instead, and it’s the meanest thing anyone’s ever said to him.

Camila: She tells Billy she wants to go to the photoshoot exactly five days early. She smiles and holds his hand and says how excited she is to meet the photographer. She holds Julia in her lap and reminds Billy that she hasn’t seen her Uncle Graham in over a month. She cooks his favorite dinner and says that she’ll be there for moral and professional support.

There’s no way he can say no. No way he can’t let them go with him.

So on the day of the shoot, they wrap Julia up tight in her winter coat and drive out to the desert together. It’s blistering cold when they get there, with no trees or buildings to block the brutal wind. Camila almost wonders if she should bundle up Julia and keep her in the car.

But she smiles and laughs, and enjoys the flush of happiness as Billy introduces her to the photographer. She enjoys his hand on the small of her back, Julia in her arms and the bloom of satisfaction she feels as Billy calls her his wife. The photographer smiles at them and Camila thinks this- this is what she’s always wanted. Their perfect family, together. Her husband, her baby, together. Supporting Billy, building something together.

But then Billy is leaving, striding off to check on something or other and Camila feels herself plummet back to Earth, her ego bruised and her feelings hurt as she’s left standing in the middle of the desert. Untethered. Alone.

She breathes in deep, plasters on a smile as Graham comes over and wrestles Julia from her arms. And Camila tries to be happy. She tries to focus on Julia, just like she always does. She’s genuinely glad to see how much Graham and Warren adore her daughter. But her eyes flicker towards Billy further up the mountain. He’s talking to Daisy, and she feels sick. She feels numb. They’re too far away to hear, but even from a distance, she can see the tension between them. The electricity. It didn’t prove anything either way, other than to serve as a stark reminder that Billy and herself might as well be roommates for all the passion between them lately.

“Where’s Eddie?” Camila asks, her words coming out breathy and hoarse. She feels winded, drained. She doesn’t know what to feel and needs something to ground her back to reality. She needs to talk to Eddie.

Warren and Graham are both crouched low, Julia tottling between them as they draw shapes into the dirt with sticks. They look up at her question before sharing a wary grimace.

“He’s in the van,” Graham says, nodding out past the craft table and the row of cars. The old beat up van is there, Eddie’s frame just barely visible in the back.

Camila doesn’t walk a step before Warren quickly adds: “I wouldn’t. He’s been in a bad mood all week.”

Camila frowns, turning back to the boys and Julia. “Why? What’s wrong?” She thinks back to her call to him the other day. The memory brings a heat of embarrassment to her cheeks. She’d been drunk when she called. Alone and drunk: how embarrassing. But Eddie hadn’t seemed upset when she talked to him. At least, not until she told him about Billy.

“He’s pissy cause his girlfriend broke up with him,” Warren says, scratching the back of his head.

“He says he broke up with her,” Graham says unconvincingly.

Warren scoffs under his breath. “Right. Anyways, he’s been a dick about it all week.”

“Oh.”

She isn’t sure what to say and stares back at the van in confusion. She hadn’t even known he was dating anyone. The thought makes her dizzy. She feels more lost than ever, unmoored and disconnected from everything around her. Clearly she didn’t know anything anymore.

---

The photo shoot goes about as well as it possibly can when the wind was biting cold and half the band was clearly in a bad mood. Honestly, it kinda passes in a blur. Camila tries to pay attention, but it’s like her vision’s gone fuzzy, her thoughts spinning as the photographer barks orders and the band moves about like paper dolls against the desert landscape.

Eddie is in a bad mood. He doesn’t even seem to register her presence as he joins the group on set. It’s only when Julia begins crying does he finally look over to her. The stormy expression in his eyes breaks as his gaze meets hers, but there’s barely enough time for them to exchange a nod before the photographer is directing them towards the next setup.

Camila wishes she had more energy- she wants to find out what’s wrong with Eddie. To figure out who he was dating, what went wrong. She wants to be a good friend.

But she feels like she’s drowning, unable to parse through her own haze of misery. There’s nothing left in her.

And when the shoot breaks and the band packs up and the photographer loads his camera back in his car and Eddie gives her another grim nod through a cloud of dust, Camila feels adrift in the worst way. She packs Julia into her carseat and waits for Billy to come down from the mountain. And as she stares up at her husband engaged in a flurry of passion and anger with another woman… Camila has never felt so alone.

She expects to feel sad when she sees Billy and Daisy together. Their movements are wild, restless, and filled with a passion Camila hasn’t felt in years. And she thinks she should be more upset than she is. But she’s just so… numb. Like this was always going to happen. Like this was the other shoe she’s been waiting to drop since those long nights alone in the hospital. And as she raises her camera and takes a picture, she almost feels relief. It was real. This was real. Her husband was having an affair, or something strikingly close to it, and Camila hadn’t imagined the growing distance between them. The loneliness she’d been feeling wasn’t all in her head. It was real, it was happening, and she’d captured it on film.

---

Her grim resignation doesn’t last long. She sits beside her husband on the drive back to Los Angeles and stares at the long lines of his fingers on the steering wheel. She stares and she thinks and she wonders what other secrets Billy’s been keeping from her.

And she’s so fucking tired of secrets. She’s so tired of not having any of her own.

Her anger and frustration builds and grows as the miles tick by. Until it’s the only thing she can think about. She feels swallowed whole by the months of secrets. The years. So many unsaid words, so many restless nights. She thinks about the silence between her and Billy, about how determined she was to fill the empty space between them with her own truth in the absence of his. She’s never been anything but honest and open with him. She’s given him everything. And he’s been living through omission.

She thinks about everything he’s hidden from her, the way he refuses to let her in, refuses to let her see the whole of him. She thinks about how she’s laid herself bare - given him the whole of herself for years with nothing in return. And she’s tired of it. She’s tired of striving for relentless transparency when Billy’s only ever been opaque.

If he can’t share his secrets with her, maybe she should find some of her own.

Chapter Text

When I'm not with you
Think of you always
(I miss those long hot summer nights) I miss you
When I'm not with you
Think of me always
Love you, love you

Eddie: When they leave the photoshoot, Eddie is seething. His already bad mood had multiplied exponentially and he can’t see straight. His ears are ringing and he throws himself in the back of the van, glad Warren has the keys. If Eddie was driving, he isn’t sure he wouldn’t have careened them off the road and into a ditch.

“Well, that sucked,” Warren intones to the silent van. Graham is in the back with Eddie and winces, looking out the window.

“It could’ve been worse,” Karen adds, kicking her dusty boots up onto the dashboard and staring out the window. She doesn’t sound convinced, her voice flat and unenthused.

He knows they’re all feeling the sting of it; the confirmation that even though they’d all put their blood, sweat, and tears, years of their lives into the Six, it was still Billy’s band. When people looked at the band, they saw Billy. When they talked about the band, they meant Billy. No matter that it had been Eddie and Warren and Graham’s first. No matter that they would’ve still been playing shitty covers in Pittsburgh if Karen hadn’t introduced them to Rod. No matter that their best songs had come straight from Daisy. No. None of that mattered when Billy Dunne was in the room.

Camila: When they get home, Julia is asleep. Camila carries her upstairs and into bed, gently changing her out of the dusty clothes she’d been wearing and into pajamas. She needed a bath, but it could wait. Camila couldn’t bear disturbing her sleep.

It’s a lovely sight, and Camila feels a wave of peace and love crash over her as she stares down at her daughter’s downy cheek, her dark curls illuminated by the moonlight through the window. It’s almost enough to calm the raging storm she feels deep in her bones.

But then she’s stepping out into the hallway, and she feels paralyzed by the thought of spending the evening alone with her husband.

It’s the first time Billy’s been home before dinner in months but she can’t, she can’t, she can’t handle spending the night alone with him. It makes her breathless, her veins burning with an anger she’s tried so hard to push down. The thought of sitting across from him, eating dinner, reading, talking to him-- after everything she’d seen that morning? After everything she’s suspected for months? No. No, she couldn’t do it. She needs to get out, needs to claim something for herself before she breaks. Before they break.

Because she sees it now- the solution. The way they make it through this without splintering and snapping at the seams. They needed to be even.

Camila needed a secret of her own.

Eddie: By the time they get back to Los Angeles, the sky had started to turn dark. He feels strung out - tired and raw in a way he can’t quite explain. He’d been swallowed by his unhappiness for a week and he was tired of it. He was tired of himself. When they make it home, he sheds his clothes like a second skin. He lets them fall to the floor in a heap. They’re covered in dust and bitter thoughts, and he kicks them towards the overflowing hamper in the corner. He wants to forget this day and when he steps into the shower, he scrubs his skin raw.

He’s eager to forget the embarrassment he’d felt when the photographer set them aside. Eager to forget how small being around Billy made him feel. Eager to forget Claire’s words about his own unhappiness. He wants to put on the new suit that’s hanging in his closet and go to the shiny new club Teddy told them about. He wants to get drunk and talk to pretty girls and breathe in the cool night air. He wants to enjoy the glittering LA life he was supposed to be living; he wants to claw his way out of the pit of self pity he’s found himself in. He wants to smile and laugh and have a good time. He wants to forget about everything else.

He doesn’t invite the others to go with him - not because he doesn’t enjoy their company but he knows if they all go, they’ll spend the night talking about the photoshoot and the album and the tour. All the things he desperately wants to leave behind for the evening.

The others are collapsed on the couch, sunburnt and sun-dazed, and they look up with curiosity when Eddie passes by, but he can’t spare them more than a wave. He needs to keep moving. Needs to chase the good feeling he was searching for. Needs to forget. He slams the car into reverse and pulls out of the driveway, feeling a wave of relief shoot through him as he starts driving west. The cool ocean air hits him and he can finally breathe.

Camila: There’s a plan forming at the back of her mind. It feels awful and horrible and cruel, but it sends a rush of satisfaction and eagerness through her. It was the only way they could make this work. The only way Camila could go on living in this house, in this marriage.

Just one time, she thinks to herself, as she sweeps eyeliner across her lids. Her veins are boiling with anticipation as she pulls out a dress from her closet. The metallic knit shines under her vanity lights. She’d planned to wear it to the album release party, but she could find another. This was more important. This was their last chance.

She would find a man, any man really, to spend the night with. Her cheeks heat at the prospect - she’d only ever been with Billy. But it wouldn’t mean anything, it couldn’t. Not when this was just a means to an end. A way to level the field. Because if she does this, if she has this… affair, then she won’t feel like she’s drowning every time she sees Billy and Daisy together. If she has a secret of her own, she won’t feel like such a fucking idiot every time her husband lies to her face.

Eddie: The bar is cool. It’s new and glitzy and fun. Eddie would have to thank Teddy for the recommendation when he saw him next. The modernist front is stunning; Eddie drops his keys with the valet under the wide blocky overhang, before he heads inside. The lighting is low, and the high ceilings make it seem cavernous. It’s modern and lush and Eddie spares a curious glance towards the velvet lined side rooms he passes. They’re partially obscured with thick curtains and furnished with plush couches. Inside are couples leaned close together, the steady thrum of music concealing their words. Eddie smirks to himself, skirting around a frantic looking waiter leaving the kitchen, and continues to the back of the building.

Outside is where the real party is happening. A wide pool predominates the backyard, the patio set into the hillside, looking out over the softly lit beach cities below. There’s a crowd gathered, the air thick with the smell of alcohol, perfume and sweat. Chlorine and the salt filled air underlies it all, blending with the sounds of music, laughter, and the click of heels against the glazed tile floor.

The bartender smiles at him as Eddie orders his first drink. There’s something electric in the air - good vibes or whatever. Eddie doesn’t want to think about it too hard, doesn’t want to second guess anything. He wants to plunge himself into the feeling, immerse himself in the vibrant energy that’s radiating through the club. He feels like he belongs, like he’s supposed to be there, drinking in the smiles and glittering lights and shining pool. He leaves a generous tip, before the girl at the end of the bar catches his eyes. She smiles at him, waves him over, and Eddie grins. He’s ready to drown himself in the heady rush of the LA night.

Camila: She instantly feels out of place, the second she steps out of the car. For a long moment she worries she has the wrong address; the hulking modern box looks more like a private mansion than the intimate club Teddy had told her about. But she spots the club’s name in discreet swirling letters above the door, and tries to gather her resolve.

It’s hard. She clutches her keys a second too long before handing them off to the valet. She pulls at her dress as she walks through the doors, feeling both over and underdressed. Her cheeks burn as she mistakenly enters one of the private side rooms, and she stutters an incomprehensible apology to the glaring couple. The echo of her heels is impossibly loud, and when she finally makes it outside, she stands frozen, overwhelmed by the scope of the space.

It wasn’t as packed as the bars they used to go to or that the band used to play at. Nobody was jostling her elbow or tripping over her skirt as they passed by. But Camila feels so startlingly out of place, she considers forgetting the whole thing and going home. Because, no, it wasn’t packed, but the crowd that was there looked like they belonged. Like they were supposed to be there. Everyone was paired off or talking in groups. They all moved confidently around the pool and the bar. They were meant to be there, meant to live in glittering spaces like this one. Camila was not.

She used to be good at this, she thinks, making her way towards the bar she’s just spotted. She side steps a couple as they emerge, dripping, gleaming, from the pool. Camila gingerly sets her purse down on the bar top and settles onto one of the seats. She isn’t sure if she wants to fit into a place like this: it was fancier than she was used to, nearly pretentious in its LA-ness. And yet, Camila knows she could’ve. Before. This shouldn’t be so hard. She shouldn’t feel so awkward. So nervous.

Her plan is beginning to feel a little foolish. A little out of her depth. She wasn’t that person. Not really. The type of person that went to exclusive clubs or had one night stands. Her eyes skim over the assembled group, and she tries to imagine spending an evening with any of them. There were plenty of attractive men, a few that she recognizes from the magazines even, but she doesn’t think she can do it. They were strangers, and even if the thought of carving out her own night of secrets is appealing, she has no desire to kiss, to touch, to fuck any of the nameless men gathered around the pool. Let alone talk to any of them.

Instead she orders a drink, something strong that sits heavy on her tongue. Maybe this would be enough. Maybe just a night to herself, the possibility of something more, would be enough to balance the scales. Maybe just making Billy sweat a little - letting him feel just a taste of the loneliness and confusion she’d been feeling for months, would be enough. And maybe it wasn’t the same as whatever Billy and Daisy were doing, but maybe it would be enough to keep her from drowning.

Eddie: He feels pleasantly buzzed and chipper sitting there on the stripped lounge chair. The girl at the bar had said she recognized him from the band. She’d put her hand on his arm and smiled prettily at him. She’d led him to sit by the pool, and he’d let her, listening to her tell him how talented he was. And the blooming blush of recognition and flirtation buoys his spirits until he feels dizzy with it.

He’s feeling good, separated from the gloom he’d left behind in the Canyon, in the desert. He wants to live there, surrounded by the grinning, laughing crowd. He wants to spend every night for the rest of his life there at that LA club. For the first time in weeks, he feels happy as he drinks and laughs and listens to the music piped in from some hidden speaker.

“Do you want another drink?” he asks the girl across from him, his voice raised against the noise. When she nods, Eddie casts his gaze towards the poolside bar, taking in the crowds.

He almost doesn’t notice her at first - her hair teased high and makeup dark. He does a double take, eyes squinting as he takes her in. At first, he thinks he might be hallucinating, the bourbon going to his head, turning strangers into friends. And then he laughs, his mouth already twisting up into a smile, because for fucks sake, maybe this place really was magic, conjuring his favorite people out of thin air.

Camila: Seeing Eddie was like the first day of spring - stepping out from the house, bracing for a winter chill and being pleasantly, wondrously surprised.

He’s staring at her like she’s just touched down from Mars, and his shock almost makes her embarrassed. But the sight of him drowns the feeling out, leaving nothing but relief. She smiles, self deprecating and stunned, as he makes his way over to her.

“What are you doing here?” he asks gleefully. He stretches his arms wide, indicating to the pool, the bar, California, as if she were the last person he’d expected to see. And maybe she was. Disastrous photoshoot hours earlier aside, despite living blocks away from each other, they’d seemed to be orbiting different solar systems for months.

Camila picks up her glass to hide the self deprecating grimace she can’t help making, as he makes his way to her side. She’s… not shocked exactly, but surprised to see how comfortable Eddie seems to be there. He fits in with these shiny people better than she ever could, and it brings a heat to her skin, further cementing her nerves. “I don’t know- change of scenery,” she says, smiling despite herself. She feels even more out of place in the face of his comfort, but she could never be scared around Eddie. He anchors her to Earth, and despite her insecurities, she finally feels grounded as he joins her.

Eddie: “Hi.” She sounds a little breathless as he reaches her side. He takes her in: her makeup, her hair, her dress- good god, her dress. The damn thing is clinging to her, dipping low and showing more cleavage, more curves than- fuck, fuck, fuck, he should not be thinking like that. Still…

“Hey,” he says, grinning, and the greeting drags out. And he’s looking at her again, and Jesus Christ, she looks good. Really good. How does she look so good? “You look amazing,” he can’t help adding.

Camila’s eyebrows shoot up at his compliment. “Hmm,” she manages, taking a long sip of her drink, “thank you.” And shit, he’d made her uncomfortable, hadn’t he? Stupid, why couldn’t he keep his thoughts to himself? Even if she did look pretty and shiny and hot as fuck. Jesus Christ, what was wrong with him?

Eddie shakes his head, attempting to clear his dangerous thoughts, to clear the awkward thread of tension that’s formed between them. “Do you wanna join us?” he asks, pushing through, hooking his thumb over his shoulder to where he’d been sitting.

Camila: Oh god. Oh god. Was this worse? Camila looks back at the girl waiting expectantly for Eddie to rejoin her. Then at Eddie, his suit fitted snug around his shoulders, his shirt open just the right amount, his hair hanging perfectly around his ears. Eddie was one of the shiny people who belonged here. It didn’t matter that they’d come from the same sun drenched suburban street back in Pittsburgh. Didn’t matter that they’d come out to California at the same time. Eddie belonged in glittering places like this; she could see that now. And Camila… did not.

“No. No, I’m good here,” she says, trying to keep the hurt, the confusion, the pain from her voice. She was happy for him - really. She was glad he was having a good time and didn’t want to interrupt. She plasters on a smile and slaps the bartop beside her, her movements exaggerated in her failing effort to appear nonchalant. Because she doesn’t want him to worry about her, doesn’t want his pity. “Thank you,” she adds, smile painful. “Go. Go have fun.”

“Okay…” he says, eyebrow raised like he knows she’s lying. LIke he can see through her bared teeth and empty words. And if anyone can, it’s him. Eddie’s always been able to see through her hollow smiles, down to her bones and veins and sinew. Able to see the hurt she tried so hard to bury. But maybe that time has passed because he stands, he leaves. He walks away from her, back to his glittering life, and Camila is left behind, her cheeks aching from her false smiles.

She feels empty. Dejected. Rejected. And, fuck, it wasn’t his fault. She wanted him to have a good time. But if her oldest friend could leave her behind - could move forward and forge a new path without her… She doesn’t know what she’s doing anymore. She feels stupid, she feels lost. She wants to go to bed and cry and pretend like her life wasn’t spiraling out of control, spinning by without her.

She can’t stand to be at that bar anymore and gathers her bag. She thinks about saying goodbye to Eddie, but the thought is painful. She doesn’t want to see his pitying looks, his halfhearted invitations to join him. She doesn’t want to feel like a second choice, not when the whole point of the evening was to escape that very feeling.

It doesn’t matter though, because when Camila goes to stand, she’s blocked by Eddie’s frame, her gaze connecting first with the tight spread of his shirt across his chest before darting up to his smug smile. And he was there. He was sitting. He hadn’t left her at all.

Eddie: He’s stupid, a glutton for punishment. But he feels buzzed and happy and he wants to keep doing things that make him happy.

Camila makes him happy.

And she was his friend.

So fucking sue him if he wanted to have a fun night out with a friend that made him happy. There was nothing wrong with that. No reason to second guess his choice to join her at the bar.

The girl he’d just left apparently disagreed. “Asshole,” she bites out as Eddie sits.

Eddie is feeling too good to feel bad about what he’s done, but Camila lets out a gasp that quickly turns to laughter as the girl storms inside. Camila’s hand covers her mouth, hiding her laugh with perfectly manicured nails, before she turns back to Eddie, glee evident in her eyes.

“Wow,” she says, smile stretching wide across her face. A real one that turns her cheeks round and rosy, so different from the thin hollow versions she’d given him earlier. She laughs again, turning back to him and the bar, pushing her dark hair back. “You’d choose me over a sure thing like that?”

And Eddie is feeling fucking smug as hell. It’s stupid, a little thing, one of those things he thinks he should’ve grown out of by now. But fuck, he loves making her laugh. He loves the sound of it, the way it shapes her face, and he really fucking loves that he’s the cause of it. “I’d choose you over everyone,” he says honestly, hoping to make her smile again, hoping to make her feel as good and bubbly and happy as he’s feeling.

But shit. Oh no. Too honest. Too much truth. Fuck, maybe alcohol had gone to his head, because maybe he shouldn’t have said that. But he really hasn’t had that much to drink, and he can’t quite figure out why the words have hit her so hard. Camila is staring at him, her smile falling fast. Her eyes are big and wide and there’s something sad lurking just below the surface. Shit. Shit.

“Hey look,” he says, shaking his head, hoping to clear his thoughts, to clear the weirdness between them. Friends, friends, friends. Camila was upset, she didn’t need to deal with any of his weird lingering feelings towards her. He focuses on her dark eyes, on the way her hand curls protectively around her neck. He wants to make her feel better- wants to be a good friend. Eddie reaches out, puts what he hopes is a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Are you- Are you sure you’re okay?”

Camila: Are you okay? No, no she was not. Apparently she was worse than she thought because a dangerous idea is forming at the back of her mind. It’s stupid and reckless and she wants to blame it on the alcohol, but really she hasn’t had that much to drink.

Eddie: If it was any other girl looking at him like that… Jesus Christ. But it’s not just any girl, it’s Camila. And she is absolutely not looking at him the way he thinks she is. She couldn’t be. There’s no way.

Camila: But she couldn’t, really she couldn't. He was her friend and he was looking at her, so concerned. So worried. Always, always there for her. And yet, for as many problems as it would cause, the thought of it is somehow… easier? Because he wasn’t a stranger, she knew he’d be kind. And fuck, she shouldn’t even be considering it, but there’s a heat growing in her stomach that she hasn’t felt in the longest time. And maybe… Maybe?

Eddie: Camila smiles, laughs, sudden and big, and it breaks him from his dangerous thoughts. He’d been lost in the deep pull of her eyes, and thank god she looks away first, because he never could.

“Can I buy you a drink?” She asks, decidedly ignoring his previous question. But she’s smiling again, and he doesn’t want to push it.

“Uh. Yeah. Please.” He feels tongue tied, blurry and fuzzy around the edges. Because Camila is leaning forward over the bar, her dress clinging to the long arch of her back and down to the curve of her ass. When she turns back to him, her dress is somehow even lower, showing the swell of her cleavage. And she’s smiling at him and handing him a drink and, good god, she’s putting her hand on his knee. And he feels kinda lightheaded and his mind is spinning through a series of delirious and dangerous thoughts.

Because he’s sitting there right? In this beautiful bar in a beautiful city. And a beautiful woman is sitting next to him and smiling and touching and handing him drinks. And that alone is a night worth remembering. But the beautiful woman in question is Camila. Camila who is there at the bar alone and dressed to absolute perfection. And seeing her is like a warm summer night - eternally perfect. And he feels like maybe he’s dreaming. Or maybe he’s dead? Because, he thinks he’s been pretty lucky in life - overall. He’s mature enough to admit that. But this - this right here? This is the stuff he’s only ever dreamed of. And he’s never been lucky enough to think this dream might actually come true.

Camila: Should she feel bad? She thinks maybe she should. Like maybe she wasn’t playing fair. She sees the way his ears turn pink, and his eyes trail over her body, and how he stares at her hand on his thigh. And it’s so easy to make him want her. Too easy maybe, and she thinks she should feel bad about that. At the very least, it should feel wrong.

But… it doesn’t. It feels easy, and not just in the sense that all men react essentially the same. But it’s so easy to smile at him, to flirt with him. When she’d made up her mind, she thought it might be uncomfortable. Awkward to push past their years of friendship. But, it’s not.

If anything it’s easier. As easy as breathing, their years of banter and teasing and history mixing with the desire she sees in his eyes. The desire she feels building between her own thighs.

“So,” he says, clearing his throat, pulling his eyes back up to hers, “are you gonna tell me what you’re actually doing here?” There's a little catch in his voice, like the words have dried up in his mouth, and Camila can’t help the smirk that plays at the corners of her lips. It was fun, drawing this reaction from him, when they’d spent so long skirting on the far side of platonic. There had been times, brief flashes, over the years when she’d thought maybe something could have taken root and bloomed out of their friendship. But even if they had dared to toe the line, they never would have crossed it.

And maybe it makes her a bad person, to so suddenly plunge them headlong onto the other side of that carefully crafted, deliberately tended boundary. But she’d come here with a purpose: to find something of her own.

And Eddie has always been hers.

Eddie: He’s trying really hard to keep his thoughts steady, and clean, and friendly. But, fuck, is it hard when she leans against the bar, her breasts pushed up against her arm and she’s smiling at him as if he’s hung the sun.

“What? Aren’t you happy to see me?” she asks, and there’s something mischievous about the way she says it that manages to- well not completely, but almost- knock his head back on straight. It’s a look, a tone, that he hasn’t heard from her in ages. One that brings him straight back to childhood, to sneaking out of their houses and running wild down empty suburban streets. It hits him right beneath the ribs and he’s smirking at her, feeling like they might finally be in sync again after years of misaligned orbits.

“I didn’t say that,” he says grinning. His cheeks hurt from smiling, but he doesn’t mind. Her hand is burning hot on his thigh and she’s leaning towards him. He can see the tiny freckles on her cheeks and the smear of copper across her eyelids. The air rushes out of him as her eyes drop down to his lips (he definitely didn’t imagine it this time). His heart is sort of pitter pattering against his chest and he tries to pretend like this was normal.This was so very normal. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Camila shrugs and he doesn’t miss the way she pulls back from him just a fraction. But she keeps her smile plastered across her face, twists her straw between her fingers. “I dunno,” she says, passing a hand over her mouth. She looks down at her drink like she’s studying it, her smile dropping just a hair. “I dunno,” she says again, brightening, straightening her spine and smiling at him with renewed vigor. “Just bored I guess,” she says, her voice laced with a sigh - the same voice she’d used a hundred times, hanging out on her front porch after school.

Eddie nods. And he- He won’t ask about Billy. The thought catches in his mouth. He wants to know if Billy is home alone, if he’s okay with her being there. If he was with Julia. Or Daisy. But just the thought of him is poison in his mouth, and Eddie would rather spit glass than bring him up. He wants Camila to keep smiling at him, and somehow he knows mentioning Billy would put a stop to that.

“Well,” he asks instead, “have you been thoroughly entertained?” He manages to pull his gaze away from her, to nod to the pool and the band and the party.

Camila follows his gaze, looking out at the scene around them. “Hmm,” she shrugs, taking another sip of her drink, her expression unimpressed. “I’ve seen better.”

And he knows she’s teasing him, can see the way her mouth twitches up at the corners, her eyes shining bright, but he plays it out. He throws his head back and scoffs at her. “Oh, come on. This party is great. Name a better one?”

She cocks her head to the side, chews on the end of her straw like she’s actually considering, and Eddie tries not to get distracted by how cute she looks. “John McNally’s party senior year was pretty good,” she finally says.

Eddie gapes at her, mouth hanging open. “John McNally?” She’s laughing at him, deep belly laughs, but he can’t stop his incredulous stare. “No way. No way was that party better than this.”

“It was!” she gasps between giggles, and she’s leaning close again, her hand shoving lightly against his chest. He feels branded as she lets it drop, the imprint of her palm and fingers burned into his skin. “We got high for the first time there, remember?”

He does remember, though he’s surprised she does. She’d also been outrageously drunk and fallen asleep in the backyard while they were looking at the stars. Eddie had had to help her walk home, her arm slung heavy over his shoulder the entire six blocks. He’d helped her sister sneak her up to her room, past her parents, picking dried grass from her hair before anyone woke up. She’d called him at two in the morning, her voice hoarse and whispered and thanked him for one of the best nights of her life.

Eddie bites the inside of his mouth, and looks away because suddenly, this is all feeling too real. Too everything. “Yeah,” he says, “Alright. That one was pretty good.”

“Told you,” she says smugly. And Eddie tries to bring himself back up, to match her playful mood, but something painfully earnest catches in his throat.

“I’ve missed you.”

Camila: His words land heavy and solid and real, and suddenly it’s hard to breathe. Because he’s looking at her like he sees her. Like he really sees her. And it’s what she wants, what she’s been looking for. To be seen.

Tears prick her eyes as she takes in his words, and it takes her a moment to realize why they hit her so hard. He’d missed her. And so had she. She missed who she was when she was with him, who she used to be. She missed who she was in those distant memories. She missed the Camila that snuck out to parties, and got high with her best friend, and whispered into the dark with her sister. And she knows it’s part of growing up, but she’s just felt so lost for so long.

And then suddenly Eddie is there again, and he sees her.

That, more than anything, cements her decision.

She wasn’t going to do it. Not really. She hadn’t thought she was brave enough to actually sleep with another man. Flirt, maybe, and stay out to the early hours of the night. But Eddie is looking at her with wide, earnest eyes, and she wants him.

It turns out bravery doesn’t have anything to do with it, because there’s passion and desire and blind lust making its way through her body, and suddenly the decision is so stark and crystalline clear, she doesn’t know how she ever thought it would go any other way.

She wants him the way she might have done that night they first got high, laying out in the dry suburban lawn beside him. Wants him the way she might have that day in San Diego, with their bare skin icy and her legs wrapped around his waist. Wants him the way she might have at that bar, nearly a year back now, when she’d sat on his lap and he’d put his hand on her thigh and she realized for the first time that he was hers. Wants him the way she might have a thousand times over if she hadn’t let her own flawed expectations get in the way.

Her heart is pounding, her veins singing with an undeniable heat. It’s not a conscious choice but suddenly she’s standing, sliding off the barstool, the knit of her dress catching just a bit against the worn plastic seat. His legs part for her on instinct, and she’s stepping closer like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She feels the rough material of his pants where her hip presses against his inner thigh, and he’s warm. His whole body is radiating heat and she wants to sink into it - sink into him.

So she does.

She holds his eye as she steps closer; they’re blown wide and dark and they dart rapidly between her eyes and mouth. His ears are pink, and there’s that little catch in his breathing again, as if she’s surprised him. But he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t look away. He holds steady, and even, and true, and when she closes the gap, wrapping her arms around his waist, burying her face in his neck, and pulling him into a hug - he feels like home.

“I’m right here,” she says, and for the first time in months, it feels like she can finally breathe. When he wraps his arms tight around her, she feels whole. And when she finally pulls back and meets his eye… the only thing she sees is love.

It’s as easy as breathing when she reaches up and tangles her hand in the hair at the base of his neck. When she pulls him down to meet her, presses her lips against his and kisses him - she sighs into the embrace, knowing that this was how it was always supposed to be.

Eddie: Kissing Camila… It wasn’t like any kiss he’d had before. Wasn’t like he’d imagined it to be either. His heart is pounding right out of his chest, but somehow he still feels… safe? Like they were supposed to be doing this. Like somehow, he couldn’t mess it up.

She so fucking warm in his arms, her body fitting perfectly against his. And he would have been okay with just holding her, hugging her, talking to her, but this? This is better than he ever expected.

Camila’s lips move against his, soft and full, and perfect against his own. There’s a heat boiling in his stomach and through his veins, and it makes him pull her closer. His arms, wrapped loosely around her back, tighten until she’s pressed against him, his arms nearly straining and somehow it’s still not close enough. She lets out a small hmph of surprise, but doesn’t pull away. She kisses him harder, pushes her chest tighter against his as if she could melt into his skin, as if they could burn together. He can feel the swell of her breasts against him, her thigh moving against the junction of his legs, and all the air rushes from his body. He gasps into the kiss and when he presses back into her, it’s with a renewed vigor, the kiss bruising. She must find that funny, because he can feel her lips stretching wide into a grin against his. It makes him smile too, her happiness infectious, and soon they’re not so much kissing as they are smiling at each other like a couple of idiots, teeth and noses knocking together. Camila presses her forehead against his, and all he can see is her. The deep brown of her eyes, the darkness of her lashes against her cheeks, and the swollen red of her lips. He wants to look at her forever, at the flush of her cheeks and her lips and know he did that to her. Know he made her smile.

“Shit,” Camila swears suddenly, backing away so quickly that the chair behind her almost topples over. Eddie pulls back, startled by the abrupt change in her demeanor. But he notices the way her eyes dart anxiously around the bar, and he realizes what caused her to worry.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes out, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Cam. I’m-- I’m sure no one noticed.” He keeps his voice low, nearly a whisper against the music and the pounding in his chest. He looks out at the party - no one was looking at them, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t. Eddie feels a flush of… not regret, god, never regret, but something close to it as he notices the way Camila is biting down hard on her lip. If someone saw them, if someone told Billy… Fuck Billy, but he didn’t want to do anything that would hurt Camila.

Her fingers, light on his wrist, bring his attention back to her. “Can we go inside?” she asks, her eyes blown wide and lips still red. And Eddie feels like an ass for wanting to kiss her again when she was obviously worried about them being seen together.

Eddie is nodding before she’s finished asking, standing, following her. “Shit. Of course,” he says, his voice ragged with lust and worry. He knows he’s standing too close to her, that if anyone had seen them, had suspected anything, he was doing nothing to dissuade them. His shoulder keeps bumping hers as they walk, his arm hovering protectively around her back, and when she looks up at him, her face is so fucking close, it’s all he can do to stop from cupping her cheeks and kissing her again. He knows he needs to give her space, but fuck, he couldn’t pull himself away if he tried.

Camila: Eddie is apologizing again, but the only thing she can focus on is the feel of his breath hot against her neck and his hand ghosting over her hip. He’s so close- she wonders if he even realizes how close he is. She wants him closer.

Camila pulls open the door to the building with shaking hands. It’s instantly darker, quieter as it shuts behind them, and she can hear her own pulse pounding in her ears.

“Hey Cam, I’m really sorry,” he’s still saying, even though she’s the one that’d kissed him. He licks his lips, her eyes drawn instantly to the pink slide of his tongue. “I shouldn’t have- things just got out of hand.”

And she can’t take it anymore. The worried crease between his eyes, the pink flush of his lips, his disheveled hair caused by her own hand. She wants him, she wants him, she wants him, and it crashes over her like a wave, drowning her until her feet move forward, until her hands bunch into his shirt, and she’s shoving him back against the nearest wall. She kisses him, his wide eyes the last thing she sees before she leans in closer. The kiss is bruising and she bites down on his lip before she pulls away. “Shut up Eddie, and kiss me.”

And he does. He surges forward, his hands going to her hips and pulling her close to him. They kiss like they're drowning, like they’re desperate. And maybe they are; this feels important in a way she wasn’t expecting. Like their parallel paths were meant to converge at that very moment.

But god, most of all it felt fun.

She’d forgotten that kissing could be this fun. He nips quickly at her bottom lip and she hmms against his mouth, trying to remember to kiss him back instead of dissolving into giggles. He pulls her to him, his arms wrapped fully around her, pulling her tight until her heels lift off the ground. She licks at the seam of his lips in response, and they both let out a groan as their tongues finally meet.

And it’s like… Like maybe it should have been weird to know what her best friend’s mouth tasted like, or to feel the hard ridge of him against her stomach. But it’s not. It’s good. And it’s fun and it’s sexy, and she’s extremely surprised to find that kissing Eddie can be both. Because being with him didn’t feel new or different, it felt like it always had: silly, exciting, reckless, fun. It feels exactly like what it is: like she’s kissing her best friend.

But Jesus Christ, she must have been blind before because when she pulls away to catch her breath, he’s watching her, and suddenly she thinks he must be the prettiest man she’s ever seen.

“What?” he asks, laughing through his own ragged breaths.

Camila can’t help smiling, even as her cheeks burn. Because it’s silly, isn’t it, to realize something so obvious twenty years late, but it’s also true and painfully earnest when she says: “you’re beautiful.”

And he is. The long slope of his nose, the strong edge of his jaw. The way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. She can feel the broad expanse of his shoulders, of his back. The lean muscles in his arms. She wants to discover every inch of him; the delicate bones at his wrist, the coarse hair at his chest, the slight roundness at his stomach, the v just below his waist. It’s like she’s seeing him for the first time and she wants him all.

Eddie flushes a brilliant pink, but his chest puffs up at the compliment. “Shut up,” he laughs before he leans down to kiss her again. She wants it to linger, wants to taste every part of him, but he pulls away quickly, beginning to kiss a trail up her jaw to her temple. And that’s good too. That’s… wow…

“I’m supposed to tell you that,” he says, pressing an unbearably tender kiss just above her brow.

“You already did,” she says, feeling more than a little breathless. His hands hadn’t stopped moving, making tracks up her back, up her sides. Every time they skip the places she wants them most, her heart stutters and her mouth goes dry.

The smile he gives her nearly breaks her. She nearly takes him right then and there. “I told you you look amazing,” he says, one hand moving up to tangle long fingers in her hair. “But god Cam, you are so fucking beautiful. You-”

Whatever he’d been about to say is cut off by the clatter of a waiter’s cart. The frazzled looking teenager barely spares them a glance as he moves from the kitchen and out to the party. He doesn’t seem to care that Eddie and Camila have thrown themselves together against the nearest hallway wall. But the interruption pulls them apart, clearing Camila’s head long enough for her to make a decision.

“Come’on,” she says, before she grabs his hand, pulling him behind her.

Eddie: Camila is looking back at him over her shoulder, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she grins at him, wide and toothy. Her palm is warm against his, and god dammit, he would follow her anywhere.

They’re moving towards the front of the building, Camila’s heels echoing against the tile floor. It’s quiet compared to the rush of the party outside, but all Eddie can hear is his heart pounding in his chest and Camila’s breathy giggles.

“Where are we going?” he asks, his voice a harsh whisper. He doesn’t care really, not when her fingers are wrapped around his, but he wants to hear her voice. His cheeks hurt from smiling, and he chokes back a laugh when Camila responds with an exaggerated shush.

And then she’s pulling him to her side, wrapping both arms around one of his. She pulls them flush against the wall, hidden around a corner, and they fall silent as another waiter wheels a cart past them and out to the patio. Eddie can’t help leaning down to kiss her, his lips glancing off the corner of her mouth as she turns her head, laughing. “Let’s go,” she says, her voice conspiratorial and her smile wicked. Eddie can only smile in response, letting her drag him further into the building.

It’s a heady feeling, this game they’re playing. It reminds him of being young, of sneaking through the neighborhood with Camila at his side. But there’s a livewire singing beneath his skin. The burning realization that they weren’t young, that this wasn’t a game. It was real life. It was… He was too scared to name what it was. Too scared that he might be wrong.

But when she pulls him to a stop beside a nondescript door, grins at him before pushing him forward, hands flat against his chest, he feels breathless at the realization that this, this thing he’s been wishing and hoping and imagining, might finally, actually be happening.

Because he knows the taste of her now, knows where to kiss behind her ear to make her sigh, knows what she feels like in his arms. He knows for certain he’s never felt like this before. And she’s smiling. She’s laughing. He hasn’t seen her this happy in so long, and fuck, maybe that makes him sound conceited or whatever, but he would do anything to keep her smiling. He wants to make her so happy. He wants to make her feel good.

It’s a storage closet, the room they’ve so gracelessly pushed into. There are shelves full of tablecloths, napkins and wine glasses against the back wall, cleaning supplies piled in the corner. It all smells fairly clinical, and the only light is a sharp fluorescent bulb above them. But then Camila is pulling herself up onto the table at the side wall, her hips flaring and round and perfect, and she’s holding out a hand to him and saying his name. And when he steps towards her, her knees part, her legs wrap around his waist and he really thinks he might have died this time. And she’s the one that kisses him first. She’s the one that wraps her arms around his neck and she’s the one that groans into the kiss.

And soon he’s forgotten everything but her and the feel of her against him. His hands have found their way to her leg, pushing up the fabric of her dress fractionally until he can feel the softness of her thigh. And he doesn’t want to rush; he wants to enjoy this, enjoy her. But then her hands are at his waist, pushing up his shirt and her pinky fingers dipping below his waistband, and suddenly he can’t breathe. Can’t think.

He’s burning and she’s burning with him. And it sounds stupid and cliche, but it’s better than he ever imagined. Because for as long as he’s known her and for as long as he’s wanted this, he never could have imagined it’d be this good. He never could have imagined the little gasps she’d make when he bit her lip, or the feel of her tongue against his, or the way she’d sigh his name when he kissed the exposed swell of her breast. And he could have never imagined how it’d feel to have her nails scraping against his scalp or down his spine, or how fucking good it would feel to have her cloth covered center grinding hard against him, even through layers of clothes. And there’s a heat and an ache growing in his groin, and he feels like he might die if something doesn’t happen soon. But it’s the best kind of ache and a death he’d willingly accept. Because seeing her, pink and flushed, panting his name, and fucking happy, is worth anything. She’s worth everything.

Camila: They break apart, gasping for air. But they’re smiling. Both of them. Big toothy grins that show his dimples and hurt her cheeks. Eddie lets out a huff of a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief before he buries his face in her neck. His breath is hot against her skin and it heats her from the inside, burning through her until she tightens her legs around his waist. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long. Ever since-”

He breaks himself off, instead pulling up and pressing a bruising kiss to her lips.

Camila pulls back with a laugh, her hands pushing gently at his shoulders, despite his hips still held tight between her thighs. “Go on,” she says, breathless, smiling as Eddie’s stubble tickles her jaw. He kisses a trail across her neck and the dip of her shoulder - avoiding her probing. “You have to tell me now.” She pokes his side. “Since when?”

She expects him to say something silly, like how he’s wanted her ever since he saw her in this ridiculous dress. She could handle it if he said since that night at the bar, or since San Diego: those brief shining moments where even her own desire threatened to bubble up.

Eddie is searching her eyes, suddenly so serious, as if weighing the moment. When he sighs, Camila holds her breath, suddenly, anxiously waiting for his response. “Camila, I’ve wanted to kiss you since I was sixteen years old.”

His answer leaves her stunned. There’s nothing funny or flirty or frivolous about the words; they ring startlingly earnest, cutting through the laughter and the heat. His eyes burn into hers and he says it like she’s ripped the answer from him. As if he were bearing his soul. And maybe he is, because there’s something heavy and solid about the words. As if now that they’ve been said, the world has shifted in some fundamental way. Eddie takes in her dazed expression, and squints, looking away and wincing at his own admission. She can feel the deep rumble of his voice against her chest as he adds: “Ever since that night at the quarry- I’ve wanted you more than anything.”

Camila is left breathless by his confession. The implications of it. If it’s true, then that means… All those years, nearly a decade of their lives… All that time, and Eddie wanted her. Before Daisy, before Julia. Before rehab, and her marriage. Before Billy. Before the band. He wanted her all that time. The thought of it staggers her and she swallows thickly.

“Oh.”

Eddie licks his lips before he looks over her shoulder, embarrassed. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have said that.” His hands tighten on her hips before dropping away, laying flat on the table on either side of her.

“No. It’s okay,” she says, tightening her grip at his waist. But it’s not okay. Not really. Because if what he’s saying is true, then what they’re doing right here, right now… it’s not just a reckless flare of passion anymore. It isn’t just a hotheaded fling between friends.

It suddenly feels enormous.

He must not believe her reassuring smile, because when she slides off the table, he steps back, lets her go without reaching for her. Already she feels the cold absence of him. “Shit,” he says, wincing and running a hand through his hair. “I made it weird, didn’t I? Fuck.”

But Camila doesn’t turn to him. Instead she wordlessly pulls one of the stark white table linens from the shelf against the wall. She hears Eddie’s sharp intake of breath as she spreads it out across the floor. And when she pulls her dress up and over her head, she’s nearly overwhelmed by the intimacy of it all. But she’d heard the honesty in Eddie’s words, and seen the vulnerability in his eyes. And she wants to do this. She wants to be with him, and she doesn’t want it to just be a quick fuck against a table. Because they’ve both waited too long for this. And it might not be the pragmatic affair she’d been looking for, or the torrid romance he’s presumably imagined, but she wants it to mean something. And maybe this isn’t how it was supposed to happen, how it should have happened, but even if it’s just for one night, she wants this. She wants to know what his skin tastes like, what the weight of his body feels like on top of her, what he sounds like as they come together. She wants him, even for one fleeting moment. She wants it to be good.

