The summer of my senior year, we had a huge party at the beach.
His words sliced through my memory, and I gasped. Mia charged up the steps and I finally understood why she’d been trying to get his attention on the front porch. She’d been trying to warn him.
I turned to his mom. “He wasn’t ready.” It was half excuse, half accusation, but I let it hang there between us for a few seconds until Mia reached us.
“Sam,” she started.
“Where is his room?” I interrupted. As much as I adored Mia, I wasn’t in the mood for anything she had to say.
“Up the stairs to the third floor. It’s the one on the left,” his mom answered, her voice low and a little defeated.
I squeezed her hand. “He’ll be okay.” Not that I had any right to make a promise like that. Were people ever okay after they went through what Grayson did?
I walked inside the house and found the stairs, following them to the second floor and then taking the spiral staircase to the third until I located his door. I knocked once and opened without waiting for an invitation I knew I wasn’t going to get.
He sat on the queen-size bed, his back to me as he stared out at the water. Every line on his body was tense, sharp, as if he might explode at any second.
The bed sank under my weight as I sat next to him, but he didn’t speak, or even look at me, so I simply waited. Gone was the teasing demeanor he’d grown into over the last few months. This was the Grayson I’d met in the kitchen—aloof, hard, and cold.
But I could be warm enough for both of us. I reached out my hand, letting it rest between us without touching him, and waited. Sixty-seven breaths later, he slid his hand over mine and wove our fingers together. Relief streaked through me, and I squeezed his fingers gently.
“It was your birthday party five years ago.”
He nodded.
“I’m so sorry.” I scooted toward him until our hips touched, and then I rested my head on his shoulder. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-three last Friday. I figured we’d be safe coming tonight.” He cleared his throat. “For a math major, I figured you could add better than that.”
At least he was trying to tease me. That was something, right?
“Maybe I just wanted to hear your voice.”
He turned his head and kissed my hairline. “It worked.”
“Friday as in the night we stayed in?”
“Being with you was the closest to a celebration as I’ve wanted to be. You made it perfect, and you didn’t even know.”
But I wish I’d known. I would have baked him a cake, or bought him one. But maybe he’d known that.
I let the minutes pass without speaking, content to just be there. This wasn’t about words, or even comfort, but simple presence, and I could give him that.
Without moving my head from his shoulder, I surveyed his room. The walls were dark navy with white trim and covered in sailing pictures, but they weren’t like the ones downstairs, professional and staged. These were candid shots of Grayson sailing, beautifully intense as he handled a boat. They were taken close up, by someone who obviously knew the value of the moment, watching him firmly grow into developing the control he was so known for now.
I knew without asking that Grace had taken them.
I reached over to his nightstand, where a picture sat framed of a gorgeous blonde. Her smile was effortless, her hair blowing in the wind with the full sail behind her. She radiated warmth, kindness from her brown eyes, and the way she looked at the photographer…it was love. For Grayson.
“What was she like…before?” I asked, my voice soft.
He took the picture from my hands and stroked his thumb over the line of her cheek. “Kind, slow to temper, completely selfless. She was pretty perfect as best friends go.”
The opposite of me. How could I even compete with that?
He reached across and put the picture back on his nightstand.