The Goodbye Boyfriend (The Boyfriend Series Book 3) Read online

  Camille stared at Nathan. She agreed completely. She was pretty much the poster child for life’s short. There was something refreshing about the California weirdo that almost made her want to smile.

  “Well, word of advice, Nate. Don’t go around sniffing hair in the halls at NOAH unless you want to be known as a freak. Anyway, that’s sorta my title around here.”

  “Alright, direct me to the asses that need kicking!” His eyes gleamed playfully. “No one gets away with calling a girl with hair that smells like lavender a freak.”

  This time she did smile. “Easy, California. There are worse things to be called.”

  “Amen to that.”

  They walked down the stairs together and Nathan stopped to pick up his beat up skateboard. It looked rough, but was still in one piece. Only one wheel had come off in the tumble.

  “Sorry about your board.”

  Nate shrugged, his glowing smile still affixed to his face. “No biggie. I can fix it.”

  “Do you need a ride home or something?”

  “Nah. I like walking. Gives me a chance to explore the city. Wanna join me?”

  “Um, no. I’ve got somewhere to be.”

  Nate arched an inquisitive eyebrow. “Boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Work?”

  “No.”

  “Then what could be more fun than exploring the city with me?”

  “One, I don’t know you. Two, I’m not a tour guide. Three, you’re kinda weird.”

  Nathan barked a laugh. “We’ve established we’re not strangers, I’ve smelled your hair. And don’t even try to pretend you’re not qualified to show me around. You practically drip that magnetic N’awlins vibe. And, I think what you meant to say is that I’m charming as hell.”

  Camille huffed a laugh. “Oh really?”

  Nathan smirked. “You can tell a lot by sniffing someone’s hair.”

  She crossed her arms. “What else do you think you know about me?”

  He tapped his fingers on his chin like he was racking his brain. “I could tell you, but I think it’d be more fun if we went on a date.”

  “Ha!” Camille couldn’t contain her laughter. “Are all Californian’s this full of themselves?”

  “Go out with me and see?”

  “Goodbye, Nathan. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said heading toward the door.

  He jogged to catch up. “Oh come on. You’re the first cool person I’ve met here. And I’m intrigued. What’s your story, Camille?”

  She laughed. Somehow she was pretty sure the truth would kill the flirtatious conversation they were having. ‘Oh, ya know, the usual. Just a seventeen-year-old girl with incurable cancer and a badass wig collection.’

  It didn’t really roll off the tongue. And for once, it was nice to talk to someone who didn’t look at her like she was tragic. So instead she said, “I don’t have a story.”

  “Everyone has a story. Don’t worry, Camille. I’ll figure yours out.”

  “Goodbye.” She laughed to herself, waving over her shoulder as she walked away. She heard Nathan laughing behind her.

  “I get it,” he called. “Goodbye is your thing, huh?”

  She waved again without turning around. He had no idea.

  “It’s okay. I like a challenge.” He was yelling now. “Besides, some things are worth waiting for.”

  “Good luck,” she called pushing through the double doors exiting the school. But as she walked away from Nathan, she sort of hoped he actually would take the time to figure her out.

  Nate

  “Mom, I promise, Dad’s place is fine!”

  Nathan had told his mother that about a dozen times already, but every time she called, she asked again. Your dad’s feeding you, right? The house is safe, right? You have everything you need, right? Nate’s answer was always yes. Anything less would’ve put her back on a plane faster than he could spell ‘helicopter parent’.

  His dad’s place was a bit run down. It was a shotgun shack in the Bywater and it honestly looked like it could be blown over by a strong breeze. It had to be at least a hundred years old. Nate didn’t know how the hell it survived the hurricanes.

  “So how’s London?” Nate asked trying to deflect his mom’s worry.

  “Oh no you don’t. I’m the parent, Nathan. Tell me about your school.”

  “It’s great, Mom. Honestly. It’s like the nicest school I’ve ever seen. There’s a Starbucks on campus, if that tells you anything.”