Camila drops to her knees down on the tablecloth and looks up at him. His eyes are blown wide with lust and worry, and he stares at her as she holds her hand out to him.

“Well? Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

Chapter Text

I got nothing but love for you
Tell me what you really want to do
First you love me, then you get on down the line
But I don't mind, I don't mind, yeah

Camila: She can’t catch her breath. Her lungs are aching and her limbs feel all loose and disconnected. A thin layer of sweat coats her body, rapidly cooling, and she’s immensely grateful that she’d thought to lock the door. A very distant part of her mind is aware that she’s laying naked in a restaurant store closet, but her mind is hazy and rosy and calm, and Eddie’s already grabbed his jacket and laid it over her.

Camila burrows closer to his chest, unable to stop herself from chasing the high of being with him. Her head is resting against his shoulder, and he’s so very warm. She traces a path through the hair on his chest while he runs a finger down her spine.

Her heart is still pounding, even as their breathing returns to normal. She feels almost… stunned? And her next words slip out without any forethought.

“That was really fucking good. Wasn’t it?”

She can’t help it as her statement twists into a question at the end. Her whole body is singing in the aftermath of pleasure, but she can’t help feeling woefully inexperienced compared to him. What if the earth shattering sex they’d just had was just average to him?

She shouldn’t have worried. Because she’s still laying half on top of him, she can feel the way his chest puffs up at her words, and feel the way his fingers flex against her back. When she tilts her head and looks up at him, he’s looking back at her with the smuggest smile she’s ever seen.

“Shut up,” she laughs, rolling off of him and onto her back. The ceiling tiles stare back at her and do nothing to calm her burning blush.

Eddie follows her, the arm behind her head tightening as he rolls onto his side and pulls her close. He kisses her cheek, nudges her ear with his nose. “It was really fucking good,” he whispers, and Camilia shivers. “Maybe even the best.”

Camila feels her skin start to heat again, her breathing skipping, as he brings his free hand to rest at her waist. She licks her lips, and it’s absolutely fascinating the way his eyes follow even that smallest of movements. She hooks her leg up over his hip and, good god, is it wrong to want to stay in that dingy storage closet forever?

Eddie swallows thickly; she can see the bob in his throat and feel his heartbeat pounding where his chest is pressed to her shoulder. He leans forward, burying his face between her neck and shoulder, as if he’s embarrassed by how clearly he wants her. “In fact,” he says, his voice muffled by her hair, “I could be persuaded to do it again. And again, and again, and again.” Each again is punctuated by a kiss to her shoulder, and Camila feels herself being pulled back to that heady heat, her eyes closing as her arms come up to wrap around his shoulders.

The door knob rattles, cutting through their hazy lust. Camila bolts upright, clutching Eddie’s jacket tight against her chest. Eddie jumps beside her, tension clearly laced through every muscle in his body. His eyes are comically wide and he folds himself towards her as if to protect her from whatever was waiting on the other side of the door.

“Danny, is that you man?”

Eddie and Camila stare at each other. What else are they supposed to do? They’re both naked, the tablecloth beneath them thoroughly debauched.

“I swear man, if you’re smoking in there, I’m not covering for you again.” The employee on the other side of the door gives one last half hearted rattle on the handle. “Joey gets back from his break in five; you better be out by then.”

The silence nearly drowns them as they wait anxiously for the waiter to leave. In their shock, they’d pulled apart and Camila’s skin had cooled, her thoughts crashing back down to earth. To reality.

“I should go,” she says, and when Eddie winces, she has to look away. She can’t look at him, at the way his mouth tilts down at the corners and his shoulders drop. This was… She can’t think about what it is right now; she has to get home.

Camila scrambles to her feet, pulling her dress back over her head with shaking hands. Eddie follows suit, grabbing his pants and shirt from where they’d been kicked into the corner. They dress in silence, the air thick and smelling of sex.

The tablecloth beneath them is rumpled and stained. Camila’s cheeks burn as she notices the stains left behind. Jesus Christ. She presses a hand to her mouth and turns away, unable to face the stark evidence of what they’d just done. Eddie takes pity on her, wadding up the offending linen and shoving it in the garbage bin against the wall.

“Your jacket,” she finally says numbly. She holds onto it, feeling the thick material between her fingers, a moment too long, unwilling, unable to let it go. Finally, she holds it out to him, and they both stare at it, at the offering stretched out between them.

“Keep it,” he finally says, his fingers curling over hers as he attempts to push it back into her arms. “It’s cold outside.”

But Camila shakes her head, pressing it firmly against his chest until he has no choice but to take it back.

“We should go,” she says, and she hates how hollow her voice sounds, “before someone comes back.”

Eddie nods and doesn’t protest when she slowly opens up the door. The hallway is empty and when they step back into the real world, the enormity of what they’d just done crashes over her.

“Can I drive you home?” Eddie asks, his eyes wide and hopeful, and when he runs a hand through his hair, his shirt rides up showing a sliver of skin at his hip. She’d touched that skin, she’d felt the heat of his body next to her, but already that seemed like a lifetime ago. There was something about the chill of the hallway that shot straight down to her bones, filling her veins with ice.

Camila shakes her head. She can’t meet his gaze - can’t bear to see the emotion behind his eyes. He was so… easy to read. She knew him too well, and she knew she had never seen that look in his eyes before. That starry eyed expression and lopsided smile. It was unbearably soft and honey sweet, melting over her with a warmth she wasn’t used to. He was looking at her like… like… they were lovers.

“I drove,” she says simply, turning down the hallway to the front door. She hates the way her heels echo through the halls, hates the way the valet at the front stares at her as she pushes through the door.

Eddie is hot on her heels, and she can feel the worry rolling off of him. “Cam, just hold on a sec, okay?”

But she can’t. She can’t linger in this moment, no matter how sweet it was. She can’t look at him. Not right now.

“The blue cutlass,” she tells the valet, ignoring Eddie’s probing stare, pointing out to her car in the lot. They’re left alone for a brief, shining moment as the teen runs after her car. The night air is icy and Camila tucks her hands up under her arms.

“Do you-”

Eddie is already starting to shrug his jacket off again. Camila shakes her head quickly, turning back to him and forcing a smile before he loses his mind. “I’m fine, Eddie.”

He nods, his eyes eager and bright as she finally meets his gaze. He looks ready to fall at her knees, ready to jump into traffic for her. Ready to pull down the moon and serve it to her on a silver plate. He would do anything for her - the thought comes to her suddenly and nearly strangles her. The realization sends a heat through her, and that, more than anything that happened that night, flatters her ego in a way she’d never expected. It goes straight to her head, burns her hot, and makes her feel invincible.

But the feeling doesn’t last. Doubt settles over her fast and heavy as soon as the valet returns with her car. The engine rumbles beside them and she quickly crosses to the driver’s side. She doesn’t want this heady rush of power she feels over him. She doesn’t want this flare of vanity, or the heat between her thighs. She doesn’t want this shift in their relationship that has already taken hold, like the world sliding on its axis and bringing them all to their knees.

She needs to go home.

Her hands shake as she reaches for the car door; it knocks against her hip in her haste to get it open. God, how had things gone so wrong?

Eddie follows her, like a shadow. Like a ghost. She hates that she can feel the heat of him next to her, even in the cool night air. Hates that she wants to collapse into him, to pull him close, and let him wrap his arms around her.

“Cam, are you -”

“Don’t,” she says, and the word comes out sharper than she’d meant. It cuts through them and the eager hope in his eyes fades like she’d slammed shut the blinds against the sun. But she can’t bear to hear him ask her if she’s okay again. She doesn’t know what she might say if he does.

Hurt colors his expression and he’s so tall. And he’s so fucking beautiful. He looks so sad and she wants to put her hands to his cheeks and hold him close. She can’t though, not now. Already this has gone too far. This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go. She can’t give him what he wants. Can’t give into her own desires either. But she forces her expression to soften, because it really, really wasn’t his fault. She manages a thin smile. “I’m fine, Eddie. Really.”

She tosses her purse into the car and moves to slide in, but he stops her, putting his hand across the doorframe. His body closes her in, crowds her against the door, and she can smell him, smell the sweat clinging to him. It should be overwhelming, but it’s not. The closeness of him makes her blood sing, reminding her of how close they had been not even an hour ago. It makes her head swim and she feels faint as she looks up at him. He’s staring at her like he wants to say something, his jaw clenching over and over again, jumping until he finally licks his lips. He leans close to her, his brows creasing. “Are we okay?”

Oh god, oh god, oh god. She wants to kiss him. She wants to kiss away the pain she sees. What had she done? This sweet boy, her best friend, was staring at her like… like… she’d tricked him. Like she’d left him out in the dark with no way home. And, oh god, she really couldn’t give him what he wanted. She could see it now - the bleeding heart behind his eyes. Oh god - sixteen? Surely, the longing she sees now hadn’t always been there. Surely he hadn’t meant what he’d said earlier.

But, god, it had been nice. His hands on hers, his kisses sweet as he covered her body. The absolute certainty that she was the only one he was thinking about. She wants to bottle that feeling up, to drown in it. And with him there, his body so close, his face even closer, she can’t resist being greedy. She can’t resist dipping a toe back into the pleasure she’d just experienced. Can’t resist him, even if she knew it could never happen again. She licks her lips and feels herself clawing at the last grasps of comfort she’ll allow herself to take from him.

Camila lets out a huff of a laugh and leans back against the doorframe, settling into the gap between his arm and the door. She lets herself sink into the moment, looking up at him, letting herself slip back into the sugar sweet afterglow. “Of course we are - don’t be silly,” she says, and she smiles up at him, tilting her head until her cheek comes to rest on his outstretched hand. She smiles and he smiles back, all big and toothy like he believes her.

She wishes she was telling the truth. She wishes she knew what the truth was.

“Are you gonna be around during the break,” he asks, and that hopeful light behind his eyes is back. Good. She wants him to be happy. She doesn’t want things to be ruined.

But she really has to go. She really… she just… couldn’t. Not with him. Not Eddie.

“Of course,” she says brightly. She leans up and presses a kiss to his cheek. Her eyes close, briefly, tight, and she wants to linger. He’s beaming at her when she pulls back, and she wishes this didn’t feel so right. Wishes what she had to do didn’t feel so wrong. Everything was messed up, but it wasn’t his fault. She didn’t want him to think it was, or that she regretted what they’d done. She didn’t, not at all. And yet… where did they go from here? “I’ll see you around, okay?”

Eddie drops his arm, and instantly the loss of him staggers her. The enormity of it makes her dizzy and she’s dreading what she’s going to have to do.

“Can I call you?” he’s asking, as if he’s dropping her off from a date. As if this were a clandestine romance. As if they were high school sweethearts. As if. If only.

Camila pulls the car door shut behind her, and she can’t bear to look at him from the car window. Not when she could still taste him in her mouth and feel him between her thighs. Not when her lips felt swollen with his kisses. Not when he was smiling at her like this was the start of something, when she knew it was really the end. Not just the end - she had ruined something, broken something that she’d never wanted to break. This thing between them - an entire lifetime together, and she’d shattered it on that store room floor. She’d try to salvage what she could, but god, what had she done?

“Eddie, I really have to go.”

---

She doesn’t start crying until she pulls off the freeway. And even then they aren’t the big choking tears she’d been expecting when the first wave of guilt hit her. The thin tracks of tears that cut through what’s left of her makeup don’t seem sufficient for the situation. But for as horrible as she feels, she can’t seem to regret it.

She feels sorry for Julia, that her parents couldn’t give her the perfect life she deserved. Sorry for herself that she’d felt so desperate in the first place. Sorry for Eddie for getting his emotions all tangled up in her downward spiral.

But regret isn’t there.

She can’t bring herself to regret the happiness she’d felt, laying there with Eddie. She feels sexy and beautiful and spontaneous. She feels desired. She feels loved. For a few hours she felt like more than just a wife, more than just a mother. She felt like herself again, and god damn it, she deserved to feel like that all the time. It wasn’t right that Billy treated her like she was disposable. Not when Eddie, a man who wasn’t even her husband, looked at her like she was the center of the universe.

She loved her husband, but she couldn’t do this anymore. If he - If he loved Daisy… then so be it. They could move on, move forward. She’d be able to handle it, be able to stand on her own. After tonight, she could see that. But she couldn’t keep walking this tightrope with him. Billy would have to decide because she was done being the second choice. She was done surviving on the scrapes of his love. After tonight…

Eddie, his mouth pressed against the swell of her stomach, placing hot, open mouthed kisses to her skin. Camila’s hands tangled in his hair, soft groans escaping from him with each scrape of her nails against his scalp. His eyes, big and wide and hopeful, staring up at her like she might disappear if he looked away. Like she was made of stardust and sunbeams. Like he’s never wanted anything more.

After tonight, she knew she deserved so much more.

Eddie: It’s October 1976. He’s twenty-two years old. The Six has just finished their second studio album.

And Eddie Roundtree is in love.

Camila: Billy tells her he loves her. He’s told her every morning, every night, since she’d confronted him at the kitchen table. Since she’d laid down the picture of him and Daisy. Since she asked her husband if he was in love with another woman.

But he tells her she’s wrong. That Daisy… Daisy was work and that’s it. And Camila doesn’t really believe him. She isn’t blind and she isn’t stupid, and she knows what she knows. There had been something between Billy and Daisy. But the record is finished, Daisy hasn’t been around for days, and Billy tells Camila he loves her. Over and over and over.

It’s almost too much, this onslaught of love. Like she’d been starving, and then suddenly gorged herself at a buffet. It makes her skin prickle and reminds her of those first painful weeks after rehab, when Billy had been so insistent in his apology.

Camila tries to believe him. She accepts his kisses and takes pictures of him while he’s working in the garden or playing with Julia. They take a trip to Disneyland and as they’re sitting there on Main Street, ice cream dripping down their hands, Julia asleep in the stroller, Camila thinks they might be okay. They could make this work. They could be happy.

Eddie: He’s high out of his mind when Warren calls from Tijuana. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up with the ringing, a longer moment for him to roll off the couch and find the phone.

“Come meet us!” Warren is saying, his voice bright and sunkissed even through the phone.

Eddie, who’s spent the past three weeks slipping deeper into a dark pit of self pity, can’t manage more than a groan.

Warren sighs on the other end of the line. Eddie thinks he can hear a girl laughing in the background, but that might just be in his imagination. “For fuck’s sake, man,” Warren says, “it’s Halloween. You gotta get out.”

“Is it?” This is news to him, though he supposes Warren must be right. Rehearsals started the next week - Eddie had marked it on the calendar with a deep red “X” at some point during his drug induced stupor.

“Have you done anything since I left?”

Had he done anything? What kinda question was that? Of course he had. He’d spent a week basking in perfect blissful joy, reliving that night with Camila over and over and over. Her smile, her laugh, the shine of her hair as it spread over her shoulder. The way she’d giggled when he kissed her knee. The way their fingers laced together, like they’d been holding hands for decades. The way he could still smell her on his clothes when he got home that night - vanilla, and honey, and sea salt.

He’d spent days, reliving every moment, debating, with his heart in his throat, if it was too soon to call.

Cause she wanted him to call, right? She’d said as much, hadn’t she? Or maybe - not? He tries to remember her exact words. There hadn’t been many after they were interrupted (if he ever sees that dumbass waiter again…), but she’d said she’d be around, right? And yeah, things had been a bit awkward when she left, but before that… Before that she had been happy. Happier than she’d been in months. In years. And he knew Camila, knew when she was really happy. He knew her smile that night had been real.

But he’d worked up the courage to call and no one answered. He called again and Billy picked up, Eddie’s throat going all dry and scratchy. Two more times, with only an endless ring in response, before finally, finally, it was her on the other end of the line.

She answered and his heart thudded painfully at the sound of her voice. He’d felt like a kid again, all sweaty and jittery and nervous. Like this was his first crush out on the playground and not one of his oldest friends. Not a woman who he’s seen laid out and bare in front of him. He knows what she sounds like when she comes, but the sound of her answering the phone made his palms sweat.

It doesn’t even matter cause she blows him off almost instantly. Says she’s taking Julia to the park or something. And Eddie tries to keep it together, tries not to let his voice grow desperate, or his longing obvious.

He calls again, and again, and he feels like a love sick fool every time the answering machine kicks in.

“I’m on vacation, man. The fuck do you want me to do?”

“Will you at least call Graham?” Warren sighs. There’s a sound of bottles clinking on the other end of the line. “He left the name of his hotel on the fridge. Go to a fucking party or something - you’re making me depressed.”

Eddie huffs out a hollow laugh. He knows how Warren feels - he was getting pretty sick of himself too. “Fuck off.”

Warren snorts. “Whatever man,” he finally says, his voice exacerbated. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

---

Graham is staying at a hotel downtown, Karen’s staying with a friend, but they converge back to the house when he calls.

“You look like shit,” Karen yells from the passenger seat. She’s got something painted on her face, and Eddie thinks she’s supposed to be a cat or a mouse or some shit, but the rest of her costume gives him little context.

Graham is muttering something about picking Karen up from Orange County, but Eddie honestly doesn’t give a shit. They’d both been in and out of the house for weeks, each time offering some halfhearted invitation to a party or a club or the beach. This wasn’t the first time he’d accepted their offers, but it was the first time he’d actually cared about where they were going.

Eddie waves them both off, pulling deep on a cigarette. His nerves are fried, his leg jittering as he climbs into the backseat of the car. He feels twisted up inside, like he was going to combust or collapse or some other tragical occurrence that might put him out of his misery.

“You good, man?” Graham asks, eyeing him from the rearview mirror as he throws the car into reverse. “You’re not gonna puke, are you? We can come pick you up after Billy's, it's not a big deal.”

“Im’not drunk,” he gets out, his words twisted by the cigarette hanging from his lips. But Jesus Christ, did he wish he was. They were going to a party in the Valley, some shitty house party that promised enough cheap beer to fill a swimming pool. Eddie wished he could be excited about the prospect, but first, first, they were stopping by to see Julia’s halloween costume. Julia and Billy and Camila.

Eddie was gonna be sick.

Sick with longing, sick with want. He’d been thinking about Camila for weeks, desperate just to see her. And now, finally, finally he had a reason to. A reason that didn’t make him look like a stalker, or a loser, or desperate as hell. But god, he was nervous.

Cause he knows what he felt, and he was pretty sure he knew how Camila felt. And knowing that, feeling that, makes him feel young and giddy and hopeful. But for as young and stupid as he feels, he isn’t naive. Even if - even if things miraculously worked out exactly as he hoped, things were complicated.

He loves Camila. Fucking hell, he’d tried to avoid putting a label to his feelings for so long, but after that night… it was impossible to not let the feeling wash over him.

I love you, I love you, I love you. Please let me try.

So yeah. He loves Camila. Hell, he loves Julia more than anything. But here’s the kick of it - he loves Billy too. For as often as he wants to wring his neck, Eddie can’t help loving Billy, even now. They’d built something together, created something together. Billy was his brother, as much as Graham and Warren were.

Yeah - complicated.

He knows getting what he wants means losing something, everything else. He can’t have Camila to himself without losing the band, and Graham, and Billy. He can’t build the life he wants without losing the life he has. And he thinks maybe it’d be okay, losing all this if it meant having her. But he knows it isn’t that simple. There’s no equivalent trade that would ever make this easy. Not for Camila at least.

It wouldn’t be simple or easy or perfect, but fuck, he’s willing to take whatever Camila was willing to give him. He’d wait for her, see her in secret, make her feel good when her husband couldn’t. Fuck, he’d be her dirty little secret for as long as she wanted. He would take whatever scraps of her love she was willing to give.

---

“Hey there Pumpkin.”

Graham scoops up Julia easily in his arms, cooing over the little girl’s halloween costume. And Eddie stares, feeling that flood of warmth in his chest that he always feels when Julia is around. She’s grown so much, it almost hurts to look at her.

“M’not pumpkin,” she says, her voice stilted and laced with giggles. “Puppy!”

Eddie can’t help but smile as Julia wriggles her way out of her uncle’s arms, tottling off to show them the big bowl of candy by the door. She’s wearing a fuzzy onesie, a floppy set of ears perched on her head.

“She hasn’t talked about anything but trick or treating all week,” Billy says from the kitchen. Eddie crosses his arms, fighting down the flare of white hot guilt he feels, standing there in Billy’s house after he… after he…

“Where’s your tail?” he asks Karen, nudging her side and nodding to Julia’s costume. He’s leaning next to her against the back of the couch, and feels desperate for a distraction. He hasn’t even seen Camila yet, and already his skin is flushed and his palms sweaty.

Karen rocks back into him, her sharp elbows digging into his side. “Fuck off Edward. You’re not even wearing a fucking costume.”

“Language.” Camila’s voice, bright and teasing, comes from the stairwell. Eddie swivels, stares, tries not to let how utterly, hopelessly in love he is show in his expression. But there she is, looking beautiful and happy and beautiful, and walking straight towards him.

Camila smiles at him, big and pure and real, but her smile slides off him as quick as it landed, her eyes skimming over him, to Karen, to Graham, to Julia. She smiles at all of them, her focus singular as she comes to kneel next to her daughter. “We’ve had to stop swearing around her,” Camila explains, “she just picks up everything so fast.”

Eddie watches as Camila ties Julia’s shoes. Tries to pay attention to the conversation around him. But his head is spinning, and he doesn’t know what he thought would happen. That she would fall into his arms? That she’d tell everyone what they’d done? Of course she wouldn’t. Of course she couldn’t. Not when everything felt so new and raw.

It’s only when Julia wanders over to him, pressing a half melted piece of chocolate into his palm, that Camila finally looks at him.

“Thanks kid,” he says, as Julia shuffles off. But his eyes are on Camila, and her eyes are on him. She’s still perched on the living room rug, watching him over Julia’s head. And she’s smiling at him, her eyes soft and deep. And her smile - there’s something so gentle about it, it nearly breaks his heart. Eddie swallows thickly and he wants to hold her. Wants to tell her things would be okay.

But then Karen is clapping her hands, announcing it was time to go. Graham is falling in line behind her, keys jiggling in his hand. And Eddie has no choice but to follow.

Camila, Billy, and Julia wave them off from the doorway. Julia is perched on Camila’s hip, Billy with his arm around her shoulder. And fucking hell, they look like a damn Norman Rockwell painting. They look like everything Eddie wishes he could have. But he could be patient. He could make this work. Because Camila was worth it. She was worth everything.

I love you, I love you, I love you. Please let me try.

Chapter Text

Yes I'm stuck in the middle with you
And I'm wondering what it is I should do
It's so hard to keep this smile from my face
Losing control, yeah I'm all over the place

Camila: She calls up Karen that first weekend after rehearsals start. Billy’s come home every night, prompt, attentive, present. And it’s so nice, it’s lovely, and Camila thinks it might have been worth it. Everything they went through, everything he did, everything she did. Like they’ve finally managed to balance themselves out, reach equilibrium. What was that word? Homeostasis. Yeah, that. And she’s happy. This is what she’s wanted.

But she can see the cracks in Billy’s façade. After the Rolling Stone article came out - Jesus Christ that article… She didn’t like the thought of her husband and Daisy together, but she feels bad for the other woman. The things Billy said in that article… putting that out into the world for everyone to read. The first time she read it, her stomach had twisted so tight she thought she might be sick. She’d had to put it down, going outside and bracing herself against the sturdy wooden porch rail. Billy had been brutal in his description of Daisy, and seeing it written out in black and white was overwhelming. The vitriol behind the words… Jesus.

Billy tries to explain why he did it - that he was looking out for Julia, for their family. And Camila tries to understand, but his explanation makes her even more torn up inside. It feels like a blisteringly selfish thing to do, throwing Daisy under the bus like that, and Camila isn’t sure she approves. She isn’t sure how she feels knowing there was an ulterior motive to it all - sharp words in place of the truth.

As always, Billy holds the truth just out of reach.

Camila tries to put that all aside, tries to enjoy this calm after the storm. But that was just it, wasn't it? This peace, this calm after everything they’ve been through. It feels like a reward for making it through. But they’ve been here before. She can’t shake the feeling that there’s another swell on the horizon. A hurricane building just off shore, readying itself to pull them all under.

She wants to brace herself, prepare herself before it all falls apart again. She can’t be that naïve girl anymore, that young mother just barely hanging on. She was older, wiser. She knew more than she knew then. The girl next door is gone; in her place is a woman who knows her worth, who’s willing to fight with tooth and nail to hold onto what she has.

So she calls Karen, asks to meet her at that little strip of clothing boutiques downtown. The girl that came to California in handmade floral skirts, and halter tops from the department store in Pittsburgh doesn’t exist anymore. They were starting new, all of them. New life, new tour, new steel beneath her bones. New wardrobe.

---

It’s mostly fun, shopping with Karen. It’s the first time either of them have had any real money to spend, and the thrill of it makes them giggly and impulsive. Soon they have dressing rooms overflowing with slinky dresses, crisp skirts and silky tops. And when Karen casually lets slip that she was shopping for clothes to wear on tour, they’re suddenly inundated with employees hauling out the new arrivals from the back and pushing glasses of fresh lemon water into their hands. She knows Karen isn’t really into fashion all that much, her wardrobe simple, sleek, black, but she’s a good sport. She plays along and urges Camila on as she tries on riskier and more daring outfits.

Nearly five hours later they collapse onto a nearby park bench, shopping bags sprawled around their feet. She’s exhausted, but content. Satisfied. Accomplished.

After they manage to catch their breath, rolling out their tired feet, she asks the question that’s been hanging over their heads for a week. The one Billy won’t talk about. The one Camila doesn’t dare ask him for fear of shattering the fragile peace they’ve built. But she’s curious and she knows Karen will answer her straight.

“What are you gonna do if Daisy doesn’t show up?”

“Jesus, fuck if I know,” Karen breathes out around a cigarette. She holds out the carton to Camila and they pass the lighter back and forth, settling in against the bench before Karen continues. “I mean - we’ll still do the tour, I guess. Probably have to drop some of the songs, but I think it’ll be alright.” She takes a deep drag. “Musically, I mean. Billy can sing most of ‘em, or we could bring in a guest in a pinch. But fuck, Teddy’s gonna be pissed. Not to mention the record execs. They already fucking hate us.”

Karen barks out a dry laugh that doesn’t reach her eyes. She curls forward, arms braced on her knees, staring intently at the ash falling to the ground and digs her boots in the dirt. “Jesus,” she bites out. “Nothing is ever easy for us, is it?”

Camila grimaces, putting a hand on Karen’s shoulder. “There’s still time,” she says hopefully. “It’s only been a couple days.” She doesn’t divulge her secret hope that Daisy doesn’t come back. It doesn’t seem like an especially helpful comment, especially not when Karen is taking a shuddering breath and trying valiantly to square her shoulders against her obvious worry. “How are rehearsals besides that?”

“Fine,” Karen says with a voice that suggests the opposite, stubbing her cigarette out with her toe. But she turns back to Camila with a shrug and the hint of a self deprecating smile. “I think, with how the last tour ended, we’re all a little on edge.”

“Right. Sorry.” It’s Camila’s turn to look away, staring at the cigarette pinched between her fingers. She thinks about those lonely days in the hospital. The way Teddy had come to visit her, his face grim as he told her about Billy’s admittance to the rehab clinic. About the tour cancellation. She feels a sharp pain of guilt and regret; she wishes desperately that things had been different.

Karen scoffs, shoving a sharp finger into Camila’s shoulder. “Fuck, it isn’t your fault. It’s just -” She cuts herself off, sucking in a deep breath. “There’s just a lot riding on this, you know? It kinda feels like our last chance to prove we can do it. And it feels like we’re ready this time, we actually fucking know what we’re doing.” She worries her lip between her teeth for a long moment. “Nobody wants to be the one to fuck it up. It’s just making everyone a little nervous.”

Camila’s hand drifts to her mouth, about to bite at her nails before remembering the cigarette in her other hand, pulling it up for a rough drag. She can’t stop the sharp lick of guilt in her gut; it feels like her fault, that dark pit of a tour. Like if she could have done something different, things might have turned out different. Not come to California, not gotten pregnant, not gotten married - black holes of guilt and regret that help nothing. She couldn’t have changed anything, and the thought of not having Julia makes her sick to her stomach. She wouldn’t change anything about that time, even if it all ended in flames.

Still, she wishes things had been better.

“If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

She doesn’t expect there is. Billy had been tight-lipped and cagey whenever she brought up rehearsals, and Camila suspected he was more nervous than Karen was letting on. There wasn’t much she could do but support him. If there was, she’d do it in a heartbeat.

She’s surprised when Karen turns to her, and gives her a measured look. “Well…”

Camila leans back against the bench, one knee pulled up under her, fully turning to Karen. She gives her a level look. She knows Karen has always seen her as part of the band - she hopes that hasn’t changed, just because their lives look a little different now. She hopes she knows Camila is still willing to do anything to help.

“Anything.”

Karen huffs out a little laugh, shaking her head against Camila’s serious expression. “It’s nothing,” she says, swinging her own knee up, and relaxing against the back of the bench. “It’s just… have you talked to Eddie lately?”

“No.” Her reply comes out sharp and defensive, far quicker than it should be. Camila feels her cheeks heat and prays her skin doesn’t color. “Why?” she asks, purposefully adopting a lofty tone.

Karen shrugs. She doesn’t seem to notice Camila’s reaction. “He’s just been acting weird. Weirder than normal.”

Camila tries to swallow down the flare of discomfort that burns in the pit of her stomach. Tries desperately to manage her facial expressions - to keep her face calm, friendly, normal. She tries not to think about that night, about the blinding pleasure she’d felt, or the guilt she’s been forcing down like bile every time Eddie calls and she ignores him.

She wonders what Karen would say if she told her. If she confessed. Camila hasn’t been to church in years, but a streak of Catholic guilt has been working through her for weeks. The realization that she’s done something wrong.

But - fuck. If she’s honest with herself, she knows it’s not just her religious upbringing that’s giving her sleepless nights and a sharp twisting in her stomach. It’s just regular old, normal guilt. The knowledge that she’d hurt her friend, betrayed her husband. The knowledge that she doesn’t even regret it. Not really.

Not when her late night seemed to have spooked her husband into attentiveness. Not when she thinks about the absolute rush of gratitude she feels for Eddie. (Not when she remembers the earth shattering orgasm she’d experienced).

But it feels heavy. Complicated. And if it had been anyone else - a stranger like she’d originally planned - she might say something. She doesn’t think Karen would have minded. She might even have something useful to say about the mix of emotions flooding through her. But it wasn’t a stranger, it was Eddie. And it was Billy. And they were all leaving on tour soon. They needed to work together, play together, live together. Karen had already admitted to being nervous - Camila couldn’t add anything else to her plate. Not now.

Still, when Karen looks at her, sideways, her eyes squinting like she really is concerned about Eddie - Camila feels like shit.

She thinks about how she left things that night at the bar. Her rushed exit, the hopeful shine in Eddie’s eyes. His questioning stare, asking breathlessly if things were alright between them. And she’d said yes. She told him things were okay and then she left.

She thinks about Halloween - how she’d frozen at the base of the stairs, watching him. How he’d smiled at Julia and knelt down to compliment her costume. She hadn’t expected to see him, hadn’t been prepared for the way her heart began to thud painfully in her chest. Feeling overwhelmed by the emotions coursing through her. There hadn’t been a chance to talk - she doesn’t know what she would have said if there had been. But it had felt good to see him, good to see him smile despite the exhaustion in his eyes and the panic in her veins, and that scared her. She needed to put him aside, at least for a little while. At least until things went back to normal.

She’d ignored his phone calls, blew him off week after week. It’s not the longest they’ve gone without talking, but it’s close. She feels his absence deep in her bones - that hollow place in her chest that he usually fills has been flooded with denial and guilt.

God, she doesn’t know what to do. She feels like a coward, but she doesn’t think she can face him, not in any real way. He wants something she can’t give. And she feels terrible for using him, but there’s no turning back. What happened, happened.

But she thinks about the concern laced through Karen’s voice, and a spike of worry courses through her. Was he okay? Was he nervous? Was he scared? Was he thinking about her?

She shakes her head. “I haven’t talked to him in a while,” she finally gets out. She doesn’t meet Karen’s eye, afraid something in her look will give her away. Instead she flicks the ash from the cigarette, watches it fall to the ground. “Has he said anything?”

Karen shrugs. “He hasn’t said much at all. He’s been fucking moody since Halloween. And acting weird since the photoshoot.” Camila bites down hard on the inside of her cheek. “I told him he should’ve gone somewhere over break. He needs to get out of the house more.”

Camila hmms in response, grinding out the cigarette against the side of the bench for something to do with her hands. She thinks about what happened after the photoshoot, remembers his hands on her and the softness of his lips, and her cheeks heat. “I’m sure he’s fine. He’s probably just thinking about the tour. Like you said.”

Again, Karen shrugs, though her face is pinched with uncertainty. “You know him better,” she says, and oh god, the guilt is back.

“How are you doing with all this?”

“Me?” Camila blinks hard, heavy, a white hot shot of fear going through her. Did Karen know? Had someone told her? Had she guessed?

But Karen quirks an eyebrow, eyes wide and curious. “Yeah, you. I mean, the last tour wasn’t exactly easy for any of us.”

“Oh.” The breath is pulled from her lungs as fast and hard as if she’d been kicked in the gut. Karen didn’t suspect anything about her and Eddie. She was worried about her and Billy. Camila feels all hot and twitchy, and she shifts awkwardly against the bench. “I’m okay. We’re okay. We’re good.” And she thinks it’s true. It wasn’t how it used to be - all passion and romance and her veins singing at the sight of him - but things were settled. They were consistent and warm and happy. They were good.

“Yeah?” Karen tilts her head, staring at Camila as if trying to read the truth in her expression. She must be satisfied with what she finds because she nods. “Good, I’m glad. I really think things are gonna be better this time.”

Camila hasn’t given it much thought - the actual tour that is. She’s been basking in the few weeks of peaceful domesticity, trying to push down every thought that might take away from it. She hasn’t allowed herself to think about the possibility of Billy relapsing, or what else might go wrong on tour. She wants to put that all in the past. To move forward.

“How are things with you and Graham?”

Karen’s face splits, cracking wide open with happiness spilling from every pore. Bright, unfiltered, pure - a smile spreading across her face, despite her efforts to hold it back. Camila can’t help smiling in return, happiness for her friend, for her brother-in-law, warming her heart until she’s giggling with the joy of it.

“That good?”

Karen presses her lips together in a tight line, trying to bite back her giddy smile, but it’s no use. “Shut up,” she laughs, rolling her eyes and giving into the grin stretching across her face. “Yeah, we’re good. Really good.”

Camila reaches out, grabbing hold of Karen’s wrist. “I’m glad,” she says sincerely. “I’m really, really happy for you.”

Karen gives her a wry smile, but small bursts of pink have appeared high on her cheeks. “Thanks,” she says, uncharacteristically bashful. She pulls at her sleeve, looking at Camila from the corner of her eye. “It’s like, I finally get it, I guess. I feel safe with him, and, I dunno, it’s nice knowing he’s got my back. Like I’m the only thing that matters when we’re together, you know?”

Camila nods, but her stomach twists painfully. It’s not Billy that comes to mind at Karen’s words. Not even in those first blissful months of dating had she ever held Billy’s singular attention. And she knows he loves her, but Billy has always been stubborn in his pursuit of more. She loved that about him, and was more than happy to go on that journey with him. But she knows she’s never been enough to fulfill his relentless drive to prove he could have it all.

She doesn’t want to think it - doesn’t want even a flicker of the thought, but it comes anyway:

She’s always been enough for Eddie.

---

Camila feels stretched thin - worn down to nothing in her quest to become someone new. Someone better. Someone that fit into the shiny places Billy moved through. Birth was painful, she thinks as she shifts back and forth, looking for relief from her heels, why should re-birth be any different?

Teddy’s put together a good party. Or the record label had. She isn’t sure, and the thought swims fuzzy through her mind. She’s been drinking. Heavily. She tries to hide it from Billy, sipping quickly why he’s absorbed in conversation with Teddy, or John from the label, or Graham. She sticks to fruity cocktails that won't make her breath smell like a dive bar.

She hadn’t meant to drink so much - she’d wanted to be a good wife, to stand next to Billy and smile and laugh and make this easier for him. This was their new start, their chance to put everything they’ve done behind them and start over on an even playing field. But she’s fighting tooth and nail to feel comfortable in this place. The new dress she’d bought is digging into the skin at her back, her makeup feels cakey, and she’d barely eaten from the nerves. The venue is packed with the who’s who of the music industry, and she digs her nails into her palm, fighting off the feeling of inadequacy. She’s worried about Julia off at the babysitter’s, and she can’t help noticing the deepening crease between Billy’s eyes and the way his gaze keeps darting to the door. She plays her part - the rockstar’s wife, but the veneer feels thin, as if the new clothes and the beaming smile she’d forced across her face weren’t enough. As if they could all see through her façade, down to the girl with the struggling photography career and the husband with a wandering eye.

And worse - he’s there.

Of course he is - it was their party. The Six. Billy and Graham and Karen and Warren. And Eddie. Why wouldn’t he be there?

She sees him come in about two hours (and three drinks) after her. He’s wearing a black jacket, a deep blue shirt beneath, and a thin, willowy girl on his arm. A horrible, burning flash of jealousy shoots through her before she can stop it. Before she remembers who she is. She was Billy Dunne’s wife - it shouldn’t, it didn’t matter who Eddie was with.

But she sticks close to Billy’s side, taking discreet sips of her drink, and refusing to look his way.

It almost works. She almost makes it through the night. She can feel Eddie’s eyes on her throughout the evening, even when she clings to Billy’s arm and leans her head against his shoulder. But she manages to keep her distance - to keep her singular focus on Billy. His hand warm in hers, the clink of ice cubes in his glass of cola, his tight smile.

She’s happy. She’s happy with Billy. What happened with Eddie was a fluke - a means to an end. He’d helped her feel better about herself and now she did. Billy had paid so much attention to her over the last couple weeks; a perfect couple. A perfect family. He’d held her hand on the drive over, told her she looked perfect.

Perfect. They were perfect.

“You’re sure she didn’t say where she was going?”

Camila blinks heavily, turning back to Teddy. He was staring at Billy, his brow creased in a deep furrow. She’d missed something, some part of the conversation.

She turned to Billy, but he didn’t meet her eye. He was frowning and was, in fact, staring determinedly away from her. A sinking feeling began in the pit of her stomach and she knew, she knew, who Teddy was referring to, even before Billy had a chance to respond.

Billy shook his head, tight, quick, definite. “No. She didn’t say. I haven’t - she didn’t mention.”

He doesn’t elaborate, instead taking a long, hard swallow from his glass of soda. And Camila knows he’s wishing it was something stronger. She sees the way his nose wrinkles and his jaw clenches as he drops the glass to his side, looking down at it with disdain, and that scares her. She doesn’t like the disappointed look he gives to the sugar tinged ice cubes or the frown that draws down his expression.

“So no one knows where Daisy is,” Rod drawls, and Camila feels her own smile slip. She hadn’t even noticed he was there. “A promising start to the tour,” he continues, raising his glass to the group in a teasing mock of a toast. It isn’t funny and none of them laugh. When he meets her eye, she sees the same sinking worry and resignation she feels reflected in his eyes. He raises an eyebrow at her, the corner of his mouth ticking up in the faintest approximation of a smile - as if they were in on the joke together. She looks away.

“Is there anyone you could call?” the woman next to her asks. “Does she have any family that might know where she is?”

Billy tenses beside her as Teddy nods. She thinks he says something about calling Simone, but there’s a ringing in her ears. The music is too loud, her own heartbeat echoing up through her skull. She digs her nails into Billy’s arm and pulls him to her side.

“Let’s get some air,” she says, and doesn’t let go until the crisp autumn breeze hits their faces.

---

She’s just come out of the bathroom when she hears them.

She was drunk. She knew that. She’d stared at her reflection in the mirror for a long time, her vision blurring and unfocused. She’d tried to stop her eyes from crossing and her body from swaying. Tried to stare at herself - to see if she still looked good, or if the night had turned her sweaty and rumpled and exhausted. It was an impossible task. One that she gave up on quickly, trying to fix her hair as much as she was able given her inebriated state.

If she hadn’t been so drunk, if she hadn’t paused just around the corner to catch her balance, she might not have heard them.

“What do you mean you haven’t heard from her since the break started?” Billy’s voice has turned harsh and irritated, bouncing off the shiny tile floors and over the music in the distance.

“Just what I said. It’s Daisy. She takes off, she comes back.” Teddy responds matter-of-fact, and Camila can hear the clink of a glass against a table.

“So that’s it? We’re just supposed to wait around and hope she makes it back in time? The fuck kind of manager are you? We should be - I don’t know… looking for her.” The vitriol in Billy’s voice almost makes her gasp, and she presses the heel of her palm into her mouth, biting down hard to keep from making a noise. She leans back heavy against the wall, listening with wide eyes as the men argue.

“Hey. I’d watch my tone if I were you,” Teddy bites out, as harsh as she’s ever heard him. “After that stunt you pulled with Rolling Stone - I’m not surprised she didn’t want to be here.”

“Oh, come on. That was just business. You know that. Daisy knows that.” There’s a desperation creeping into Billy’s voice, a tone she’s come to know well. It cuts down into her skin, and leaves her feeling raw.

“You better hope she knows that. Bands have broken up over less, you know.”

“Teddy, please, just try to find her, alright? I just - I can’t do this without her, okay?”

Camila doesn’t wait for Teddy’s response. She slips around the corner, doesn’t turn back to see if Billy’s noticed. She needs to get away from him.

Daisy, Daisy, Daisy. Always there, even when she wasn’t.

She feels sick. The worry in Billy’s voice had been palpable, and Camila feels stupid for thinking it’d be that easy. That a few weeks would be enough to fix things.

There’s a horrible twisting in her stomach, and she pushes her way through the crowd unseeing. That same sinking feeling she’d had at the photoshoot is back with a vengeance, and she hates it. All the confidence in herself, in her marriage, that she’d cultivated over the past few weeks is starting to slip away.

This was supposed to be their fresh start. Things were supposed to be different now. Instead she feels cast off and rejected. The second choice. Always second to Daisy, no matter what Billy said. No matter what he wanted. She knew he wanted to be a good father, a good husband. But she knew him too well to pretend the worry in his voice was strictly professional.

And it must be the alcohol swimming in her veins that makes her desperate and lonely and reckless. Because she stumbles as she makes her way across the room, but her grip is firm on his arm as she grabs hold of him, pulling him down an empty darkened hallway.

“Cam? What-“

Eddie’s surprised protests are cut off as she shoves him back against the wall of an empty corridor. As she kisses him hard, their teeth knocking together painfully.

He groans into her mouth, low and pained and desperate, as the kiss softens. His fingers fist into the fabric at her sides, at her back, pulling her closer. And Camila catches his face between her hands, drinking in the desire and want rolling off of him in waves.

Eddie wanted her. He wanted her horribly. Singularly. It was easy to see now. Now that she’d had him. And she feels her confidence swell as he grips her, tenderly, hungrily, his tongue plunging into her mouth as if trying to devour her whole. And it’s intoxicating, the feel of him. She feels a heat burning within her and it overtakes the insecurities that had been building. She slips a hand beneath his shirt, feels the warm pane of his stomach, feels him shutter at her touch, and she wants to bottle this feeling, to drink it down like a tonic.

“Sorry.” She’s the one to pull away - she has too. This wasn’t right, and she’s still breathless as the apology tumbles out. “I shouldn’t have…“

Eddie looks dazed, leaning back against the wall with hooded eyes. He begins to smile, a lazy thing creeping up from the corners of his mouth, and - oh, no. She shouldn’t have done this. Because butterflies are ravaging her stomach at the sight, and the stupid, drunk part of her wants to smile back.

“It’s okay,” he’s saying, reaching out for her hand, his voice soft and happy.

She can’t do this. This isn’t what she’d meant to do.

“I’ll see you around, okay?” she says quickly, taking a firm step back. And she hates the way his smile falls, the way he blinks hard, like the spell’s been broken.

“Wait, Cam. Can we talk?”

