Not Just One Night

Chapter 46

Camila's POV

I didn't live in Miami long enough to miss the way that the smell of salt-water flooded through the window that was rolled down as we drove along the coast.

Or the way that the thickness of the warm, Florida air in November was enough to make it hard to catch my breath as it pelted against my face that was leaning against the door frame of Chris' jeep.

My hair was blown back, my eyes were closed, and there was a low grumbling of music from the radio.

A song called Emergencia and the spanish words rolled effortlessly off of Lauren's lips as she tapped along on the steering wheel, her other hand on my thigh, tracing circles against my skin.

My foot drummed to the heavy percussion of the song, and the bass thudded in my chest.

And spending four months in Miami, four years ago, wasn't near enough time to make me miss the way the roads seem to go on for miles, or no matter how far you're out of the city, you can still see the lights that color the skies a deep purple.

And for a moment, I'm sad that there's nothing about this place that I miss. That I never called it home. I never made memories here.

And I think how it would have been different had I know Lauren four years ago. If I had met her once I had landed from Cuba, and moved in with my uncle.

I'd have so much more of this city to miss.

There'd be roads, and certain areas of the beach, and parks, and restaurants that'd remind me of her so much so that if I were to drive by them at this moment, they'd spark some feeling inside me.

But I don't have those memories or at least I didn't until tonight.

And I don't think Lauren even realizes as she's sat next to me singing along to the radio softly, that we're making memories at this moment.

For her, she just needed to drive to clear her head. But with every image that blurs past, I'm connecting it with what I'm feeling and I'm imagining that if I were back in Miami, four years from now, I'll finally have something to miss.

Like the flutter in my stomach that I had a few minutes ago, when the red light caught us at the corner where the theater is. Lauren looked over at me with glassy eyes and turned up the corner of her lips into the first smile I had seen in hours and all I could think about was how with everything that's happening, she thought to do that. To tell me that she was happy I was there no matter how sad she was.

That's what I'll remember four years down the road, if I'm in Miami again.

And if I pass by the station where we stopped to get fuel just before going out of the city, I'll connect it with how I felt when she leaned across the center console and kissed me once and how it lingered so long that the wetness of the tears against her cheek passed over to mine. And when she pulled away, her eyes were bloodshot, and she was holding back a sob that was threatening to escape.

And she risked it falling from her lips, leaving her vulnerable just to tell me that she loved me.

They're small.

The memories are just faint insignificant moments between Lauren and I but I swear four years from now, I'll remember them.

I know that if I ever find myself back here, driving along the dark highway with the endless beach to my right, I'll miss the nerves that I felt getting off of the plane once it had touched down in Miami and finding Chris waiting for us at baggage claim.

And if I'm ever in the back seat, listening to Chris sing along to Beyonce, I'll remember the drive back to Lauren's childhood home, and how the nerves had far surpassed typical 'meeting the parents for the first time' and had evolved into a full-blown panic and how Lauren reached back from the front seat, and held my hand as a way of reassuring me.

And I'll miss how she thought wrap her arm around my waist the moment that we stepped out of the car and walked up the driveway, and then the porch and how she kissed me just before Chris opened the door, walking in.

And when I'm nearly knocked down by the smell of pizza, I'll remember walking into their house, finding Clara in the kitchen, cooking my favorite meal as Mike was sitting at the bar, reading the paper. And how Lauren didn't even have to introduce us. Clara came at me with open arms, wrapping them around my neck, telling me how great it was to meet me and Mike said the same but then joked that I'd have to be a good girl to put up with Lauren's stubborn ways.

And I'll miss the way Clara asked me to help her finish with the meal, and while Lauren took our bags upstairs, she made small talk that showed me she was concerned with truly getting to know me. And how the conversation only continued once we sat down around the table.

They asked about school, and my job at the paper, and even the trial that I spoke openly about and the fact that they even knew those things about me, showed that Lauren cared enough to mention them, and they thought to ask.

And I'll miss how after dinner, Lauren asked to go see her grandmother who's health was declining and how when we got to the hospital, I stayed downstairs with Chris, who had went to see her earlier, and we talked about the Jade situation and how he was so comfortable to open up about missing her. That he wished things would have worked out differently.

And four years from now, I'll probably even miss how an hour later, the automatic doors opened by the lobby and Lauren walked out with puffy eyes, red-faced, clinching a tissue in her balled fist and she asked if we could drive. And how I agreed without hesitation because I knew that she didn't want to be alone while clearing her head.

Those are the things I'll miss if I ever find myself back in Miami and I don't even think that Lauren realizes as the new song sounds from the radio, and she sings out the first few words.

Tonight, she's given me memories of a place that I barely know.

And that's what I'm thinking about as she reaches for my hand that's toying with the frays of my shorts, wrapping her fingers around mine, bringing them to her lips and kissing my knuckles.

And she stays that way for the next half-hour that we drive and before I realize it, we're back at her house.

The car's in park, her eyes are still bloodshot, and the air is still thick and warm. She whispers I love you. And I say it back. And then two minutes later the tears are full-on and she's laying across the center console, my fingers running through her hair and I'm whispering in her ear that everything will be okay when I'm not sure that it will.

And even though it's sad.

She's sad.

It's still a memory that we're creating and four years down the road, if I ever find myself back in this Jeep, in the driveway of her house, I'll remember how she sought out comfort in me and how that was the most amazing feeling in the world.

To be needed by Lauren Jauregui.

A/N: This is just a short filler chapter that didn't really flow with the next part. SO I thought I'd break them up.