  She laughed. “And what about your classes?”

  “I got my schedule today. The dean said everything checked out with my transfer and I’ll graduate on time.”

  His mom gave a sigh of relief on the other end of the phone. “Oh thank God.”

  “Mom, stop worrying. Everything’s fine.”

  “Honey, I’m your mother. It’s my job to worry about you.”

  “I know. But guess what? I met a girl today.”

  “You did?”

  “Yep, her name’s Camille and she loves me. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

  Nate could practically picture his mom smiling and shaking her head. “Honey, that’s great. I haven’t heard you this excited since . . .” Her voice trailed off. She still couldn’t say Tyler’s name.

  It’s been nearly three years since Nate’s older brother died and still, neither of his parents talked about him. Probably because any time they did, it turned into a screaming match that ended it tears and ultimately, divorce. But Nate still needed to say his brother’s name. It hurt like hell to talk about Tyler sometimes. But the alternative—forgetting him, or worse, pretending he didn’t exist—that hurt even more.

  “Ty would’ve liked it here, Mom.”

  He heard her breath hitch. “I love you, Nathan.”

  “I love you, too, Mom. This place is gonna be good for me. I promise.”

  3

  Cami

  Camille let her backpack thud to the floor. “Dad, I’m home.”

  The pitter-patter of feet came trotting around the corner to greet her. “Poo!” Camille squealed picking up her Yorkie and squishing him to her face so the tiny dog could shower her with kisses.

  Camille had gotten Poo for Christmas when she was eight—hence the childish name. But eight-year-old Camille thought, Poo LaRue, was the best name in the whole world. And it might be. It still made her giggle when she heard her father say it. Especially when scolding the devious pooch.

  As lame as it was, Poo was Camille’s best friend. The dog had been through everything with her. Chemotherapy, immunotherapy, radiation, stem cell transplants, biopsies, surgeries and countless clinical trials. Camille confided all her secrets and fears in the pint-sized pup, knowing Poo was a vault that could never betray her.

  “Hey, baby girl,” her father called from his office. “It’s just you and me for dinner tonight. Whatcha feel like having?”

  Camille perked up. Whenever her mother worked late it meant Camille and her father could eat all the delicious rich foods they loved. Her mother never let them indulge, keeping the whole family on a strict cancer-friendly diet.

  With Poo cradled in the crook of her arm, Camille wandered into her father’s office. Music room was a better word for it. She stepped carefully over stacks of sheet music and piles of records until she reached the red antique sofa. She sat down, listening while he pounded out a song on the piano. Camille’s father was a music teacher at a local high school by day, music producer and sound mixing extraordinaire by night. He had a personal office in the house where he gave music lessons and a small recording studio across the courtyard in the converted carriage house. There was always all manner of musicians stopping by to ‘lay down tracks’ with her dad. It was an entertaining way to grow up.

  Camille loved that her father was so passionate about his job. Unlike her mother, the high-powered real estate attorney, Camille and her father could bond over music. But it was Camille’s mother who kept them afloat. Her job afforded th
em their sprawling French Quarter home and covered Camille’s never ending medical expenses.

  Her father finished up his song and faced her. “Are you in the mood for crawdads?”

  She laughed. “Always.”

  “How ‘bout I make my famous crawfish crepes smothered in goat cheese?”

  “Oh my God, Dad that sounds awesome, but I have an appointment tonight.”

  He frowned. “That’s right. The oncologist?”

  She nodded, fighting against the prickling guilt she felt lying to her father. She’d stopped going to her appointments three weeks ago.

  “You feeling okay, sweetie?”

  “Fine.”

  “Good. Well, I can make you something to go if you want?”

  “That’s okay, Dad. I wanna swing by the café and pick up my paycheck. I’ll grab something there.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Her father looked disappointed and if she stayed in his office one more minute she’d cave. “I’m sure,” she said kissing him on the cheek. “I’m gonna get changed and then I’m off.”