But she’s already walking away as he calls out to her. Already pushing out, back into the crush of bodies and pounding music. And she doesn’t look back. Doesn’t try to find him as the night stretches on. She holds onto the burst of confidence his kiss had given her as she finds Billy. As she holds her husband’s arm and reminds herself that she deserved to be there. That they were perfect together. They could do this. She could do this. They were fine.

Chapter Text

Listen to the wind blow, down comes the night
Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies
Break the silence, damn the dark, damn the light

Eddie: God, he feels stupid. He feels like a fucking idiot. He thinks about the way he’d smiled at her that day, months back now, outside the tour bus. The way he’d drank and smoked and partied for months, all over the country, happy and blissful and fucking delusional. All this time he thought– He doesn’t know what he fucking thought. That what they had was real? For fuck’s sake. How stupid was he?

He’d had his doubts after that first night, when she’d gone quiet and rushed and cagey. When she’d hurried to her car and could barely look at him. That should’ve been his first fucking clue. But he thought maybe she was just embarrassed. Hell, for as happy as he’d been that night, it’d been fucking nervewracking finally admitting to himself, to her, what he wanted. He hadn’t blamed her for needing some time, some space.

But she’d kissed him! She’d kissed him. At the album release party, she’d grabbed his hand and pulled him to her side, and she’d kissed him! He hadn’t imagined that. It wasn’t something he could misinterpret. They’d had sex and then she’d kissed him. Then she’d smiled at him outside the tour bus and he’d thought… Jesus Christ, he thought they’d had something. At least the start of something.

Cause even before all that - before the party and the kiss and the bar and the mindblowing sex - he’d loved her. He’s loved her for so long, despite his best efforts. He’s loved her since he was sixteen years old. He loved her before that when all she’d been was his neighbor, his friend. And he wants her to be so, so happy. He knows he could make her happy, and he thought she was finally going to let him try.

Apparently not.

I’m glad it happened… but it’s never going to happen again.

Fucking hell.

Maybe Billy had the right idea after all. Maybe it’d be better to drink himself into oblivion, to shoot his veins so full of poison that he doesn’t know up from down. Maybe he should indulge so completely, so fully, that he forgets who he is, where he is, everything he’s ever done. Everyone he’s ever loved.

Eddie grips the glass tighter in his hand, his knuckles turning white as he brings it back up to his mouth. It’s empty, and in his disappointment, he lets his hand fall heavy to his side. The glass slips from his hand, shatters against the floor, and a half dozen heads swivel to stare at him. She stares at him, her expression guarded as she looks back at him over her shoulder. She ducks her head closer to Billy’s as she turns away.

Great. Perfect. He couldn’t even nurse his broken heart in peace without her watching him. Without Billy watching him. Cause he’d caught Billy’s eye too - his disapproving glance, his stupid raised eyebrow, and the tight, somber line of his mouth. Stupid sober Billy, watching them all like he was still the knowing older brother, deigning to spend time with his brother’s friends. Well fuck him. Fuck this.

Eddie lurched to his feet, the room spinning as he pulled himself off the couch. He had to get out of there. He couldn’t stand to be there anymore. Couldn’t stand seeing her, seeing them. He grabbed the half empty bottle of whiskey from the table, pushing through the crowd towards the door of the hotel room.

It’s quieter out there, in the long narrow hallway, but it’s still too much. He feels like he’s drowning. Suffocating. There’s not enough air, and the stripped wallpaper is making him dizzy. He isn’t sure how he manages to navigate his way out through the hotel, with his body swaying like he’s sea sick and his stomach rolling like he might actually be sick, but somehow he manages. Somehow he makes it through until the night air is hitting his face and there’s slick grass under his feet.

They’re at some fancy hotel, nothing like the shitholes they’d stayed at on their first tour. Even though they’re in the heart of the city, lights and music spilling in from all sides, the hotel is surrounded by a high ivy covered wall, closing them in. There’s a wide patch of manicured lawn, like a moat around the castle, separating the hotel from the outside world.

Eddie drops down to his knees in the grass before he collapses completely, the contents of the bottle in hand sloshing dangerously. The ground beneath him is already damp with dew, but his body’s been warmed by the whiskey. He feels close to boiling and it feels good to lay down in the grass. If he looks up at the sky above him, at the stars and the moon and the hazy misty clouds, he can almost pretend he’s somewhere else. Not California, where the stars were nearly always obscured by smog and city lights, but home maybe. Pittsburgh.

He’s thinking about John McNally’s party again. Laying in the grass, high out of his mind. A couple of kids from his homeroom class arguing on the back patio, their figures casting wild shadows against the fence. The faint thrum of music from inside the house, the record skip audible through the open screen door. And Camila looking over to him, gripping his arm hard enough to bruise, because she said the stars were spinning. The urge to lean towards her, to kiss her, had been so strong it made his heart pound and his palms sweat and had made him numb. He’d been so scared. Scared of how much he wanted to kiss her. Scared of starting a fight with Billy (even though Camilla’d just started dating him and Eddie’d known her longer). Scared that somehow she could hear his thoughts. But she couldn’t, or if she could she didn’t say so. She’d giggled beside him and Eddie had stared up at the stars, feeling like his skin was pulsing and the whole world had narrowed down to just the two of them.

And he’s there in New Orleans, and he’s staring up at the stars, and he’s thinking about John McNally. He’s on tour, in one of the biggest bands in the world, and he’s thinking about a party from high school. He’s lying in the grass, thinking about home, and realizing how very, completely, utterly, fucking stupid it all is.

“Eddie? Are you okay?”

Eddie cracks open an eye, squinting up. Had he fallen asleep? He couldn’t tell. Couldn’t remember. The world was spinning around him, and it took a long moment for his eyes to focus on Warren standing above him.

“When’d you get here?” He knows his words are slurred, but he doesn’t try to hide it. Who the fuck cared anyways. The drunken musician. The burnout rockstar. He was just living up to his potential.

Warren’s brows crinkle in confusion. In concern. Eddie knew he was drunk too - at least he had been when Eddie’d left the room - but worry was dominant in Warren’s expression. “I just-” He waved his hand broadly, vaguely, back towards the hotel entrance. “Just now. I couldn’t find you.” Warren frowned.

“Didn’t wanna be found,” he says. It didn’t fucking matter anymore. It didn’t matter if he disappeared. The band would go on. Camila would go on. The world would go on, swallowing him up whole. Eddie thinks maybe he was supposed to have disappeared a long time ago. Eddie thinks maybe that’s what’s wrong with him - that maybe he wasn’t supposed to have made it this far in the first place.

Warren squints at him, shakes his head, before he lights a cigarette. It’s a bright flash of light in the darkness, but it fades quickly. Warren sucks in deep before letting out a noisy exhale, and shrugs. “Wanna go inside?”

Eddie pushes himself up on his elbows, and it feels like the world shifts sideways. He wonders what he has to do to get it to shift all the way back, back to how it was when the world still made sense.

“Do you remember John McNally?” He’s sticking his hand out, finger pointed accusingly at Warren. He isn’t sure why he’s doing that, only that it feels important. It feels important that Warren remember John McNally.

Warren stubs out his cigarette in the wet grass, leaning down to hook his arm under Eddie’s. He’s trying to pull him up, Eddie realizes belatedly, and he staggers to his feet leaning against Warren’s side.

“Come’on,” Warren is saying, “let’s get you outta here.” And he’s looping Eddie’s arm over his shoulder, but he isn’t listening. He needs to listen.

Eddie stumbles back in an effort to look at Warren. To really look at him, to make sure he was listening. “No man, I'm serious. Do you remember him?”

Warren sighs, running a hand over his face. When he looks back at Eddie, his eyes catch the light - they’re bloodshot and exhausted. “Yeah. Sure. I think I had French with him or something. Or algebra. I dunno.”

And Eddie nods. That was good. That was something. He thinks he was in that class too, trying to get some semblance of French out around their Midwest tongues. He tries to picture John in class, but the image won’t come. Instead he throws his head back and stares back up at the stars.

“He’s dead. I asked my mom and he’s dead. Over in Nam. Someone fucking killed him.”

There’s a long beat of empty silence. It seems to stretch on forever and ever, and Eddie looks at the stars. He looks and he wonders if they’re the same stars over in Vietnam. Wonders if John McNally ever looked at them while he was there and thought of home. Wonders if he was scared when he died.

“Oh shit. I didn’t know.”

Eddie looks back at the ground. He has to; the world is spinning too fast and he’s scared he’s going to fall. His eyes catch on the empty whiskey bottle in the grass, its contents long since spilled out, and again, he thinks about how fucking stupid this all is.

“We were at his fucking party and we were drunk and it was fucking great. Then he went and died. In some fucking jungle on the other side of the world.” Eddie sucks in a shuddering breath, looking at Warren sideways out of the corner of his eye. He feels guilty somehow. Ashamed. “And we’re here. He fucking died and we just kept partying without him.”

Warren does this sort of miserable shrug, his arms going wide like he’s asking for something. He sighs, shakes his head. “Come’on man, don’t do that to yourself.” He shrugs again, but there’s a pained wince on his face. “You weren’t even fucking friends with him; you couldn’t have stopped it.”

But that’s not the point. Warren doesn’t get it and Eddie doesn’t know how to explain. It wasn’t about stopping it. It wasn’t about saving anyone. He doesn’t know how to tell Warren that he thinks it should have– would have been him over there. Maybe not instead of John, maybe not even with John. And he’s never been especially patriotic, but he thinks that if all this hadn’t happened, he thinks that’s where he’d be. Maybe he would have died, maybe he wouldn’t, but he thinks, God, what a thing. Compared to that - he was nothing. This - the drugs and the drinks and the girls and the music - it was nothing.

“What the fuck are we even doing here? It’s a fucking joke.”

Warren is frowning, reaching for Eddie’s arm again. “Eddie, let’s just get you some water.”

Eddie pulls away, because Warren still wasn’t listening. He doesn’t get it. Eddie’s shaking his head and it’s making him feel sick, but he has to make Warren understand. Why doesn’t Warren understand that none of this matters. That Eddie was a dead man walking. That he wasn’t even supposed to be there. “No man, I’m serious. This is a fucking joke. We’re a joke. Playing in a band like we’re still in high school. When everyone else has fucking moved on.”

“You're drunk. You don’t mean that.” And Warren sounds so concerned that Eddie lets him wrap his arm around his shoulder. Lets him lead him to the door. Warren nods to the concierge and leans Eddie heavy against the elevator wall, quickly pushing the button before he turns back to face him. “We’ve worked too fucking hard for you to mean that.”

Eddie feels sick as the elevator begins to move. He knows he’s out of his mind drunk. Out of his mind high. He knows he has to get up tomorrow, has to get on the bus and face the morning sun in just a few short hours. But he can’t get John McNally out of his head. He can’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Wrong with him. Wrong with the band. It wasn’t right anymore, none of it. There was something wrong, something rotten, eating through them. They’d made a wrong turn somewhere, and landed someplace none of them were supposed to be. They’d missed something, they’d been lying to themselves, and Eddie couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all about to catch up.

“Nah man,” he says, leaning his head back against the shiny elevator walls. There are no stars above them, and Eddie closes his eyes to block out his own reflection. “I mean it. We’re out here playing pretend and the real world is gonna fucking eat us whole.”

Chapter Text

Twenty-twenty-twenty four hours to go
I wanna be sedated
Nothin' to do and nowhere to go
I wanna be sedated
Just get me to the airport
Put me on a plane
Hurry hurry hurry before I go insane

Eddie: Warren's been keeping a close eye on him since New Orleans, always close at hand with a beer and a joke. He doesn’t say anything about Eddie’s dark mood that night, and he’s glad. He doesn’t want to think about his heartbreak or the grim thoughts that followed. He doesn’t want to think about the crushing sense of futility that had come over him. Those thoughts are still there, caught at the back of his mind, spilling out like an oil slick whenever Billy and Daisy dominate the tour press, whenever he lets himself think too hard about the future. But he’s glad Warren’s there, pulling him back to the light, laughing easily at the ridiculousness of the situation, ready with an extra blunt or beer. It makes it easier for Eddie to put everything else behind, for him to sink back into life on tour.

He tries to keep busy, tries to keep himself distracted with anything besides the aching pain in his heart. It’s hard, especially since he wants to sucker punch Billy at every turn, but he manages. And it isn’t like there isn’t enough to keep himself occupied. Between that mess with Nicky, finding out Graham and Karen have been hooking up, and getting ready to play on SN-fucking-L, Eddie feels like he’s living in a damn soap opera. He’s half asleep most of the day anyways, staying up late, sleeping on the plane, and partying all night. He’s still young enough to slip back into life on tour - though he does find himself longing for something grounding, something that feels like home.

Camila: “Do you have it on? Are you watching, Mila?”

Her mom’s voice is crinkly through the line, muffled by the sounds on the tv on both ends. Camila sighs, shifting on the couch, the phone getting heavy in her hand. They’d been on the phone for over thirty minutes - their phone bill would take a dent at the end of the month. But her mom’s enthusiasm was sweet. It’d been her idea to call, to watch together, and Camila was glad that her mom was finally getting a chance to see the band’s success.

Her mom had never really forgiven Billy for missing Julia’s birth, and the fact that she was so excited about watching the band perform on SNL seemed like a good sign. Camila smiles, idly folding the laundry in her lap. “Sí, Mama, I’m still watching.”

It was exciting though, and not just because her family was finally seeing how talented Billy was. She knew the album was selling phenomenally and that the tour was practically sold out across the country, but being on TV… That was real. That meant something. After everything they’d sacrificed and worked for - they had finally made it.

Camila laughs as the skit comes to a close, Bill Murray nearly breaking character before the camera pans back to Lisa Crowne. “Coming up after the break,” Lisa is saying, her smile wide, “is our musical guest, Daisy Jones and The Six.”

A squeal of excitement tears through her. It was really happening! Her husband, her friends were really going to be on Saturday Night Live. They were going to be on national television. She’d always believed in The Six wholeheartedly, but even her wildest dreams hadn’t stretched this far. This didn’t just happen. This was special.

“Mila, did you hear that? They’re next.” Her mom’s voice is breathless with excitement, and Camila smiles. She wishes she was there, home, holding her mom’s hand, sitting next to her sisters, feeling their excitement in person. She wishes Julia was still up, but she’d had a busy day at the babysitter’s and had fallen asleep early.

“I heard,” Camila says, turning up the volume and trying to drown that old feeling that the house was too empty.

She sets the laundry aside, dropping down to the floor in front of the screen as the commercials end. Lisa’s back, introducing the band, and then there they are. Live and in color, playing on her television screen from the other side of the country. And she doesn’t care about the empty house or the distance from her family anymore. A giddy joy floods her, buoyed by the excited ohhs she hears on the other end of the phone line.

She feels like a kid again, watching American Bandstand, sitting cross legged in front of the tv. Except it isn’t glittering, shiny stars on her screen, celebrities she only knew through name and reputation, and their faces in her magazines. It was her friends on the screen, her husband, lit by studio lights and shot with professional cameras. Her family was up there, singing to a million people across the county. Is it bad that she’s more excited by this than she was by the moon landing?

“Oh Kelly,” her mom says on the other end of the line, “he looks so handsome.”

Camila frowns, momentarily distracted from the performance. Kelly?

“Mom?” she asks, trying to keep her attention on the screen. The camera is focused on BIlly, on his wide shining smile, and Camila feels a flush of want and longing as she looks at her husband. But her mom’s comment had caught her off guard, like a strike of a match in the dark, splitting her attention. “Is Mrs. Roundtree there with you?”

“Claro,” her mom says as if it should be obvious. And maybe it should have been, but it still makes her heart thud painful against her ribs. “Of course she is. She came over to watch with us. We were just saying how handsome Eddie looks.”

“Right,” Camila breathes out, squeezing her eyes shut. Of course her family was watching with Eddie’s; they were neighbors, friends, and both Billy and Eddie were on the screen. It made sense that they were watching together, and Camila doesn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it before.

It didn’t mean anything. Shouldn’t change anything. But when Camila opens her eyes, her mom’s words have sunk into her skin, and Eddie is the only one she can see. Even with the camera fixed on Billy and Daisy, it’s like her gaze can’t seem to focus on anyone or anything other than Eddie, the rest of the band gone all hazy and faded in comparison.

He did look handsome, even there in the background of the shot. Camila wishes her mom hadn’t mentioned it. She doesn’t want to notice the way his jacket hugged his shoulders, or how good his hair looked, or the deep furrow of concentration that crossed his features. She shouldn’t be having those thoughts - not anymore. Not ever.

She tries to think back, tries to remember how she used to think of him. Before. Before attraction and misplaced want colored her vision. She’d spent years thinking totally normal thoughts about him; surely she could find a way to watch him now without losing her fucking mind.

He looks tall, she decides, a perfectly normal, neutral way to describe Eddie Roundtree. Happy - another good word, definitely less loaded than pretty or sexy or hot enough to make her mouth go dry. Definitely not any of those. Happy. He looks happy standing on stage playing bass, laughing with Warren and smirking at the camera. He looks far happier than the last time she’d seen him. But why did that hurt too?

She knows why. Because of what she’d done. What she’d said back in New Orleans. She thought it’d be better - a clean break. Just say that what had happened that night after the photoshoot wasn’t ever going to happen again. Just say it out loud so that they both knew where things stood. It was never going to happen again and it was important that they both knew that.

Especially after what had happened at the album release party. After she’d kissed him. Again. God, she’d been stupid. She should not have done that.

“Billy looks handsome too,” she says, but the words come out stilted, like she’s got cotton in her mouth. She can’t keep thinking about Eddie. It had been a mistake. Everything about it had been a mistake. Not a mistake she regrets… But that was beside the point.

The point was that Eddie had been there when she’d needed him. She’d been at her lowest - lonely, self-conscious, angry - and Eddie had been there for her. But that was over. Billy and her were in a good place. Eddie was on tour. Her photography was taking off. Things were back to normal. Back to how they were supposed to be. Billy was her husband and Eddie… was not.

“Of course, mija,” her mom is saying, in that placating tone she used when she spoke about Billy. Like Camila was still eighteen, going through a phase and bringing home the boy in the band. There’s something frustratingly close to judgment in her mother’s voice as she adds: “he always does.”

Suddenly, it’s all Camila can do to keep from crying. Her fingers dig into the shag carpet beneath her, taking in the distant voices on the other end of the phone line and the band through the television. Billy winks at Daisy Jones live on air, and Camila can’t stop her hand from drifting to her mouth, biting hard at her nails. Eddie is laughing with Graham, the image splashed across her tv screen, his joy palpable even from across the country, a stark reminder that, not only had she hurt him, but she’d somehow managed to make herself even more miserable.

There’d been a time when Eddie was her best friend, when they’d done nothing but make each other laugh. A time when Billy stared at her the same way he was currently looking at Daisy. Once upon a time, she’d been the ‘six’ in The Six, instead of sitting home alone on a Saturday night on the other side of the country. There’d been a time when things made sense.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that her mom would always like Eddie better than Billy. It wasn’t fair that Daisy had access to a part of her husband that Camila would never know. It wasn’t fair that Eddie was there looking handsome in her living room, reminding her of the terrible things she’d done.

The performance ends and Camila turns off the tv. Silence fills the room, the bright light from the screen gone, and leaving her in near darkness. The show wasn’t over, but she doesn’t want to watch the rest. She wants to go to bed.

Belatedly she remembers the phone still in her hand, resting heavy against her shoulder, and brings it back up to her ear. Her mother is talking excitedly, but her voice is muffled, and Camila thinks she must be speaking to whoever else is in the room with her. “Thanks for watching with me, mama,” she says loudly, hoping her mother will be able to hear her over the conversation on the other end. Her fingers are itching to hang up and put her confused thoughts behind her.

Her mother must hear because some of the outside noises quiet. “Of course, Mila,” her mother says. Before Camila can say goodnight, there’s a muffled sound on the other end. “Mrs. Roundtree says good night.”

Oh god, would this call never end? Camila can picture Mrs. Roundtree sitting next to her mom in the living room. She can picture Mr. Roundtree and her dad drinking a beer in the kitchen. She can see the staircase where she took her prom pictures with Billy, and the kitchen table where she did homework with Eddie and her sisters. She can remember so clearly Mrs. Roundtree’s warm eyes - Eddie’s eyes.

Camila pulls her knees up to her chest, squeezes her eyes shut, and tries to tap down the heavy weight of guilt that’s setting over her. She wants to draw a firm line between her past and her present, between the rosy warmth of childhood and the bitter taste of the present. She doesn’t want one to affect the other, but she feels like she’s ruined it all. She’s spilled an inky darkness over the whole thing, turning it all muddled and messy, and all Camila wants to do is cry. She wants desperately for things to go back to normal, but she knows that some things just can’t be.

She presses her forehead against the cool wood of the coffee table beside her, and listens to the familiar sounds at the other end of the line. Camila breathes in deep and tries to put her guilt and sadness behind her. Things would go back to normal. They had to. There was no world in which Camila Alverez and Eddie Roundtree weren’t friends. They just needed a little time to get things back to normal. Things would work out, they always did.

“Tell her good night. And that I can’t wait to see her in Pittsburgh.”

Chapter Text

Guess who just got back today?
Them wild-eyed boys that had been away
Haven't changed, had much to say
But man, I still think them cats are crazy

Eddie: His dad’s car smells like cigarettes, salted peanuts, and his mom’s perfume. The paint was fading and the gear stuck. He wonders if his dad would ever let Eddie buy him a new one. Aurora was selling well enough, he thinks he could swing it. Maybe after the tour he’d stop by, take his parents down to the dealership. He adjusts his grip on the worn leather of the steering wheel. Then again, his dad was just as stubborn as Eddie was - it might take some convincing.

“So this is Pittsburgh?”

“This is Hazelwood.”

Karen has her face pressed up close to the car window, her arm propped up and her expression curious, as if she doesn’t want to miss a thing. He isn’t sure exactly what she’s looking at - they were driving past a row of houses, all vaguely similar. The trees had begun to turn which was nice, but Hazelwood had never been described as scenic. But Karen had seemed almost eager to drive across town with him and he hadn’t had the energy to turn her down.

They’d gotten into town that morning, had been greeted at the airport with cheers and hugs. It’d been a good homecoming - almost enough to make Eddie forget about the resentment and restlessness that’s been building since the tour started. There’s something special about coming home after making it big that swells his ego to an almost unfair degree. They’d been playing sold out shows for months, but seeing the local news waiting for them at the airport was something different entirely. It’s almost enough to make him forget about the frustration that had been growing in him since the studio sessions.

He can’t say the experience isn’t humbling in its own way. Stepping off a private plane to the cheers of fans, only to be ushered into the backseat of his parent’s car wasn’t exactly the rock star accommodation he’d gotten used to. He’d sat in the back of the car, his knees scrunched up tight, his carry on bag tossed carelessly in the trunk. His dad drove them home and his mom caught him up on the neighborhood gossip. He’d missed his family enough, loved his family enough, that he didn’t mind all that much. But there was something about being in Hazelwood, watching the familiar streets pass by, that was messing with his head more than he’d like to admit. It was stirring up thoughts and feelings and memories that he’d been trying desperately to set aside.

Eddie glances at Karen from the corner of his eye. “Why aren’t you with Graham?”

They’d just left the Dunne house, left behind the rest of the band and their families. Mrs. Dunne was hosting a party for them all, a backyard affair that promised to be shockingly quaint compared to what they’d been getting into for the past couple years. But Eddie couldn’t deny he was excited for it - there was something about being home that reminded him of the small town kid he used to be. The one that probably would’ve grown up to be just like his old man - beer on the porch after work, football on Sundays, steady job at an office, taking his kids to baseball practice. Everything he’d been running away from when he was eighteen. But he’s back now and suddenly it doesn’t sound so bad.

The smell of crisp autumn leaves goes straight to his head and he can’t help feeling all sorts of mixed up inside. Larger than life for having made it out, making it big in Los Angeles. Ridiculous and juvenile for this life filled with music and drugs and hotel rooms.

He thinks the return home is messing with Graham too - he’d spent the morning talking about settling down, about moving out to Pittsburgh for the summer, about buying a real house with a backyard. Karen had been inside with Mrs. Dunne at the time, but Eddie wonders if Graham had shared these thoughts with her. He wonders what Karen thinks about his lofty plans. Somehow he can’t picture her settling into life in the suburbs.

Karen’s nose does a funny little scrunch at his question, but she doesn’t turn to face him. “Just because we’re together doesn’t mean we have to be together all the time.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You do know he’s beyond thrilled that you’re here, right?” Graham, the hopeless romantic, had finally managed to bring a girl home to meet his mom.

There’s a dull thud, that he thinks might be Karen dropping her head against the window. But by the time he jerks his gaze over to stare at her, she’s straightened up. “Yes, Eddie, I know,” she says, her voice sounding strung out and thin. Exhausted. Come to think of it, there were dark circles under her eyes, and a paleness to her skin. Maybe it was a good thing she’d opted to stay at the hotel; he hopes she isn’t getting sick.

Karen sighs, drawing her knee up, foot braced beneath her other leg. “Besides, he was busy.”

Eddie scoffs, swatting at her hand as she attempts to change the radio station. “I’m busy. I told you I’m picking up the cake from my mom’s house.”

Karen gapes at him. “You were serious about that?” Eddie gives her a sideways glance, confused by the surprise in her voice. “I thought you were going out for a smoke. Away from the parents and the party planning.” She pulls a blunt from her purse, dangles it over the center console towards him.

He covers her hand with his, shoving it back towards her lap. “Will you put that away? Jesus, we're literally a block away from the police station.”

She’s looking at him like he’s just grown two heads, and a flare of embarrassment shoots up his spine. It wasn’t very rock and roll of him to be getting uptight about a small pinch of weed. He lets her hand go, shaking his head at his own worry. “Alright,” she scoffs, tucking the blunt back into her bag, “calm down. I didn’t realize you were such a Boy Scout.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, fishing through his pocket for a cigarette to pass to her - a peace offering. “Habit, I guess. It’s weird being home. Feels like I’m about to get grounded or something. I dunno. It’s messing with my head.”

Karen accepts the offered cigarette, but she twists it between her fingers, staring at him, her expression strangely thoughtful, like he were a difficult math problem she was trying to work out. “What is it about Pennsylvania that makes all of you lose you fucking minds.”

Eddie lets out a noise halfway between a snort and a grunt. The answer to her question was both frustratingly obvious yet impossible to pin down. He can’t imagine it’s a uniquely Pittsburgh phenomenon; Karen had a hometown too, he imagines going back there must be equally strange. But he can’t seem to find the words to describe the way being home made him feel more himself than he had in years, and simultaneously so untethered from who he used to be, he could hardly recognize himself in the mirror. Free and trapped in equal measure. Instead he says: “I haven’t been back since we moved. A lot of memories I guess.”

She gives him a long look then sighs, sitting back in her seat and futzing with her lighter. “Alright,” she says, cigarette dangling between her lips, “give me the tour.”

“The tour?” Eddie raises an eyebrow, “of Hazelwood?”

Karen lets out a puff of smoke. “Yeah, fuck it. We’re already in the car and I need a break from--” She cuts herself off, taking a long drag. She waves the lit cigarette out at the windshield, staring back out the side window. “Just show me where you boys hung out when you were growing up. Whatever there is to see out here.”

She wasn’t meeting his eye, but when he holds out his own cigarette to her, she lights it without question. Eddie sucks in deep, the pleasant buzz of nicotine hitting his lungs, and shrugs. “It’ll be a short tour, but sure, whatever you say.”

---

He drives her around town, around the usual haunts. The movie theater, the quarry, the high school, the park. Drives her past the church and the record store, and the diner with the best burgers he’s ever eaten. Points out the houses of his old classmates and the intersection where Warren crashed the van two weeks after he got it. He could’ve gone all in, taken her downtown to the heart of Pittsburgh, but he wants to stick to what he knows, to the familiar streets and familiar places. Hazelwood has changed enough as is. Since he’d been gone, there’s been a plethora of new stores and restaurants going in on Main Street and a big sign on the outskirts of town that promised a new shopping mall going in soon. But he turns onto his street, Valley View Road, and it’s like stepping back in time. It’s like the world’s gone quiet and still and stuck just as it’d been when they left in 1972.

“And that’s Camila’s house,” he says nodding to the home across from his parents’ before turning into the driveway. It doesn’t hurt to say, despite everything that’s been going on between them; it’s just a fact. That was the Alvarez house, just like it’d been since he was born. He lived on Valley View Road, the church was two blocks away, the cross street was 2nd Avenue, and Camila lived in the house across the street.

They get out of the car, but Karen stops, staring across the street, her hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun. “Wow. So you and Camila really have always been neighbors.”

Eddie’s nose scrunches, and he walks away, up towards the front door of his parents’ house. He’d told her because he figured she be interested, but he hadn’t anticipated her wanting to talk about it. Already he doesn’t like the direction this conversation is heading, and he’s hoping to drop it as soon as possible. “Yep. Guess so.”

Karen follows him into the house, peering at the pictures on the wall and the furniture in the living room with open interest. “No wonder you were so weird when they moved down to Pinewood,” she calls out to him from the other room. “That’s like the furthest away she’s ever lived. You guys literally grew up together.”

He nearly bashes his head against the fridge door, straightening enough to glare at her. She isn’t paying attention, but his chest has gone tight at her words. “The fuck are you talking about. I wasn’t weird.”

She laughs, the sound carrying through the empty house. “Yeah you were. You were being all mopey and shit. Even Camila said so, at the airport when we were going to Diamond Head.”

His mouth feels like it’s got cotton in it. He mulls over what Karen’s just told him. He thinks back to Diamond Head, to seeing Camila at the airport beforehand. She’d just moved into their new house, and Eddie had decided it was time to grow the fuck up and stop pining. A fat lot of good that did him. He remembers feeling like the house was too cold, too empty after she’d left. He remembers trying to avoid her at the airport - trying to give himself space. He remembers the miserable, sick feeling in his gut, like there was something unnatural crawling under his skin. He’d thought he’d done a pretty good job of hiding his misery, but apparently not.

Eddie scowls down at the cake in his arms, stalking past Karen and back out to the yard. “Fuck off. It’s not a big fucking deal, okay?”

Karen is following him, peering at him over the car door as he wedges the cake box in the backseat. “What? I’m just saying, it’s nice you guys have been friends for so long.”

He can’t bear to look her in the eye as he straightens. Can’t bear to think of her seeing the truth of her statements. “Yeah. Well.”

They slide back into their seats, but Karen is like a dog with a bone and won’t give it up. “Well what? Are you guys fighting or something?”

Eddie can feel his skin heating and hopes he isn’t turning red. “Jesus. No.” But he thinks over her question. Were they fighting? Could you fight with someone you haven't seen in months? Things were weird between him and Camila, but… Fucking hell, maybe it was just being back in Hazelwood, making him nostalgic, but he doesn’t think he’s even mad at Camila anymore. It still hurts to think about, but whatever happened last year was so… tiny compared to everything else they’d been through. He’s not exactly happy with her, but fighting? Eddie shakes his head, bites down the stubborn urge to cling to his hurt. He isn’t ready to forgive her but maybe… someday…

“We’re fine okay. Can we just get this fucking cake and go?”

Camila: He doesn’t smile at her. She tries. She’s trying.

She doesn’t know why she’s surprised. It’s been almost a year since that night at the bar. Since he’d pressed searing kisses to her skin and she’d opened her thighs to pull in him close. Since she’d tangled her fingers through his hair and he’d told her he’s been wanting to kiss her for years. It’s been nearly twelve months and they’ve barely spoken. She doesn’t remember the last real conversation they had. Can’t remember the last time they just hung out. She shouldn't be surprised that things are different. That he doesn’t return her wave. Doesn’t return her smile.

This change is on her. She’s the one that messed things up. She’s the one that came on to him at the bar. She’d kissed him at the party. She’d told him it wasn’t going to happen again. She knows she hurt him. Used him. But she doesn’t know if it makes her silly or stupid or naive that she thought things might go back to the way they were. That they might be friends again after all that other stuff was behind them. After she made it clear nothing else was going to happen. Like scraping a layer of frosting off a cake, bringing it back down to the solid center. Back down to being friends. She wants them to be friends.

Cause they’re there in Hazelwood, and it’s a warm day at the end of September, the air crisp in a way that still reminds her of the first day of school. And their friends are there and their families are there. And she’d driven by her house earlier, driven by his house, had turned down streets that she knew as well as her own hand, down streets where they had spent hours riding bikes, and walking to church, and down to the park. And it feels so fundamentally wrong that he isn’t by her side.

She can see him across the yard, over by the dessert table. He’s looking around with exaggerated seriousness before he sneaks an extra cookie to a giggling Julia. Her daughter laughs, her mouth still full and smeared with chocolate, and holds out grabbing hands for another. Eddie grins and obliges. He says something that has Julia collapsing into a fit of giggles, before she’s off like a shot, her pilfered baked goods clutched tight in her small fists. Eddie is watching her fondly and Camila has to look away. For whatever weirdness has come between them, she really does hate the distance it’s put between him and Julia.

He crosses her path, moving across the yard towards the back patio, and she can’t help taking another long look. He looks different than he did the last time they were in Hazelwood. They’d been kids themselves when they packed up the old van and moved to California. But they’re back again, and everything is different. He looks grown, mature, put together, in his tailored suit and dark sunglasses and his hair curling around his ears. But it was still undeniably him. And she knows she looks different, feels different than she did when they left Pittsburgh all those years back. But she was still undeniably her. And she just can’t make it make sense in her brain how they can be there, together, in the town they grew up in, and not be friends.

Maybe they weren’t anything anymore. Not lovers, not roommates, not friends. Could you be friends with someone you’d barely spoken to in a year?

They weren’t even neighbors anymore - Graham had told her they were giving up the lease to the house once the tour was done. They’d be scattered across the city, the last reminder of their childhood and those early days in California gone. Camila hates the thought, hates the idea that Eddie was slipping through her fingers, disappearing from her life. He’d still be part of the band, she reminds herself, but that feels hollow, inconsequential. What did that even mean? That she’d see him as often as she saw Teddy, or Rod? That she’d wave awkwardly to him a couple times a year when the band had an event? That she’d see him about as often as she had that past year, her mind supplies unkindly.

She doesn’t know what’s fucking wrong with her that it’s easier to sit next to Daisy and talk about kids and a future than it is to face the present. Maybe it’s because she’s always liked Daisy, despite the turmoil she’d caused. Maybe it’s because Daisy has always seemed sort of lonely, despite her glittering life, and Camila was no stranger to that feeling. Maybe it’s because at that moment, when she’s feeling so strangely at home and lost in equal measure that she welcomes any friend she can get.

Chapter Text

That jukebox in the corner blasting out my favourite song
The nights are gettin' warmer, it won't be long
Won't be long 'til summer comes
Now that the boys are here again

Eddie: The party peters out slowly then all at once, people leaving as the sun begins to set. Soon it’s just the band and their parents left. Eddie and Warren are sprawled out in lawn chairs by the fire pit, Graham throwing in kindling with middling success. It’s a new house, just bought for Mrs. Dunne on the back of Aurora, but he could’ve sworn he’s been there before - nearly everything about the afternoon had felt bone deep familiar. The air is crisp and sharp with the smell of dead leaves in a way LA can never quite manage. His mom is talking to Mrs. Dunne on the patio, and with Warren and Graham on either side of him, he feels like he’s sixteen again.

The illusion is only partially shattered by Daisy curled up on the bench across from them.

“Eddie-bean,” his mom calls out from across the yard, “we’re heading out now. Be good, and be safe if you're driving.”

“Eddie-bean,” Warren snorts under his breath, laughing until Eddie threatens to tip his chair over. Daisy has her knees pulled up to her chin, hiding everything but her eyes, but he thinks she’s laughing.

“You boys are more than welcome to stay the night,” Mrs. Dunne is saying, “you too Daisy.” She presses a kiss to the top of Graham’s head before heading indoors.

“Thanks Mrs. Dunne,” Eddie gets out as she leaves. She sends them all a fond smile from the patio door and Eddie wonders if some part of him won’t always feel like a kid in Hazelwood.

“She get to sleep alright?” Graham is asking and Eddie pulls his gaze up from the fire. Camila and Billy are walking hand in hand back to the fire pit, Karen trailing a step behind.

“Like a dream,” Camila says, settling into one of the chairs across from him. “I think the party really tired her out.” And, oh. Julia. They were talking about Julia.

Eddie had watched her throughout the day, amazed by the changes in her. The way she was running and talking and tall enough to snatch cookies from the table without her parents noticing. He’d been nervous about going up to her, scared she wouldn’t remember him. She’d been orbiting Camila all day and the thought of that interaction had felt like a sucker punch. But she’d come up to him at the desert table, her smile wide and mischievous, face smeared with chocolate, and Eddie had felt that familiar warmth spread through him. Just the few silly words spoken between them had helped to loosen the knot of tension in his chest. Sweet Julia who he’d held in his arms just a few weeks after her birth, who he’d seen grow into a bright, bubbly thing, teeming with energy. And best of all, she’d remembered him, had called him Uncle Eddie, and he’d felt a dizzying sense of relief and joy spread through him. She looked like Camila had at that age, but the sight doesn’t hurt - it reminds him of happier days when they’d been young and sweet and carefree, just like Julia.

Camila had waved at him at one point, their eyes meeting across the yard. She’d smiled and Eddie wondered if maybe he could just let it all go. Maybe, maybe, maybe - maybe he could just pretend it never happened and everything could go back to normal. Back to being friends.

The thought fills him with longing. It’s almost worse than his pining love. Cause before everything got all messed up, he’d loved her from afar and never truly thought anything would come of it.

But he’d never imagined a world where they weren’t friends. The thought would’ve been laughable just twelve short months earlier.

He wishes things were simple, wishes he could dig down past his hurt and anger and this past year and go back to how things used to be. But he isn’t sure he’s ready for that yet. Isn’t sure if he’s ready to forgive and forget. He wants to. He missed her - misses her laugh and her smile and her jokes. He wants to be friends. But how can he when just looking at her hurts.

But the thought of never talking to her again hurts worse. It makes him feel sick to his stomach and he doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want to throw everything they’ve ever had away. But he needs time. Time to get his head on straight. Time to accept that some things would never change.

“So what was the scene in Hazelwood?” Daisy asks, breaking the silence and his thoughts. “What did you even do here when you were growing up?” Daisy has her chin propped up on her knees, her voice thin, with just a hint of its usual brashness. She’s been a bit quiet, a bit pale, and he knows she’s been through a lot lately, but he thinks again of the dark circles under Karen’s eyes, and hopes she isn’t getting sick. As if the tour wasn’t fucking stressful enough - the last thing they needed was for the flu to start going around.

But he doesn’t want to think about the tour. Not here. Not now. Not when they’re in Hazelwood, full of Mrs. Dunne’s home cooking, and his mom’s chocolate cake, and he’s got his best friends sitting around him. The autumn air is making him nostalgic and even Billy doesn’t seem so bad in the amber glow from the bonfire. The warmth of the burning flames is making him sleepy and content, and he wants to set all his bad blood aside, just for the night. For just one night he wants to pretend everything’s back to normal.

Eddie mulls over Daisy’s question and turns to Warren, sharing a look. In tandem, they burst into laughter. What did they do growing up? A lot of stupid shit, that’s for sure.

“Nothing,” Billy snorts out, his arm draped around Camila’s shoulders, head tilted back to the sky, “that’s why we left.” He’s got that all knowing smirk on, like he’s too cool to even contemplate the question. Like he knows their hometown is lame, and he’s the only one clever enough to have figured it out. Fuck him - they’d all come from exactly the same place, and ended up neck-in-neck back where they’d started.

For once everyone seems to be against Billy, and a chorus of muttered dissent rises up from the gathered Pittsburgh crowd.

“Speak for yourself,” Camila says. She’s laughing, but she pulls away to poke his side. Billy drops his arm back to his own chair and Eddie feels a flare of satisfaction.

“I mean, for one,” Graham says, tossing more kindling into the fire, “we were in a pretty popular rock band for most of high school.”

Karen snorts, nudges her foot into Graham’s thigh. “Don’t exaggerate,” she ribs with a sly smile.

Graham catches her foot and makes her laugh. “Popular enough to convince you to join.”

Soon they’re all laughing, swapping stories of high school parties and childhood pranks and stupid fights at the local burger joint. Jokes about embarrassing first dates and their first gigs and drinking too much at high school parties.

Warren leans over, in the midst of a burst of laughter, slapping a heavy hand on Eddie’s shoulder. His voice is full of unrestrained glee as he says, “Remember when we went to the quarry and Camila stole that six pack from those seniors?”

Eddie snorts out a laugh. It’s an involuntary noise, slipping out despite… everything. Graham lets out his own bark of laughter, nudging Camila’s arm at his side. Karen and Daisy stare at her with curiosity, and Billy’s brows crease, looking between the other boys and Cam.

“I don’t remember that story,” Billy says, his expression oscillating between confusion and a thin mask of levity. But he shifts in his seat, suddenly straighter, stiffer, and Eddie can tell the not knowing bugs him.

Graham laughs, rolling his eyes at Billy. “Cause you were too cool to hang out with us back then.”

Billy wheels on his brother. “Wait, you were there too?”

“Well, yeah, we all were.” Graham shrugs, nodding at Eddie and Warren. “What was that? Sophomore year?”

Eddie nods, but the skin at the back of his neck was beginning to prick, his throat going tight. They were wading into dangerous territory and he suddenly feels on edge. “M’yeah. I was grounded for a week after that.”

Warren is unaware of Eddie’s sudden stiff posture. Laughter tumbles out of him till he’s nearly bent over. “Shit, my mom grounded me for a month. I’d never seen her so mad, sitting there waiting for me to get home.”

“Sorry,” Karen says, leaning forward around Graham to stare at Camila with a gleeful smile. “Can we go back to the thievery?”

Camila looks as awkward as Eddie feels, but he isn’t sure anyone else is paying enough attention to notice. One of her hands is drifting near her jaw as if she’s tempted to bite at her nails. Her back is stiff and straight but it’s hard to notice when she leans forward to stare intently into the flickering flame. “It wasn’t anything serious,” she says, her voice carefully detached. “It was just a couple beers. Just cause it was Eddie’s birthday…”

Eddie freezes feeling called out. He can’t bear to see Camila’s expression or Billy’s reaction. Can’t bear to think about what his own face might be doing. He grips his beer tighter and focuses on the bright orange of the fire. He’s immensely grateful when Warren steps in, throwing a joking punch into Eddie’s shoulder. “The things we do for you,” he crows out with a laugh.

Warren proceeds to tell the story and his words are tinged with remnants of a hundred summer days and after school mischief. But this story… Warren doesn’t get it quite right. And it isn’t his fault because he wasn’t there, not for all of it. There’s a part of it that only Eddie knows. Only Eddie could remember. Him and…

His eyes dart across the firepit, the orange flames casting them all in shadows. For the first time in months, he allows himself to really look. To stare across the fire and see his friend looking back at him.

Hazelwood - 1969

The night air sent a biting gust of wind into his bedroom as Eddie yanked open his window as quietly as he’s able. He swore under his breath as the wind sent the homework he’d left on his desk fluttering across the room. He’d get it in the morning, he reasoned, inching the window open to its full extent.

With a final glance at his shut bedroom door, Eddie eased himself out the window, balancing precariously on the small outcrop of the porch roof that extended beneath, his hands already coated with a thick layer of dirt from where they braced against the siding of the house. Taking a deep breath and steadying himself, Eddie twisted, threw himself forward and trusted that his hands would catch onto the tree branches in front of him. They did and he allowed himself to hang for a moment, his body swinging, his hands burning from the rough grip on the tree bark. Then he dropped, his knees aching from the impact, but the feeling of relief and accomplishment outweighed all else.

He crouched low in the bushes, eyes flickering between his bedroom window above and the front door beside him. But there was no movement from inside and Eddie grinned, feeling free to round the corner and grab his bike from where he’d stashed it beside the garage.

He’d just pulled out onto the street when the sound of his name made him freeze, his heart pounding and his veins filling with ice. He jerked his head back, squinting towards his house, but still it was quiet, the front door still firmly shut, the lights still decidedly dark.

Had he imagined it? Eddie was just about to start riding again, feeling exposed beneath the yellow street lights, when he heard it again.

“Eddie!” This time he’s able to pinpoint the whispered call of his name and he turned his head towards the other side of the street, peering into the darkness until Camila Alvarez emerged.

“Where are you going?”

