“Yeah. You guys are probably setting a record for uncommon beach finds today.” He looks happy at my obvious excitement. I’m just glad he’s looking less sad. I hold my hand out to him, returning the sea glass.
“For you,” he says, shaking his head and closing my fingers around it. My heart slams painfully against my ribs, face warm.For me.
“Are you sure?” I’m pretty sure finding sea glass is something that doesn’t happen all the time. He smiles softly, reaching up and rubbing his thumb over my cheekbone. I can feel the slight scratch of sand.
“I’m sure, Jacko. It’s yours.”
We spend the rest of the day on the beach, weighing our pockets down with shells and watching the sun drop lower in the sky. My feet are numb with cold by the time we trudge back to the blanket and Desmond uncovers Parker’s shell, handing it over to him.
He walks next to me as we traipse toward the car, telling me and Desmond about his friend Seth. I have no idea what’s happening in the story, but his joy in telling it is apparent. As we knock as much sand off our legs as we can, Parker gives me an unexpected side hug.
“Thanks for coming,” he says, sounding shy and keeping his face ducked to hide his expression. “Did you have to wag, too?”
Desmond snorts, still bent over as he slips his shoes back on.
“I—what?” Parker laughs at my confusion, popping open the back door and climbing into his seat.
“It just means you’re wagging off your responsibilities,” Desmond explains. “Playing hooky.”
“Oh. Yeah, I did,” I admit, sliding into the passenger seat and glancing back at Parker. His shell is nestled on his lap, and his face is red from the sun. I can’t imagine I fared much better. Desmond merely looks more brown.
“You had to miss class?” Desmond asks softly, pulling the vehicle out of the beach parking lot.
“Yeah, but it’s okay. I’ve never missed class before, so it’s not a big deal.” I’d miss a full month of class if it put a sliver of green sea glass in my pocket, and a light back in Desmond’s eyes. I’ll not soon forget how defeated he looked, walking toward me in front of the courthouse. Nobody as kind as him should ever have to feel that sad.
Parker falls asleep on the drive home, head crooked at an angle that makes my own neck hurt just looking at him. He doesn’t even wake up as we go through the McDonald’s drive-thru, Desmond muttering about not having the energy to cook dinner. I offer to handle it for him, and the look this earns me is so tender it feels like a physical touch—the phantom press of lips against my temple.
Parker grumbles a bit when Desmond wakes him up, but brightens when he recognizes the smell of greasy fast food.
“Stopped for Macca’s,” Desmond tells him as we all leave the vehicle and head to the apartment. I look at the state of my jeans, wondering if I should call Nate and see if he can pick me up.
“I better go home and change.”
Desmond frowns, looking over his shoulder at me as he unlocks the front door. I gesture down at my soiled clothes. I didn’t bring anything with me when Nate picked me up, having no set plan other than feeling like I needed to be there to support Desmond. I certainly hadn’t anticipated the day ending with the beach.
“It’s just sand,” Parker tells me, kicking off his shoes and scattering a bunch of that sand across the floor.
“Don’t worry about the mess, Jacko. I’d like you to stay, if you want to,” Desmond says softly, the words staying between us as we hover in the doorway.
I stay. A herd of wild horses couldn’t drag me away after that plea.
Feet are rinsed off in the tub of Desmond’s shower, and McDonald’s consumed sitting on the couch. Parker puts his trumpet trident on the TV stand, and yawns his way through his meal. It’s not even that late, but obviously Desmond isn’t the only one paying the price of the day.
“I’m going to go shower,” Parker decides, speaking around another wide yawn. He shakes his head as though trying to flick it away.
“Then bed?” Desmond asks from where he’s slumped against the back of the couch, legs stretched in front of him.
“Yeah. Night, Jack, see you tomorrow.”
“Sleep good,” I tell him, watching as he disappears down the hallway. Desmond puts a hand on my thigh, drawing my eyes over to him.
“Staying?” he asks. I nod, earning a sleepy smile.
After cleaning up the trash from dinner, I check to make sure the front door is locked as Desmond turns off all the lights. The moment we shut ourselves into his bedroom, he exhales in relief. Before I can ask about borrowing a pair ofsweats, he touches his fingers to the side of my jaw and smiles at me.
“I’m glad you came today,” he says. “Thank you.”
I stare hard at his face, eyes connecting the dots between the spray of freckles across his nose. His curls are a mess; skin already a deeper brown than it was before, after an afternoon of sun exposure. I flush, thinking about the state of my own skin and fearing that I probably look like a distant cousin to the tomato.