  Camille practically ran to her room. She hated lying, especially to her father. She loved the time they spent together, and knowing they had so little of it left made things even harder. But as she stared at the unchecked boxes on her wall, she knew she didn’t have a choice.

  When Camille was first diagnosed with cancer, her father helped her paint one entire wall of her bedroom with black chalk paint and told her to make a wish list of all the things she wanted to do. At first it was great—a distraction from the cancer. Every time she had a bad day or had to go in for a treatment she didn’t want, he’d tell her to pick something off her list and they’d do it as soon as she was well enough.

  But as she got older, Camille began to realize it wasn’t really a wish list at all, it was a Goodbye List—a morbid bucket list of things she’d get to experience once in her lifetime, if she was lucky, which she wasn’t—hence the cancer.

  That realization turned the wall from a list of dreams to a countdown of tasks she had to carry out before she died. And that date was ticking closer every day. Camille had already outlived her disease’s life expectancy, but only because her mother signed her up for every clinical trial under the sun. Last year, her oncologist told Camille and her parents that they’d hit the end. There was little else the medical world could do for Camille. Her lymphoma had reached stage four. The growth was accelerating and even with extensive treatment, they could only buy her another year or so at best.

  But Camille knew what that borrowed time would be like. She’d spend it in pain and bedridden, too sick and weak from the medication to even enjoy the time she had left. It prompted her to take matters into her own hands.

  She made a plan. Yes, it was a plan for dying, but what other option did she have? Cancer had ruled her whole life. And Camille was determined not to let it rule her death, too. It was the last thing she had control over and she wasn’t about to let that go. That’s why she created her plan. ‘Camille’s Plan for Dying.’

  She knew it was morbid. But ignoring the fact that she was dying wouldn’t change her fate. Camille was going to complete her bucket list and then end her life, on her terms—not cancer’s.

  She estimated she could make it to graduation if she cut back her treatments and medications on a regimented schedule. And currently things were going according to plan. She was now off all medications and had stopped treatment completely three weeks ago. Strangely, she never felt better. She knew it was false hope. It was just her body’s natural reaction to not being pumped full of poison. But Camille needed to feel her best if she was going to accomplish her goals.

  She stared at the empty checkboxes on her Goodbye List. They mocked her indecently. She had 66 days left to say goodbye to everything and everyone. And she was gonna be damn sure she spent every minute she had left living to the fullest.

  Nate

  Lightness filled Nate’s heart as he rode the streetcar to Jackson Square. The sun was starting to set and the muggy air clung to him, ruffling his brown hair. It was just long enough that it was starting to curl at his neck. He knew he needed a trim, but he liked the way his hair looked when it was shaggy. It made him think of Ty. His brother had always worn his hair longer. Tyler had a devil-may-care attitude that Nathan had been so envious of. Nothing ever scared Tyler. He was only eleven months older than Nate, but sometimes he’d seemed a lifetime wiser.

  Nate missed his brother every day. They’d been best friends. They did everything together—chased girls, played music, skated, surfed, and got into all kinds of trouble. Every moment spent with Tyler was a vibrant one. He’d been more full of life than anyone Nate had ever met. Ty used to say, “One day I’m gonna show you the world, little brother.”

  They were supposed to have a lifetime to explore the world together. And now, Nate felt that weight heavy on his shoulders. It was Nate’s duty to live well, for the both of them. He was still alive and though Tyler wasn’t, Nate could feel his brother with him. And he owed it to Tyler to blaze a path through the world. Because if Tyler were still here, that’s what he’d be doing.

  With that thought driving him, Nate planned to seize every opportunity that came his way in the hopes that Ty could experience everything through him. Nate could still feel Ty in his heart. So maybe it wasn’t crazy that wherever Ty was, he could feel Nate, too. So many little things reminded Nathan of his brother. It could be a song, a bird, a laugh. Certain things conjured Tyler so realistically that Nate couldn’t catch his breath. Sometimes, when he was feeling hesitant about something, he could almost hear Ty saying, “I’m right here, bro. Go for it. Grab life by the balls.”