Her eyes were bright beneath the streetlights, an eager smile beginning to stretch across her face. Eddie could tell she’d dressed in a hurry; her hair was pulled back roughly, strands of dark hair escaping around her ears. She was wearing her gym shorts, the school’s logo just barely visible near the hem, and an oversized knit sweater, the laces of her tennis shoes untied.

Eddie winced, stepping closer and shushing her. She shut her mouth with comical quickness but the corners were twitching with a barely concealed smile. She clearly wasn’t taking the situation seriously.

“Nowhere” Eddie said in a harsh whisper. “Go home. You’re gonna get us both in trouble,” he said, aware of the way their voices carried across the empty street. He squinted back towards his own house, making sure there was still no light from his bedroom window.

Camila was undeterred; she nodded at his backpack and the bike behind him. “You’re meeting up with Graham and Warren, right?” she said, more statement than question. “I want to go.”

“No,” he said flatly, shaking his head and turning away.

“Why not?” she asked immediately, keeping pace beside him as he crossed back to his bike.

Eddie knew arguing with her was futile but it was the principle of the thing. “Cause you weren’t invited.”

“Who cares?” Camila said with a quick laugh, as if he were being ridiculous. She took hold of the bike’s handlebars, preventing him from moving, staring him down. “It’s your birthday: you invite me.”

He wanted to say no. They already had plans to hang out on Saturday; Camila had promised to buy his ticket when they went to see Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. And part of him wanted to spend time with just Warren and Graham - without Camila watching over them. Not that she wasn’t fun to hang out with. But whenever they were doing something especially stupid she did this thing with her eyebrows - raising one thin brow up and looking down at them - that made him feel stupid. And he already knew she’d be bored stiff by what they’re planning to do at the quarry.

But Camila was staring at him with wide eyes and for some reason the streetlights were making them especially shiny. She was practically glowing in the night air, her dark hair turning pitch black and blending with the shadows. And he couldn’t bring himself to disappoint her. The thought of turning her away twisted his stomach and he couldn’t get the words out. He ended up doing a sort of half shrug, rolling his head and looking away from her. She must have taken it as an invitation because she let out an excited squeak and squeezed his elbow.

“I’ll be right back,” Camila whispered excitedly, before she was running off to get her bike. Eddie scratched the back of his neck, and chalked the warm feeling building in his chest up to the heady mixture of exhaustion and adrenaline.

---

Graham and Warren were waiting for them at the bottom of the hill near the quarry, their own bikes dumped in a heap in the grass nearby.

“Oh come’on, you brought Alvarez?” Warren called out as they came into view, his voice carrying down the quiet street.

Eddie bit the inside of his lip, his hands gripping tighter on the handlebars of his bike. Maybe this was a bad idea; Camila was his oldest friend, and Graham and Warren were his best friends, but all four of them had rarely hung out together outside of the occasional football game or class or the school cafeteria. He didn’t exactly know what Graham and Warren had planned for the night, and he was beginning to think maybe Camila should have stayed home.

But when he looked over to Camila at his side, she was smiling. She leaned forward over the handlebars, speeding up. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she called out, but there was laughter in her voice. Warren was smiling too, and Eddie let out a quick sigh of relief. He didn’t think either of them were especially upset. Camila let her bike coast for the last few feet, and stuck her foot out in an attempt to kick Warren as she passed by. She wobbled wildly and let out a peal of laughter that seemed to echo in the woods around them.

---

“Is this it?”

Eddie, Warren and Graham looked up in sync, staring at Camila as she paced near the tree line. They had found a small open patch of ground near the edge of the quarry, hemmed in by trees and overlooking the water. Graham had started a small bonfire while they rolled over a couple of rotting logs to sit on.

They’d sprawled out in the damp dirt, and emptied their respective backpacks, swapping and trading the small trove of treats and candies they’d managed to squirrel away from their kitchen cupboards. With the fire roaring merrily beside them, the three boys had begun passing jokes and stories, generally high on the illicit nature of their late night rendezvous.

But Camila had quickly stood up from her perch beside Eddie, crossing over to stare out at the water, her arms wrapped around herself to fight off the cold. When she turned back, she looked at them expectantly.

Warren gaped at her, pausing his efforts to catch a discarded candy wrapper on fire. “What do you mean is this it? What were you expecting?”

Camila shrugged, and Eddie knew her well enough to notice the tight line her mouth was forming. She was getting frustrated. He should’ve told her she wouldn’t have a good time.

“Here, have a soda,” he said, grabbing one from his bag and tossing it to her. She caught it with ease but made no effort to open it. Instead she held it at her side, turning back to peer across the water.

“Someone’s having a party over there.”

Camila was pointing at something out across the water. The quarry, long since out of use, resembled a small lake more than anything, with water filling the divot in the earth, at least ten feet deep. The side they had chosen to camp out at was nearly level with the cool, still water, the tree line giving way to a small gravel beach. Across the way, the ground rose up, creating a stark cliff side about fifteen feet up. It was there that Camila was pointing.

“So?” Eddie asked - the quarry was known as a popular hang out spot, just far enough into the woods to avoid attention. It wasn’t surprising that there would be other people there. But he stood despite himself, going to stand beside Camila, their shoulders bumping, as he squinted out into the dark.

She was right. At the crest of the cliff side there was a distant flickering fire, figures moving around it as wobbly shadows. Voices and the faint sound of music carried across the water.

“So,” Camila said, bumping his shoulder again, hard enough that he rocked back on his feet, “we should go check it out.”

Graham came up on her other side, hands shoved in his pockets and squinting into the dark. “It’s not going to be anyone we know,” he said, shaking his head.

He was right. Eddie had just turned sixteen - the rest of them, and most of their class, were still fifteen - nearly all car-less, and more importantly, broke. There was no way anyone they knew had managed to organize a party like the one happening across the water. And if they had, they would have heard about it.

“It’s not your brother is it?” Warren asked, propping his arm up on Eddie’s shoulder and leaning around him to look at Graham. Eddie looked too, waiting for Graham’s response. They all knew Billy Dunne was popular enough to be at a late night party at the quarry. Graham’s brother had graduated the year before, but they could all remember when he’d been one of the coolest guys in school. Too cool to hang out with any of them, but if Billy was at the party, he probably wouldn’t send them away.

Graham shrugged then shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “He worked all day; I think he just went to bed.”

Camila tugged on Eddie’s sleeve, and when he looked at her, her eyes were bright. “Let's go. Just to look.”

Eddie hesitated. He’d been happy enough drinking sodas and throwing scraps into the heat of the flames. But Camila was smiling at him expectantly and he was having a hard time finding the words to turn her down. Instead he looked to Warren at his side.

Warren nodded back to the still roaring fire. “We shouldn’t leave the fire. I’ll stay here.”

Graham too stepped back towards the bonfire, hands held up in surrender. Eddie knew the threat of getting caught was eating at him; it’d been hard enough to convince him to come out at all. “Me too. You guys go.”

Eddie tugged at the sleeves of his sweatshirt, and realized he was out of excuses. Realized he didn’t really want to make any. He felt bad that she was having a bad time and he wanted her to smile at him again. She was staring at him, waiting with wide eyes, and he couldn’t find the words to turn her down. Instead he shrugged. “Lead the way.”

---

“They have beer.” Eddie was crouched low behind an outcropping of rocks, Camila pressed close at his side. The party was just ahead of them, about fifteen people milling about or gathered around the bonfire, a radio set up nearby. There was laughter and talking, and with the radio turned up high, Eddie was sure no one would hear them huddled near the treeline.

Eddie leaned forward, watching as the party unfolded. He couldn’t wait to be older - staying up late without the threat of grounding, going to parties, drinking beer. And he sure as hell wouldn’t be doing it in Hazelwood. He couldn’t wait to graduate, to head out to New York or Chicago, hell, even downtown Pittsburgh had to be better than this. Someday he would look back and laugh at the flare of awe and jealousy that was eating at him as he looked at the high school party at the quarry.

In that moment, the party before them seemed more exciting than any they’d ever been to. He recognized a few of the seniors talking near the fire, and a few that had graduated the year before. Only a few years older, and already they seemed cooler, more mature than anyone Eddie knew. The paltry pile of candy bars and sodas they’d left back with Graham seemed to pale in comparison. Eddie pointed out towards the cliff’s edge, at the side closest to them. Less than ten feet away sat a couple of six packs of beer and a few half empty bags of chips.

Camila pushed closer, peering around his shoulder, her knobby, bare knees bumping into his. She’d taken her hair down at some point during the night and the long curtain of it fell forward. Eddie was distracted by the soft ghost of it against his knuckles and had to blink hard to focus when she added: “A lot of it. Just sitting there. No one’s even drinking it.”

They’d all had a beer or two before, pilfered quietly from their parents' refrigerators. He wasn’t even sure if he liked the taste, but there was something about having it that made him feel more mature. He was tired of feeling like a kid; he wanted to sit back and have a beer with his friends - he was sixteen, goddamn it. “They should give it to us. At least we’d appreciate it.”

Camila went still at his side, before she slowly turned to meet his gaze, her eyebrow raised. “A birthday present.”

Eddie frowned, trying to parse out the odd tilt to her tone, the eager expression creeping over her face. She was looking at him expectantly, her eyes going wide and shiny, her cheeks going round as she tried and failed to hold back the smile creeping over her features. And suddenly he knew what she was going to say just before she said it.

“Do you dare me to steal it?”

“No.”

Eddie heard his voice go flat and firm, and heard his heart thud hard against his chest. He saw a flare of determination set in just behind her eyes, even as her smile continued to grow. She was no longer making any effort to hide it and soon she was grinning brightly at him, despite his own darkening expression. He knew her too well. Knew the stubborn spark in her eyes.

“Why not?” She was nearly beaming at him - the cat that got the canary, as his mom would say.

Eddie narrowed his eyes, staring deeply into hers, trying to work out her inner thoughts. Trying to work out if she was actually serious. If she was just fucking with him. “Cause I don’t think you’d really do it,” he finally decided.

Camila narrowed her own eyes, her brow furrowing and smile dropping into a stubborn pout. “Yes I would,” she said, sounding almost offended. Sounding determined.

And, goddammit Camila. Goddamn himself - he shouldn't have said anything. He should have let it go. But he felt his own stubborn streak rear its head. “No. You wouldn't,” he said, firmly.

“I would.” Camila sat back solidly on her knees, crossing her arms, biting out her words and he almost believed her. Almost believed she would do it just to spite him. Almost.

“No you wouldn’t,” he said, with a smug smile of his own. “Cause your mom would kill you if she found out.”

Camila hesitated, chewing at her lip and looking away, and Eddie thought he’d got her beat. She hated getting in trouble, and he knew it. She’d already taken a risk just to sneak out - she wouldn’t do anything that would get her caught.

But she surprised him. Her eyes went steel and she clenched her jaw. “Yes I would,” she said firmly, “because it’s your birthday.”

Eddie looked at her for a long moment. There was no fear or hesitation, no bullshit hidden in her gaze. She was being serious. Camila was seriously considering stealing a six pack of beer.

“Well?”

“Okay. I dare you.” There was a sort of rushing in his ears - adrenaline and worry and giddy recklessness pounding through his veins. Camila was smiling at him, her eyebrow raised in challenge, and Jesus, he was glad she was there, even if she was crazy.

She tugged on his sleeve, her defiant grin turning to giggles. “Yeah?”

And Eddie shrugged. He couldn’t say no to her, couldn’t deny the way his heart was pounding with near manic excitement. “Yeah,” he said, shrugging, laughing. “I dare you. I don’t think you’re actually gonna do it. But yeah. I dare you.”

Camila gave him a shit eating grin, her grip tightening on his arm before pushing off to stand. She looked back down at him, her hair hallowed by firelight and the distant moon, her smile blindingly bright, and he almost forgot how to breathe. “Get ready to run.”

---

Even as he sat there, his thighs beginning to cramp, his eyes straining through the darkness, even as he watched Camila sneak closer, her footsteps light and her movements quick, he almost couldn’t believe she was really doing it. He couldn’t believe Camila Alvarez was really moving closer to the cliff edge, closer to the stockpile of beer and snacks… Can’t believe she was really planning to steal them. Eddie swallowed thickly, his fingers tightening into fists at his side as Camila reached her destination. She knelt down beside the goods, her head up and surveying the party. Her profile was hallowed by the quarry water behind her and Eddie couldn't look away. There was a giddy awe building within his chest, and he couldn't do anything except watch her - amazed. She was crazy. She was brilliant. She was… caught.

“Hey… Who is that?”

Eddie and Camila both snapped their heads in the direction of the questioning voice. One of the boys near the fire was starting to stand, a loose finger pointed in Camila’s direction. There was nothing he could do, but Eddie stood regardless, his pulse jumping and fear threading through him. He wanted to call out to her, but Camila was frozen like a deer in the headlights and he was scared of shattering the fragile peace.

Then one of the senior girls was moving too, stepping towards Camila and all hell broke loose. Camila’s head whipped back towards him and their eyes met, even from across the clearing. A beat, maybe too, and then the girl was yelling, anger creeping into her questioning shouts. And Camila was moving. She leaned down and scooped both cases of beer into her arms, stacked up and pulled close to her chest. She started to run with stilted wobbling steps back towards Eddie.

“What the hell are you doing?” the girl yelled after her. “Those are ours!”

But Camila had reached Eddie, and shoved one of the six packs into his arms. The stiff cardboard edges dug into his palms and he fumbled for a moment to find the handle on top. “Run,” Camila urged, reaching blindly for his hand, her nails scratching his arm before curling around his fingers. They were running, together, their feet and laughter spreading out through the quiet woods. Eddie thought he could hear someone following them, thought he could hear distant shouts and relentless footsteps, but then again, maybe it was just his imagination. Either way, they don’t slow down. The case of beer kept knocking painfully into his hip, and he was sure he would have bruises there in the morning, but Camila hadn’t let go of his hand yet so he kept going. He’d keep going and he’d keep running, and he’d keep holding her hand for as long as she'd let him.

---

Graham and Warren were thoroughly impressed when they finally made it back to their little camp. They made a toast with their shaken, foamy beer, and they laughed and listened as Eddie and Camila took turns embellishing their story. They drank and they joked and they made faces into the darkness towards the party still happening across the quarry. And when they finally began to succumb to exhaustion, when they put out their fire and began the ride back home, Eddie thought it might have been the best birthday he’d ever had.

Warren and Graham had left them by the time Camila and Eddie turned onto their street. They weren’t riding their bikes anymore, too tired to pedal up the final hill, instead walking them the last block to their respective homes. Eddie could see his house in the distance and he turned to look at Camila at his side.

The night was still and quiet and he was exhausted. Camila looked tired too, but she looked happy. She noticed Eddie looking at her, and gave him a sleepy smile.

“Why did you do that? “ he couldn’t help asking. “Stealing that beer, sneaking out. That’s not like you.” Camila was incredible in a lot of ways, but she’d always been good. She’d surprised him.

Camila shrugged. “I dunno,” she said, bringing her free hand up to bite at her thumb nail. She shrugged again, looking at him from the corner of her eye. “I just… I wanted you to have a good birthday, I guess.”

That took him aback and he frowned. They had reached their houses, their paths diverging at the center of the street. He stopped and looked at her - he tried to parse out what she’s saying. What she means. Because surely that couldn’t be the only reason. “Yeah but-”

“Eddie,” she said firmly, moving closer until her bike bumped into his, “you’re my best friend and I love you. I wanted you to have fun.” Eddie felt his heart thud against his chest as she shrugged. “That’s all there is to say.”

“Thanks,” he said, but his mouth felt full of cotton, his head swimming and her words beginning to cycle on repeat until everything else fell away. She was so close, her hair so shiny beneath the streetlights, her eyes soft with sleep, and her smile so sweet. She was so close and suddenly, suddenly, he wondered what it would be like to kiss her. It was a strange thought, one he’d had about other girls, but not Camila. Never Camila. But now that he’d thought it once, it didn’t seem so strange. In fact, he thought it might even be… nice. She was pretty, and smart, and funny, and kind. And suddenly he couldn’t stop from thinking about what it might be like to kiss Camila Alvarez.

It’d be like kissing his best friend, he realized, and that thought sobered him quickly. Scared him. Because he absolutely didn’t want to lose her friendship. Even exhausted he could realize that. “You’re my best friend too,” he managed to gasp out, his voice hoarse. And saying it helped, because it was true, but Jesus Christ, had she always been that pretty?

Camila tilted her head to the side, and when she smiled, there were little dimples in the apples of her cheeks. “You did have a good birthday, right?” She sounded so sweet, so earnest, as she asked, he couldn’t help but smile back.

“The best,” he finally managed to get out around his starry thoughts and heavy tongue. And it was true; he wanted to remember this night for the rest of his life.

She nodded and before he could wrap his head around what was going on, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” And she was stepping back, walking towards her side of the street.

“Good night Camila,” he called out, feeling dazed as he watched her slip further into the shadows.

Her voice was just a whisper as she called back, “Good night Eddie. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Camila: Her throat feels tight, her mind torn by memories.

“Camila, I’ve wanted to kiss you since I was sixteen years old… Ever since that night at the quarry- I’ve wanted you more than anything.”

Her eyes cut up, staring across the licking flames and met Eddie’s gaze. She meets his eyes, for real this time, for what feels like the first time in months. Not that quick glance from earlier, separated by people and the wide expanse of backyard between them. He’s looking at her and she’s looking at him, and it steals her breath away. Her heart is pounding so hard it hurt.

His expression is unreadable, but she can guess at what he’s thinking. Warren’s story hadn’t covered it all. He couldn’t have known about her whispered conversation with Eddie, or how they’re hands had reached for each other as they ran through the woods, or the way her heart had pounded so hard she thought she might faint, Eddie’s hand in hers the only thing keeping her steady. He couldn’t have known about their walk home or the tender kiss she’d placed on Eddie’s cheek. Couldn’t have known that she’d done it all because Eddie was her very best friend in the world and being around him made her feel reckless and brave, and she’d desperately wanted him to have a good birthday that included her. He couldn’t have known what Eddie would tell her five years later in the storeroom of a swanky LA bar, drunk off the taste of each other's kisses.

But she knew. And Eddie knew. And she hates that she’d allowed herself to jeopardize all that. Those memories, those feelings. Him.

She meets Eddie’s eye, burning and warm in the fire light, and she wouldn’t be surprised to see more anger and hurt reflected back at her. Instead something incredible happens: the corner of his mouth ticking up into what could almost be a rueful smile and finally, Camila feels like she can breathe again.

They talk a while longer about silly things and memories. Eddie doesn’t address her and she doesn’t address him for fear of shattering the tentative peace. But it’s enough for now. It’s enough to be there laughing with him, near him, watching him smile, hearing him talking. It feels good and light and like the old days, before Julia, before that first tour, back when they were still figuring things out. Back when they were friends.

And when they break for the night, full of laughter and excitement for the Pittsburgh show, Warren, Daisy, Karen, and Eddie heading to their cars, she decides to test her luck.

“Have a good night, Eddie,” she calls from the front doorway, leaning heavy against the frame to keep from shaking.

Eddie turns, his features a mix of heavy shadows and moonlight, and he looks at her for a long moment before he nods. There’s a small smile on his face, barely visible but not nothing, as he says, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Cam,” and disappears into the night.

Chapter Text

When are you gonna come down?
When are you going to land?
I should have stayed on the farm
I should have listened to my old man

You know you can't hold me forever
I didn't sign up with you
I'm not a present for your friends to open
This boy's too young to be singin' the blues

Eddie: He’s so fucking angry. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this angry in his entire fucking life. Worse than that - he feels humiliated. Completely and totally overlooked. Billy could’ve spit in his fucking face and it wouldn’t have hurt as bad as what he actually did. Taking his solo like that - in front of their friends, their families, their hometown. He hadn’t even asked - Billy had just taken it, just assumed that he could have it. Just assumed that he could take whatever he wanted. The minute Billy stepped onto that stage to play with Daisy, he confirmed everything Eddie had been thinking for months. For years. Billy Dunne didn’t care about him. He didn’t care about any of them. All he cared about was himself, and Eddie was sick of it.

Camila: She wonders what Billy would do if she screamed. What any of them would do. She won’t - she’s not that person. She’s not that person that makes a scene or pushes in or throws a fit. She has no problem making her position known - she has made her position known. Time and time again. It’s tempting to think she’s overreacting. That maybe she’s imagined it. But no. No. She’s been down this road before and she knows what she saw.

After the photoshoot… she’d told him exactly where the line was and what would happen if he crossed it. She thought she’d been pretty fucking clear. She thinks telling Billy that if he ever developed feelings for someone else she was done, was clear enough.

So why the fuck had she seen Billy and Daisy holding each other in the middle of her mother-in-law’s living room? Had they not just discussed growing their family? Having more children? Hadn’t they just agreed they were ready? That they were in a good place? Was it all bullshit? Why the fuck did Billy think that was okay?

Camila feels like she’s going insane. She feels like she’s going to be sick. She feels like screaming until the pilot took notice and took the fucking plane out of the fucking sky. Billy didn’t deserve to go to Chicago. None of them did. She wants to pull the plane out of the air until she gets some fucking answers. How the fuck can Billy sit there next to her and act like everything was normal when Camila feels like she’s losing her fucking mind.

Eddie: He’s going to do it. He’s going to quit the band. He needs to. He’s going to.

He wants to.

That’s a fucking lie. Of course he doesn’t want to. He shouldn’t have to. It was his fucking band for fucks sake. He’d been there since the beginning when they were still playing in Graham’s garage and getting rides from Warren’s mom. It was his band. But he couldn’t take this anymore.

He was a good musician. And maybe that makes him sound conceited, but he knows it’s true. He was good and he didn’t deserve to be treated like shit in his own band. He was tired of Billy thinking he knew best about everything. The best singer, the best song writer, the best guitarist. The front man, the rockstar, the favorite. It was bullshit. All of it.

And… shit- he’s not stupid. He’s not so delusional to think Billy wasn’t talented. He was even fucking brilliant on occasion. But fucking christ - they all were! Every single one of them was a fucking fantastic musician, but not once had Billy stopped to acknowledge it. They would always be his brother’s friends, clinging onto his star as he rose to fame. Well, fuck that. Fuck him. Eddie was done with this bullshit.

Camila: He’s with me cause he’s Billy-fucking-Dunne and it’s the right thing to do.

The words echo in her head, tattooed there and ringing incessantly. They’re words she’d thought often over the years but it’d taken Daisy Jones to rip them from her throat and spit them out into the world.

The right thing to do. The right fucking thing.

She swallows thickly, passing the housekeeper in the hall, the concierge in the lobby, and trying to keep in the hot angry tears that are threatening to spill. She doesn’t know where to go, but she knows she needs to get away. She needs to keep moving or else she’ll come apart at the seams.

The right thing. She’d always tried to do the right thing - it’s what she’d been taught, the way she’d tried to live her life. Right and wrong - such a steady, solid concept. Realizing that people, people like Daisy Jones, weren't governed by the same intrinsic guiding force knocks her sideways and she feels like she’s careening off the edge of the world.

Camila knows she hasn’t always been good or fair or kind, but she’s always tried to do the right thing.

The right thing… Giving Billy chance after chance had been the right thing. The right thing for her marriage, for Julia, for the band. But Jesus, she’d always hoped that Billy hadn’t been with her just cause it was the right thing to do. That it was love that kept them together, rather than obligation. That he was fighting for her, and not just because he thought he was supposed to.

She doesn’t want that. If that’s what this is, if that’s what this has turned into… she doesn’t want it. She won’t be the obligation, the dutiful wife stopping Billy from living the life he actually wants.

She wonders if that’s why she’d said what she had, hours ago outside the hotel room door. Wonders if that’s why she’d finally admitted that she’d been unfaithful. Finally let the truth spill out between them. No more secrets. Had she been trying to hurt him? To make him feel better? To fix things? Or break them? She doesn’t know, and the lingering guilt eats at her, digging down into her heart.

No. She won’t feel guilty anymore. Not when what Billy had done, what Billy was doing was so much worse. He’d kissed Daisy, and even if that really was the only thing that had happened, she knows what she saw. She’d seen them together, their foreheads pressed against the other’s, his arms wrapped around her as if they were the only two people left on earth. No, she won’t feel guilty, not when Billy can’t even manage to deny his feelings for another woman.

They’d both done things, and that should make it better. It should even out. Her own secret to cradle in the night. Billy had Daisy and Camila had… bile rises in her throat and she refuses to allow her thoughts to go down that path. Her and Eddie- that wasn’t the same. She thought it might be, that it might somehow make up for the hurt that Billy caused. But comparing what they had to the reckless, destructive mess that was Billy and Daisy feels wrong. Like even just the comparison might taint the truth. She’d nearly lost Eddie trying to make things right. It’d been stupid of her to even go down that road in the first place, but she’d nearly lost her oldest friend trying to fix things with Billy. If Billy hadn’t fucked things up in the first place…

The tears are falling now, hot and burning, and she feels like a fool. A fucking idiot, trying to cram herself into a picture perfect life that didn’t exist.

He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say he didn’t love Daisy.

Billy and Daisy - she saw them clearer than they realized. They thought they were broken - the only two tragedies in the whole wide world. As if the pain they wore like martyrs excused the pain they caused others. As if it allowed them to spiral off into oblivion. As if the world had given them no other option than to self destruct.

And she knows they’ve had it bad, but Jesus Christ, hadn’t they all? Sure Camila has a family that loves her, friends that support her, a career she adores, but didn’t they get it? Didn’t they understand the pain they had caused?

Lost souls indeed. Lost and blind and unable to see how much hurt they had caused. How much Camila was hurting. How long she’d been in pain and trying to ignore the knife slipping further between her ribs with every passing year. She knows she can’t keep doing this. She can’t keep blindly moving forward. Can’t live her life as an obligation.

She has to go.

Eddie: His eye is killing him. It stings, radiating a pulsing pain straight back through his skull. It takes a lot of effort, too much effort, to pull himself up from the hotel room bed.

He thought about staying there forever, his face pressed to the cool sheets until the seasons changed. He seriously considers skipping the concert. What was the point? He’d already told Billy he was quitting. More than that. Much more than that. But he hadn’t said anything that shouldn’t have been out in the world for years.

Billy was an asshole. He was controlling and selfish and arrogant. He never thought about anyone but himself and Eddie was tired of it. He’d been tired of it for years. He was tired.

There was a part of him that regrets what he’d said. The part of him that still remembers that night years ago when Billy pulled them close and said they were a family. When they’d been young and optimistic, and he’d been startled by Billy’s stricken expression and Graham’s anger. Back when he believed what Billy said. That part of him, the part of him that still thought The Six could be a family, his family, regretted what he’d said to Billy.

But then he remembers what Billy said in return and anger floods him once more. Billy didn’t deserve his pity or his apologies or his regret. This was Billy’s fault. Billy had ruined everything.

He can’t believe Billy hit him.

Well… maybe he could believe it. He might not have explicitly admitted to sleeping with Billy’s wife, but the implication had been pretty clear. Judging from his stinging cheekbone, Billy had understood the insinuation.

Eddie doesn’t feel sorry about that. Maybe it was the part of him that was still hurt by what Camila had done that made him taunt Billy with the truth. Maybe he was lashing out with the only thing Billy couldn’t control. Maybe he had just wanted to hurt Billy as badly as he’d hurt him.

Everything had gotten so messed up. He thinks back to just a few nights before, sitting around the fire in Mrs. Dunne’s backyard. He’d thought for just a minute that maybe things could go back to normal. He could fix things with Camila, he could push past his anger towards Billy - they could be a family again, like they used to be, back when they were just starting out. Before the tours and the drinking and the drugs. Before the heartbreak and the egos and the pain.

But then Rod is calling, telling him to get his ass down for soundcheck. Eddie shifts out of bed and catches sight of the rapidly forming black eye in the mirror.

They weren’t a family. Not anymore. He’s not sure if they ever were. Anger wells up inside of him as he runs his tongue over his teeth, tasting the sharp tang of blood, reaching for the whiskey at the minibar to wash it down. He can’t go on like this, living in the shadows, hoping things would change. Hoping Billy would wake up and realize what a dick he’d been all these years. Eddie can’t spend his life waiting for things to get better. It hurts more than he thought it would, admitting that this was it, that after the tour, The Six was over. But he takes another long swallow of whiskey and steels his nerves. The hard part was done; he’d already told Billy. It was over, all of it, and Eddie feels frustration cloud his mind as he realizes his decision hasn’t done anything to ease his anger. Frustration and resentment still courses through him, and he knows quitting isn’t enough. He wishes for just one minute Billy could understand what he’d put them all through. He wishes there was someway to get even for all the pain Eddie’s been forced to endure.

In the end, there’s nothing but the bottle of whiskey and the knowledge that this would all be over soon. He tries not to think about how Billy will replace him after the tour. How it will be so easy for him to find a new bassist, as easy as he’d replaced Eddie on the masters. It turns his stomach to acid, rotting and sour, a vile hurting thing threatening to crawl up his throat. He makes his way down to the lobby with leaded limbs and poison seeping from his thoughts down to his tongue.

Camila: She can’t stay in her hotel room. Doesn’t really want to stay at the hotel at all. She can’t bear looking at reminders of Billy. Of their life together. The life he was throwing away.

Because it was him. This was his fault. She had tried so hard to make things work and Billy hadn’t managed to even meet her half way. She’d given up everything to be with him, put her life on hold to support him, and Billy Dunne still had the gall to fall in love with another woman.

Camila swallows thickly, her eyes clouded with tears, as she leaves Julia in the hotel room with the nanny. She doesn’t want Julia to see her like this, pale and blotchy and heartbroken. She doesn’t want anyone to see her like this, but the urge to protect Julia from this propels her forward. She’d rather haunt the halls of the hotel with bloodshot eyes and running makeup than face her daughter. Than risk Julia remembering this heartbreak.

“Shit. Sorry.”

A body slams into her as she rounds the corner, a familiar voice apologizing gruffly before continuing down the hallway.

“Eddie,” Camila says, more out of surprise than a desire to talk to him. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone at the moment, especially him, especially after what she’d said to Billy about her infidelity.

But Eddie shoots her a quick glance over his shoulder, his expression stormy and a black eye forming.

She gasps.

Eddie: He shouldn’t have looked back. He should have kept walking, head down, mouth shut.

He doesn’t want to talk to her. Can’t talk to her. Not right now. Not when his thoughts are clouded with anger and his tongue coated with poison. He isn’t sure what will come out if he opens his mouth. He’s sure it won’t be good. It won’t be nice. And he doesn’t want to be cruel or bitter, not towards her, but it’s so fucking hard to stop his pulse from racing when just the sight of her reminds him of everything that’s gone wrong.

She should have let him go. Should have let him keep walking.

She doesn’t.

“What the hell happened?”

Camila is rushing to catch up with his longer strides, her hands grasping ineffectively at his sleeve. The click of her heels against the floor is like nails driving into his head and he pulls away, shrugging her off him and attempting to quicken his steps.

She catches up to him at the door to the stairwell. He’d thought it’d be better to take the stairs; the thought of being stuck in the elevator with her turns his stomach. He wants to hide, to bury his head in the sand, and avoid looking at her head on, avoid saying something he regrets.

Stupid. A stupid idea. She reaches his side as he’s pulling open the heavy door, her hands ghosting up towards his bruised eye. And - what the fuck was wrong with him - the gentle touch of her fingertips stops his movements. His eyes shut quickly, throwing his vision into black as he leans into the brush of her hand against his injured cheek. But, fuck this. Fuck everything. He couldn’t do this anymore.

“Stop,” he says, jerking back violently. His eyes spring open and she’s there, her eyes red rimmed and concerned. The sight of her makes his head pound. This was nearly as much her fault as it was Billy’s. She didn’t really care about him - how could she when she saw what Billy was like and let it happen. How could she be married to someone like that? For years he’d blamed it all on Billy, but fuck - he was tired of this, tired of everything.

“Just stop it, Cam,” he says, pulling open the stairwell door and beginning his descent with pounding feet. “Your husband did this, what the fuck do you think happened?”

He’s just reached the first landing when she calls out from above him: “I told him I slept with someone.”

That slows his steps, but doesn’t cool his anger. He looks back at her, spreading his arms wide, knowing his voice sounds bitter and angry and unwilling to stop it. “And I told him it was me!”

Camila: She looks down at Eddie, his face flushed with anger, his voice hoarse with the force of the words. They echo through the empty stairwell, and Camila feels her heart stop.

“What?”

Eddie lets out a humorless scoff of a laugh, shaking his head at her before he continues his thundering trek down the stairs. “Yeah,” he calls back, his voice heavy with vitriol, “right after I told him I’m quitting the band.”

Camila’s heart is pounding now, panic welling up inside her as she begins to run, her coat trailing behind her as she rushes to catch up to him. “Wait,” she manages to choke out. “What are you talking about?”

He doesn’t look back at her, but his footsteps are heavy and insistent, and he doesn’t slow even as she manages to close the distance between them. “Exactly what I just said,” he bites out, his voice rising and nearly manic. “I’m quitting after this fucking tour is over. I’m done with this shit! I’m done with him.”

There’s a roaring in her ears and she can’t seem to make the words make sense. She wants to reach out and shake him, to make him explain. She wants to see his face, his expression, to read the truth in his eyes. Instead all she can see is the determined hunch of his shoulders, the flush creeping up his neck, and the tight grip of his hand on the railing. Quitting the band? The words don’t make sense, and she’s sure she must have misheard him. Eddie wouldn’t quit. He couldn’t quit. Her mind is still stuck on the first thing he’d told her, that Billy knew they slept together. Her stomach twists and nausea nearly overtakes her. Billy knew? He knew and now Eddie was quitting the band. Eddie was leaving The Six. Leaving their family. Camila feels sick and she feels responsible and she feels like everything is falling apart around her.

“Because of what we did?” she asks, because she needs to make sense of the spiraling confusion that’s threatening to overtake her. She needs answers. She needs to know if this is all her fault. “Because of me?”

Eddie: He resists turning around to gape at her. Jesus Christ, she could drive him crazy sometimes. She thought this was about them sleeping together? That had been nearly a year ago now. He’d enjoyed throwing it in Billy’s face, but surely she wasn’t so blind that she couldn’t see that this was all Billy’s fault.

“Not everything is about you Cam!” He can hear her footsteps just behind him, her rapid breathing, and the swish of her dress. He wants to get away from her, to find a place to nurse his wounds, but she’s relentless.

“I never said it was!” Her voice bounces off the bare walls, insistent and impossible to ignore. “But if it is about- Jesus, will you slow down so we can talk?”

Eddie comes to a sudden stop on the next landing, spinning so suddenly that Camila nearly crashes into him. She stumbles back, her chest heaving, Eddie’s own heart thundering against his ribs. His breathing is labored as his body tries to catch up with the sudden pause, but his anger hasn’t cooled. “What is there to talk about that you don’t already know? This is about Billy being a fucking piece of shit.”

“Eddie!” She looks shocked, her eyes blowing wide, her mouth dropping open. But Eddie won’t let himself feel sorry for his blunt words. And he won’t take them back.

“He’s a narcissist and a liar,” he continues, unable to stop the words from spilling out. The words that have been festering inside him for years now. “He doesn’t give a fuck about me or you or anyone or anything except his fucking ego.”

“That’s not true Eddie. You’re his family. He loves you.” Camila narrows her eyes, and tries to look disapproving, but even she doesn’t sound convinced by her assertion.

Eddie can’t take it anymore. He can’t take the lies and he’s tired of everyone trying to protect Billy. Perfect Billy. Broken Billy. Sad tragic rockstar Billy. The golden boy, the fuckup, the genius, the addict. Protect Billy. Respect Billy. Follow Billy’s lead. Eddie was tired of walking on eggshells around him, tired of bending to his every whim. He was tired of pretending like Billy gave a shit about any of them.

“Fuck. Off. Camila,” he bites out, each word punctuated with years of hurt and dismissal. He wasn’t going to bullshit himself anymore, and he couldn’t bear to hear the lies she was telling herself. “And grow up. You know that isn’t true.”

Camila: She can’t breathe. She can’t think. This wasn’t like fighting with Billy or Daisy. She didn’t have her own anger to stand on, her own frustration to draw from. Everything with Eddie had just gotten so messed up. This is the fight they should have had a year ago, instead of avoiding each other. Instead of letting their words fester and rot inside their chests for months on end. It was all coming up and she doesn’t think she can handle it, not now, not with everything else going on.

“It is true,” she insists, her throat tight, and jaw clenched. She meets his eye and wills him to believe her. “Everything’s fucked up right now, but-”

“But what?” he asks, arms spread wide, gaze burning through her. “Are you going to defend him? After all this?” He shakes his head, turns as if to continue down the stairs, but quickly changes his mind. He spins on his heel, eyes flashing, an accusing finger pointed at her. “You know he’s fucking Daisy right? You know he doesn’t give a shit about any of us.”

It’s like a kick to the stomach. Even though she’d accused both Billy and Daisy of the same hours earlier. Even though they’d all but confirmed their affair. Hearing the words from Eddie makes it feel unbearably real. “Stop,” she chokes out, her voice a ragged croak.

Eddie’s jaw drops in surprise, as if he hadn’t really believed the words he was saying. His eyes widen, his brows furrowing in disbelief. “You do know! He told you! Or she did.” He gapes at her, and that fucking finger is back, pointing at her, demanding answers of her. “That’s why you're upset. That’s why you’re out here alone.”

She swats his hand out of her face, her skin heating with shame and embarrassment. She shouldn’t have followed him. She shouldn’t have tried to talk to him. This was a mistake. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Jesus,” Eddie swears, head falling back, eyes pressed tightly closed. She can see the creases at the corners of his eyes, the deep frown turning his mouth tight and thin. When he drops his head back down and stares at her, his eyes are hard, his voice turned to ice. “You’re still going to take him back, aren’t you?”

Her heart is pounding up to her ears, blood rushing through her body, and she hates the way he’s looking at her. Like he already knows what she’s going to say. Like she was so utterly predictable, so utterly pathetic that he knows she’s going to take Billy back. And the worst fucking part is, she thinks she might. Standing there beneath Eddie’s blistering gaze, she can’t lie to herself. He saw through her, and she couldn’t hide behind her anger - not around him. Not even to herself. She wants to deny it - she wishes she could. If she was stronger maybe, or less sentimental, less forgiving, maybe she would. Decide once and for all that she was done with Billy Dunne. Maybe if she could manage to get the words out, if she could say them out loud to Eddie, maybe she might actually follow through. But she can’t. No matter what she’d thought in the heat of the moment, no matter what she’d told herself - she can’t lie to Eddie. The thought makes her angry and frustrated and embarrassed. It turns her bitter and tense and acid tongued. Her words are sharp as she admits: “I don’t know!”

Eddie: He could’ve laughed. Jesus Christ, she didn’t know. She was lying to herself as much as any of them were. How could she go back to Billy after everything he’s done. How could she live with a man that treated her like that? She knew there was something going on with Billy and Daisy, and still she didn’t know. He would’ve laughed if it wasn’t for the anger pooling behind her dark eyes.

She was angry? Fine, she should be. She should be fucking furious after what Billy’s put her through. But he was angry too. He couldn’t fucking believe was she was telling him. What he knew she was going to do - even after everything. She was going to go back to Billy. He knew it, she knew it. Everyone knew it and whatever she said to the contrary was just bullshit.

“You don’t know,” he scoffs, not caring if he sounds like a dick. He’s known her too long to put up with this shit. He’s not going to let her stand there and tell him lies. “We both know you want to, Cam. You’re going to take him back, even after everything he's done.”

Camila runs her hands roughly through her hair, her eyes flashing wildly at him. “Shut up, Eddie!” There’s rage just behind her eyes, her voice going cold and sharp. “Just because we fucked one time, doesn’t mean you get any say in my marriage.”

Her assertion nearly bowls him over. Is that really what she thought? She thought he was - what? Jealous? Didn’t she get it? Even after all this time? Did she really think this was all about her? “God, you are so selfish.” He gives her a hard look and he has to turn away. “You’re a selfish person Camila,” he says over his shoulder, forcing himself to continue down the stairs. “You’re just like him.”

“Fuck!” Camila swears behind him before she starts to follow, yelling at his retreating back. “Eddie, if this is about us, just say it! I’m sorry you got your feelings hurt, okay? Is that what you wanted me to say?”

“No. It’s not,” he says, glaring at her as he turns a corner. “I don’t care about that - I care about you. And you’re so fucking determined to be miserable.” The words are spilling out now and he has to stop. He turns to look at her; she’s three steps above, scowling down at him. He’s so angry, and just looking at her makes him angrier still. But he wants her to understand. He doesn’t know how to make her understand. “All I ever wanted was to be there for you. I tried to be there for you. And you-- You take and you take and you don’t care… You’re just like him.” Eddie has to look away; the knot in his throat tightens and he… he can’t look at her. “Just because you’re hurting doesn’t mean you can hurt other people.”

Camila: She should stop. She should leave. She should bite her tongue. She hates the way his eyes drop, and the way his shoulders hunch, and the reminder that she’s hurt him makes guilt claw its way up her spine.

But she is hurting, and he’s right - she can’t help but hurt other people because of it. She can’t help but hurt him. She’s angry and ashamed and embarrassed and it makes her cruel. It makes her spit out words that she may or may not mean. Words that she knows will hurt him.

“I never asked for your help!” she yells, there in the narrow stairway. “I never asked you to do any of that!” And she hates the flare of satisfaction she feels when he flinches away from her. The twisted, broken part of her likes that she can hurt him. Billy never let her see his cracks, never showed her his pain. But it was painted clear as day across Eddie - the hurt she had caused.

“You did!” His voice breaks, just like it did on that balcony in New Orleans. But back then she’d been trying to be nice. She’d been trying to do the right thing. She isn’t anymore, and her anger makes her cruel. He was trying to hurt her too, but she wouldn’t let him. She couldn’t, not after Billy and Daisy. She wouldn’t let herself fall apart for the third time in one day, and definitely not in front of him. She bites down hard on the inside of her mouth and turns away, crossing her arms as he continues.

“I tried to be there for you. Over and over and over. And I was happy to! But you kissed me, Camila! And we- fuck, you know how I feel about you. I know you aren’t stupid. So don’t act like it was all just some accident. I thought - Fucking hell, I’m a fucking idiot.”

His words were spiraling out of control, and they tug at her. She folds. It’s not in her nature to be cruel and the sight of Eddie - collapsing in on himself, his eyes growing shiny with unshed tears, his words so unbearably raw and vulnerable - draws the air from her lungs and the poison from her veins. She thinks back to her calculated plan that night at the bar - it had turned into something unexpected, but it hadn’t been an accident. Guilt swells in her chest, and her voice softens.

“It wasn’t an accident.”

Eddie swallows thickly, his arms spread wide, his palms open and up. “I can’t do this anymore Cam. I don’t have anything else to give you.”

She feels bad, but she’s so, so tired of trying to be perfect. She’s tired of biting her tongue and she’s tired of putting everyone else’s feelings before her own. She doesn’t know what he wants from her. “Eddie, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you. You’re family. But I was never going to be who you wanted me to be. Things were never going to work out the way you wanted them to.”

Eddie: He feels wrecked; his anger is a smoldering thing tempered by utter hopelessness. He can’t tell if she couldn’t see the truth or if she simply refused to acknowledge it. He’s desperate to make her understand, but he doesn’t know how to explain. It wasn’t about her, it was about Billy, about how Billy treated people. How he treated him, how he treated her. How Eddie was tired of being treated like shit, and Camila should be tired of it too.

“Jesus Christ, Camila,” he says, and he knows his voice is strained and hoarse, “don’t you get it?” He leans back against the wall (he’s tired, he’s so fucking tired), and looks up at her above him. “All I wanted was for you to be happy. I don’t care if it’s with me. I wanted you to be happy so fucking badly. I was killing myself trying to make you happy. And you weren’t! You wouldn’t let yourself.”

Camila’s grip on the railing tightens; he can see the way her knuckles turn white, but she doesn’t back down and she doesn’t look away. Stubborn, as always. “Billy makes me happy.”

“No, he doesn’t!” He wants to cry, he wants to laugh, he’s never heard something so ridiculous in his entire life. He thinks back over the past few years and he knows that isn’t true. He pushes off from the wall, stepping up until they’re even. Camila blinks up at him - she’s pale and blotchy and her eyes are red, and she’s been like that since before they started talking so he knows it isn't because of him. Eddie shoves his fists in his pockets and pushes down the ancient urge to defend her honor. “I really wish he did, but we both know that isn’t true. You've been miserable for years, but you bury your head in the sand and pretend like everything’s alright. Like Billy isn’t hurting you over and over again.”

