The back deck overlooked a tidal creek, the fading light turning the water bronze and gold. The sunset was behind us, but the marsh caught all of it—the cordgrass glowing amber, a great blue heron standing motionless in the shallows. I leaned against the railing and waited for whatever Hunter needed to say.
“So,” he said. “You and Landry.”
I bristled at the name. “You and John.”
“Don’t deflect. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re always fine. That’s what concerns me.” He crossed his arms. “I’ve known Seth a long time. He’s a good guy. But he’s also?—”
“A football player. I’m aware.”
“That’s not what I was going to say.” Hunter was quiet for a moment, staring out at the water. “He’s never done this before. The relationship thing. Neither have you. That’s a lot of baggage to navigate when one of you spent two years watching your father die from the sport the other one plays.”
The words landed hard because they were true. I’d thought it myself, in the dark hours when I couldn’t sleep.
“I care about him,” I said. The words came out quieter than I expected. “More than I thought I would. More than makes sense, probably. And I know it’s complicated and messy and might end with both of us hurt. But I can’t just walk away because it’s hard.”
Hunter studied me. “You really care about him.”
“Yeah.”
“Does he know how much?”
“He knows I’m in this. The rest… We’re figuring it out as we go.”
“That’s probably smart.” Hunter rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not trying to talk you out of anything. I just— You’re my best friend. You’ve been through hell, and I wasn’t there for enough of it. I was in Texas playing a championship game while your dad was dying, and I’ve never forgiven myself for that.”
The old grief stirred, but it didn’t cut the way it used to. “That wasn’t your fault. Lincoln and Mom made that call, not you.”
“Doesn’t change how it felt. Doesn’t change that you were alone.”
“I wasn’t alone. I had Mom. And after—” I hesitated. “I’ve been seeing someone. A counselor. On campus. Since September.”
Something shifted in Hunter’s face—surprise, then relief. “You didn’t tell me.”
“It’s not exactly party conversation.”
“Tanner.” He pulled me into another hug. “I’m proud of you.”
“Don’t get mushy on me.”
“Too late. Deal with it.”
When he let go, his eyes were wet. I pretended not to notice.
Lincoln and Nixon arrived as we were sitting down to eat. I was still in awe of them. They’d been in love forever, but it wasn’t until a couple years ago they were finally able tobetogether. Sometimes, I wondered what my dad would say if he knew about them.
They came through the door in a flurry of loud greetings—Lincoln’s deep voice filling the house, Nixon’s quieter laugh underneath. I’d seen them both at the funeral, but that had been a blur. This was different. They looked happy, settled into each other in a way they hadn’t been then.
“Tanner.” Lincoln pulled me into a hug before I could brace myself. He smelled like cedar and coffee, the same way he’d smelled when I was a kid and he’d come over to watch game film with Dad. “Look at you. You’re all grown up.”
“I’ve been grown up for a while now.”
“Not to me.” He released me and turned to Seth. “And you must be Seth. Hunter’s told me a lot about you.”
“All good things, I hope.”