  Nathan had definitely heard that today when he approached Camille. Three years ago, Nate never would’ve dreamed of talking to a beautiful girl like Camille. But losing Tyler had taught him a lot of things. Mainly that life was short, and sometimes you didn’t get a second shot at it.

  That sentiment had changed Nate’s life. Already, he was glad he’d moved to New Orleans, and now talked to Camille. She was enchanting and Nate hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Even now, as he exited the streetcar and walked along the Mississippi, he couldn’t help but see her in the fading light that shimmered purple across the muddy water. He wished he could tell Tyler about her and thank him for making him courageous.

  4

  Cami

  Camille stood at the service door to the tower stairs of St. Louis Cathedral. Her father played the organ for the gospel services occasionally, so she’d nicked his set of keys before she left the house. She clutched her mint green Polaroid camera in her sweaty hands. She didn’t know whether it was nerves or exhaustion getting the better of her. She’d been saving this task from her Goodbye List for a while due to her insane fear of heights.

  You’ve got this, Cami. One foot in front of the other.

  She took a deep breath and unlocked the door. She turned the knob and quickly slipped through after making sure no one was looking. It was stifling in the stairwell, but Camille climbed the cramped spiral staircase before she could change her mind. When she got to the top she closed her eyes and tried to count to ten. She’d have to walk across a narrow service catwalk to get to the shutters facing Jackson Square.

  She moved one foot off the platform and started shaking. All she could picture was that damn skateboard bouncing down the stone stairs at school. If she fell, that’s exactly what would happen to her. But she had a feeling she wouldn’t hold up as well as the skateboard. She’d probably snap like a toothpick.

  “This was a dumb idea, Cami,” she muttered to herself.

  She took another step, her heart thundering in her chest. She’d written this stupid wish on her wall when she was eleven. She’d been having a good day and her parents took her to have a picnic in the park on Jackson Square. They sat in the shadow of St. Louis Cathedral and Camille had noticed a bird land atop the cross adorning the highest tower.

 
; “I wonder what the world looks like from up there?” she’d mused.

  “You’ll have to ask the angels,” her father replied.

  “I’ll be an angel one day soon, won’t I, Daddy?” she’d asked.

  Her father had looked at her sadly. “That’s right, baby girl.”

  That night Camille had gone home and written St. Louis Cathedral on her wall. It was a vague enough wish. And she’d been to the cathedral hundreds of times over the years. But she couldn’t put a check in the box until she conquered her fears and saw the view from the tower.

  It was one of the things Camille loved most about her Goodbye List. It held her accountable. She was often vague about what she wrote on it. It was usually just a single word or two. St. Louis Cathedral. Mississippi River. Beach. But she knew the true meaning of each wish. And once it was on the wall, it became law.

  She took one more shaking step toward the shutters. If she took another she’d have to let go of the railing. You can do this, Cami. It wasn’t just about checking a box on her stupid list, it was proving to herself that there were still things in her life that she could control.

  Having cancer had stolen so much from her and maybe it was denial, but she was desperate to cling to the things she could still conquer. Her fear of heights was one of them.

  Camille closed her eyes again and took a deep breath. With each step closer to the shutters, she could hear the sounds of Jackson Square wafting up to her—tourists, palm readers, musicians, artists, panhandlers. The square was always alive with sound.

  The melody of violin music lured her forward. It was a haunting tune that made her chest swell. Good music always affected Camille that way. Her father said music was in her blood, but she didn’t have a lick of talent for instruments. The only musical gift she had was her voice. Camille could sing. In fact, it used to be her favorite thing to do. But cancer had stolen that, too.

  Now she got winded just walking upstairs. It sort of made it difficult to carry a tune. Rather than feel depressed about losing one more battle to her disease, Camille had given up singing. But when she heard music like this, it made her want to sing from the rooftops. The thought made her smile. She would quite literally be singing from the rooftops if she sang along right now.