Camila: Her fury rises from the dead, feeding on her embarrassment. She feels her cheeks heat, and he’s standing so fucking close to her. This is the closest they’ve been in months and she hates the look of pity he’s giving her. Pity and disappointment, like she was too stupid, to blind to realize what was going on in her own life. She knew exactly what was going on, and she didn’t need Eddie Roundtree throwing it back in her face. She didn’t need him assuming she was weak, or naive, or too hopeless to recognize her own misery. The thought stokes her anger and her thoughts cloud with indignation.

“You don’t know anything about it,” she shouts, shoving against his chest and pushing past him down the stairs. She glares at him over her shoulder, the sight of his stern expression pulling harsh, bitter words from her mouth. “You don’t know what it’s like to be married. You don’t even know what it’s like to be in love! If you’d stop following me around for five fucking seconds maybe you could find out. But we both know you’re too stubborn to let yourself be happy.”

She regrets the words as soon as they leave her mouth and she stumbles on the stairs, spinning quickly to look back at him. His expression has fallen, and this is worse than that night in New Orleans. The look he’s giving her is more than just sadness, or heartbreak - it’s one of betrayal. She swallows thickly at the sight, too stunned by her own words to move.

Eddie’s jaw cheches, she can see the harsh movement, even from the landing below, and looks away. “Right. Right,” he says slowly, staring at his own hand on the railing. He nods, to himself, the muscles in his jaw jumping. “Well, I glad you finally told me what a fucking inconvenience our friendship has been.” Camila sucks in a harsh gasp at his words, her heart pounding as he turns fully away. “I mean… I wasn’t the one that cheated on my husband, but you’re right. I’m sure we’ll all be so fucking happy now that we’ve cleared that up. Don’t worry, I won’t bother you anymore.”

She can’t breathe - everything in her has been strangled out. This wasn’t right. This isn’t what she’d wanted. This isn’t what she’d meant.

“Eddie… Wait…” But by the time she manages to get the words out, he’d turned on heel and retreated back up the stairs. By the time she thinks to follow, she hears the slam of the door behind him.

Eddie: Everything is different that night. It isn’t just his bruised eye, or the pitying looks Warren is giving him, or Camila’s words echoing in his head. For one, stupid, brief minute he thinks maybe, somehow, things might work themselves out. They’re there, playing a sold out show, the crowd cheering them on, and the six of them have always been at their best when they’re playing together. But no, it wasn’t meant to be. Everything is wrong, and he doesn’t think there’s any coming back from it.

Daisy is using again - they can all tell the minute she crashes into the dressing room. Graham is quiet and mopping, and Karen is distant. Warren keeps shooting Eddie meaningful glances, like he could convince him that this was worth sticking around for.

And Billy is drunk.

It doesn’t take long to realize - everything about it reminds Eddie of that first tour. Bigger crowd, better songs, but the frantic, spiraling energy coming off of Billy was the same. Here it was, the shoe they’d all been waiting to drop for years. He thinks he should feel some type of way about it, angry, smug, disappointed. He doesn’t feel anything. He’s numb to everything but the music and the feel of the bass in his hands. They come back on stage and he doesn’t feel anything. Even the cheering crowds mean nothing to him - a shapeless mass and ringing in his ears.

Daisy’s voice cuts through the fog, and for the first time since they stepped on stage, Eddie begins to feel something.

I’ve been in love. And it hurts, doesn’t it.

But it doesn’t have to.
Love doesn’t have to be bombs and tears and blood.

Love can be peace. And it can be beautiful. And if you're lucky enough to find someone who lifts you up even when you don't deserve it - that’s where the light is. My wish for you tonight, ladies and gentlemen, is: find someone who helps you see the light.

This is a love song.

It was over, wasn’t it? The tour, The Six. It was over. He knows it before Billy runs off the stage. Feels it deep in his bones when Daisy turns to look at them each in turn. He isn’t numb anymore - grief floods through him like a tidal wave, so deep and so powerful that it nearly stops his heart.

They’re good though. They’re really fucking good, standing there, in the cool Chicago air, playing Look at Us Now - it might be the best they’ve ever sounded. And it breaks his fucking heart. Something was ending, there on that stage. Maybe Warren didn’t see it. But Eddie did. And Daisy did. She looks at him, her eyes as mournful as he’s ever seen her, and he wonders if she really believes what she’d said. That love can be beautiful. That it can be peace.

Her words sit with him for a long time, even after the song, after the concert and the screaming crowds. After Daisy disappears with Simone and Rod drops them off at the hotel and after Eddie has fallen into bed for the night, staring up at the darkened ceiling. Her words rush over him like the water of a crystal stream, and he-- He hopes she’s right.

Everything inside of him hurts and the grief is overwhelming. He feels broken and defeated and so very alone, but he hopes it’s true. He thinks peace might be nice.

Camila: She agrees to talk to Billy. She wasn’t sure if she would.

After she got his message… After she went to the show…

Seeing him up there, seeing Daisy, and Eddie. Karen, and Warren, and Graham. Her family. They’d all hurt each other so much. And she doesn’t think they’d meant to. They hadn’t meant to cause so much pain. She hadn’t at least. Everything had just gotten so out of control…

But she watches them up there, surrounded by hundreds of screaming fans, and realizes this was it. This was what they’d been working towards, this was the life they’d wanted. She looks at her friends, her family up on the stage, and she can’t help but feel so unbearably proud of them. She looks at them and she sees them as they used to be - young, and idealistic, and so certain they could make it.

And they had. They’d gotten everything they’d ever wanted, and as Camila stares down at them from the bleachers, she finds she doesn’t want it anymore. She wants her family and she wants to be happy. And she knows she never will be if things stay the way they are.

She almost leaves when she gets back to the hotel. She’s in the process of leaving when Billy shows up, flushed and sweating and smelling of alcohol. But there’s nothing but heartbreak and apology in his expression, and Camila swallows her own pride once more and agrees to talk to him.

It’s Julia that decides things for her. Of course it is - there will never be another thing, another person as important to her as Julia. Camila would walk over hot coals if it meant keeping Julia safe, and it’s Julia that keeps her from leaving that night in Chicago.

She agrees to stay, and he agrees to rehab, and they both agree that they’re going to try. They agree that they’re sorry, and they’re regretful, and that they don’t want to give up the family they’ve built. They agree they’ve both made mistakes, and they agree that things need to change.

Camila doesn’t take Billy back, but she also doesn’t leave him. He agrees to check into rehab in the morning, and Camila agrees that they can talk more after he’s done. Billy promises he’s going to make it up to her. That he’s going to be better. That he’s going to win her back. Camila promises to let him try.

She lays in bed that night, Julia curled in her arms, Billy asleep in the chair beside her, and she doesn’t feel weak for not leaving. She Isn't sure what she feels, except grateful. She had everything she needed there beside her. Things weren’t perfect, but she didn’t need them to be. It was her life, she chose it, and that’s really all she’s ever wanted - to choose and be chosen in return.

Eddie: It’s October 1977. Eddie Roundtree is twenty-three years old. The Six is leaving Chicago, Illinois after playing a sold out show at Soldier Field.

He doesn’t get on the bus.

Chapter Text

Slow down you crazy child
You're so ambitious for a juvenile
But then if you're so smart tell me
Why are you still so afraid?

December 1977

It’d been a beautiful wedding. A beautiful church service, her mom clarified; Camila had gotten good at avoiding her pointed looks.

Everything about it had been perfect: Marcella’s dress, her hair, the ceremony. They’d danced and laughed and cried happy tears all night. It had been a perfect wedding, and Camila had almost been able to forget that Billy wasn't there.

“Have you told Mama the real reason Billy couldn’t come?”

Marcella leans against the counter of her new kitchen. It’s three days after the wedding, and Camila is helping her sister move into her new home. Despite the December chill, it’s warm and cozy, and Camila’s happy to help her sister start her new life.

Camila fiddles with the glass in her hands, unwrapping it with more care than is strictly necessary. “No,” she says slowly, “I didn’t want her to worry.”

Marcella was the only person who knew why Billy hadn’t been there. The thought of telling their mother the truth made Camila’s stomach clench with apprehension.

The wedding had been pushed back to December on the assumption that The Six would have a break for the holidays. On the assumption that Billy would be able to attend. No one guessed that by then the tour would be canceled and The Six broken up. Or that Billy would be back in rehab.

He was getting out in three weeks. The thought is petrifying, and Camila is eager to change the subject. When Billy got out, they’d have to have the difficult discussion about how the rest of their life was going to look.

Things had to change, she knew that. They’d been breaking apart at the seams for years. But it hadn’t been all bad. Sometimes it had even been really, really good.

“Do you remember this?”

Marcella is digging through a box at the kitchen table. Camila had been setting a stack of china on the top shelf, and cranes to see what her sister’s holding. It’s a photo, black and white, and grainy, and Camila descends to get a closer look.

It’s a kick to the gut once she realizes. It’s the picture she took with Eddie in San Diego, years earlier, the first time Billy was in rehab. Camila takes the photo gingerly; they looked so young, Eddie squinting at the camera and Camila’s face still round from so recently giving birth. She can’t believe Marcella kept it, and she wishes she’d seen it under better circumstances.

“Did Eddie say why he couldn’t make it to the wedding?”

Camila, feeling like she’s underwater, belatedly shakes her head. “His mom didn’t know either,” Marcella adds.

Her hands shake as she traces the edge of the photo. Echos of her fight with Eddie rattle around her head, and she wishes she could take it all back. Part of her, the part that had been so bitterly unhappy, knows that everything worked out for the best. But the part that’s nostalgic and heartbroken and yearning for those early days, wishes she could take back everything that happened in Chicago.

“I can’t believe the band broke up,” Marcella adds, and Camila has to look away. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears; it was too soon to talk about it, too soon to examine her grief about it all. She wants to tell her sister about everything, but even just thinking about the horrible things they said to each other in that stairwell makes her stomach grow quesy. Not to mention everything that really happened with her and Daisy. Her and Billy.

Marcella has moved on to the next box, oblivious to Camila’s turmoil. “Eddie sent us a really nice gift though. Remind me to send him a thank you card.”

And Camila nods, placing the photo back in the box, and setting it aside.

February 1978

“He won’t be there, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Eddie sighs, balancing the phone between his shoulder and chin as he shoves a stack of books onto the shelf. It’s cold out, and he’s tired, and he doesn’t want to be talking about this.

“Neither is Graham. So why the fuck aren’t you going?”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line, and Eddie worries Karen might have hung up on him. It was a low blow, bringing up Graham, and he wishes he hadn’t said it. But he also wishes she hadn’t brought up the Grammy’s in the first place.

“Have you talked to him?” Karen finally asks. Her voice is low, as if she’s scared to give voice to the words. Eddie sighs again, leaning into the couch.

“No,” he says, suddenly somber. “But I saw Warren at the house the other day, and he said Graham wasn’t going. He’s staying with his mom.”

Eddie runs a hand over his face, feeling a migraine starting. Everything was so messed up. The band hadn’t just broken up - they’d imploded. Even though he’s known Graham for most of his life, the thought of calling him after everything felt unfathomable. Even running into Warren had been strained. They’d been best friends for over a decade, lived together for years, and yet their words were stilted and dry around each other.

“That’s good,” Karen was saying, though she sounded distant and numb. Her teeth clack against each other, and Eddie frowns at the receiver.

“You still have a bunch of shit at the house,” he says, trying to change the subject. “The landlord said we have till the fifteenth to get everything out.”

Karen either doesn’t hear him, or elects to ignore what he’s just said. “So if we’re not going,” she continues. Eddie rolls his eyes. “And Graham and Billy aren’t… Teddy said Daisy isn’t. Is Warren?”

Eddie shoves one of many cardboard boxes towards the bedroom. He’d finally managed to get the last of his crap over to his new apartment, but the unpacking process has been slow. “He hadn’t decided. Lisa has friends going; he said they might.”

She hmms on the other end. He isn’t sure why she called, but he’s sort of… glad she did. Maybe she had just wanted to talk about the upcoming award show - Aurora had been nominated three times, and apparently none of them were going - but that was alright. It was kinda nice to hear from her, whatever the reason.

When he’d first heard her voice, his stomach had dropped. Four months since Chicago. He’d been moving through life in a daze. Finding an apartment, moving, fielding calls from Teddy and Rod and everyone in between with as much detached certainty as he could manage. It felt like twisting a knife in his gut every time he told them that yes, he was sure about quitting The Six.

But Karen doesn’t ask him to reconsider. She doesn’t blame him for quitting, or for leaving the tour, or for fighting with Billy. She skips over all that, offers some vague approval when he says he’s starting out on his own. She says she’ll probably be doing the same, once she’s settled in London. She doesn’t sound upset that he’d rather start his own band than continue with The Six.

It helps that there weren’t decades of history between them, weighing him down until he couldn’t breathe. Missing her doesn’t feel like he’s lost a limb.

“So?” he asks again, trying and failing to unwind the phone cord tangled around the coffee table. “Why aren’t you going?”

This pause lasts even longer and Eddie bites the inside of his cheek to remind himself to feel something.

“You know why,” she finally says.

And yeah. Yeah, he did. It’s the same reason he isn’t going. The thought of facing a red carpet full of reporters and a room full of people, all with the same questions is sickening. ‘What happened on tour? Where is Daisy Jones? Is it true The Six broke up?’ He’d lose his mind within the first thirty seconds. And worse still if they actually win. How the hell was he supposed to stand there and look happy after everything that happened?

He thinks this would’ve hurt less if they hadn’t liked each other so fucking much. Camila’s voice comes unbidden to his mind and he drives his knuckles into the edge of the bookcase. She always said The Six was a family, and he thinks she must’ve been right. Maybe this wouldn’t hurt so much if they’d stuck to being fucking coworkers.

Karen clears her throat. “I’m staying at the Roosevelt till I leave for London. If you’re around you should-” She stops herself, and he doesn’t even blame her for failing to extend the invitation. What would they even do, except sit around and think about what’s changed? “If you’re ever in London,” she says instead, “look me up.”

There’s a finality to the sentiment that cuts deeper than he thought it would. The urge to tighten his grip, to keep hold of one small part of his life before, is sudden and overwhelming. But he’s there, in his new apartment, all remnants of his former life packed away, and he finds goodbye is the only thing left to say.

July 1978

“Camila Alverez, right?”

She’s in the middle of packing up her bag, double checking her log before everything gets put away for the night. The man holds out his hand to her, and Camila shakes it quickly. She was already late to pick up Julia.

“You got a minute to talk?”

Camila looks him over. He didn’t look like he was with the band she’d just photographed, but you never could tell. He’s older than her, wearing an expensive suit, cigarette dangling between his fingers. He drops it, snuffing it out with shiny shoes on the studio floor.

“Sure,” she says, packing her camera away, and trying not to sound too impatient. “But just a minute.”

He nods, and doesn’t seem put off by her hurry.

“I represent Warner Bros. Records,” he says, pulling a business card from his wallet and handing it to her. Camila takes it, staring at the neat typeface, and tries not to let her surprise show. “We wanted to offer you an on-call contract.”

“Oh.” Her voice is thick with shock. A contract? With Warner Bros.? They were one of the biggest record labels in the world; a contract with them would be… amazing.

“Non-exclusive,” he continues, “and only on-call. This wouldn’t be a steady position, you understand. But… we’ve had our eye on your work, and we like what we’ve seen.”

“Wow. That’s- Wow, thank you.” Camila wants to sit down, but seating is limited on the spartan set. She settles for leaning heavy against the table. The man, Mr. Sullivan, doesn’t seem surprised by her reaction. She wonders if this is a normal part of his job, making people dizzy with unimaginable offers.

“That one you did with Taylor, and the one for Ronstadt.” He pauses, tilts his head, hesitating for the first time. “Obviously Aurora made a big impact last year, and the cover was incredibly well received. I’ve talked to people in the know - they say you should’ve gotten more credit for your contributions.”

Camila’s pulse is thudding in her ears. “Oh. Well, that’s very nice to hear.” She swallows thickly. She’d been credited on the album art for Aurora, but not as principal photographer. It wasn’t as if she’d pushed for the recognition. She hadn’t wanted it. She didn’t want to remember that day in the desert. Didn’t want to remember taking that photo. Or watching Billy and Daisy. Her thoughts drift to what came after - to desperate drinks at an upscale bar and frantic kisses in a storeroom closet. No, it would be better if that photo was left in the past.

“Think about it,” he says, with a nod, “and call if you want to discuss details. As I said, we’re very interested in working with you in the future.”

She gives a stilted goodbye as he leaves, and suddenly Camila is left alone with her thoughts and a business card. She’d just been offered a job. And not just any job - a really great one. She’d be working with some of the biggest names in music, her photographs out there for the whole world to see. They wanted her. She hadn’t had to apply or submit a portfolio or talk to a dozen secretaries just trying to get an interview. They’d seen her work and they wanted to hire her. They liked her work enough to send someone to talk to her.

Camila’s heart is pounding, and she can’t help the grin spreading across her face. Is this what she’d been putting off while she was waiting for Billy to become a rockstar? Is this what she could have been doing instead of twisting herself into knots, trying to make his dream happen? She pushes the thought down. She was trying. Trying to forgive Billy. Trying to move past everything that’s happened.

But she wishes she had someone to celebrate with. The band she’d just photographed was nice, but she didn’t know them all that well. She can imagine their polite smiles and congratulations, but they wouldn’t know what it means to her. She thinks about calling Karen, but it was already past midnight in London.

She’d tell Billy, tonight at dinner, and that’d be alright. That’d be enough. He would be happy for her and congratulate her and tell her she deserved it. And it’d be fine.

Camila bites at her thumb nail, and gives the card one last glance before she puts it in her pocket. She’d think about it tomorrow; Julia was waiting for her.

December 1978

He hates that he’s back to playing in shitty bars. Not quite as shitty as when they’d first gotten to LA - his name still held enough cachet to keep him out of the likes of McNasty’s. But it was close. As it is, he takes to drinking after his shows, hiding out at the bar, and trying to avoid the inevitable ‘So what happened with The Six?’

It was alright. Really, it was fine. It was what he’d wanted. His set is pretty basic, but there were still people willing to throw new material his way. Enough songwriters trying to break into the business and willing to work with a famous bassist turned frontman without a band. He’s got nearly enough for an EP, and it feels good to be working towards something that’s his own.

Still hurts like hell though - starting over.

So maybe he drinks too much, but it’s hard not to when most of his audience is teenage girls asking about Billy Dunne, and the bartenders send him beers and pitying looks on the house.

He stumbles out into the alley after one of his shows, his head spinning and his stomach not much better. There’d been a group of girls huddled in the corner throughout the show, their giggling laughter getting louder as the night wore on. Mid-way through, one of them had gotten brave enough to yell out ‘Look at Us Now.’ Memories of Chicago had hit him so suddenly, it felt like drowning. His next breath was a desperate, clawing gasp for air, and he’d had to take a break, right there in the middle of the set. He’d downed two quick shots of whiskey, and only played harsh, angry songs for the rest of the night. Songs that wouldn’t remind him, or them, or anyone else of The Six. The girls had left soon after with dour expressions.

Eddie leans against the brick wall, trying to breathe in deep lungfuls of air to clear his head. It’s a near impossible task; the evening sky is full of smog, and it smells like vomit and piss. Summoned by his thoughts, the sound of retching fills the air.

He flinches back from the noise - it turns his stomach, and bile rises in his own throat. But he catches sight of the source. The figure is so familiar, he almost thinks he’s imagined it.

“You alright?” he asks Daisy, moving closer, hands shoved in his pockets. It’s disorienting to see her again, as if she belonged in some alternate universe, some other life. It didn’t make sense to see her there, when Chicago seemed to be a lifetime ago.

“I’m fine,” she bites out, pushing past him, harshly wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. But she must recognize him because she stops, stares at him with wide, owl eyes.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, there in that dirty alley. She’s dressed well as always, but she looks rough. He’s seen Daisy drunk and high and everything in between, but he’s not sure he’s ever seen her sick. Her skin is gaunt, and pale, and she teeters on her heel.

“Wanna get some coffee?”

She nods and lets him take her arm. It’s a strangely familiar gesture, that despite all they’ve been through together, he never would’ve thought to do before.

The diner they wander into is mostly empty. The waitress does a double take, but thankfully doesn’t say anything. She comes back with two mugs, a carafe of hot coffee, and a plateful of toast. Eddie passes her a twenty and he’s alone with Daisy Jones.

“You should eat something.” He slides the plate closer to Daisy, his own tongue feeling heavy and slow. He swallows his coffee greedily.

Her eyes are piercing behind her tangled mess of hair. “Yes, sir,” she says, sarcasm dripping from each word. But she snags a piece of toast and nibbles at the corner.

Eddie looks at her, tries to piece together what he’s seeing through his own alcohol laden brain. Her limbs are loose and her eyes drooping, and if he had to guess, he’d say she was plain drunk. The sight makes him embarrassed of his own inebriated state, and he shifts awkwardly on the vinyl seat.

“I thought you were sober,” he finally says, after he’s had some coffee and she’s swallowed some water. Her eyes snap up to his, but he continues. “Weren’t you in rehab?” He thinks he heard that somewhere in the hazy days after Chicago, when Teddy, and Rod, and even Deb had called, desperate to make him change his mind. Or later, when the lawyers sent over a stack of papers to sign, finalizing the dissolution of The Six. He thinks one of them told him about rehab. Or maybe he’d read it in a magazine.

Daisy pours herself a cup of coffee, her hand shaky, but she manages. “I was,” she says after she takes a long sip. “It didn’t stick, obviously.” She lets out a bitter laugh, pulling her knees up on the bench and tucking herself into the corner of the booth.

“Guess I’ve always been stubborn that way,” she adds, “I get stuck on things, even when I know they’re no good for me.”

Her eyes have drifted closed, and she doesn’t see the hard look Eddie gives her. He knows she’s thinking about Billy, knows it from the wistful edge of her voice. He wants to be angry with her. Angry at her for what happened with Billy. Angry at her for bringing it up. But it just sort of hurts, like poking a bruise. It didn’t matter anymore - another lifetime, right? There was nothing left to do, but try to move on.

“Is there someone I can call for you?” he asks, his voice gruff. Being there with her… it hurts. It makes him miss things that he’s never going to have again. He wants to go home and forget about it all.

“How’d you do it?” Daisy asks instead, looking at him through barely open eyes. “You loved her, right? Camila? How’d’you just move on?”

It barely registers that, somehow, Daisy Jones of all people had noticed how he felt about Camila. There’s a gaping hole inside of him, black, and rotting, and aching. That’s where his feelings for Camila are - shoved down deep inside and strangled with his bare hands. After their fight in Chicago, how could his feelings be anything but wounded and sharp and bitter. But he also knows what happened wasn’t just her fault - guilt claws its way up his throat if he thinks about what he said to her for too long.

Mostly he tries not to think of her at all. Is that the same as moving on?

He doesn’t answer, and soon she lets her head fall back against the wall. Eddie finishes the toast, and when Daisy’s soft snores begin, he heads towards the payphone in the corner.

“Who- Hello?”

Eddie rocks back on his heel. This too is harder than he thought. “Hey Warren, it’s Eddie.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. And then: “You alright?”

He bites down hard on the inside of his mouth, cursing Daisy Jones. It’s the first time he’s talked to Warren since they moved out of the Laurel Canyon house, and it feels like a lifetime, instead of a few months, is stretching between them.

“I’m alright,” he says, leaning his pounding head against the wall. “But I’m here with Daisy and she’s in pretty bad shape… I didn’t know who to call.”

Warren sighs, but he doesn’t sound annoyed. There’s rustling through the phone, and Eddie wonders if he was in bed. “Hold on,” Warren says, and then, “Teddy gave me the name of the treatment center she was at. I’ll come get her; take her in.”

Eddie winces, casting a glance towards Daisy. Her hair is washed out by the cherry red vinyl of the seat, her head dipping towards the table. “You don’t have to do that. I can-”

“Eddie,” Warren says, with something that might be a laugh, “I know what you sound like when you’ve been drinking. You’re not taking anyone anywhere.”

Eddie reluctantly gives Warren the name of the diner. Reluctantly accepts a ride home. It’s awkward, but not as uncomfortable as it could be, to sit in the passenger seat, Daisy asleep in the back.

“Thanks for doing this,” Eddie says, nodding to Daisy as they pull to a stop in front of his apartment.

Warren taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “I don’t mind,” he says with a shrug. When he looks at Eddie, his expression is somber. “You know I’d do it for you too, right? If you ever need anything…” He shrugs again. “You know where to call.”

Eddie nods and gets out of the car. He wishes he knew how to fix things. Wishes he knew how to stop hurting so damn much. But he watches Warren and Daisy drive away, and the only thing he knows how to do is try to forget.

April 1979

“I saw that photoshoot you did in Rolling Stone. Jesus, I’m jealous.”

Camila laughs. Sandwich supplies were spread out around her, and she shifts, peering out the window. Julia was out there, splashing around in her rain boots waiting for lunch. “Come back to LA,” she insists, “I’ll do one for you.”

“When are you coming out to London?” Karen’s voice is teasing; they’ve had this discussion a half dozen times in the past year. Camila would love to go out to England, but it just… wasn’t a good time.

“Isn’t your tour soon?” she asks instead. “You won’t even be there.”

Karen groans, the sound muffled through the phone. “Please. Calling it a tour is a bit of an overstatement. I’m basically playing backup for an ABBA wannabe.”

Camila rolls her eyes. Karen was being ridiculous. Finding a place in an up and coming group, putting out an EP, preparing for a tour - sure it wasn’t her own band, but it was something. It was amazing.

“They’re not a wannabe,” she says, putting the peanut butter back on the shelf. “I’ve heard them; they’re good. And everyone knows how talented you are.”

“Still,” Karen says, and there’s a long silence on the other end of the line. “How’s the boss,” Karen finally asks.

Camila brings her thumb nail to her mouth, catching herself before she can bite at it. The nickname for Billy scratches an itch at the back of her skull, a reminder of distant days. But those days are gone. And life still isn’t any easier.

Better maybe, but not easier. Camila checks on Julia again - she’s digging in the dirt, her knees muddy - before responding. “He’s good, I think. He’s got an apartment down the block, and he’s with Julia all the time. I don’t think she even realizes he isn’t living here.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Karen’s voice is hesitant through the phone.

“Yes,” Camila insists, closing her eyes. They’ve had this discussion too, plenty of times. “I don’t think-- I’m not ready for him to live here again, but I’m not ready to give up.”

“Okay.”

There’s no judgment in Karen’s voice, but Camila feels defensiveness prickle across her skin. She frowns down at the empty sink. “The therapist said it would take time.”

The last week Billy was in rehab, the center asked them both to meet with a marriage counselor. To make a plan to move forward. The counselor had listened and nodded, and then told Camila it was her wifely duty to help her husband through this difficult transition. She had bristled at the suggestion. But he’d also told her it was normal to feel upset, or angry, or betrayed. That it would take time to make things right, and that she was allowed to take things slow. The therapist had seemed supportive when Camila suggested they live apart for a while. Billy hadn’t been happy about it, but he seemed to realize he didn’t have much say in the matter.

Karen clears her throat, and Camila braces herself for what she’s about to say. “I just want you to be happy. I know none of this has been easy for you. Even before Aurora…” The way she says Aurora is dense and heavy, and Camila knows she really means before Daisy. “Things haven’t been easy for you for a long time.”

Camila grips the edge of the counter, breathing in slow through her nose. She tries to keep the flood of bitter memories at bay. Tries to keep Eddie’s words from ringing in her ear: You've been miserable for years, but you bury your head in the sand and pretend like everything’s alright. Like Billy isn’t hurting you over and over again.

Things are different now. Things are good. They were going to be good. Her and Billy - they were being honest with each other. They were learning how to trust each other. They’d been so young when they got married, but they were ready now. She would learn how to forgive him soon, she’s sure of it. He’d move back in with them, he’d talk to her and listen to her, and they’d be a family. A proper one, just like they were always supposed to be.

“I’m fine, Karen, really.” Camila forces a smile across her face. “I promise. When you finally come back to California, you’ll see. Everything is great.”

Karen huffs out a dry laugh. “Alright, I believe you,” she says, and then, after a beat, “you know I only want what’s best for you.”

Camila’s irritation deflates so quickly, it leaves her breathless. She wants to reach through the phone and pull Karen to her, to hold her and tell her everything was alright. That everything was going to be okay.

“I wish you were here.” The words sound sad, even to her own ears, but she can’t deny the part of her that’s aching. Things were so much better than they’d been before Chicago. Julia was doing amazing, her career was taking off, and she finally felt like she could trust Billy. But somehow it wasn’t enough to stop the homesickness she felt when she thought about how things used to be.

She missed Warren’s laugh, and Karen’s deadpan stare, and Graham’s relentless optimism. She even missed the bright spark of life Daisy brought to every room. And she missed Eddie like a gaping hole straight through her chest. She shouldn’t miss him, but she did. She missed his sarcasm, and the kindness he showed when no one was watching. She missed drinking coffee with him on the back porch, and she missed watching him with Julia. She thought about listening to the band at the studio, and their first house in the Canyon, and watching them play at McNasty’s, and her body ached with longing. “I miss everything.”

June 1979

As he swings the car into the driveway, he sees Mrs. Alvarez across the street. He waves and he hopes that’s the end of it. He’d been back in Pittsburgh for a week and managed to avoid the neighbors. Not that he’d been actively avoiding anyone, but it’d been nearly two years since Chicago and it finally felt like his life was settling into something new. Something good. He wasn’t ready to jeopardize that with reminders of the past. He was leaving on a tour soon, the first one with his own band. He’d been buzzing with excitement for weeks, and he’d hoped to make it through his visit home unscathed.

His luck's run out though. When he heaves himself out of the car, his arms laden with grocery bags, Mrs. Alvarez waves him over.

Eddie schools his expression into something pleasant - or at least tries to hold back his grimace - before he crosses the street. He couldn’t just ignore her, no matter how much he wanted to, not after she’d already caught his eye.

“Look at you,” she says, as he crosses the street. He balances the brown bag of groceries against his hip and leans against the fence. “Que guapo.” The corners of her mouth tick up into a smile, even as she shakes her head. “But that hair.”

A self conscious hand drifts up to his head. His new record label had suggested it, something about severing ties with his old image. It’d seemed like a good idea at the time, but he still hadn’t gotten used to seeing the shock of bleach blonde hair in the mirror.

“You don’t like it?” he asks, only half serious. He’s known Mrs. Alvarez his entire life and it hurts like a nearly healed bruise to talk to her. Seeing Camila and Julia’s eyes in her, remembering what used to be - it was painful but not awkward. Aching, but not uncomfortable.

“What does your mother think?”

“She hates it. Of course.”

Mrs. Alvarez smiles. “She’ll get used to it. It suits you.”

Eddie bites down hard on the inside of his mouth, and tries not to relish her approval. He really shouldn’t be standing there, talking to Camila’s mom. He was pushing his luck. He can feel it on the tip of his tongue - the urge to ask about Julia and Camila. He hadn’t heard anything from them since Chicago, though Karen occasionally brought them up. She didn’t call often though, and the aching void where Camila had once been was steadily healing. Standing there, in front of her house, was just begging for heartbreak.

Eddie rocks back on his heel, determined to make a hasty exit. His mom was waiting for him, he’s about to say, the excuse juvenile, but efficient, when the front door swings open.

“I think I got it,” Graham says, wiping his hands on a dingy rag as he crosses the porch. “But I told Mr. A if it starts acting up again to take it to Ricky’s over on Third Street; they fixed my mom’s last year.”

He can tell the exact moment Graham sees him. His whole body goes stiff and tense and he freezes mid step. It’d be almost funny if Eddie wasn’t kicking himself for not getting out of there sooner.

“Hey man.” And it’s like a jolt to the heart hearing Graham’s voice again. Eddie can feel his expression dropping, sliding towards shock. There’s another emotion there too, one he shouldn’t examine any closer. If he was in an honest mood, he might say he was pleased to see his friend again. He shouldn’t be though - he was meant to be putting The Six behind him, and seeing Graham again would do him no good. It would dredge up memories, and guilt, and pain, and when Eddie goes back to his real life in LA, he’ll regret letting even a small part of his past sneak back in.

“Hi.”

Eddie feels tense and sort of sick as he watches Graham amble over. He thinks he says goodbye to Mrs. Alvarez, thinks he hears her say something to Graham. But then she’s back in the house, and the two boys are left alone.

“Camila told me their lawn mower was acting up,” Graham says by way of greeting. He hooks his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing needlessly to the backyard. He twists the rag between his fingers as he turns back to Eddie. “I told her I’d take a look.”

Eddie nods. His tongue feels swollen in his mouth and it's as if he’s watching from behind a thick pane of glass - numb and distant and detached. Camila, of course. Her mother, her brother-in-law. His neighbor. He feels like he’s swimming upstream, trying and failing to settle on stable ground.

“I was just getting groceries for dinner.” Eddie shifts the forgotten bag at his hip. His words sound dumb, even to his own ears, and his gaze slides sideways, unable to face Graham head on. His eyes land on the station wagon in the driveway. He can’t help but wonder if it’s Graham’s. Curiosity shoots through him, unbidden. Where was Graham living? What was he doing? How had he been?

But Eddie won’t let himself ask. He couldn’t. It’d make this real, this strained interaction in the yard. This chance meeting he was hoping to forget as soon as possible. If he didn’t, it would be only a matter of time before the grief and the bitterness began to sink back in.

Graham nods, as if this conversation were in any way normal. There’s something pinched and hesitant in his expression. Eddie thinks he must want to escape as much as he did. “It was good to see you,” Graham says, though his voice is so tight, it’s hard to believe him.

It’s Eddie’s turn to nod, feeling grim and beaten down as he steps back from the fence. The bag of groceries feels heavier than before, and a wild sort of panic overtakes him as he hears Graham walk away. A reckless energy shoots through him as he realizes this might be his one chance to ask. He shouldn’t ask, he should keep his fucking mouth shut, but the thought that this is his only opportunity makes him stop short and turn back.

“You’ve talked to her?” he calls out across the street.

Graham has one hand braced on the car door as he squints towards Eddie. There’s a long pause, long enough for Eddie’s stomach to drop and regret to set in. He shouldn’t have asked, shouldn’t have said anything.

“Yeah,” Graham finally says. His voice is carefully neutral, his expression more so. “I talked to her the other day. They’re doing really good.”

Eddie doesn’t really want to hear anymore than that. Doesn’t want to hear about how happy Camila and Billy are. He nods, digs the toe of his boot into the grass. “And Julia?” He tries to keep his voice as level as Graham’s, but it’s hard and he swallows thickly, trying not to think about how much of her life he’s already missed.

Graham’s expression breaks, splitting into a smile. “She’s amazing, man. She’s starting preschool, and god, is she smart.” He catches Eddie’s eye and something like pity crosses his face. “She’s doing great, I promise.”

There’s a lump forming at the back of his throat, and he nods. It was good, Eddie tells himself. He wants what’s best for Julia, and apparently they’d found it. He should be happy. He was happy. He was trying to be happy.

Eddie tilts his head, looks sideways at Graham, and tries not to let the aching feeling in his chest show. “I’ll see you,” he manages to get out, trying not to feel like this was a mistake.

“Eddie. Wait.” And it’s Graham’s turn to sound pained. Graham can’t even look him in the eye. He’s got his hands braced against the doorframe of the car, his head bowed between them. “How is she? Karen?”

He doesn’t know why Graham left the band, not really. He suspects it’d had something to do with Karen, but she’d gone irritable and quiet the one time he’d tried to bring it up. Hearing the mournful way Graham said her name all but confirmed his suspicions. And it’s all so very fucking sad. He hates the way Graham has hunched in on himself, and he hates how lonely Karen sounds when he talks to her on the phone. He hates the grief that’s welling up inside of him and he wishes he’d managed to just stay away.

Eddie shifts the bag of groceries to his other hip. He breathes in deep through his nose and stares at the sky and he prepares to lie through his teeth.

“She’s good, man. She’s really, really good.”

July 1979

Julia asks for a babydoll, a pet snake, and purple shoes for her birthday. She gets two of the three, and is perfectly happy with the small party they’d put together in the backyard. A half dozen of her friends from preschool come and they spend the whole time running around the yard. At the end of the day, Camila carries her inside and tries to wipe the icing from Julia’s cheek without waking her.

“You did a really good job,” Billy says from the kitchen. He’s got his sleeves rolled up as he washes the dishes, and when he smiles at her, Camila feels a faint flutter in her heart. “I mean it, Cami. Not just with the party - with Julia, with everything. You’re incredible.”

Camila smiles at him and then back at their daughter. She was beautiful in every single way. They’d done that - her and Billy - they’d created a person so pure and sweet and bright. Camila looks back at Billy, and for the first time in months, the love outways the hurt.

“Thank you,” she says, crossing to the kitchen. She keeps her voice low, hoping Julia will sleep a while longer, and leans against the kitchen table. It’s littered with birthday cards and stray bits of wrapping paper and extra paper plates. She thinks back to the party, to watching Billy chase after Julia in the yard, to watching him carry out the cake with a wide toothy grin. It’d been nice - nice to enjoy being a family again. Nice to not be alone. “And thank you for being here. With us.”

Billy swallows thickly, his arms braced on the countertop, a flush blooming high on his cheeks. “I told you Cami, I’m here for you. I want to make it up to you and Julia - to make it right.” He meets her eye with such searing intensity, she has to look away. “You can trust me.”

She wants to believe him. She wants to trust that this time was different. It felt different. Dark circles had begun to form under Billy’s eyes, and she knew he had been running himself ragged driving between his apartment, work, and the house. It’d been months since he’d left rehab and he hadn’t missed one day of dropping Julia off at school or having dinner with them at night. He hadn’t missed a soccer game, or a bedtime story, or a weekend road trip, and he hadn’t once complained. He’d been there. For both of them. He was trying so fucking hard, and it was impossible not to notice.

Camila looked at the table in front of her, tracing her nail into the groove of the wood. A pale blue card sat on top - it was from Eddie, arrived the day before. ‘Happy Birthday Julia! Hope you have a great day. Love, Uncle Eddie.’ Short and sweet and maddeningly concise. Camila had slipped it into her purse at the mailbox, recognizing his handwriting, and waited till Billy had left for the night to open it. She’d sat in her bed and carefully peeled open the envelope with shaking hands. And when she’d seen the cheery balloons on the cover and the succinct note at the center, she’d felt foolish and childish and lonely. She’d felt disappointed and dropped the letter with the others the next morning. And then she’d felt silly for being upset.

Because there was no reason for Eddie to write to her. No reason to expect him to. Except, well…

Except she missed him. Missed him like a missing limb and there was a part of her that hoped he felt the same. Not with the hope of any particular outcome, but only in the hope that she wasn’t alone in experiencing the aching nostalgia that sometimes came over her.

Ridiculous really. She thought back to their fight in Chicago. He’d been wrong. Wrong about her and wrong about Billy. Things had gotten off course, but Billy made her happy. He made Julia happy and that’s what was most important. Things were working out exactly as they were supposed to.

“I do trust you Billy,” she says, straightening the table and pushing Eddie’s card to the bottom of the stack. “And I’m so proud of you.”

Billy beams at her, and she feels heat burst within her chest and across her cheeks. Yes - this is what her life was supposed to be. She was exactly where she belonged.

“I should get going,” Billy says, drying his hands and crossing the room to press a kiss to Julia’s brow. And Camila feels her heart clench at the sight. She thinks about what they’ve gone through and what she wants their future to be. She thinks about how much she loves Julia and how much she still loves Billy, despite it all.

“If you wanted…” she starts, her voice hoarse and so very loud to her own ears. But Billy looks so hopeful, and it gives her the courage to continue. “It might be nice if you… stayed.”

December 1979

The restaurant is nice. Too nice maybe. The crisp white linens and the waiters dressed up in stiff black suits make him nervous. He feels tense and uncoordinated and awkward. He’s been to plenty of nice places since The Six made it big - fancy clubs and private yachts and glittering award shows - but fine dining had never been a priority.

But Heather… he really likes her. He wants to make a good impression and Jimmy had recommended the restaurant in downtown LA. He’d swallowed down his insecurities and resisted the urge to change their plans. Maybe they should've just gone to a bar - he’d know what to do there, what to expect. Laugh, smile, buy her a drink. It’s the same playbook he’d been working from since he graduated high school, and the urge to fall into old patterns is strong.

But he doesn’t want things to continue as they’ve always been. He wants something different, something real. And he isn’t sure if it's Heather that he’s been looking for, but he’s willing to try.

“Shit,” he swears, nearly knocking over his glass of water. His hands feel too big for his body, his coordination shot to hell.

Heather doesn’t seem upset. She laughs, and the sound goes straight through him. It’s a nice sound, light and tinkling, and it manages to calm his nerves, just a bit. “Are you nervous or something?”

Eddie grimaces, feeling small town and out of place. But then she puts her hand on his arm, and he manages to shoot her a rueful smile. “Sorry,” he says, straightening the place setting he’s knocked askew, “I’m not very good at this. Guess I don’t have much practice.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t believe that,” she says. A flash of curiosity comes over her. It’s a look he’s come to recognize over the years, when it’s on the tip of someone’s tongue to ask about The Six. Heather doesn’t ask though, and relief washes over him.

“It’s true,” he says with a shrug. “Believe it or not, dating wasn’t high on my list of priorities back when we were touring.”

Her eyes narrow, not unkindly, but like she’s trying to figure him out. Her fingers trace over the back of his hand, leaving pleasant tingles in their wake. “Seriously? There were no girls you liked enough to take out to dinner?”

Eddie swallows thickly. He’d had a few long term flings over the years: Claire stuck around for a while, and Jenny before her. But that’s not who comes to mind. There’d only been one girl he would’ve stomached a place like this for. He would’ve done a whole hell of a lot more for her. He would’ve done anything Camila Alvarez asked and that knowledge makes his stomach twist in knots.

None of that mattered anymore. It was past and gone, and when he looks back up, Heather is smiling at him. Her eyes are shining in the candlelight, her hair done up in bouncing curls. He liked her, he really, really did. And she was looking at him like she felt the same. She wanted to be there - with him. She wasn’t there because she was lonely, or jealous, or irritated with her husband. She wanted to be there in that stuffy restaurant, eating fancy food, and wearing uncomfortable clothes with him. For him. Together.

He puts all thoughts of the past aside, and turns his palm, catching her hand in his. Eddie smiles at her. “Maybe I was just waiting for you.”

Chapter Text

Where have you been hidin' out lately, honey?
You can't dress trashy 'til you spend a lot of money

Everybody's talkin' 'bout the new sound
Funny, but it's still rock and roll to me

Camila: It’s been three years since Chicago. Three years since The Six fell apart. Three years since Billy went to rehab for the second time. Three years since he chose their family over Daisy Jones.

“You know I wouldn’t be doing this if Julia-“

“If Julia wasn’t at camp, I know.“ Camila wraps her arms wrapped around her waist and leans heavy against the doorframe, watching Billy. His suitcase is spread open on their bed, only half full. He stops pulling clothes from the closet to run a hand over his face with a tired sigh.

He turns to face her, his hands on his hips, looking as if he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I don’t want to go. But this is a really big opportunity, Cami. I want us to be a real family, and that means money.” He drops his gaze to the floor, the muscle in his jaw working up and down. “No one else wants to work with me after what happened with The Six.”

Camila steps forward to cup his face in her hands. “That’s not true,” she says, shaking her head. She can hear the worry in his voice - it’s heavy and weighs her down. She trusts him, believes in him, but hearing how desperate he sounds, pulls at her heart, makes her nervous. “You’re a great songwriter. They’re so lucky to have you.”

Billy doesn’t meet her eye. He stares down at the space between them, his hands clenching at his sides. “I’m scared,” he says, his voice small.

And she’s scared too. His admission of fear makes her heart pound and her palms sweat and she steps back, trying to plaster on a supportive smile. She knows this is it - their first test since they’ve been back together, since everything that happened three years earlier. She trusts him, but there’s a part of her, the part of her that’s still wounded and nervous, that is eager to put him to the test. If this is it, if this trip breaks them, she’d rather know sooner than later. If Billy is destined to let her down again, she’d rather it happen on this trip than spend her life waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You’re going to do great,” she says, trying to believe it, before she turns to help him finish packing.

---

The house is quiet. Too quiet, without Julia and without Billy. Julia wouldn’t be back for three more weeks, and her absence makes Camila ache straight down to her bones. She’d dropped Billy off at the airport four days ago and gone home to an empty house.

It’s always been her weakness, she knows that now. Her loneliness.

Always alone, always waiting for Billy. Feeling the crush of her thoughts and the emptiness of her life. She thinks it’s part of the reason she came out to California in the first place; the thought of being alone, her friends gone off without her, had been too much to bear.

But she’s older now, her life more full. They’re not living in the same house anymore - it’s not the same empty house where she’d spent her long, lonely pregnancy. They’d moved south the year before - closer to the beach, searching for a fresh start.

It feels different this time - different from those long, lonely days while The Six was on tour. But that dangerous itch of loneliness still threatens to overcome her. She’s missing Julia more than she thought possible. The old urge to call Billy has been replaced with the desire to barricade herself in her daughter’s room. She didn’t think anything could hurt this much - missing Julia was like missing a limb. But it’s a good hurt; she’s glad Julia is having fun.

Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

What she needs is a distraction. Her next work assignment wasn’t for a couple days, but Camila pulls out her camera, toys with the idea of taking a few pictures around the neighborhood. A flyer stuffed at the bottom of her camera bag catches her eye.

A friend of hers had opened an art gallery downtown. Camila had been meaning to visit, but with Julia around, there was never enough time. But she was alone now, and suddenly the whole of Los Angeles seemed to open up in front of her. For the first time since she was eighteen years old, Camila was really and truly on her own.

---

The gallery is nice. Pretty. The art isn’t really her style, but her friend plies Camila with champagne as she talks about the different pieces. They chat for hours - about art and music and people they used to know. The gallery is on Sunset Strip and Camila had felt a heady thrum of nostalgia as she drove past the bars and clubs she had once frequented. It had been years since they first came to LA, but she still remembers that first day, driving down the Strip, and feeling like they were on top of the world. The breathtaking hopefulness that had seemed to pour out of all of them, back when all they could see was shining lights and glittering stars.

The sky grows dark through the large shop windows, and Camila leaves her friend to close up for the night. She’d had too much champagne and her steps are just a bit unsteady as she exits onto the sidewalk. The champagne has made her feel warm and bubbly, but it also makes her head dizzy and distracted. She should walk a bit, she decides, to clear her head.

She doesn’t mind - being downtown makes her feel young and alive, and she soaks in the sights and sounds of Los Angeles. Music and laughter pours out from the bars in equal measure, and Camila finds herself grinning. She’d take some pictures of the glittering neon and the fashionable partiers around her if she thought her hand was steady enough to hold a camera. Instead she enjoys the pulse of life around her, walking steadily further down the Strip.

Her head is just beginning to clear when something about the marquee the next block over makes her pause. It takes a long moment for her brain to catch up to what she’s seen, and even then she doesn’t quite believe it.

ROUNDTREE. 8:00 pm.

She stares. She knows she’s staring, up at the sign, there in the middle of the sidewalk. A young couple bumps into her and giggles out a blithe apology. It’s Friday night in downtown Los Angeles, and Camila walks into the bar.

---

She hasn’t been to a bar like this in a long time. The smell of smoke is a near physical thing, laying heavy over the room. It’s dim and loud, and a grim looking bouncer demands a cover fee from her at the door. The room is nearly full, and Camila has to squeeze through the crowd to find an empty booth in a far corner.

There’s a band playing already; their sound is good, but unpolished. Camila doesn’t recognize them. They look young, high schoolers maybe, and she figures they must be the opening act. Camila buys herself a beer and settles in against the worn vinyl seat, trying to keep her beating heart under wraps.

It might not be him, she tells herself. Roundtree wasn’t a common name, but it wasn’t impossible that it could be someone else. Some other band that happens to have the same name.

Or it could be him. It could be Eddie.

She doesn’t know which alternative terrifies her more. Maybe she should leave, but it was impossible to resist her curiosity. And now that she was there… she had to know.

The first band takes a bow and leaves the stage, the next taking their place. Camila’s heart stops.

It’s him. Undeniably. Camila feels her mouth go dry and it’s as if the world’s gone silent. The laughter and the chatter and the clink of glass against wood disappears, and all that’s left is him.

His hair is different. Blonde. If it was a different time, a different place, she can imagine herself running her fingers through it, teasing him about it. But it’s been three years since she’s last seen him and all she can think about is how much time has passed.

He leans over the microphone, adjusting the stand, guitar hanging at his hip. The drummer says something, and Eddie turns. Laughs. The sight pulls something deep in her stomach - she hadn’t realized how much she missed his smile till she’s faced with it again.

“Hey everyone, hope you’re all having a good time. We’re Roundtree and we’re gonna be playing some songs for you tonight.”

There’s a rasp to his voice that she’s sure hadn’t been there before. All those cigarettes she thinks; he’s got one now, that he quickly stubs out in a nearby ashtray. It’s easier to blame the smoking than to imagine she’s forgotten how his voice sounds.

And then they’re playing. The sound is a jolt to her ears. She'd been expecting The Six on some subconscious level. Or at least something vaguely similar. Roundtree doesn't sound anything like the stuff they used to play or like the songs Billy’s been writing for the last couple years. It’s loud and fast and the guitar skates over the thudding bass. It’s so different, so new, that it takes a long moment for Camila to even work out what she’s listening to, let alone if she likes it.

She does, she decides. Like it, that is. The lyrics are frustrated and angry, and she finds they scratch some itch deep inside her, ringing true. They don't sound like any of the bands she usually listens to, but she likes the fast paced tempo and the insistent beat. As one song turns into another, and another still, Camila finds herself tapping her foot, her head bobbing in time to the rhythm. She isn't the only one; the gathered crowd is focused up at the stage, pulsating in time to the music. It’s a far cry from Soldier Field, but the energy in the bar is infectious.

Camila pulls out the small camera she keeps in her purse. Her intent had only been to snap a few pictures of the crowd - it's been a long time since she's photographed the nightlife on Sunset Strip, and it reminds her of her early career. But it's impossible to resist turning the camera towards the stage. And when her vantage point makes it impossible to get a clear shot, she’s unable to resist sliding out of her seat and pushing closer.

The sweaty mass of bodies near the front push in on her from every side, elbows digging into her and canting her back and forth as she struggles to find her footing. She doubts the photos will be any good; her palms are slick with sweat and there’s no way to keep her hand steady in the midst of the crowd. But as she peers through the viewfinder, all that falls away.

All she can see is Eddie, his face twisted in concentration, shoulders hunched over the guitar. For as frantic as the music is, his voice passes over her like a balm. Just hearing him, after all these years, knowing he’s alright - it calms something in her, loosening a knot in her spine that’s been tightening for the last three years. Now that she’s seen him, now that she knows he’s real, she allows herself to relax and enjoy the music.

---

The set is nearly over before he finally notices her. She’d almost assumed he wouldn’t, that she’d be lost in the crowd, his vision obscured by the bright stage lights and the dimness of the bar. That she’d blend in to the rest of the enraptured audience. She isn’t sure what she’d hoped would happen. Maybe it was enough to just see him from a distance, to know he was okay.

What she’d thought and what she’d hoped don’t matter because he spots her midway through their penultimate song. Camila had been considering leaving, making her way back towards the door before the set ended. She’d raised her camera, ready to take one last photo before putting her camera away for the night.

He must’ve noticed the movement, or maybe the glint of the camera’s lens, because as she stares at him through the viewfinder, he’s staring right back.

Camila drops the camera to her side feeling caught, her cheeks flushing and eyes going wide. He’s squinting at her, and then his features harden as recognition passes over him. Camila wants to run away - this isn’t the reunion she’d ever imagined. She hadn’t meant for this to happen. She’d only been curious, and now she’s forced her own hand. She isn’t sure she’s ready for what comes next.

Because she can’t leave now. As much as she wants to avoid this situation, she wasn’t a coward. She wouldn’t disappear without saying anything. Camila bites the inside of her mouth, her grip on her camera turning white knuckled, and nods her head towards the bar. The wait is agonizing. He’s still singing, his mouth brushing against the microphone, sweat shining across his brow. But then finally, finally, he gives an almost imperceptible nod in acknowledgment.

Camila tries to enjoy their final song, but all she can really hear is her pounding heart. It’s impossible to take her eyes off him now, impossible to stop herself from staring. She traces his form, taking in every detail, every change that’s occurred since she last saw him. His gaze keeps darting back to her, and every time their eyes meet through the crowd she feels herself flush and her pulse thud throughout her body. Her nerves are a livewire, her spine going stiff and her jaw clenching until she’s nearly aching from tension. What was she going to say to him? What could she say?

She’s never felt uncomfortable around him before. Even at their worst, when guilt rolled through her and their words were spiked with anger, talking to Eddie had always come easy. Too easy maybe - she wishes she’d been able to hold her tongue that day in Chicago. But the set ends, the band takes a bow, and Camila feels as if every word she’s ever known has disappeared from her head. Her mouth’s gone dry and her mind’s fuzzy as she makes her way towards the bar.

The room begins to empty, only a few couples lingering at the tables. Camila settles into one of the stools, orders a drink, and waits. She’s anxious. There’s a twisting in her stomach and she feels very nearly ill. She swallows down half her drink in one quick swallow before she gingerly sets the glass back on the counter. She doesn’t think she wants to be drunk for this conversation, as tempting as it is to numb her mind just a bit.

She’s tracing her finger through the condensation on the glass when he comes out from the back room. He’s pulled on a thick leather jacket, and his eyes are searching. When they finally land on her, a crease forms between his brows; he looks almost confused, like he hadn’t expected her to actually be there. Unbidden, her thoughts drift back to the night they slept together, his shock and delight at seeing her at the bar. This isn’t quite that - instead of a smile breaking across his face, a deep frown pulls at the corners of his mouth.

He waves the bartender over before he sits. “Beer, please” he says tightly as he slides onto the seat next to her. His movements are stiff and he still hasn’t looked her in the eye. He’s so very careful to keep his elbows and knees from bumping hers.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he finally says. The bartender passes him a bottle and Eddie takes a long swallow before he turns to look at her. There’s no warmth in his gaze and his expression is unbearably guarded. There was a time when she knew Eddie better than anyone, but she can’t read his expression at all. He raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t think this was your scene anymore.”

Camila sucks her lip in between her teeth, biting down hard. There’s a certain relief at finally talking to him again, but it's almost completely drowned out by nerves. She hasn’t felt this on edge in years, and Eddie wasn’t making this any easier. “I didn’t expect to be here either,” she admits, trying to keep her voice light. This didn’t have to be a big thing - they could be civil, they could talk without dredging up the past. Couldn’t they? Camila looks at him sideways and tries to muster a smile. “You guys sounded really good up there.”

Eddie shrugs and looks back to the bottle in his hands. “You caught us on a good day. We’ve been trying out some new material.”

“It was far out,” she says honestly. “I liked that one at the end- the one with the guitar solo.”

And then she bites her tongue. She’d been about to mention the new music Billy’s been writing. And then she’d almost said how different Eddie’s band was from The Six. But both topics felt like landmines she shouldn’t dare try to cross. Instead she plasters on another false smile and tries to change the subject. “You look good. I like the hair.”

Eddie’s expression pinches, and a self conscious hand drifts to the nape of his neck. “Fuck off,” he says gruffly, taking another drink.

It’s not hard to smile at that, and a sliver of hope shifts beneath her skin. She hadn’t been sure how he would react after all this time. Isn’t sure what she would’ve done if he was still hurt and angry. But she could handle him being an asshole. Suddenly she imagines a way back into his good graces through teasing quips and friendly smiles, ignoring every bad thing that happened in the past. “Well, I like it,” she says, feeling brave and nudging his elbow with hers. “It suits you.”

Something shifts at her words. His head tilts and his expression softens for a moment as he looks at her. “That’s what your mom said too.”

Camila flinches. “When did you-”

“Holy shit, you’re Camila Alvarez.” She’s interrupted by the squeeze of a body between them. It’s the drummer from the band; he throws an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and grins at her. “I saw that shoot you did with-”

Eddie shoves him back. “Fuck off Jimmy,” he says with a glare. He shoots Camila a look she can’t quite decipher. “Can’t you see we’re busy.”

The drummer, Jimmy, shoots him the middle finger, which Eddie returns. But Jimmy has a wry smile around his cigarette as he leaves, and Camila thinks it’s mostly good natured ribbing between the two of them. She hopes.

“You two seem close,” she says, hiding her grin and blush behind the rim of her glass. She still hasn’t gotten used to people recognizing her for her work, and it heats her skin. But more than anything, it’s nice to see Eddie shift uncomfortably because of someone else.

Eddie snorts, but he grins around his beer bottle. “He’s a fucking idiot. But he’s alright. A decent drummer.”

Camila allows herself to smile fully, buoyed by Eddie’s small laugh. Maybe this could work. Maybe they could tread these waters so very carefully back to solid land. “Have you guys been playing here long? You had a pretty decent crowd tonight.”

Hope flutters dangerously in her chest, and is immediately dashed as Eddie winces, and then scowls down at his drink.

“What the hell are you doing here, Cam?” he asks, and his voice seems to oscillate between anger and exhaustion with every word. “Did someone die or something?”

Camila jerks back from his biting words, dropping her glass back to the sticky bartop harder than she means to. It lands with a solid thud as she gapes at him with wide eyes. “The fuck, Eddie? No.”

Eddie’s own eyes go round, expectant and irritated. “Then what?” He throws his hand holding the bottle wide; beer sloshing out the rim and down his hand, but he doesn’t break eye contact. He is angry with her, and embarrassment burns her skin. “I’m not gonna sit around and hash out old shit, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I don’t want anything,” she says sincerely, unable to help the way her voice pitches up at the end. “I wasn’t thinking anything. I was at a gallery down the street and I saw your name on the sign. I just thought - I don’t know - I’d see how you were doing.”

It seems he has no response to that. He doesn’t answer her vague inquiry either. Just raises an eyebrow before lighting a cigarette. Camila takes a sip of her drink and tries not to stare. It’s hard when it feels like decades since she’s seen him last. She feels jittery - unsteady. She’d known this would be difficult, but she feels dizzy as she waits for him to respond.

“So is this your life now?” he finally says. He takes a long drag on his cigarette, blowing smoke out over his shoulder before he turns to her. “Hanging out at bars and art galleries in the middle of the week?”

There’s an implication behind his words, one he’s somehow managed not to give voice to. He’d managed to bite his tongue, but Camila knows what he really means: Where’s your fucking family?

“Billy’s in New York for work and Julia’s away at camp. I just… needed something to do.”

Eddie’s expression is carefully blank. Then he stands, slapping a few dollars on the bartop. “Well, you came, you saw,” he shoves his hands in his pockets and nods at her like they were strangers. “I’ll see you around.”

Camila gapes after his retreating back. “Eddie, wait,” she manages to get out, lurching to her feet after him. She grasps at his sleeve, but the warmth of his arm, even through his jacket, beneath her fingers is too much - too real - and she lets him go.

But he stops. When he turns to look back at her, she swallows thickly. Oh, she thinks as they’re suddenly toe to toe for the first time in years, he’s… tall. Somehow she’d forgotten how it feels to stand so close to him. Camila feels her cheeks burn.

“What?”

Camila blinks hard. “Can we talk?” she asks, trying to steady her thoughts. Trying to sound mature and composed and grown up. There was no reason they couldn’t have a civilized conversation. “I haven’t seen you in three years.”

“Talk about what?” he asks, sounding world weary and far older than their twenty-six years. “We don’t have anything in common anymore Cam. We don't have anything to talk about.”

“That’s not true and you know it.” It couldn’t be true when she had a million questions sitting heavy on the tip of her tongue. It was impossible that they couldn’t muster up a five minute conversation. Impossible to think that he’d managed to cast twenty years of history aside so easily. “I still care about you Eddie. I’m always going to care about you. Can we please just catch up for a couple minutes?”

A hundred emotions pass over him in quick succession, and Camila waits with bated breath to see which he would settle on. For a moment, she thinks he might refuse, as his jaw goes tense and stubborn.

“Fine,” she says, tightly. Her skin is burning with the embarrassment of it all. Of course he didn’t want to see her - she shouldn’t have come here at all. But anger is there too, and her words come out hot and sharp. “Fine, if you really don’t give a shit, I’ll leave. I’m sorry I took up so much of your time.”

She hoists her bag up her shoulder, slapping a bill on the bartop next to his (fuck him, she could pay for her own drink), and turns towards the door. Her vision is blurred with hot tears, and she wills herself to hold it together until she reaches her car. The sting of night air helps clear her head, but she still jumps in surprise when his hand lands on her arm.

“Goddamnit. Camila, just- wait.” Eddie pulls her to a stop beneath the lit marquee. When she turns to look at him, he’s scowling down at his shoes. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looks up at her through his lashes, his mouth pulled in a tight line. “Fucking hell, we’ll have a drink okay? Catch up. Is that what you wanted?”

And she knows he isn’t happy about it. She isn’t sure if she’s happy about it either. This has already been hard enough, wading back into whatever this thing between them is. She isn’t sure she’s ready to dive in any further. But it was too late to back down now. Straightening her spine, decision made, Camila nods. “Yes. Yes it is.”

Eddie: She comes back the next night. And the next. Sits front row left and keeps snapping pictures from the booth by the wall. It’s distracting as fuck, and Eddie still sort of thinks he’s imagined her.

That first night had really done his head in. He thought he was having a stroke when he first saw her in the crowd. She’d been there, snapping pictures, just like she used to when the band was first starting out. He thought for sure he’d been hallucinating - distracted by the bright lights and the drink he’d had backstage. But she’d still been there after the show. Had been as annoying and stubborn and insistent as always. Had talked him into getting a coffee at the diner down the street. Into talking about his life.

Jesus, that first night had been like pulling teeth. They’d both been anxious and restless and on edge, trying to avoid saying anything that might sour the tentative civility they’d managed. Nothing about Billy, or Daisy, or Chicago. Nothing about Warren or Karen or Graham, or anything about how the band had imploded on itself. No mention of their fight or the way their relationship seemed to have rotted away that last year. No - they’re both painfully careful to steer clear of anything like that.

Instead, Eddie tells her about the guys in the band, their new songs, and his apartment downtown. She tells him about her photos, and her sister’s baby, and her new house by the beach. The tension finally manages to break when she tells him about Julia. How she’s doing in school, her hobbies, her friends. Summer camp and soccer tryouts and school plays. Eddie finds himself hanging onto every word, despite the stoic facade he’d resolved to keep.

It's impossible to keep from smiling when he hears about Julia’s accomplishments. But the conversation inevitably shifts to Billy, (how could it not when he was evidently still very much a part of their lives) and Eddie goes sour. He’d known that’s why she was there - because Billy wasn’t. Billy had left her in the lurch once more, and Camila needed something, someone, to fill her time. It shouldn’t hurt, but it still stings to realize he’s been used by her. There’d been a time when he would’ve welcomed it, desperate for any scrap of her attention, but now the realization makes him feel bitter and embarrassed.

He’d claimed exhaustion and attempted to excuse himself as quickly as possible. But Camila had insisted on a parting hug, and Eddie had reluctantly allowed it. He’d loosely wrapped his arms around her, not allowing himself to derive any comfort from the action, and left, fully expecting that he wouldn’t see her again for another three years.

He’d nearly tripped across the stage when he saw her in the audience again the next night. She’d smiled and waved and Eddie had felt his cheeks burn as he met her eye. He hadn’t been able to tell if he was more embarrassed or irritated that she was there. Some small part of him may have been relieved - relieved that she hadn’t disappeared completely, that he hadn’t imagined her. But what did she want? He’d said all he could bear to say to her the night before, and yet she’d come back. What did she expect from him?

Not much, evidently. After that second show, she’d been content to sit backstage with him and the band, sipping sodas and listening to them fuck around with their new songs. She told them stories about the musicians she’d photographed, and they told her about the album they were working on. He’d gone red all up to his ears when she’d put her hand on his arm and told him how proud she was of him - much to the amusement of his bandmates.

The fact that she’s there again, for the third night in a row, just doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that Camila Alvarez kept making the drive up from Orange County just to listen to him play in a shitty LA bar.

---

“How many times have you seen the new Star Wars?”

She’s looking at him sideways, amusement in her eyes. They’re sitting in the small dressing room backstage at the bar. The band had finished playing hours ago, and the rest of the guys had cleared out soon after. But Eddie stuck around, drinking the lukewarm beer someone had left behind, listening to the music drifting in from under the door.

And Camila’s still there.

LA’s going through a cold spell, and she’s pulled a thick wool sweater tight around her shoulders. She’d somehow managed to get the bartender to brew her a cup of coffee from the staff’s break room, and she holds the mug close to her chest. Her shoes were toed off a half hour back, and she’s pulled her feet up onto the couch cushion between them.

“Three,” he says begrudgingly. But he can’t help the way his mouth ticks up at the corners as she lets out an amused burst of laughter. Every time she laughed, it seemed the knot of tension in his spine shifted lose a fraction more.

“You're behind,” she laughs, poking her stocking covered toes into his thigh. Eddie rolls his eyes. He knows she’s referring to the summer the first Star Wars film came out; he’d gone to see it with Graham and Warren at least a half dozen times. One of the guys must’ve told her, because he certainly hadn’t. It’d been Summer 1977, just before everything fell apart - he hadn’t been saying much of anything to her back then.

He tries to put that aside, tries not to think about that year.

“I’ve been busy,” he says, trying to ignore the warning tug at the back of his mind. He can feel himself wanting to slip back into old habits; friendship with Camila came easy, it always had. But that was a dangerous route to take, especially when he knew she was only there because Billy was still in New York. They were living on borrowed time and he was determined to keep his guard up. Just because they’d hung out a couple of times did not make them friends.

He straightens up, inching as far from her as he can without making things awkward. “Besides,” he says, trying to keep his voice light, “there’s so much out right now. Have you seen Friday the 13th?”

Camila raises an eyebrow before her expression crumples into faux horror. “The one where the serial killer attacks a summer camp?” she asks, burying her face in her hands with a hollow laugh. “God no. I don’t even want to think about it.”

Eddie thinks about the letter from Julia that Camila had tucked in her purse. She’d read it to him earlier; Julia had written about her days spent swimming and horseback riding and making smores. Eddie grimaces at Camila’s stricken expression. “Sorry,” he says, trying not to laugh. “If it makes you feel any better, they only went after the counselors.”

Camila bites out a choking laugh, shoving her foot into his thigh once more, and Eddie grins.

---

The night’s stretched on, and exhaustion is beginning to set in. The bar’s gone quiet on the other side of the dressing room’s door. Eddie can hear the scrape of chairs as the bartenders start to clean up. He knows it’s late, he knows he should go home, but he somehow can’t pull himself up off the couch, can’t bring himself to say goodnight.

They’ve long since passed the point of catching up. They were Hanging Out - there was no other way to describe it. As they sit, side by side on the worn out couch, Eddie has to remind himself that this wasn’t real. It was a fluke, a distraction, a wrinkle in the timeline that would pass as soon as Camila’s life went back to normal. It didn’t matter that they’d spent more time together in the past three days than they had in the past four years - they weren’t friends, even if they’d somehow managed to break through the icy chill they’d last parted with in Chicago.

He knows they aren’t friends anymore. He knows that, he’s not a fucking idiot. He’s not some naive kid. He knows it’d take a lot more than a few hours at a bar to build back what they used to have. It doesn’t matter that she can cut through his irritation faster than anyone he’s ever known. And it doesn’t matter that he can still read her expressions with unnerving ease. It really doesn’t matter that she’s sitting next to him, laughing at his stupid jokes. None of it matters, because he knows it's not real.

So then why the fuck does he feel himself slipping past determined disinterest, and straight towards bone deep concern?

Camila’s biting at her nails, staring distractedly down at her drink. Something was clearly bothering her, and Eddie sets his jaw, determined not to ask. Even if they’d decided to be friendly, they weren’t friends. Asking about her feelings was clearly a step over the threshold they’d both been careful not to cross.

“What’s wrong?” He blurts out the words, wincing as they leave his mouth. He shouldn’t have fucking said anything. Feelings, emotions, deep personal thoughts - by asking, he’s crossed the proverbial line in the sand. That fucking line to no man’s land, the only thing that assured he wouldn’t get hurt. And like an idiot, he’d gone and stepped across.

She drops her hand, plastering on a bright, wide eyed smile as she shakes her head and turns to him. “Nothing,” she says brightly. But her smile is a little too thin, her eyes a little too eager, her words spit out a little too quickly. She was lying, and they both knew it.

Eddie nods, and turns back to the bottle in his hand, picking at the label. He was so fucking stupid, allowing himself to fall back into the same cycle. Of course she was lying - they both were. Everything they’ve said to each other for the past three days has been one big lie of omission. He knows he’s kept large swaths of his life from her, and he’s sure she has too. But it still stings to have it confirmed. To know that no matter how much they played pretend, things would never go back to the way they used to be.

He should be grateful for the reminder, but he feels himself go stiff and sullen. Maybe she would come to the same realization as he had. Maybe she would realize whatever this was would never work out and leave. She would leave and they could both pretend the past three days had never happened.

But she doesn’t leave. Instead Camila sighs and bumps his knee with hers.

“Billy comes home tomorrow.”

“Ah.” Eddie takes a long swallow of his drink, wishing he had something stronger than a beer. “So I guess this is it.”

“What do you mean?” She lets out a breathy laugh full of confusion, and Eddie cocks his head at her, sure she must be joking.

“What do you mean ‘what do I mean’?”

Camila is squinting at him, brows bunched, and he can’t believe she’s playing dumb about this. “You just said Billy was getting home tomorrow,” he continues, his voice raspy as he tries to keep out the hurt. “I know how to take a hint.”

Her face screws up, her smile pulling down into a deep frown. “We don’t have to stop seeing each other just because Billy’s in town.” She trips over the words, but her stare is steely.

Eddie rolls his eyes, and tries to avoid her gaze. “Seriously Camila, don’t worry about it. It’s probably for the best.” He tilts his head back and downs the rest of his drink.

“But that’s not what I want.”

She sounds so affronted, that he nearly laughs. It’s almost funny. “Are you seriously going to make me say it?” he asks, and it's so ridiculous that he smiles, a thin, harsh smile. “We don’t always get what we want, Camila.” She glares at him, but he continues. “I mean - what? You think the three of us are going to hang out together? Or are you going to leave him home while you drive out to LA to drink with me?”

“We can be friends, can't we? We were friends before Billy.”

Eddie swallows thickly; isn't that what he’d always told himself? Before. To hear her say it now, when everything has changed, is a sharp jab to his chest. It makes the pulse in his temple throb and his hackles raise, bitter sharp words rising to the surface. He’s being an ass, and he knows it, purposely pushing her away. But the words have come and it's hard to put a stop to them. “Listen,” he says, dropping a heavy hand to her shoulder, “these past couple days have been swell. We’ll catch up in another couple years, make sure we’re all still alive and shit, alright?”

Camila scowls, pushing off his hand. “Fuck you,” she says, but she doesn’t move from her spot.

Eddie feels his grin waver in the face of her anger, but he doesn’t know what she wants. He doesn’t know what she thinks is going to happen. He doesn’t know why she keeps seeking him out in the first place.

“Have you told Billy that we’re… hanging out?” He tries to keep the judgment from his voice, despite the urge to bite out the words. Despite the way his heart was pounding. If this is the end, as he strongly suspects it is, he supposes they should leave things on a good note. And if not good, at least civil. He can’t spend anymore of his life regretting how he left things with Camila Alvarez.

“Yes, I have,” she says primly, but she won’t meet his eye.

Eddie feels the urge to needle her, to push. He shouldn’t, he should just let it go, let the cards fall where they will. It wasn’t as if he wanted to talk about Billy Dunne. But he can’t stop himself from asking. “And? How’d he take that?”

She doesn’t respond, though he can see the way her jaw works up and down like she’s trying to find the words.

“I’m assuming your silence means not well,” he says before she can muster up a response.

Camila shrugs. Her eyes are darting around, her fingers tightening around the mug, and Eddie feels a flash of anger in the pit of his stomach.

“That dick,” he bites out, at the sight of Camila’s discomfort. “What an asshole.” His fingers flex around his beer bottle; he can’t believe Billy would be stupid enough to fuck things up again. That Billy would have the gall to upset Camila after everything he put her through.

“He’s fine,” Camila says, frustration creeping into her words. She glares at him. “It’s fine, okay? We’re in a good place. He trusts me, and I trust him.”

Eddie snorts. “Right.” That would be the day. He doesn’t doubt that Camila loves Billy, even though the thought makes him want to gag even after all these years. But trust? How the hell could she trust him after everything Billy has done.

“We do.” There’s a defensive anger behind her eyes, but it’s not enough to drown out the lingering bitterness Eddie tastes at the back of his throat.

“Okay, sure. Great.” He holds up his hands, and just barely refrains from rolling his eyes. He’s being a dick again, but it really can’t be helped. Not when Billy Dunne is involved. “I’m sure that’ll work out for everyone.”

Camila is sitting up now, her feet planted firmly on the floor. “Fuck off,” she says, shooting him another glare, before she goes back to staring at her mug. She’s bent forward, elbows on her knees, and he can’t see her expression when she turns back to the coffee table. He wonders if he’s managed to piss her off enough to leave.

“Seriously Camila, it’s fine. I get it,” he continues. He isn’t sure from one word to the next if he wants to make things better or worse. “I know the only reason you've been hanging out is so you don't have to go back to your empty house.”

She freezes at his words, her spine going ramrod straight.

He finishes the rest of his beer in one harsh swallow. “But your husband's home now. Everything can go back to normal.” The words taste like bile on his tongue, but they ring true. He hasn’t been under any illusions. He knew whatever they’ve been doing for the past three days was temporary. He’s not surprised that it’s ending, whatever it was.

Camila flinches, and looks back at him over her shoulder. There’s a terribly pained look in her eye that Eddie tries not to think about. “That's not-”

Eddie cuts her off with a quick shake of his head. He can’t sit there and listen to Camila ask to be his friend. He can’t allow himself to hope that it was ever going to be a possibility. “I said it’s fine, okay?” he manages to get out, and he closes his eyes tightly, trying to keep the pain from his own words. They would get through this night and be glad to part on civil terms. It’s the only thing he would allow himself to hope for. “It’s fine. I’m too tired to fight. Can we just talk about something else?”

Camila leans back and takes a long look at him. Eddie forces himself to meet her gaze, to accept her appraisal of him. He gives her time - time to realize that he’s right. This was the end, and the best thing for both of them was to leave well enough alone. They weren’t friends, but they’d managed to thaw the ice they’d left Chicago with. That would have to be good enough.

Finally, she seems to reach the same conclusion. She nods, and settles into the arm of the couch, far more somber than she’d been minutes before. But the anger and frustration is gone, and when she leans back she even manages a smile. “Tell me more about your album.”

Chapter Text

We're talking away
I don't know what I'm to say
I'll say it anyway
Today's another day to find you
Shying away
I'll be coming for your love, okay?

Camila: “I told you it was fine, Billy.” She wraps the phone cord tight around her finger, trying to keep her words from coming out harsh and pointed. Trying to stop herself from snapping at him.

“You could come out here,” Billy says, and there’s a hopeful tilt to his voice that sets Camila’s teeth on edge.

“I’m not leaving our daughter alone on the other side of the country. What if something happens and the camp needs to reach us?” Her voice does come out sharp that time, irritation slipping in. She knows he already feels bad, but that doesn’t stop her frustration from coming to the surface.

Billy wasn’t coming home, not yet at least, even though she’d scheduled her whole afternoon around driving to the airport to pick him up. Even though they’d made plans for the coming days. He needs another two weeks in New York, he says, needs to be there to iron out the songs. Just till they’re done recording, he insists. It wasn’t even his band - it’d be some other frontman singing his words, some other musicians playing his melodies. Yet Camila could hear the same obsession creeping into his voice as he talked about the songs he was writing. It didn’t matter that someone else would be singing them, he was just as obsessive about it as he’d been with The Six.

“Of course,” Billy says quickly, and she can tell he’s trying to placate her. Trying not to argue. “I shouldn’t have suggested…” He sighs. “Do you want me to come home?”

Yes, Camila thinks, yes I do. She thought they were over this, that they were done being in a long distance relationship. That’s what they’d decided back in that stuffy office with the marriage counselor staring down his nose at them. They’d both agreed that being apart for so long is what put a strain on their marriage. As if the drugs, and drinking, and other women were just an inevitable symptom of the arrangement, Camila thinks bitterly.

She shakes her head, tries not to dredge up her old hurt. Things had been good, she reminds herself. This wasn’t like before. He wasn’t going on tour for months on end and she wasn’t waiting in the dark. It was two weeks. It was fine. They would be fine.

“No,” she says, with her own exhausted sigh. “It’s fine. I’m glad it's… going well.” She isn't sure that’s the right word. She isn’t sure if needing several more weeks of work was a good sign or not. If she’s wrong, Billy doesn’t correct her.

“I can’t wait for you to hear it,” he says, and there’s something weak about the way he throws the words out across the phone line, like he was coming to her with his tail between his legs.

No. No, that was mean. She shouldn’t think like that. He was trying to offer an olive branch, and she should take it. She should be encouraging. Supportive. She should embrace this fresh start.

Camila slowly unwinds the phone cord from around her finger, willing herself to take deep breaths. To smile. “Me too,” she finally says, forcing a grin, “I’m sure it’s going to be great. You know I like everything you write.”

Billy huffs out a dry laugh, full of self deprecation. “Yeah, well. We’ll see.”

Camila smiles for real at that, her irritation softening. She really did love him, despite the way bitter memories and frustration sometimes threatened to pull her backwards. She was trying, really trying, to forget about the old hurt she’d lived with for so long. Billy was trying too, and she should be more understanding.

“I should let you go,” she says, glancing at the clock. “It’s late there, isn’t it?”

“Cami. Wait.” And there’s a long pause on the other end of the line, just as she’d been about to end the call. Camila shifts uncomfortably, her heart thudding at the tense edge in Billy’s voice.

She wonders if she’ll ever stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting to hear how Billy’s let her down again.

He sighs as if the words are being dragged out of him, and then: “You’re not still hanging out with Eddie, are you?”

Camila lets out a choking laugh. She doesn’t mean to, but the surprised punch of air comes unbidden. “What?”

She thinks she can hear the grind of Billy’s teeth, and can imagine him leaning against the wall with that world weary look of his. “Eddie,” he says again. “Didn’t you say you’d been hanging out with him?”

She licks her lips, breathes in deep through her nose. Yes, she’d told Billy she’d seen Eddie, though it’s possible she downplayed the extent of their interactions. May have implied they’d happened to run into each other, rather than Camila spending three days purposefully seeking him out. But that was when she thought Billy was going to be home. When she thought she’d be able to explain face to face.

“Yes,” she says, sucking in a deep breath. She was determined not to lie. No more secrets. “I’ve seen him downtown a couple times. Him and his band.”

Billy’s irritation is palpable through the phone. “I wish you wouldn’t.” His voice is flat.

“Why?” she asks with a laugh, even though she very much knows why. She tries to keep things light and friendly, and tries to keep the defensiveness and irritation from her voice.

“Because you slept with him,” Billy bites out.

Camila flinches. They’d talked about their mutual infidelities, but never in very much detail. She’d admitted that she’d stepped out on their marriage. And Eddie had told her, that day in Chicago, that he’d confessed everything to Billy.

But Billy had never said it out loud. Never confronted her with the fact that the person she’d had an affair with had been Eddie. Hearing him blurt it out sends her staggering to the couch.

“It’s not like that,” she hears herself say, though her voice sounds very far away. “I told you it was a one time thing; it didn’t mean anything.” She lets out a gust of air that sounds halfway between a wheezing laugh and a punch to the gut. “Me and Eddie… it’s not like that.”

She doesn’t really know what it’s like. Not now and not then. Once upon a time they’d been best friends. Her oldest friend. And if she’s being brutally honest with herself (there’s no reason not to, after everything), she’s always known he’d had a bit of a crush on her. But sleeping together - that hadn’t been nothing. She’d wanted him just as badly as he’d wanted her. She blushes thinking about the blistering desire Eddie had shown her that night. He’d brought her back to life, given her more than she’s willing to admit. And she hadn’t regretted it, even if that night had ruined everything. It’d twisted her up so tight inside that she hadn’t been able to think straight. If she could do it all over… she would’ve done things differently. But even now, regret isn’t there. She’d ruined everything with Eddie over a one night stand and she still can’t bring herself to regret it.

And now… three years later?

Camila doesn’t know what they are to each other. Not friends, not lovers, not ex’s. Three nights - more time spent together than in the whole of 1977. And she still doesn’t know where they stand. She’d caught him a couple times, staring at her with a terribly confused expression, as if he was trying to work out the same.

“I don’t like it,” Billy continues. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Are you telling me who I can hang out with?” The question comes out in a rush, sharper than she’d meant it to be. Her heart is pounding and she doesn’t know if she feels more guilty or angry.

“No, of course not.”

“I told you, we’re just friends. It’s not like that.” She knows she’s steamrolling over Billy’s protests, repeating herself, but she feels a clawing desperation in her chest telling her to push forward. Or maybe she’s just being stubborn, her frustrations about New York coming out twisted and contrary. “I don’t like that you’re staying out there, but I’m not telling you what to do. Don’t you trust me?”

“You know I do. That’s not what I meant.” Billy sounds strained and anxious on the other end and Camila instantly feels bad. She hadn’t meant to push back so hard; the words had spilled out before she could stop them. Billy hadn’t really done anything wrong.

“I promise there’s nothing going on,” she says again, trying to soften her words. But she won’t say what he wants her to - she won’t promise not to see Eddie again.

Billy sighs, and she knows he doesn’t want to argue. He never does, even when she thinks maybe they should. He’d rather let things lie, keep their mistakes in the shadows until they bubble up. It’s a bad habit, and maybe it makes her a bad person, but she’s not going to call him on it, not when it’s working in her favor. “I trust you Cami,” he says finally. “And I love you. I just miss you is all. I miss you so much.”

Camila bites her nail, unsure how she feels about anything after all that. But she does miss him, and she tells him so. “I love you too. I’ll see you soon.”

---

She’s not sure how she got to LA. She remembers talking to Billy on the phone. Remembers getting in her car. Remembers the hazy sense of panic that had been slowly building in her chest. But the car ride had been a blur. She doesn’t even realize how far she’s driven until she’s pulling to a stop outside the bar.

It’s early, and the bar is empty when she pushes through the doors. She’s never been there during the day, with the bright overhead lights still on and all the tables empty, and her steps falter.

“Hey,” the bartender calls to her. He’s behind the counter, wiping down glasses, and glares at her. “We’re not open yet.”

“Is Roundtree playing tonight?” she asks, trying not to feel foolish. She should have checked before she drove all the way up there. It was Saturday night, she assumed they would be, but she wasn’t sure. She should’ve checked.

He squints at her. “You Eddie’s friend?” When she nods, he ducks his head in the direction of the back dressing room. “They usually start showing up half past. Maybe in an hour or so. You can wait if you want.”

Camila nods her thanks, and only hesitates a moment or two before going back to the dressing room. She should feel silly - why on earth was she willing to wait an hour - but there’s a restless energy sitting just beneath her skin, and she isn’t sure what else to do with it. She couldn’t go home, that’s for sure.

She’s pacing when Eddie finally shows up.

“You’re here.”

There’s blatant shock in his voice. He’s staring at her from the doorway, surprise etched across his features. After three days of carefully natural expressions from him, it’s a relief to finally see his true feelings. But she doesn’t have the energy to ponder that any further; her head has been pounding since she got off the phone with Billy.

She doesn’t know why she’d come there. Doesn’t know why she keeps coming back. That first night had been an accident. A chance encounter - no one could fault her for that. But each night since? Things would be easier if she stopped seeing him. She wouldn’t feel so torn up inside and Billy wouldn’t be so upset. She doesn’t want to argue with her husband, so why does she keep doing the one thing she knows he’ll never approve of? After how Billy left things with Eddie… she knows he’ll never accept that she’s hanging out with him.

It’d be easier for everyone if she said goodbye and went home. And the funny thing is, she doesn’t think Eddie would mind. He’d said as much, for the past three days - each night he’d say goodbye like it was the last time they would ever see each other. All wide eyed and sad, saying her name fully, carefully, like he might never say it again. For all his stoic posturing while they were hanging out, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from saying goodbye like it was the end of something. She thinks if she said goodbye for good, right there and then - she doesn’t think he’d be surprised at all.

But she doesn’t want to.

She doesn’t want to let him go. She doesn’t want Eddie to push her away and she doesn’t want Billy to pull them apart. Camila knows she’s playing with fire, and she doesn’t know why, just that she can’t stand the thought of stopping.

“I thought you were picking Billy up today,” Eddie says, his brow creased in a deep v. He comes into the room, but his movements are skittish, like he’s trying to keep as far from her as he can. He sticks close to the wall, puts the ratty couch between them as quickly as possible. Like she’s radioactive.

Like he’s scared of her.

Could she blame him? Her brain feels fried, her nerves shot to hell - she’s sure she looks insane, rattling around the empty dressing room, just waiting for him.

Camila tries to calm her thudding pulse, tries to breathe in deep and act normal. She plasters on a smile, and settles onto the couch. She watches Eddie set down his guitar case and hang his coat in the closet. Pretends not to notice that he’s watching her warily from the corner of his eye. Tries to ignore Billy’s voice in her head.

I wish you wouldn’t.

“Let me shoot the album cover for you,” she says, the words tumbling out before she has a chance to think them through. She nearly chokes on the desperation in her voice, but suddenly, she can’t think of anything else. She wants it - this spontaneous proposal she’s just thrown at him. She wants to photograph Eddie and his band, and the thought of not being able to makes her feel ill.

Eddie’s eyes pop open wide and incredulous, and not a small bit worried. “The fuck?”

“I don’t know if you already have a photographer lined up, but if not I’d really like to do it. I can send you my portfolio, if you want.”

“Portfolio…” The word slips from him in a whispered rush, laced with confusion. Eddie is staring at her as if she’s lost her mind. And maybe she has, but she faces him head on. He blinks hard, tries to stop gaping, and turns away from her with a shake of his head. When he pulls his cigarettes and lighter from his pocket, his hands are shaking. Camila tries not to notice.

“Billy’s staying in New York till the end of the month,” she says, trying to be honest. She answers his question and lays all her cards out on the table. “He’s not here, and I have some extra time in my schedule. I don’t want to stop seeing you,” she says, pushing through the ache of embarrassment. “I want us to be friends again.”

Eddie doesn’t look at her for a long time, drawing hard on his cigarette as he plops down heavily in the chair across from her. He’s got his arms braced across his knees, his brows sky high as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. When he finally does look at her, it’s through squinted eyes, as if he can’t bear to face her head on.

“Jesus, Cam,” he finally sighs, tapping ashes into the tray beside him. “I’m not some charity case. You don’t need to do me any favors just because your husband was an asshole. Or because we…” He waves his hand in the air between them, the sentiment left unfinished. Because we argued, because we slept together, because we used to be friends once upon a time…

“I want to. I really do like your music,” she says, hoping he can hear the sincerity in her voice. She’s surprised by how much she means it. She wants to spend time with him and she wants some solid reason to keep doing so. When Eddie stands and crosses the room to the closet, she follows. “This isn't because of what happened back then. I just… I missed you, you know?”

The look he gives her is all narrowed eyes, full of suspicion. “But why?” he finally asks. He brings his cigarette to his mouth and away again in quick succession, his fingers twitching and unsteady. “You don’t have to-- I’m not asking you to do anything for me.”

His gaze is searching, and Camila bites down hard on her bottom lip, trying not to let her emotions run away with her. Eddie doesn’t know how empty she’d suddenly felt when Billy told her he was staying in New York. Maybe it’s not fair, but she feels just as left behind as she had all those years before. She’d been searching for something to fix that hollow feeling in her chest and she’d found it when she’d stumbled into the bar four days earlier. Eddie doesn’t realize how just being there, with him, fills that hollow place in her chest that she hadn’t realized had been empty and aching. She’d missed Eddie these past three years, more than she’d realized, and now that she had him back, she wasn’t ready to give him up.

Of course she could never say that to him. It was one thing to admit she wanted to be friends, it was another entirely to confess that she’d been missing him like a phantom limb for the past three years. Especially when she’d chosen Billy back in Chicago. Especially when Billy would not approve of what she’s asking to do.

“Come’on Eddie, you know I’ll do a good job.” She grins and pinches his sleeve, trying to lighten the mood.

He frowns at her, exasperated, but doesn’t disagree. Her career has taken off in the past year; her contract with Warner Bros. has worked out better than she’d ever hoped. She’s worked with some of the biggest names in the music industry, and she knows her work is in demand. Eddie has always kept up with the brass tax of the music business; he has to know it’d be stupid to turn down the opportunity to work with her.

“I’ll make you look amazing,” she says, grinning brashly at him. She doesn’t want him to know how desperate and empty she feels inside. Doesn’t want to think about how hollow she’ll feel if he says no. Camila licks her lips, tries not to fidget anxiously. A wave of self consciousness crashes over her, as Eddie continues his scrutinizing gaze, as if trying to work out if she was pulling some kind of trick.

“You’d be doing me a favor,” she finally adds, even though it’s not exactly true. “You don’t know how hard it is to get gigs like this.” And maybe it’s a low blow, but she knows she’s got him. Because for as arrogant and stubborn as he was, Eddie had never been selfish. He wouldn’t turn her down, not if she told him it’d be good for both of them.

Eddie rolls his eyes. Then he sighs.

“Fine,” he finally says, stubbing out his cigarette with more force than she thinks is probably necessary. When he looks back up at her, he doesn’t look happy, that wary look still drawing his features taunt. “But I gotta talk to the label first. And the band. This isn’t like, official, or anything.” He waves her back, dropping heavily onto the couch, looking far from thrilled in the face of her beaming smile.

Relief courses through her, and even though she wishes Eddie seemed a bit more enthusiastic about the prospect, she feels nearly giddy. She’d always liked having a plan, a solid path to follow as she moved forward. She sees now how this could be the start of one - the first step towards the life she wants. Towards everything making sense again. She’d work with Eddie, they’d fix their friendship, and somehow she’d find a way for him to make up with Billy. Everything could go back to the way things were, when they were all friends and things didn’t hurt so much. She wouldn’t feel so empty and she wouldn’t feel so torn.

“You’re not gonna regret this Eddie,” she says, unable to hold back her beaming smile. She has a reason to keep seeing him - a real solid reason. One the record label would sign up in legal detail and everything. For the first time in the past four days it feels like they’ve landed on solid ground, and it makes her unreasonably pleased. “I've been taking pictures of you since we were, what, eight?” she asks with a giddy laugh as she folds herself onto the couch beside him. “Who's gonna do it better?”

Eddie looks at her from the corner of his eye as he twists his lighter between his fingers, his expression grim.

“I don’t think you’re really gonna do it,” he finally says, clicking the lighter, the flame sparking brightly before it disappears. There’s a hint of a challenge behind his voice, a rueful stubbornness that makes her scowl.

“I said I would.” She raises an eyebrow, crosses her arms.

“You’re gonna have to tell Billy,” he shrugs, the implications of that sentiment unsaid but clear. “He’s not going to like it.”

“Billy doesn’t tell me what to do.” The words slip out hot and fast. Nearly identical to the ones she’d said to Billy just hours prior. The thought makes frustration burn in the pit of her stomach, but she knows it's not that simple. It was one thing to say Billy didn’t control her actions, it was another thing entirely to cast off his opinions all together. They were still married after all.

Eddie snorts, and finally a wry smile breaks across his features. “Trust me, I know.” When he turns to look at her, his gaze is intense, the challenge there clear, but it's impossible to ignore the doubtful tilt of his head and the miserable shrug he gives her. “I still don’t think you’re going to do it.”

Camila swallows thickly, her jaw clenching. She didn’t know what would happen. She didn’t know if she was brave enough to tell Billy or go against his disappointment. She didn’t know if the giddy hopefulness she was feeling in the moment would last, or if she'd wake up in the morning feeling over her head. But she wants to do this. She wants to dig her fingers into Eddie and hold on until the Earth’s orbit finally makes sense again. Now that she has a hold of him, she doesn’t want to let go. “I look forward to proving you wrong.”

---

She hasn’t had to bring her portfolio out in a while. She’d felt so professional the night before, arranging photos from the shoots she’d done in the past couple years, arranging them as best she could, the pages shiny and clean. But in the daylight, the weight of it fills her with nerves. The meeting they’d set up with the label wasn’t technically an interview, but a tight knot of anxiety had formed in the pit of her stomach nonetheless.

The leatherbound book was unwieldy in her grip, and she wishes she’d thought to bring a bag to put it in. She swears, nearly dropping her things as she tries to mauver out of the car with her purse knocking against her hip, the portfolio heavy in her grasp, and her skirt twisting around her knees.

“Here, let me.”

Camila lets the thick binder be taken from her hand as she finally exits the car. “Thanks, I-- Oh.”

She’d recognized Eddie’s voice as he’d come to help her, hadn’t flinched as he’d reached around her to grab the book, but as she stands and takes a good look at him, she finds herself at a loss for words.

Eddie had always dressed well. Even when they’d been teenagers, he’d worn button downs over t-shirts, leather boots over worn out sneakers. She’d always sort of admired that about him - how put together he looked, even when he was black out drunk or laying around the house. But she’s never seen him look quite so… professional. So grown up. The suit he wore was dark blue, the shirt a crisp white. It fit him well, sitting snug around the shoulders, and fitted around the waist. It wasn’t anything special - not really, not at all. If they’d stayed in Pittsburgh, she imagines he might’ve worn something similar to any old office job.

And yet…

He looks good. Sinfully. Unfairly. She’d somehow managed to push the fact that Eddie was incredibly attractive to the back of her mind. She’d ignored that knowledge as if her life depended on it. She was determined to be friends, and she was willing to ignore her attraction towards him in that pursuit.

But she hadn’t expected him to look so good in a crisp navy blue suit, eyes shielded behind dark sunglasses, helping her with her things on a sunny Los Angeles day. The total effect sort of knocks the wind out of her, and she feels her cheeks burn.

“I got it,” she mumbles, trying to regain her footing, willing her heated skin to stop burning. Eddie just nods, and hands her the portfolio as they begin walking towards the office doors.

They’re standing out front of a mid-sized office building downtown. Eddie’s record label was smaller than the ones she’s been working with lately, but the nerves bubble up once more as they push through the doors.

It was just a concept meeting, a formality really. And with Eddie vouching for her, she really didn’t have anything to worry about. She knew the job was hers if she wanted it.

And she did want it - that was the problem.

It’d been three days since she’d approached Eddie about taking the photos for his new album, and since then, her desire to follow through had only grown. Maybe part of it was just stubbornness, but she really did want to do it. She’d even told Billy about it, despite Eddie’s doubts.

To say Billy had been unhappy was an understatement. She thinks he’d nearly lost his mind. He probably would’ve if she hadn’t told him flatly that it was his turn to support her career; she’d supported his for long enough. That sobered him quickly, and she thinks he’s begrudgingly come to some sort of acceptance. It was hard to tell over the phone. She’d tried to soften the blow by telling him that the record label had approached her, rather than the truth that she’d practically harassed Eddie into giving her the job.

She jumps when Eddie touches her elbow.

They were standing outside the door to the meeting room. The label executives, the managers, the distributors - everyone that could possibly have a say in the production of this album was waiting inside. Camila had been in enough of these meetings to know what to expect. They’d sit down, listen to her ideas, review her past work, hear Eddie’s take on the feel of the album overall. She’d probably discuss with the distributors and the art director, make sure her vision lined up with what was profitable. Discuss with the manager and the band and make sure they formed a cohesive plan for what the album was supposed to be, supposed to feel like. And then they would discuss budget, and timing, and equipment, and sets. They’d discuss wardrobe and hair and compensation. They would shake hands and sign paperwork and leave to go about their day. Routine. Professional. Camila’s done it all at least a dozen times before, but for the first time in ages, she’s out of her mind with nerves.

“You okay?” Eddie is staring at her, brows creased with concern. He leans down, staring into her eyes and wincing as if he thinks she might be sick.

She feels like she might be sick. Eddie’s hand is warm and steady on her arm, but she wants to grab it with her own and hold on tight. It’s a childish instinct, to hold his hand and ward off the fear that’s rippling through her. It was unlikely, but she doesn’t know what she’ll do if the studio turns her down. She’s been dropped from projects before - it was part of the job, accepting that the client wanted to go a different direction. But this… This one was special.

She doesn’t grab his hand, but she meets his eye with an unwavering gaze. His eyes are clear and bright and they bolster her enough to regain her confidence. Running a final, smoothing hand over the front of her dress, Camila plasters on a smile. She would get this job and it would be great. Everything would work out exactly as it was supposed to. Bumping Eddie’s elbow with her own, she smiles. “Never better.”

Eddie: He wishes everyone would just shut the fuck up.

He hadn’t slept well the night before, his thoughts racing and his mind refusing to turn off. It didn’t help that they’d been told to be at the beach by 5-fucking-am. Something about catching the morning light or some shit. He was itching for a cigarette, but the thought of lighting up so early in the morning, with an empty stomach and his head aching, was deeply unpleasant. Instead he shoved his hands under his arms, trying to keep warm, and glaring at Jimmy and Todd who were being loud as fuck further down the beach.

He knew he was acting like a dick, scowling and snapping at his bandmates. But he’d been agonizing over this fucking photoshoot for over a week. Ever since Camila had practically twisted his arm into giving it to her. Even then he hadn’t realized she’d be quite so… involved.

She’d called his apartment at least a half dozen times to discuss the album and wardrobe and “what did he want the cover to communicate.” She’d shown up at the bar after their sets, her bag laden with concept images and moodboards for inspiration. And she’d stood up in front of the studio execs and his manager, and explained in a polished, confident voice why she was the very best option to photograph his band. It’d been an overwhelming week, and between shows at the bar and recording sessions at the studio, he hasn’t had a chance to figure out what any of it means.

His only experience had been with The Six. Seven, Eight, Nine had been easy. A couple of hours at the house of a photographer Teddy recommended. A half dozen configurations with the five of them in various chairs and couches. Simple, quick. They got the proofs back in a month and sat down at the kitchen table to pick the one they liked best.

Aurora, of course, had been different. Famous photographer, contrived set, long hours in the blistering wind, not to mention the discontent that had already started to ripple through the band. It’d been a miserable day out there in the desert, and the result of all their fucking suffering had been a staged photo of the six of them looking grim on the album back, and a photo taken by Camila of Daisy and Billy-fucking-Dunne for the cover.

Eddie swallows thickly under the weight of his memories. He tries not to think about what happened after that photoshoot. Tries not to remember the tense drive home that led him to that shiny club in the city. Tries not to let his skin heat as he remembers what happened between him and Camila.

He pulls his jacket tighter around himself and goes to steal a pack of cigarettes from Todd’s car.

Finally, as the sun is just beginning to lighten the damp sand, Camila’s car pulls into the lot beside him. An unreasonable wave of irritation passes over him as he goes to greet her at the car door.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asks as she steps out of the car. He gives into the urge and pulls the box of cigs from his pocket. “It’s fucking freezing out here.”

“I brought donuts,” Camila says brightly, ignoring his comment. She shoves the box into his hands, and he’s forced to stow the cigarettes so he can hold it. His stomach growls at the sight, but that only increases his nervous irritation. Camila continues, talking over her shoulder as she begins pulling equipment from her car. “Jo and I were talking last night, and-”

“Who the hell is Jo?” Eddie doesn’t know why he’s being such an ass, other than everything about this has his nerves on edge.

Camila either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care that he’s being ridiculous. She smiles and nods to the other side of the car. “My intern,” she says proudly, “she’s a photography student at Cal Arts.”

Eddie frowns, and for first time notices the girl standing on the other side of the car. She’s young, not more than twenty, her hair pulled back in a tight bun, her arms laden with bulky camera bags. She gives Eddie a tight nod, and something about it clears his head. This was a job for Camila, she was a professional. She’d brought a fucking assistant for fuck’s sake. He shouldn’t be snapping at her first thing in the morning. Especially when she’d brought him fucking donuts.

“Do you- uh,” he clears his throat, “need any help?” He tries to level his voice out, hold himself steady. He still wasn’t sure how to act around her, but professional, he could do that.

For the first time that morning, Camila’s smile wavers. She pulls her hair back, knotting it tightly behind her. “Well. Maybe.”

He sets the donuts on the hood of the car, following her to the back. When she opens the trunk, an god awful smell hits him instantly.

“Jesus,” he swears, staggering back, hand to nose, “what the hell is that?”

Camila rolls her eyes. “Don’t be a baby,” she says, but her own hand has drifted up to block the smell. “They’re fish.”

Eddie’s watering eyes clear long enough to peer into the trunk. Tucked beside a worn out picnic blanket and a spare pair of tennis shoes, were two large tubs of dead fish. Their unseeing eyes stared up at him, their slimy, scaled bodies various stages of damp. Eddie nearly gags, glad he’d skipped breakfast.

“Christ, I hope none of that spilled in your car,” he wrinkles his nose again - he can’t help it, the smell really was terrible. “What the hell are you doing with a trunk full of dead fish?”

“Jo and I were talking last night,” Camila starts, staring intently at the trunk, “and I know we settled on the four silhouettes, right?” She turns to him, hands on her hips. There’s an intensity in her eyes, and Eddie is reminded once more that she’s a professional now. That they were lucky to be working with her. That a lot of bands would jump at the chance.

“Well,” she continues when Eddie nods. “I think the shot needs something more, more active, you know? So, what about birds? If we could get them right behind the four of you, the water behind that, with the sun just coming up. But the problem is… how to get them to come when we need them.”

“So, fish.”

“So, fish.”

They stand side by side, staring down at the unsightly tubs. It’s disgusting, but Eddie finds he trusts her. Trusts her judgment. On this at least. He knows she wants to do a good job, and if she thinks this is their best option, he’ll go along with it.

“It’s gonna look cool, I promise,” she says, twisting till her elbow bumps his. “Like Hitchcock with The Birds.”

Eddie snorts. “Right,” he drawls. The whole thing was ridiculous - he was freezing his ass off before dawn, staring at a pile of fish with Camila Alverez. Two months ago, the thought would’ve been incomprehensible. But it was real, it was happening, and somehow, he finds he believes her. If it were anyone else, he’d have his doubts. It’s not though, it’s Camila. He knows her, despite their years apart, and he knows she’s going to do a good job. He just needs to get out of his own head long enough to let her.

---

“Smile!”

It’s the relief of finally being done with the photoshoot that pulls Eddie to comply. He grins into the camera, his eyes squinting against the flash. When Camila drops the camera, she’s smiling brightly in return.

“I think they’re going to turn out really good,” she says, turning back to her car, putting the rest of her equipment in the backseat. The rest of the guys had left after Camila gave the all clear, and Jo was wrestling with the tripod out on the beach. Eddie leans back against the side of her car, squinting sideways at her.

“What if they’re not?” he asks, and it’s a stupid question, born from his own insecurities. Being around her always made him say stupid things.

Camila raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Don’t you trust me?”

God, now that was the question. Eddie looks away, rubbing his hand over his jaw.

“I’ve seen your work,” he says, trying to keep his voice from going tight. “It’s good. All of it. I’m sure the pictures will be great. I just-” He crosses his arms, feeling far too vulnerable there in the beach parking lot. “It’s our first album.”

Camila closes the door with a solid thud and leans beside him. He can feel the heat of her arm, even through his jacket. “Eddie,” she says, and her voice is so gentle it makes his heart hurt, “you guys are really good. I know it’s not like before…” He tenses at the reminder of what they used to have. “But I think you’re great. And I think the album is going to be great.”

Eddie nods, but he can’t meet her eye. His heart is pounding and he doesn’t know whether to push her away or pull her closer.

“Hey,” she says, digging her elbow into his side, “I’ll bring the proofs over when I get them. If they’re absolute shit-” he raises an eyebrow at her and she grins, wide and teasing and oh so familiar despite the years, “I’ll buy you a drink.”

He laughs despite himself. “We spent all day surrounded by fish. If they’re terrible I think you owe me a bit more than that. Two drinks at least.”

Camila lets out a breathy snort, and holds out her hand. “They won’t be terrible. But you have a deal.” Eddie knows it’s a mistake - he was getting in too deep, letting his emotions come to the surface, making him lightheaded and stupid - but he can’t stop himself from reaching out to shake her hand. When she grins at him, her grip warm and firm, it feels a bit like falling.

Chapter Text

Daylight licked me into shape
I must have been asleep for days
And moving lips to breathe her name
I opened up my eyes
And found myself alone
Alone
Alone above a raging sea
That stole the only girl I loved
And drowned her deep inside of me

Eddie: He licks salt from his lips and he tastes the grit of the ocean air on his tongue. The wet sand beneath his feet is cool and he digs his toes in further. Strange - he thought he’d been wearing his boots. He supposed it didn’t matter; he found he was both unusually calm and strangely alone. He’s not sure where the rest of the band had gone.

“One more. Just you.”

Eddie looks over his shoulder. Camila is standing just behind him, closer than he’d expected. She waves her camera at him, smiles. “For the album,” she clarifies.

Right. The album. Eddie blinks, nods, and turns back towards her. The album - he wanted the album to be good. He hoped the album would be good. He needed the album to be good. He’s gritting his teeth, his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he faces Camila.

She raises her camera to her eye. The click of the shutter sounds so loud in early morning air, and Eddie flinches. “Relax,” Camila laughs, dropping the camera back down to her side. “It’s just a picture. We’ve done this before.”

Eddie nods. They have done this before: he doesn’t react this time as Camila raises the camera, snaps another shot. But this feels different. It feels strange - where was the rest of the band?

“Are you okay?”

Eddie looks back to her and once more she is standing by his side. There’s concern in her dark eyes. They’re wide and a crease has formed between her brows. She puts a hand on his arm and Eddie is distracted by the warmth of it in contrast to the chill around them.

“Are you?” he asks instead, trying to pull himself back from his scattered thoughts. “Aren’t you cold?” He looks her over. She was wearing a thin, white halter dress, the hem trailing in the sand. The ocean water had soaked the fabric up to her knees, turning it translucent and clinging to her calves. She too was barefoot, her sand covered toes peeking out from beneath the dress.

Camila laughs again, pulling her hair back over her shoulders. Soft strands whip in the wind across her cheeks and chest. She gives him a bright smile. “I’m fine,” she says, “you know I love taking pictures of you. I’ve missed it.”

Eddie can feel his cheeks heat, burning beneath his skin. Her words ignite a warmth in his chest and he wants to believe her. It’s been so long since they parted ways - he wants to believe she missed him. That she wanted to spend time with him. That she wasn’t just there because she was bored or lonely or looking to punish Billy.

“Okay,” he says, his words coming out in a rasp. He feels like he should say something more, something about the album or her pictures or the band that should be around there somewhere. But he’s finding it hard to think. It’s hard to look away from her smile.

“One more,” she says again. This time she adjusts him herself. She takes him by the shoulders, turning him out towards the rising sun. Pushes his hair back, her fingers trailing over his scalp. She pulls his hands from his pockets, her thumbs smoothing over each digit until his grip is relaxed.

Relaxed - ha. With every brush of her fingers over his skin, he feels like he’s burning. His heart is pounding and he swallows thickly. He can smell her perfume, vanilla sweet, with every gentle gust of wind. He can feel the heat of her body standing so very close to him - the only two bright spots on that cold, empty beach.

“Stand here,” she says, and reaches out once more. She presses her hand flat against his stomach, the pressure firm but gentle. When he doesn’t move as directed, she casts her eyes up at him.

“Camila,” he says, and her name is ripped from him like a punch to the gut, low and pained. Her eyes are wide, but she hasn’t moved her hand from his body. And he thinks it’s probably just the time apart, the years of changes and wondering and missing, but he can’t look away. He can’t tear his eyes from her face. And… God, she was pretty. She was so fucking beautiful, and she was there, standing right in front of him.

She smiles again, that big, bright, toothy grin that he loves, and passes her hand across the pane of his stomach to his hip. Her fingers are leaving trails of heat over his skin and his stomach clenches. “Eddie,” she says, so quietly, so gently, it almost sounds like an apology. And he thinks she’s going to pull away. He braces for it.

Instead, her arms continue and wrap around his waist, pulling him into a hug, pulling him close. It’s the closest they’ve been in years and it feels so very right. Everything about that moment feels right. When his arms wrap around her shoulders, when she whispers ‘I missed you’ into the hollow of his throat, when she tilts her head back and presses a searing kiss to his lips.

And then they’re kissing. Holding each other and kissing like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her hands have slid beneath his shirt at his back, warm and gentle. He has one hand tangled in her hair, the other at her hip, holding her close. It isn’t like the other times they’ve kissed. Those kisses had been frantic and rushed, heated and passionate, tinged with the knowledge that they were on borrowed time. But this…

Eddie sits up with a strangled gasp. His heart is beating painfully fast against his ribs, his breathing coming out ragged. He’s coated in sweat, his skin burning. He’s throbbing beneath the sheet.

Sucking in a ragged breath, Eddie swings his legs out of bed, throwing back the sweat damp sheets. Feeling sick, he leans forward, head in hands, as he braces his elbows against his knees. It’s still dark out, but he squeezes his eyes shut, unwilling to face reality.

It didn’t mean anything. It was just a fucking dream. His subconscious fucking with him. It didn’t mean anything.

It obviously hadn’t happened like that.

Eddie thinks back to the photoshoot. It’d been a week since that day on the beach. A week since Camila had photographed him and the band. His thoughts drift over his memories of that day - it hadn’t been anything like the torrid dream he’d just woken from. Him and Camila… it wasn’t like that.

It hadn’t been… romantic. Or… or… sexual. Jesus, it was work. It was professional. They were barely even friends - it wasn’t like there was… there wasn’t… fuck, it wasn’t like there’d been tension or anything between them.

Eddie sucks in a deep breath through his teeth, standing in a huff, pacing to the open window. The cool air hits the bare skin at his stomach. He braces his hand against the window frame and tries to slow his pounding heart.

It really didn’t mean anything. And yet… Eddie thinks about how Camila looked that day - not in a dress like in his dream, but bundled up in a thick sweater and slouching jeans. She’d toed her shoes off as the day progressed, her painted nails sinking into the damp sand, but it hadn’t diminished her confidence, her authority as she directed them through the shoot. Eddie had been thoroughly impressed each time she’d pointed out the light or the tides, as if she could see the perfect shot in her mind's eye. She’d shifted the band into position with precision, and Eddie couldn’t help but be in awe of her talent. Even without seeing the final product, he understood why every band wanted to work with her.

But he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t something about the experience. Eddie’s gut clenches as he remembers the way she had gently adjusted his shirt collar, and pushed his hair back from his face, her fingers light and warm against his neck and forehead. He remembers the goosebumps that had erupted across his skin as she’d given gentle pokes to his shoulders, his stomach, his thighs, subtly moving him into place. And there had been something about having her eyes on him for hours at a time. It’d made him sort of dizzy, feeling the weight of her gaze land on him time after time, her eyes meeting his. He’d spent the day watching her in return - standing as still as he was able with her camera lens fixed on him - he’d had nothing else to do but watch her work. Watch the way her brows pinched when she lined up the shot, and the way her mouth pursed then flattened into a small smile after the shutter went off. The way her hair was shorter than it used to be, but still just as dark, still just as shiny. How she drew her fists up into the sleeves of her sweater and she gestured with her hands when explaining something to Jo. The way her smile grew wide and toothy when she met his eye, and it seemed like they were the only two on the beach.

He’d felt sort of heady and lightheaded by the end of the day, his nerves dissipating under Camila’s careful instructions. And yet, as she’d smiled and said goodbye for the day, his heart had been thundering in his chest.

But it didn’t mean anything. Not after all this time. It couldn’t.

Clenching his jaw, Eddie looked over his shoulder, back to the bed where Heather was still fast asleep, tangled up in the sheets.

Eddie took a shuddering breath and looked away. “Shit.”

Camila: She’s feeling restless. She shouldn’t. Everything is… good.

It’s good. Everything is good. It’s exactly what she’s always wanted. Julia has just started school; her backpack is dumped by the door and she sits at the kitchen table coloring. Billy is strumming his guitar out in the garden, his notebook open beside him. Camila has already prepped for her next photoshoot, and she’s got her feet pulled up on the couch, flipping through a magazine. Dinner’s in the oven, the laundry’s done, the bills are paid. Everything is as it should be.

When she used to wish and think and imagine what her life would be like - it’s this. Quiet and peaceful and fulfilled. During the darkest days of her life, this is what she held on to.

So why does it feel… wrong?

No, not wrong. More… she can’t quite explain it. She feels restless. Unsettled. Or maybe… It’s almost like she’s staring down at a stagnant pool, and there was an itch building inside of her to disturb the water.

Her eyes drift to the window. Billy is there, his head bent, hair falling over eyes. He’s been home for a few weeks now, and they’ve settled back into a routine. And yet…

And yet.

She doesn’t know what’s wrong. Maybe it’s her. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it's the changing weather making the air cold and her skin dry and her thoughts scattered. All she knows is that something has felt off for a while.

After dinner’s done, and the dishes are mostly washed, and Julia’s been put to bed, Camila pulls the folder of negatives from her bag and sits beside Billy on the couch.

He’s got his notebook perched on one knee, chewing on the end of his pen, working on a new song. When she sits down beside him, her knee pulled up and pushing into his thigh, he shoots her a quick smile.

“Were you gonna drop off Julia in the morning, or should I?” He asks it as a matter of routine, and she’s glad of it. She should be glad. She should be happy things have fallen into place so well. She should be happy with this life they’ve built.

Her smile tightens just a bit.

“I can,” she says. And when he nods and looks back to his lyrics, Camila pulls her folder tighter against her. The corner of it digs into her stomach.

All she can feel is the dead air between them. She’s being stupid - nitpicking apart her life, when there is nothing wrong. But it’s impossible to shake the little twist of discontent in her gut.

“Do you want to see the negatives I just got back?” She pulls on a smile and tries to keep her voice bright. Maybe if she just pretends everything is good, it will start to feel like it.

Billy turns his gaze back to her, drops his eyes to the leather bound file in her hands. She can see him thinking, can see the wheels turning in his head. Her husband isn’t stupid, she knows he’ll figure it out. But it’s still painful waiting for the gears to click.

“Which photoshoot is it?” he asks warily, even though she can tell he already knows.

Camila refuses to react. They’d talked about this - she refused to let this be weird. But it’s hard to keep her smile steady.

“Roundtree,” she says as naturally as she can. She doesn’t want there to be secrets between them. She wants to let him into her life. She wants to share this with him. She wants things to go back to normal. “They’re the ones I took of Eddie and his band down at the beach.”

But Billy is unable to hide his emotions. His brows furrow and his smile drops and she can feel every inch of his body go tense beside her.

“I’m tired,” he says tightly. Suddenly. He snaps his notebook closed with a resounding thud. She’s unable to stop herself from gaping as he stands. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Billy,” Camila gasps out as he begins to move towards the stairs. Then she’s standing too, the folder clasped to her chest, feeling halfway offended that he’d leave her there on the couch. “I thought you were okay with this.”

Billy pauses and runs his hand through his hair. He fixes her with a long suffering stare. When she was younger, that look would have brought her to her knees. All big eyes and pouting lips. The weight of the world on his shoulders. She would’ve done anything to make things easier for him.

She knows better now.

“We talked about this,” she continues, irritation creeping into her voice. “You said you didn’t mind if I worked with him.”

“I don’t,’ he insists. But there’s a hardness behind his eyes that says different.

“But?” she prods. The marriage council said they should talk honestly about their issues. Camila sometimes worries they can only be honest when they’re fighting.

“But,” Billy whispers harshly, trying not to wake Julia, “I’ll be glad when this whole thing is over. I’m not sure what you’re trying to accomplish, but I’d rather not look at the evidence if you don’t mind.”

“This thing is my career.”

“This is you and the man you had an affair with. I’m sorry if I don’t want to look at pictures of him.”

Camila feels like she’s been slapped. “You said you were okay with it,” she repeats, unable to keep the accusation from her voice.

“Yeah. Well.” Billy sighs. Maybe their honesty has run out.

“I’m meeting with Eddie and the studio next week. I need to know if you’re okay with this. I need you to be okay with this.”

“I’m trying,” he says through gritted teeth.

“That’s not good enough,” she sighs, dropping the file on the couch. She moves to stand beside him, but can’t quite bring herself to reach out. “I know neither of us were saints. But it was a long time ago. You need to let this go if we’re ever going to move forward. I can’t live with you holding this over my head for the rest of our lives. If I can move on, so can you.”

Billy runs a hand over his face, sighing. “Cami, please. Can we just talk about this in the morning?” He looks at her, and she can see the strain in his shoulders, the dark circles under his eyes. “You know how I feel about the situation.”

Camila bites the inside of her cheek, torn. She should let it go. It would be easier that way, wouldn’t it? To push it under the rug, pretend like everything was fine. If Billy didn’t want to talk about it, she could hold her tongue. But she doesn’t want to put on a happy face and pretend everything was alright. She doesn’t want to ignore their problems. It’s what they’d done before and it’d nearly broken them.

There’s a dull ache in her chest. She thinks of her plan - her plan to fix everything, to make everything go back to the way it was. It can’t happen if Billy refuses to acknowledge what’s going on. It wouldn’t happen if he refused to move past his hurt. She’d managed, why couldn’t he?

Camila frowns. “He isn’t just some guy, Billy,” she says, surprised by the emotion in her voice. The words are raw, and she reminds herself to keep her voice low. To not wake up Julia. But when she thinks about losing this small step towards fixing things, her throat feels tight and aching.

“This is Eddie,” she continues, searching Billy’s eyes for some small sign of softening. “Are you really willing to shut the door on everything you guys built together? Forever?” She hates the pressure building behind her eyes. “We used to be a family.”

Billy looks away. She wishes he wouldn’t. Even an argument would be better than the way he solemnly shakes his head and turns back towards the stairs. “I can’t do this right now, Cami. I’m exhausted.”

He hesitates on the landing, looking back at her with a wince, and she knows he’s still trying. Trying to be better. “We can talk about it tomorrow, okay?”

She was trying too, so she nods, her jaw clenched so she doesn’t cry. “Yeah, okay. Fine.”

Billy manages a small smile. “I love you, Cami,” he says softly.

“I love you too,” she says in return. She means it, but it doesn’t erase the longing for something more she feels in her chest.

---

She should’ve gone to bed. She should’ve finished her tea and taken a hot shower. She should’ve pressed a kiss to Julia’s sleeping head and apologized to Billy. She should’ve gone to sleep.

She doesn’t.

She paces out on the back patio and smokes a cigarette and wishes she had a glass of wine. She sinks her bare feet into the cold grass and sits on the ground and stares up at the stars. She wishes she had a joint. She wishes Karen was there. She considers calling her sister. She watches as the light in her bedroom goes off as Billy presumably falls asleep. She paces some more and bites her nails until her thumb bleeds. She finishes washing the dishes from dinner and packs Julia’s backpack for school. She turns the tv on. She turns the tv off. She picks up the file of negatives. She flips through the pages. She puts the folder back in her bag and rifles through her desk to find the contract she signed with Eddie. She pulls on her boots and shrugs on her jacket. She pulls the door shut quietly behind her and quickly locks it. She starts the car and drives towards the address she’d copied down from the contract.

She doesn’t know why she does it. She doesn’t know what she expects. It’s mostly a blur, driving through the darkened LA streets towards downtown. It wasn’t so late that the streets were empty. As she nears the city, the air around her begins to pulse with life, so different from the quiet suburb where they’d settled.

It takes two turns around the block before Camila finds the right address. Once she does, it takes even longer for her to leave her car. Her heart is thudding so painfully against her ribs that she nearly cries. But it’s almost a relief, realizing that she could still feel something. Remembering that she was still alive.

How will Eddie react when she knocks on his door? Will he be angry? Happy? Confused? As much as she wanted it, she knows they aren’t friends. Not anymore. Not yet anyways. But the unknown is almost… exciting. She wanted to feel something. Something real. She was tired of pretending. Tired of having to toe the line. Tired of trying so hard.

Everything with Billy was so measured. She appreciates that he’s trying so hard to be a good husband and father, but when he’s trying for perfection, how can she do anything but try with him.

Trying to convince Billy to trust her was exhausting. Trying to convince herself to be happy with what she has is exhausting. Trying to be perfect was exhausting. And even if things with Eddie were unsteady and awkward, even if it felt like they were still walking on eggshells around each other, at least he never expected perfection from her. At least she could breathe around him.

Camila checks the address again before she raps on the door. It was a modest townhouse building, with small concrete steps and a little fenced garden in front of each house. It was smaller than her house, smaller than the house they’d shared in Laurel Canyon. But there’s a neatly trimmed rose bush along the fence and the front door was a clean navy blue. By the time she knocks, she’s desperate to see what the inside looks like.

She wishes she had her camera when Eddie opens the door. He stares at her like he’s seen a ghost - his face going slack and eyes wide. She shifts awkwardly as he stares at her.

“Hi.”

There’s a long beat of silence before Eddie comes back to himself. He rubs at his eyes, and Camila notices the blue boxers and white undershirt he’s wearing. Her cheeks heat.

“What are you doing here?”

What indeed? It was ten o’clock at night and she’d driven across town to see him. She’d looked up his address. This was a mistake.

“I got the negatives from the shoot back today,” she says, suddenly glad of the weight in her bag. She fishes the file out and holds it like a peace offering. “I was in the area and thought you might want to see them.”

Eddie eyes the folder, a flicker of nerves and curiosity passing over his features. But he doesn’t reach for it. Instead his grip on the doorframe tightens; his knuckles turn white. “Oh.”

“I thought maybe we could look them over, but...” Camila’s gaze drops to the thin shirt stretched across his chest and her blush intensifies. “I didn’t realize it was so late; we can talk later.”

She pulls the folder back, grips it tightly to her stomach. This was a terrible idea. Nodding, more to herself than him, she steps backwards, down off the stoop and back onto the walkway. “Have a good night, Eddie.”

Her fingers fumble with the latch on the small garden gate, unable to balance the stupid file of negatives in her hand and the catch with the other.

“Camila. Wait.” Eddie’s bare feet slap on the concrete and his voice breaks on her name.

But he doesn’t go more than a few steps. Another sound has joined them. Another person.

Camila tenses as another set of footsteps comes up behind her, the door hinge creaking as it’s pulled further open.

“Eddie?”

Camila knows she has no choice but to turn back around. As she does, she catches Eddie’s grimace before he manages to fix his expression back in place. Standing behind him is a woman - young, blonde, pretty. She’s staring at them in confusion from the threshold.

Eddie recovers first. He turns back to the woman, and joins her side, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. Camila is left standing at the end of the walkway, looking stupid and alone and guilty.

“This is Camila,” Eddie says, “she did our photoshoot.” Camila notes the way his voice drops when he talks to this other woman, the anxious look in his eye, and the protective way he pulls her to his side. Camila’s stomach twists.

Feeling called out, Camila has no choice but to backtrack. “Hi,” she says, feeling sick to her stomach. Again, she holds the file out. This time the woman takes it. “I just wanted to drop off the negatives so Eddie could look them over,” she lies.

“Oh,” the woman says, as she hefts Camila’s folder under her arm. “Thank you.”

Camila doesn’t want to meet Eddie’s eye. She wants to go home. But she forces herself to look at him. His expression is nearly unreadable, but she knows him too well - he’s anxious. Nervous.

His eyes are darting, but they land solid on her when he finally says: “Camila, this is Heather, my fiance.”

The world is spinning, and Camila doesn’t know quite how to react like a normal person.

“Oh,” she says dumbly, and like an idiot she thrusts her hand out for Heather to shake. The other woman’s hand is soft and thin. “It’s nice to meet you.”

There’s a lot more she wants to say, like ‘since when’ and ‘from where’ and ‘how’ and ‘why’ and what’, but there’s nothing she can say that won’t make her sound completely insane. There’s a sharp barb of betrayal digging into her back, but she knows that too is a ridiculous reaction. She wasn’t betrayed - she was… inconsequential. Eddie didn’t owe her anything. Not after everything they’ve been through. Not after everything she’d put him through. Not after all their time apart.

And when Camila catches sight of the diamond on Heather’s finger, she knows it's time to go. It’s far from a graceful exit; she hikes her bag up her shoulder, and grips her car keys tightly. She shuffles halfway down the walkway before she manages to say goodbye. “I’ll see you at the meeting,” she calls out as she fumbles with her car door. She feels so fucking stupid when Heather waves goodbye and Eddie grimaces. She makes it to the freeway before she starts to cry.

Chapter Text

Life is a mystery
Everyone must stand alone

I hear you call my name
And it feels like home

Eddie: This was a bad idea. He knew it before the photoshoot, before they signed the contract, before they started hanging out. Knew it the second he saw her in the audience. He knew whatever this thing was between him and Camila, it was going to end badly.

He runs into her in the lobby of the production offices. Her heels echo on the shiny tile floor and there’s nowhere to hide amongst the spartan decor. The second she meets his eye, the air turns thick and muggy with tension.

“Hi,” he says bluntly. They were supposed to meet with the producers and marketing in fifteen minutes. There wasn’t time for him to be aloof.

“Hello.” Apparently she hadn’t gotten the memo. Camila looks at him, brushing past towards the elevator. Eddie follows, stepping into the small, enclosed space beside her.

He rocks back on his heels as the elevator begins to rise. There’s an icy chill coming off her in waves and it makes him want to pull his hair out. He can see her expression in the silver reflection of the elevator door: stone faced and detached, Camila doesn’t spare a glance in his direction.

“Are you seriously mad at me?” he blurts out as they pass the third floor.

“I’m not mad. What do I have to be mad about?” But he can see the way her brow arches in the elevator’s reflection. The way her lips flatten into a tight line.

Eddie shoves a hand roughly through his hair. It sticks up and he attempts to flatten it back down with a grimace. “Is this about the other night? About Heather?”

It’s been four days since Camila showed up on his doorstep in the middle of the night. He’d been watching a movie on the couch, Heather falling asleep at his side. It was one of the rare times when their nights off synced up, but she’d put in extra shifts at the hospital that week and was having trouble staying awake. When the doorbell rang, his first reaction had been annoyance - who was interrupting them at that hour?

When he saw Camila on the other side of the door… He can’t remember what he said to her, only that his thoughts had turned to a dull rushing between his ears and that he’d felt like a complete ass for not telling her about Heather sooner.

“I was just surprised.”

Her voice comes out flat, thin, and she has yet to look at him. Eddie lets out a huff of annoyance. “You are mad,” he says again, “I know what you look like when you’re mad.”

Finally, her head turns quickly in his direction, brows pinched together. “Can we not talk about this now,” she snaps, as the elevator pings, signaling their arrival at the fifth floor.

But Eddie isn’t going to walk into that room with her fuming at him. He wasn’t going to sit there, wondering what he’s done wrong.

He slaps the button to close the door, ignoring Camila’s yelp of protest. The doors slide shut and she glares at him. “We’re going to be late.”

“We have time,” he says, irritation slipping into his own voice. He mostly feels embarrassed about the whole situation, and the urge to lash out is clawing its way up his throat. “Why the hell are you mad at me? It’s not like I knew you were coming over.”

Camila crosses her arms, fully facing him now. All pretense is gone, despite her words. “I’m not mad,” she says stubbornly, “but you could’ve told me about Heather.”

Eddie scoffs. He doesn’t like being scolded. “What does it matter?” he bites back, deflecting. The elevator has started to move again, the gentle downward motion adding to the rolling in his stomach. “It’s not like you’ve told me everything about your life.”

Camila lets out a hollow laugh. “Please,” she sneers. “What haven’t I told you?” Camila wasn’t naturally sarcastic, and hearing her voice turn bitter and mocking puts Eddie’s nerves on edge.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Plenty, I’m sure.” Her defense is bullshit. He knows she’s kept things from him. He knows because he can count the number of times she’s mentioned Billy on one hand. And he’s been fine with that - he doesn’t want to talk about Billy anymore than she does, apparently. But he’s not gonna stand there and have her say this is all on him.

“Grow up,” she scoffs. “Is this still about what happened in Chicago? Fucking hell, if you wanna talk about Billy, we can talk about Billy.” There’s an angry flush working its way across her cheeks and up her neck. When the elevator stops, she's the one that slaps the button again. “I’ve been trying to be your friend Eddie. I’m been trying to get things back to normal, and I thought you were too.”

There’s a pounding in his veins that makes him want to scream. Hearing her say Billy’s name is like nails on a chalkboard, and he feels bone deep embarrassment at having that reaction after all these years. He can feel every nerve in his body go taunt and tense. “Oh, come on,” he snaps, irritation and humiliation flooding through him. “Don’t fucking do that. Don’t act like I’ve done something wrong. I haven’t seen you in three years. I’m sorry I didn’t give you my fucking diary.”

“I’m not asking for your deepest secrets,” she says, frustration clear in her flushed cheeks and downturned mouth. He half expects her to stomp her shiny, heeled boot on the floor. Her jaw clenches and she shakes her head. “You’re getting married, Eddie. That’s not nothing.”

It’s like she’d punched him in the gut. “I know,” he says. His voice comes out in a breathy wheeze and he has to look away. “I know that, okay?”

Some of the anger in Camila’s expression clears, replaced by hurt. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

Why hadn’t he? There’s no good reason, no good answer. He hadn’t purposefully kept it secret. He’d assumed he would have told her eventually. And yet, why hadn’t he?

“I just…” His throat tightens. He wants to hold onto his anger, but it seems to have evaporated in light of the truth he didn’t want to face.

“What?” Camila is looking up at him.

Eddie swallows thickly. He wishes the past three years showed more starkly on her face. Wishes she’d been changed completely during their time apart. He wishes he didn’t recognize her anymore. Instead, it’s the same brown eyes, dark lashes, softly curving lips he’s always known. Same knowing look in her eyes.

“I didn’t think you were going to be sticking around,” he finally manages to get out. “There was no point sharing if you were just gonna disappear again.” The words are mumbled and rushed, but he knows Camila heard them. Her eyes widen with understanding and pain.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. This time they step out, standing awkwardly in the brightly lit hall like- well, Eddie at least, feels vaguely like a chastised child coming out of time out. The meeting must be starting soon, but he can’t seem to make his feet move, can’t seem to look away from Camila.

She brings her hand up to her mouth, biting the side of her thumbnail before quickly dropping it back down. She’s anxious, tipping up onto her toes and pulling on her bag, but she hasn’t moved away.

“Look, I’m sorry,” she finally says. Eddie shakes his head, feeling his cheeks heat. He feels slightly mortified now that they're back out in the open. But Camila continues. “Really, I am sorry. I know we haven’t-- I know things aren’t how they used to be. And I’m sorry for just showing up the other night. I promise I’m not mad, I really was just surprised.”

Eddie bites the inside of his mouth. She’d apologized, and it should make him feel better. Maybe it does in a way, but mostly he feels sort of unsteady. He shrugs. “It’s fine. I should have told you about Heather. I was going to, but…”

Camila reaches out, catching hold of his sleeve. The contact sends a jolt up his arm, and he fights the urge to jerk away. “I’m happy for you, Eddie. I’m really happy for you.”

Eddie nods and tries to ignore the twisting in his gut as they head down the hall for the meeting.

Camila: It takes her an embarrassingly long time to catch up with the conversation. Her thoughts are still careening through her mind, trying to make sense of what had just happened with Eddie. She can’t look at him, her gaze instead fixed, unseeing, on the studio heads at the end of the table.

Were things with Eddie okay now? She thinks they are. She thinks they’d pushed through the uncomfortable tension between them. Pushed past the horrible awkwardness from the other night.

She still feels sick to her stomach when she remembers standing outside his house. The horrible embarrassment she’d felt staring up at Eddie and Heather from the dark. It doesn’t make sense - he was right, they weren’t friends, not in any way that counted.

The reminder felt like a lead weight on her chest. He was getting married and he hadn’t told her. There was a time when that would’ve been unthinkable. And yet, she finds - despite the hurt - she can’t really blame him.

She shouldn’t have expected him to let her back into his life as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn’t been the one to set fire to their relationship back in ‘77. She’d been naive to think things could just go back to the way they were. But some hopeful part of her had wanted to pretend that everything was okay. That they could ignore all the bad things that had happened in the past and just move forward. It wasn’t fair to expect that of him, and yet it stings to be reminded of the distance between them.

Camila dares a glance in Eddie’s direction and is startled to see him staring back at her, his skin gone pale and his eyes saucer wide. He responds with a sharp, almost imperceptible, shake of his head. Confused, Camila stares back, her eyes narrowing, but then someone is calling her name.

“Ms. Alvarez? If you need more time to make a decision, we can circle back to it at a later date.”

Her heart is pounding, her cheeks flooding with embarrassment. Mr. Kryler and the rest of the studio heads were staring at her. Waiting for her to answer. What had he said?

“I’m sorry,” she says, mortified, “Can you repeat that?”

This wasn’t like her - she didn’t zone out in meetings. She wasn’t distracted or late. She was professional - she’d staked her reputation on it. This mess of emotions she’d been dealing with was putting that at risk.

Mr. Kryler gives her a stern look, but repeats himself. “We would like you to film a music video for the band. But if you think it’s outside of your scope of expertise, we understand. If you have any contacts that you’d like to refer to, let us know.”

“Oh.”

“If you would like to do it, the sooner we can finalize the contract, the better.”

“Yes.”

She answers automatically, and is immediately sure it’s a mistake. Billy’s irritated expression flashes behind her eyes, followed by the memory of Eddie’s anger from moments before. Agreeing to continue working with Roundtree was like poking a bruise. Worse than - it was pure masochism. Neither of them would be happy with her rushed decision, especially without having talked to them first. But part of her knew that if she turned this opportunity down, there was a very real chance Eddie would walk out of her life forever. Even if they parted on good terms, their old wounds partially healed, there would be nothing holding them together. That tentative string she’d been attempting to loop around them, trying to draw them all back together, would be severed. Whatever faint echo of a relationship they had forged in the past couple weeks would wither and fade. Camila couldn’t let that happen.

Eddie: He follows her to her car. Or, more accurately, storms ahead of her in the direction of her car, desperate for some fucking air. He has his head buried in his arms against the driver side window when she finally catches up.

“Jesus,” she wheezes, out of breath, “what's the rush?”

Eddie rears back like he’s been hit, gaping at her. There’s irritation simmering just below his skin, but mostly he feels absolutely confounded. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Camila lets out a hollow laugh, her nose scrunching in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Did she not understand what a bad idea this was? Especially after their conversation that morning. Especially after her awkward introduction to Heather the other night. Why on earth did she think filming a music video for his band was a good idea? And she had agreed without talking to him about it! Didn’t she realize they were standing on the edge of a cliff - that one wrong move would send them all tumbling down?

Eddie flops back against her car. The door handle digs into his hip and he’s sure dirt is getting smeared across his back. “The music video,” he groans, running an exhausted hand across his face. “Why did you agree to do it?”

“Because!” she exclaims, earnest defensiveness coloring her cheeks. But she seems to flounder for an answer, her jaw clenching tight before she finally continues. “Because they liked my work. And because they asked me to! It’s a good opportunity.”

He groans. It wasn’t like he wanted her to lose work! But for fucks sake, didn’t she realize this was more trouble than it was worth? He thinks about what he’s heard from some of his friends in the industry, from other musicians that have had the MTV era shoved down their throats. It was long hours, playing the same song over and over, trying to get the scene just right. Repeating lyrics till your voice was hoarse and you never wanted to hear the damn thing again. Idiotic sets and ridiculous costumes and bending to the will of the videographer - hoping they make you look good. Accepting that it was a crapshoot if the record label liked it enough to bother putting it on air. Hoping you’re photogenic enough that the yuppies watching it on TV stick around long enough to actually listen to the music. Worse than any photoshoot, it was tension and pressure that he could easily imagine taking this uneasy, sidestepping relationship they had to a boiling point. He couldn’t let that happen.

“Have you ever done a music video before?” he asks flatly.

Camila huffs, growing irritated. “Well, no, but-”

“Cam.” Eddie groans, tipping his head back to the sky. But, but, but. Didn’t she realize this was a bad idea? Why was she so determined?

She puts her hand on his arm and the same electric current he’d felt earlier outside the elevator courses through him. That feeling more than anything was a reason not to do this. To put a stop to all this immediately. He knows he’s in danger, he knows this is wrong, but he can’t pull away. Not when she’s staring up at him with steely determination. “I can do this okay. I can figure it out.”

Eddie’s stomach is in knots. He doesn’t doubt her, he never has. When Camila puts her mind to something, she usually gets it done. That’s not what he’s worried about though.

“It’s not about that, okay? I’m sure you’d be fine, but-” he sighs, weighing his options, trying to sort through his tangled emotions in real time. Trying to figure out how much of himself to give away. “God, Cam,” he says, groaning again, wishing she would just give it up, “this isn’t like a photoshoot. It’s not just a couple hours.”

Her hand drops to her hip, her expression turning offended. “What? You think I’m not gonna show up? Because of Julia? Or Billy?”

“What?” Eddie frowns, startled and confused by the insinuation. There were times when it felt like she could read his mind. And others, like now, when it felt like they were speaking a different language. “No. It’s not about that.”

Eddie slouches further against the car, wishing he could fold into himself and disappear completely. “We can’t do this,” he says sullenly, the words pulled out of him. He winces, then adds: “I can’t do this.”

“What are you talking about?” She looks exacerbated, and Eddie would rather eat dirt than continue talking about this. But he knows this is the only way forward. If she won't give it up, then they have to push through.

“I can’t work with you, Cam. Not on this. Not unless we talk about what happened.” His heart is clenching, and he feels like a teenager again. But the past three years have made him stronger, braver, and he won't let them continue down this path without saying what he means.

“What?” She doesn’t understand though. Her brow scrunches, confused.

Eddie digs his heel into a crack in the asphalt. He can’t meet her eyes. “With us,” he sighs, and suddenly he’s exhausted too. “Back then. I want to talk about it.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about the past.” Her voice has gone hollow, but he still can’t look at her.

He swallows thickly. Want is a strong word. He doesn’t want to talk about what happened with them, with Billy, with The Six. But the weight of all the unsaid thoughts and memories between them was crushing him. He doesn’t want to talk about it, but he thinks they need to if she keeps insisting they spend time together.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, more nervous than he’s been in years, “now I do. I can’t do this with you if all that old shit is just hanging over us.”

Her feet scrape over the gravel as she shifts her weight foot to foot. When he looks up at her, she’s biting at her thumb nail. “We don’t have to.” The words tumble out in an anxious rush. Eddie feels like they’re negotiating their way out of some horrid punishment rather than agreeing to an honest conversation.

Camila crosses her arms across her stomach, holding them tight and folding in on herself. Her hip knocks against the side of the car and she leans heavily against it, as if too tired to keep standing. Somehow she manages an empty smile, attempting to shake off his request. “We’ve been having fun right? Can’t we just forget about what happened back then? We’ve both moved on.”

“I don’t want-” Eddie takes a steadying breath, turning to lean on his side, to look at her head on. He tries to swallow his nerves. He didn’t want to argue, but he remembers how it felt back in 1977 when their friendship was suddenly swallowed by silence. He’d loved her, yes, but he could’ve handled her rejection.

It was the avoidance and the unsaid words slowly poisoning their friendship that had really killed him. He can’t do that again. He can’t move forward with all that still simmering in the shadows.

“I can’t just forget Camila. I don’t want to fight. I just- I just want to talk about it. I can’t keep doing this, with you, unless we clear the air. I can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen.“

She freezes, going still and quiet, and he wonders if she might walk away. That would be okay too. It might be better, if they ended things right then in that sun drenched parking lot. You’re right, she would say, you should find someone else to do the video. They’d give each other solemn nods and part ways, glad to have smoothed over the bitterness of the past without carving any new wounds. She would go back to her life and he would go back to his. He ignores the ache that the thought brings.

But she doesn’t do that. She doesn’t brush him off or pull away. Camila nods - her expression nervous but determined. “Okay,” she says finally, “let’s go get some lunch. And then we can talk.”

Camila: They go to a diner down the road. It’s after the lunch rush and the restaurant is, mercifully, almost empty. It reminds her of that night, weeks back now, when she’d first stumbled across his band. When she’d nearly begged him to talk to her and they’d sat stiffly across from each other drinking terrible coffee.

Thankfully, this isn’t quite as awkward as that night. Well, not yet at least. They both order sandwiches from the teenaged waitress, and studiously eat them in near silence. Every unsaid word from the past three years seems to be hanging over their heads like a guillotine, ready to drop at a moment's notice. She knows he’s right - they should talk. Clearly, their lack of communication had already become an issue (she thinks of Heather and her cheeks burn). But there was a difference between knowing they should do something and actually doing it. Between saying they would talk and finally starting.

Eddie looks painfully uncomfortable. He’d eaten much of his food in a near frenzied rush before he seemed to realize that, once finished, he’d have nothing to do with his hands. He spent the next five minutes sullenly rearranging the remaining fries on his plate, refusing to look at her.

Camila sets down the remainder of her sandwich, clearing her throat. She can’t eat any more - the anticipation is killing her.

“I guess we should… talk.”

Eddie’s eyes jump up to hers, wincing. “Yep,” he says glumly, “I guess so.” Despite this being his idea, he looked ready to sink into his seat.

The sugar packets are out of order, and Camila focuses on rearranging them. Anything other than meeting Eddie’s eye. Maybe he would give this whole thing up - he sounded as unenthusiastic as she felt. Maybe they really could just put the past behind them and move on. She could only hope. Camila clears her throat again. “We really don’t have to do this if--”

“Why did you stay with Billy?”

Eddie interrupts her, his question coming out in a breathless rush. It knocks the wind out of her and Camila can only stare in return. Had he really asked her that?

He does a miserable sort of shrug, his shoulders raising unevenly with a shake of his head. His bleach blonde hair falls in his eyes and he looks up at her through the strands, wincing like he hadn’t meant to say anything at all. “Sorry,” he blurts out. “I’m not trying to- I just… I never understood…” His expression twists into a scowl, glaring down at his hands on the table. “After how he treated you…”

Camila swallows thickly. She should’ve expected this. When he said he wanted to talk - she should have expected that he’d want to talk about Billy. About what happened in Chicago. And before that.

A distant memory sharpens into focus behind her eyes. Everything’s just back to normal with you guys? he’d asked her once, years before. Back when she was still learning to be a parent and a spouse. She’d thought herself so very mature back then - more so than Eddie who was neither. She’s shocked to realize, now so far after the fact, that he had been asking her the same question as he is now. Why had she stayed after what Billy did to her?

Back then she’d given him some pretentious answer about being in love. Oh, she had loved Billy so very much in those few hazy months after they reunited, post-rehab. She’d felt like a holy martyr, standing by her hurting husband. She’d thought that love was supposed to hurt - that it was supposed to cost life and limb and rib and sanity. That it was worth fighting a bloody battle over. And it’d felt like proof that Billy loved her - he’d come back, he was trying, things were better. And then it was Christmas and her friends, her family, were finally back together. Happy and forgiven. Brought together by her. By her love. It’d felt like the dawn of a new era, without any of the swells that had nearly capsized them before.

Eddie had asked her again, that day in Chicago. There in that grimy stairwell, he’d asked how she could bear to stay with Billy after how he’d treated her. Her answer had been all anger and poison, her throat going hoarse from yelling and tears, and unable to see the truth of what he was asking. All she could see back then was her own fracturing life, and Eddie prying the cracks open even wider. She’d hated him for it - hated that he saw her so clearly when she was so utterly confused. She hadn’t let herself hear what he was saying, what he was asking. She’d responded with vitriol and biting words and thrown her own self loathing back at him. She’d blamed him for the misery in her own life. Anything to keep herself from falling apart at the seams.

That day seems like a lifetime ago, but her cheeks still burn when she remembers how she’d yelled at him. The horrible things she’d said to him are burned into the back of her skull, and they add to the bitter taste in her mouth whenever she thinks about that day.

She’s older now. Wiser. She sees Billy for all he is. Sees their marriage for the patchwork of emotions that come with it. She knows he’d been selfish and she’d been willfully ignorant. And yet, she’d stayed. She’d stayed after that first awful tour, and she’d stayed after Chicago. Twice she’d made the choice to stay with her husband and Eddie wanted to know why.

“It’s complicated,” she says stiffly. Her hands twist together on the table in front of her, squeezing tight until it hurts. “I… I almost did leave. That night in Chicago. I had my bags packed. But…”

He looks up at her sharply. There’s a hint of anger in his eyes, a red flush working its way up his neck. But his words are steely and slow. He stares at her like he understands. Or is it judgement?

“But he chose you. He left the concert and went back for you.”

Memories of that night are coming fast and painful. She remembers the rising panic in her chest as she argued with Billy. The embarrassment of being interrupted by Daisy. The frantic way she had repacked her suitcase, throwing her clothes in without care. The weight of Julia in her arms as she crossed the lobby, only to be intercepted by Billy’s tear filled apology. “Yeah.”

“But…” Eddie’s brows have pinched and he’s staring hard at the table between them. He sounds so confused. “He didn’t treat you right,” he continues, shaking his head. The way he says it - so straightforward - makes her stomach clench. “All that shit with Daisy. And the drugs. You know that right?”

He’s looking up at her with those big brown eyes she's known all her life. Earnest in a way she hasn’t seen from him in years. He’d been there, he knows them - he knows what it was like out on the road, with Daisy, with the band - but there’s something almost innocent in the way he asks it. Like he was genuinely confused, genuinely concerned, about her choice.

Camila feels itchy and restless. She’s had years to settle back into her life with Billy, years come to terms with… everything. And she doesn’t regret it, not for a second. She had a beautiful life with Billy and Julia. But sometimes, if she thinks about that night in Chicago for too long… it surprises her sometimes.

She’s surprised she was brave enough to make the choices she did. Surprised she was steadfast enough to put her foot down and ask for what she wanted. Surprised Billy was strong enough to leave everything behind.

She knows things worked out because they chose each other - she chose Billy, Billy chose her, and they both chose to prioritize a life together, with Julia. But sometimes, if she thinks about it too hard, it feels more like luck. Like if even one variable had been off - if they hadn’t seen Daisy in the hallway, if Billy hadn’t started drinking, if she decided not to go to the concert, if she’d started packing her bags a few minutes earlier, or Billy had left the concert a few minutes later - what would have happened? Would they have made the same choices? Would they have landed in the same place? The thought makes her dizzy and sort of queasy. She didn’t like to think about it. She prefers the simpler explanation: they chose each other and it worked out because it was meant to.

“It’s hard to explain,” she starts, slowly. Camila licks her lips, nervous. She’s talked about her marriage before, sitting on the stiff leather couch in front of their marriage counselor. But this is different. So very different. The counselor - he’d nodded and listened and told her it was okay to be angry. But he had never questioned why she’d stayed. He’d taken it as a matter of fact that she should want to be with her husband. He’d say that what happened back then was just a rough patch - that she should try harder to be more forgiving of her husband. She knows staying was the right choice, but she’s never had to explain it to someone who might push back.

“What we built together - it was worth holding on to. It was worth trying again. He promised he was going to change and I believed him.” She looks down at her hands. Her explanation seems frighteningly simple, even to her own ears, but it was the truth. She doesn’t know how to explain it any better.

Eddie sort of grunts across from her. He’s got a strange expression on his face, a mix between frustration and confusion. He shoves the last of his fries in his mouth - literally chewing over her words. “And has he?” he finally asks, eyes narrowed as he waits for her answer. “Changed?”

Camila’s blushing. He didn’t sound angry anymore, just sort of… protective? It was silly to imagine - they were grown, she didn’t need anyone to protect her - but she doesn’t know how else to categorize the way his eyes tracked her, tense and waiting for her answer. “Yeah, he…” she lets out a hollow laugh, more nerves than anything. “We’ve changed. Things are better.”

“Right.” He doesn’t believe her.

Camila shifts in her seat and takes a long sip of water. She doesn’t know how to explain that things aren’t perfect between her and Billy, but they don’t need to be. She had what she wanted and it was enough. Expecting perfection was like living in a fairy tale - she was too old for that kind of thinking. Eddie was getting married soon, then he’d understand.

That thought isn’t as comforting as she’d like and she decides not to voice it, swallowing down the unease it conjures.

“Was there… anything else?”

Eddie sighs, his anger finally dropping completely. He mostly looks tired, a bit sheepish. “Probably,” he shrugs. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes, taps the edge of it on the table, but doesn’t pull one out. There are dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn’t been sleeping well. “I guess that was the big one.”

Camila taps her nails on her glass, thinking. She knows he must have other questions - she definitely did. They’d been talking for weeks and barely scratched the surface of their current lives, let alone all the unsaid things from their past.

She should let it go, but now that they’ve started, the prospect of laying all their cards out on the table isn’t so daunting. In fact, now that she’s been painfully honest with him, she wants some answers in return.

She swallows thickly, wets her lips. “We could… take turns?” she says hesitantly. “Asking questions?” His face scrunches up, and Camila sighs. “Come on,” she insists. “You had your turn.”

Eddie runs a tired hand over his face and into his hair. It sticks up, dry from all the bleach. His jaw clenches, and she knows he’s considering it. He must have more questions - it was only a matter of how much he was willing to give in return.

Finally he groans, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. “Fine. I guess it's only fair.” This time he does pull out a cigarette, lighting and taking a long drag before he waves an anxious hand at her. “Alright, go ahead.”

Camila lets out a nervous, hiccup of a laugh - this is good. She’s glad this is happening. She wants them to be able to talk about things. Like when they were younger. It’s not exactly pleasant, doing it like this, all serious and inquiring, but she has questions she wants answers to.

“When did you and Heather meet?”

Eddie lets out his own huff of air, not quite meeting her eye, but not avoiding the question. “Um… November. No - October. Last October at a party in the Valley.”

Camila can picture it. She thinks back to the parties they used to go to before Daisy joined the band, back when Billy was still drinking and before they were too famous to go out in public. Loud, reckless parties that she knew Eddie and Warren had continued going to - without her - after Billy got sober.

She remembers the way girls had thrown themselves at Eddie after fame hit. The sight of girls clinging to him, kissing him, had filled her with amusement, and if she’s being brutally honest with herself, jealousy. Mostly, she’d been too wrapped up in her own problems to think about it too much. It’s how she pictures Eddie and Heather meeting - raucous house party, the floor tacky with spilled beer, and Heather coming onto him, like so many girls before her.

It’s a startlingly unfair assessment, based on nothing but her own embarrassed judgement and imagination. Eddie hadn’t mentioned a single party since they started hanging out. He drank beers at the bar, the occasional whiskey, but she hasn’t seen him drunk or hungover. And the one time she’d seen Heather, the two of them were home, ready for bed. She had no reason to paint their relationship through this immature lens, and she hates herself for doing it.

It doesn’t stop her from raising a judgmental brow.

“October?” she asks, skeptical. “And you’re already engaged?”

Eddie rolls his eyes like she’s being ridiculous. She is being ridiculous, but it didn't stop her from staring him down.

“That’s a different question,” he deadpans, not giving into her interrogation.

Camila hums, annoyed, leaning back in her seat. She’s suddenly unsure if this was a good idea. “Alright, fine,” she says, waving him on. Pin pricks of anxiety scatter across her skin, in anticipation of what he’s going to ask. “You go.”

Eddie leans forward, arms braced across the table. “How does Billy really feel about you hanging out with me?”

She thinks about lying. Saying Billy was fine with it, even happy about it. That Billy had moved on completely, just like she had. She wonders if that lie would further her cause - soften Eddie’s feelings towards Billy.

“He hates it.” There’s no use lying. Eddie would surely see through it. He knew her well enough, knew Billy well enough, to know it wasn’t the truth. She’d already insinuated Billy’s disapproval over the past few weeks. Camila’s mouth goes dry though, when she says what she hasn’t been able to admit, even to herself. “He told me I should stop. He thinks I’m just trying to prove something.”

His gaze sharpens. Not angry, but poised, tense, waiting to see her reaction. “Are you?”

Camila shakes off his probing stare, forcing a tight smile. “It’s my turn,” she says quickly, unwilling to dwell on his question. “Why did you get engaged so fast?”

Eddie lets out a sigh, groaning: “Come’on, it’s not that fast. It’s been… what? It’s been almost a year.”

“In other words, less than a year.”

“We’re not rushing into it, if that’s what you're asking. We just like each other, okay?” He flicks ash into the tray beside the ketchup. An irritated, defensive whine has crept its way into his voice. “We wanna get married. Your wedding wasn’t exactly planned.”

Camila feels her own irritation flare up, “Fine.”

“Fine.”

She slouches, fighting back a glare. “It’s your turn.”

The drag Eddie takes on his cigarette is long and drawn out. He watches her warily from the corner of his eye as he does it. When he breathes out a puff of smoke, he looks exhausted. “God this is miserable,” he finally says, snubbing out the butt in the ashtray. “I don’t know… Fuck…” He flounders for a moment then shrugs. “How’s Julia?”

Camila raises an eyebrow, feeling a measure of disbelief. “That’s really what you want to know?”

“Fuck it. I don’t know.” He waves down the waitress for some more coffee, before turning back to her. “Yes,” his voice is firm. “How is she?”

“She’s… good. She’s really good.” It’s easy to talk about Julia. She could talk about her for days. “She’s smart and funny. And she’s playing soccer now, and she likes taking pictures. We got her a polaroid for Christmas. She’s obsessed.” Camila laughs, her smile genuine and easy as she thinks about her daughter. “She’s great.”

“I’m glad.”

When she looks up at Eddie, she’s surprised to see sadness laced through his small smile. Well, maybe not surprised - she’s surprised by how sad it makes her. She thinks about Eddie holding Jules for the first time, how good he’d always been with her. Back when she thought he’d be a part of their lives forever. But it’s been three years and he’s missed so much already. They were meant to be a family, but everything got so messed up, so fast. The thought makes her heart hurt.

“Are you in contact with anyone else from the band?” Camila bites her lip, not sure what she wants the answer to be.

Eddie’s smile wavers before shrugging once more. “Nah. Not really. I’ll see Warren and Lisa around sometimes, but they’re pretty lowkey these days. Haven’t talked to Karen in a while.” He pauses, hesitates as he looks at her. His tone is careful as he continues. “I ran into Daisy a couple years ago.”

Camila clenches her jaw, her whole body going tense as she waits for the flood of emotions she expects. But they don’t come. Instead, she finds she’s mostly curious and even a bit concerned. “Really? How was she?”

Eddie’s nose scrunches. “She was in pretty rough shape back then, but I hear she’s doing better.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Are you?” He squints at her, like she might be lying.

“Yes,” Camila insists, trying not to feel offended. Whatever had happened between her and Daisy, Daisy and Billy, she’s always wanted the best for the other woman. “Of course I am.”

Eddie nods and then… hesitates. His shoulders tense up like he’s bracing for a blow, and Camila feels her own stomach drop in anticipation. He swallows thickly; she can see the way his throat bobs up and down and his jaw clenches.

When he speaks, his voice is low and strained. “Did you know they were together? Back then?”

Camila freezes. She’s asked herself that same question a thousand times. What had she known, what had she merely suspected. All those small moments between Billy and Daisy - had they been as innocent as she’d let herself believe? How much had been a lie she told herself to protect her own heart? What might have happened if she hadn’t been so willfully ignorant?

“I…” Camila hesitates, her cheeks beginning to burn, “had my suspicions.” Every insecurity she’d ever felt begins to rush through her veins, clawing at her heart. “I didn’t want to believe it.”

Eddie grimaces, then nods. The air has turned cold and somber, and Camila bites the inside of her mouth. In the silence between them, some of the emotions she thought she’d squashed years ago begin to creep back in. She’s not angry, per se, but when she thinks back to that time, she can’t help but feel sort of… stupid.

Camila sucks in a steadying breath, trying to calm the blood pounding in her ears. Quietly she voices the one concern that’s persisted, even after all these years.

“Did… you?” Tears prick behind her eyes, painful and embarrassing. Even after the hours of therapy and all the work she’s done to let Billy back in her life - this is the part she’s never been able to find closure on. The part that makes her stomach swoop and her head dizzy, and makes her want to cry if she thinks about it for too long. “Did everyone know and just… not tell me?”

His frown deepens. When she meets his gaze, his eyes are haunted. Camila feels her fingers go numb and tells herself that whatever he’s about to say doesn’t matter. It was water under the bridge, and she was only asking so they could put it behind them, once and for all. But she can’t help herself from searching his eyes, his expression, the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“No.” His answer is resolute, but then he hesitates, wincing and dropping his shoulders miserably. “I mean…” Eddie stares at her, expression pleading and anguished. Again, he slouches his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. The sigh he lets out shifts his entire body. “We definitely saw them getting along. And we knew they worked well together. But… fuck, I don’t know, maybe we just didn’t want to see it. The band was doing so good - maybe we just didn’t want anything to ruin it.”

Camila lets out a humorless scoff. “Ironic,” she deadpans, and Eddie has manners enough to look ashamed.

He leans forward, stretching his arm across the table. For a moment she thinks he’s going to grab her hand; they both freeze and he stops halfway, rapping his knuckles on the tabletop instead. Eddie lets out a frustrated sigh, his stomach digging into the table as he bends over it. Pink has colored his cheeks. “Fuck, I’m sorry, okay?” He braces his elbows on the table, restless and shifting, rubbing his hands over his tired expression. “Trust me, if I’d had any proof I would’ve told you.”

She thinks about that - about what she would’ve done if Eddie had come to her with evidence of an affair. Another memory rises to the surface: she’d asked him once, if he thought Billy and Daisy were sleeping together. He’d told her no and she’d believed him. Had they both been delusional, ignoring what was right under their noses? Neither of them had wanted to face the truth, hadn’t wanted to ruin things.

Would she have even listened if Eddie had told her something was going on? Would she have thanked him for breaking up her marriage? Would it have changed anything at all? And does it even matter anymore? So much water under the bridge - does it really matter who knew what, when?

But she thinks it does matter. At least a little. She considers his words, the anxious way he watches her, and she wants to believe him. She does believe him. He would’ve told her if he knew anything - he would’ve been on her side. For as lonely as she’d sometimes felt during those years, Eddie would’ve been there for her if he knew something was going on.

Camila sighs, and tries to let go of the lingering pain that had settled behind her sternum. “Okay.”

They sit in silence for a long moment. Camila watches the waitress wipe down the table across the room, the practiced movements as she rearranges the salt and pepper.

Eddie is the one to cut through the quiet.

“Why are you really doing this Cam?” There’s no judgement in his voice. The game is over - there’s no more turns, just exhausted honesty. He looks tired. She feels tired. “Are you trying to prove something?”

Camila searches for the words. She doesn't want to lie, but it’s hard to explain the tangled emotions and justifications she’s wrapped herself in. “No,” she says. And then, “I don’t know. Not like that, not how Billy thinks.”

“What does Billy think?”

She thinks about Billy’s silence, his eyes burning into her back as she left the house that morning. Nothing has changed between them, not really. They don’t fight, but then again, they never do - not how they used to. Still, she feels his disapproval in other ways: how he’s sunk himself into his latest project, cords strummed out across the patio late into the night; how he pointedly doesn’t ask about her work anymore; how he casts hurt glances at her desk, as if the folder of negatives had somehow caused him pain. He hasn’t asked her to stop seeing Eddie, hasn’t mentioned his name at all. Instead he asks her why. Why him, why now? Why was she doing this? He doesn’t believe her explanations, shaking his head as if this were all some sort of scheme to hurt him.

Camila frowns. “He thinks I'm doing this to punish him somehow. Or… I don’t know. Not that I'm trying to punish him, but that he’s being punished.” She thinks about the world weary sigh he’d given when she told him about the photoshoot, and the meeting that would follow. She’s already dreading telling him about the music video. It wouldn’t be so bad if he would just tell her what was wrong, if he would yell or cry or argue, instead of the stilted wounded glances she’d been receiving. Instead of sinking himself into his music.

She bites down hard on her lip, feeling like she’s betraying her husband’s trust by telling Eddie this, but unable to stop.

“He doesn’t get why I’m doing this with you of all people - and the only reason he can think of is that I’m trying to get even or remind him of what he’s done. He thinks I’m digging at old wounds just to spite him. Like I’m trying to prove that if we can just be friends after… what we did - then he was somehow weaker for not being able to just be friends with Daisy. Like I’m trying to throw his mistakes back at him. Like I’m trying to hurt him. ”

It’s not the most cohesive explanation, but it’s the best she can do. Eddie squints at her, taking it in.

“But you’re not doing that,” he finally says, his voice all drawn out and questioning.

“No!” Camila huffs, crossing her arms, surprised by the strength of her own reaction. “It’s not all about him.”

Eddie’s eyes narrow, then he looks away with a raised brow and a shake of his head. He didn’t believe her, but he wasn’t going to push. Camila scowls; she wants him to understand.

“Maybe I am trying to prove something,” she says, feeling her skin heat. She’s worried she sounds desperate. That isn’t who she is - she doesn’t beg for things.

But she’s tired of not getting what she wants. She’s tired of pushing through, trying to be happy with almost. Things were almost back to normal with Billy. She’s almost forgiven him for the hell he put her through. Seeing Julia happy and thriving was almost enough to make it all worth it. She’s almost able to forget the friends they’d once had and the life she thought they’d live.

Almost. But not quite.

“I want us to be friends Eddie, even though I fucked it up. Maybe I’m trying to prove that we still can be, that we don’t have to be tied down by what we did back then.” She gives a sharp shake of her head. “But it’s not about him. It’s not about proving anyone wrong.” Camila swallows thickly. “Does that make sense?”

Eddie is watching her - his expression, unreadable. “Yeah, it does.” He drinks his coffee, and when he looks back at her, his gaze is steady. “He should know you better than that.”

Camila blinks. “What?”

He clears his throat, shifting on his seat. His eyes dart away as he explains. “He should know that you wouldn’t purposefully try to hurt anyone you love.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, there’s a pressure behind her eyes, and an embarrassed, but pleased smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Thanks.”

Eddie nods, and doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t ask her to explain her reasoning, or ask her any more questions. The quiet is different this time - contemplative. Eddie is staring out the window, and Camila finds herself admiring the slope of his jaw. He seems so changed by their three years apart. There are small creases around his eyes that she’s sure weren’t there before.

But it’s more than his narrowed cheeks or his bleach damaged hair - he’s quieter, more solid than he used to be. He still had his moment’s of stubbornness - when he dug his heels in and fought back tooth and nail - that seemed to toe the line of being an asshole. But she thinks about how he was back when they were younger: quick to laugh, quick to anger. Everything a joke until it wasn’t. Loyal, but selfish; irreverent, but dedicated. All the rough edges seemed to have been buffed out, settling into someone steady and confident. It’s a strange realization, and it twists at her heart in a way she can’t quite explain.

Or maybe… Maybe he hasn’t changed all that much. Maybe he was still holding himself at arm’s length, keeping the real him just out of reach. She doesn’t like that thought any better. Even if they’d been keeping parts of their lives private, she doesn’t like the thought that he’s been pretending around her.

She thinks about how long she’s known him. By the time they’d finished elementary school, she’d known him longer than not. It was a strange thing - knowing someone through every stage of life. He’s one of only a handful that can claim the same.

Their relationship had never been static growing up - in and out, pulling away and drawn back together, as they changed schools, changed friend groups, changed interests. But always, always, he’d been there - Eddie: her neighbor, her classmate, her friend.

The entirety of their lives so far stretches out in her mind, yawning and unfurling, and for the first time, she’s really seeing the entirety of it. The good. The bad. And there’s one spot on their timeline that makes her shiver. Both so dark and so bright at once, like a blackhole about to devour the sun - everything up till that point orbiting ever closer until it finally exploded.

The need to dig into that moment, to speak it back into existence, is so powerful that she knows she has no choice but to ask. She’s so curious, but the question comes out hesitantly. It would be better for everyone if she could swallow her words, but she needs to know.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Jesus,” Eddie swears sort of glumly, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. He squints and scrunches up his nose, but he doesn’t look irritated, just sort of… apprehensive. “Yeah.” The words are flat with a weary sigh, as if they’ve been going at this for hours. “Go ahead.”

Camila swallows thickly, and Eddie tenses, as if he knew what she was going to ask.

“That night…” She can’t say it, can’t bring herself to say the words out loud. The night we had sex. Her throat is dry with instant regret. She clears her throat, feeling her cheeks burning. “You said-- Since you were sixteen?”

It’s not really a question, but Eddie seems to understand. Seems to remember what she’s referring to. How in the midst of kissing her, cheeks flushing and eyes painfully earnest, he’d admitted to wanting to kiss her since they were sixteen years old. Eddie straightens in his seat, eyes dropping to the table. He clears his throat. “Right.”

“Is that true?”

“I mean…” He does a funny sort of scoffing, shrugging, eye roll, pulling his shoulders back till he’s pressed into the seat before slouching forward. “Fuck, Cam, I don’t know. I was sixteen, I was stupid. Obviously what I felt then... it wasn’t...” He shrugs again, eyes all big and pitiful like he’s apologizing for something. “We were just kids.”

Camila feels a dead weight settle in her stomach. Kids, right. They had been so young then, so naive. The Camila from back then had no idea what life had in store for her. She looks at the teenaged waitress behind the counter; she’s leaning forward to talk to the cook through the window, her school books stacked on the counter beside her. Had Camila ever been that young?

Except… Except.

Except she hadn’t been much older when she met Billy, when she got married and had Jules. They hadn’t been much older when they decided to move across the country, upending their entire lives. She’d been old enough to make those decisions. Old enough to decide what she wanted for her life.

Sixteen was half a lifetime ago, and yet she doesn’t think they’d been kids. It feels unfair to discount their feelings from that time, just because they’d been so young. Going down that route leads somewhere she knows she’s not prepared to go. If sixteen was too young to really understand their emotions, what about the feelings she’d had when she was seventeen? Eighteen? Her entire life had been shaped by decisions made in those years - she doesn’t like thinking she hadn’t been mature enough to be making them.

Camila shakes her head, shoving the thought aside, and pushing Eddie in a different direction.

“We weren’t sixteen when we got together.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” His voice is strained - pained. Eddie meets her gaze, no longer wincing or rolling his eyes or pulling away. He’s unflinching in that way he sometimes got - brutally serious at the flick of a switch. His jaw is tense, gaze steady, and it makes him look unbearably honest. “Yes, I liked you,” he says, and it takes everything for Camila not to gasp. His words aren’t a surprise, not really, but hearing them out loud and so plainly still somehow shocks her. “I liked you for a really long time, okay? But that was years ago.”

Her skin feels tight and hot and for a moment she really does feel like she’s sixteen again. She feels like she’s back in that storage closet, wondering how something that was so wrong could feel so right. She squeezes her eyes shut and, unbidden, the memory of his lips against hers comes to the forefront.

“It doesn’t feel that long ago.”

“Cam.” There’s a warning in his voice, a tight apprehension in it and the way his mouth ticks down at the corners.

Camila shakes her head, trying to rid herself of these unwanted memories. She doesn’t mean it how he thinks she does. “I didn’t mean it like-” She tries to explain, but trips over her own words. What did she mean? She frowns and shakes her head again.

He looks at her, appraising, expression shifting from apprehension to wariness to hurt with each passing second. Camila looks back. She can’t seem to work out how she feels about that night, even after all these years. A blackhole, she thinks again, swallowing all rational thoughts she might have had and leaving only a tangled mess of emotions, too complicated to put into words.

He’s tapping his thumb against the table - steady, rhythmic, anxious. When he finally stops, he seems to have come to a decision. His jaw clenches. “I’m not trying to start a fight,” he starts, all wide eyed, holding his hand off the table like he’s trying to calm a nervous animal. The gesture, his words, make her heart start to pound. Eddie swallows thickly. “I just-- I just wanna know why…”

The words hang in the air unfinished, and it’s like they’ve both forgotten how to breathe. It’s like they’ve stepped back through time, back to that night in New Orleans. The imploring, aching expression on his face, the pounding of her heart echoing through her veins and the overwhelming urge to run, to throw up a wall between them. To shield herself from the hurt this probing line of questioning is sure to bring.

She can taste the champagne on her tongue, can feel the night air on her bare back. Her shock at being confronted by him - alone - after months of avoidance. She remembers how painful it’d been to stretch her mouth into a smile and attempt to shake off his questions. Then why, he’d asked her, wide eyed and earnest. She hadn’t had a good answer for him then, and she isn’t sure she has one for him now.

Eddie clears his throat and straightens his spine. He manages to school his expression back to neutral. The simple action is enough to bring her back to the present. Things were different now. She was different. He was different. Everything had changed. This time, he finishes his question.

“I just want to know why you slept with me and then just…” He shrugs, as if he doesn’t know how to explain the absence of her in his life. “Everything just stopped after that.”

Camila wants to cry. She remembers those dark days in the weeks and months after. She remembers missing him like a missing limb. It’d been bad enough before, when Billy was pulling away and it’d seemed like everything was on the knife’s edge of falling apart. She’d grown used to holding her breath, waiting for the darkness and loneliness to swallow her. But after being with Eddie, she’d had no choice but to pull away on her own free will. She’d had no choice but to run from him - doing anything else would have ruined what she’d built. Ruined her marriage, her family, the band. It wasn’t something she was willing to risk - her only option had been to turn away. She’d had no idea how badly leaving him behind would hurt.

“I didn’t mean to.” Didn’t mean to hurt him. Didn’t mean to gouge away at her own heart. Didn’t mean to put almost twenty years of friendship on the line. Her words come out quiet and broken, like a child that hasn’t yet learned there are consequences to their actions. She knows it's not good enough.

“We were friends and then…” He doesn’t finish, the strained break in his voice enough to get the point across.

“I know.” Camila feels sick to her stomach remembering how she’d treated him. He was right - they’d been friends and she’d just… She’d abandoned him. Turned him away. No matter how complicated things had gotten, she shouldn’t have done that.

The confusion from that night is back, making his brows scrunch, making him look younger. “If you just told me it was a mistake…”

“It wasn’t a mistake.” Camila is surprised by the force behind her words, by the sudden urge to defend their actions. “I didn’t regret it.”

“Then why…” He asks it the same way he had that night, all confused and hurt.

Her vision seems to be swimming between past and present - empty LA diner and chilly New Orleans balcony. She remembers the crushing awkwardness between them that night, bearing down and suffocating. She remembers the way her mind had gone still and numb, surprised and panicked at being blindsided by his questions after months apart. She remembers being so scared that saying the wrong thing, giving into the mess of emotions she felt, would ruin everything else in her life. She’d been flush and happy, certain that things were good with her and Billy and Julia. Certain that if she didn’t do anything to rock the boat, they could go on living that way forever. She’d been terrified to stray from the path she’d set for herself, and Eddie was a walking reminder of all the missteps she’d already made. She’d been desperate to hide from her mistakes, and her self loathing made her cruel.

Camila is struck by a horrible sense of deja vu, like they’re stuck in some miserable play, forced to repeat the same aching conversations over and over. She almost repeats what she’d said that night - it’d be so easy to feed him little half truths - she had needed someone to lean on, he was always there for her. It was never going to happen again. To give him the same apologetic smile, ignoring the bile at the back of her throat, and ask if they can just move on.

But she doesn’t want to keep living in that liminal space between truth and lies. Doesn’t want to keep holding him at arm's length. She’d wanted honesty from him, and he deserved it in return.

She sucks in a steadying breath. Digging back into those days feels like stepping off the edge of a cliff. It’s terrifying to look at her life so plainly, to pull at the threads of mistakes and hurt. Everything about those years seems so distant, and so close at the same time, like if she says the wrong thing they might slip back into it, all the growth they’ve made since disappearing.

It’s scary to realize how close she’d been to losing everything. In hindsight, she’s appalled by how sad she’d been in those dark days, how desperate she’d been to hold onto her life with Billy. Everything had worked out in the end, but being there now, looking back at that time with a magnifying glass, makes her ache with pity for her younger self.

“Everything felt like it was falling apart,” she says, stilted and hurting. “Billy was so distant and I was caring for Julia, pretty much on my own. I was so tired, all the time, and with the tour coming up…” She shakes her head at the memory, a sour taste hitting her tongue. “I saw Billy and Daisy arguing at the photoshoot and it just… I don’t know, it broke something in me. It felt like everything was crumbling around me and then… you were there. I knew I could lean on you.”

“And then you dropped me.” It’s hard to tell the emotion in his voice when he’s making it purposefully flat, his expression purposefully still. But she knows him well enough to see the hurt and anger in his eyes.

Her heart aches.

“It wasn’t like that,” she tries to explain. “It wasn’t about you. It was just too much, okay? I didn’t regret it, but I shouldn’t have done it. Can’t you understand that? I was still married, I had to try and make things work with Billy. Being your friend was just… too painful.”

It’s agonizing, waiting to see how he’s going to respond. Billy would’ve stormed away, unable to believe she hadn’t done it to hurt him. She sort of expects Eddie to keep launching probing questions at her, to keep pushing until she gives an answer that makes sense. Or to look away, sitting with her words until they stopped hurting.

Instead he sighs. “You don’t have to do the video,” he says, and she blinks at him, numb. She’d almost forgotten the reason for this meeting. “You don’t have to prove anything. If you're looking for forgiveness… I forgive you. We were young and we were stupid and in over our heads. When I think about those days…” He shakes his head ruefully. “I'm surprised we all didn’t end up in rehab. Things got messed up between us but… fuck, I’m always gonna care about you. You know that right?”

He looks at her, brows drawn together like he’s waiting for her to answer. Camila’s eyes are stinging, but she somehow manages a small nod and his mouth ticks up at the corner. “You don’t have to prove… If this video is just gonna make things harder, we don’t have to…”

Camila looks out the window. She doesn’t deserve this kindness. This out. He was giving her an excuse to leave. To put all this behind them and wipe the slate clean. He’s right: doing this - making the music video, being in each other's lives - it might be… complicated. She hasn’t found a way to combine her two worlds yet, to merge her real life with Billy and Julia, with this new one she was slowly forging. It’d be easier to stop now. To pull away, just like she had in New Orleans.

But she’d been down that route before and it’d hurt like a shot to the heart. She hadn’t expected giving him up to hurt so badly, and now that she knows what to expect, she can’t stand the thought of doing it again.

Her body recoils at the thought of losing him once more.

She hates how vulnerable she feels. Hates knowing that his rejection might break her. She knows what losing his friendship feels like now. It’s painful and lonely, and she’d just barely gotten used to having him back in her life.

“I just… I missed you okay? I just want us to be friends again.”

He doesn’t say anything, and in the silence, her mind fills in the gaps with insecurity and doubts and rejection. Her eyes are stinging with unshed tears, and the anxious feeling clawing at her chest makes her thoughts and tone bitter. She gathers up her bag, overwhelmed with the urge to run from this biting feeling.

“Fuck, I’m being stupid,” she says tightly, blinking hard and fast to stop her tears from falling. In her haste to gather her things, she knocks over her long cold cup of coffee.

They both swear, staring at the dark spill on the tabletop. Eddie rushes to wipe it up, and that’s the thing that breaks her. She lets out one dry, gasping, choking sob before the tears start falling. Eddie’s eyes widen sharply, a wild panic coming over him before he seems to act on instinct, sliding out of his seat and moving next to her.

“Don’t cry.” He swears again, hands hovering around her before finally landing awkwardly on her shoulder. The gentle pressure is enough to clear her head, and she blinks hard against the tears, suddenly embarrassed. “Fuck,” Eddie swears again, running his hand through his hair, voice strained like he’s out of breath. “We’re friends, okay? We’re friends.” His fingers on her shoulder tense. “But you still don’t have to do the video.”

Camila glares. He’s closer now, and it feels strangely intimate looking up at him like that. Her embarrassment over crying makes her words heated. “I want to. Will you just let me and stop trying to change my mind?”

His skin pinks high on his cheekbones and his jaw ticks. “Fuck Cam,” he swears, running a hand over his face, “is this really what you want?”

She’s decided. It shouldn’t be this easy to say yes. She should be considering her family. But there’s a selfish part of her that’s been clawing at her ribcage for years, trying to get out. This is what she wants, and she can’t find it in her to care about what Billy thinks.

“Yes,” she says firmly. She sees him wince, doubt coloring his expression, and she hates that she’s given him reason to second guess her. It’s her turn to lay a hand on his arm. She has so much to make up for - she knows she used him badly back then. But she’s desperate to make things right. “You know I don’t give up on the people I care about.”

Eddie’s expression is unreadable, but his mouth ticks up at the corner and she can pretend it’s a smile.

“Yeah,” he says solemnly, leaning back in the seat, “I know.”