With the moment reset, I let him help me onto the board. He swims beside me, pushing me toward the beach, both us rising and falling with the waves. Every so often, I look over at him and see his jaw clench as he fights the tide. I know he’s exhausted too.
“Why did you go after the board?” I ask.
He chuckles as if the question is ridiculous. He doesn’t even answer it. And I feel myself soften again, because I know he did it for me. Even if he doesn’t say it out loud.
When the water’s finally shallow enough to stand, I slip off and wade the rest of the way in. Jamie follows close behind, his hand steady on the edge of the surfboard as he guides it. Although my legs are tired, I start to jog ahead. The beach has never been so inviting.
The second I hit dry sand, I collapse onto my back, still gasping as my lungs try to catch up. Jamie drops down beside me, splashing me with water when he does. With his body warm next to mine, I close my eyes.
At first, the only sound is our breathing, fast and chaotic. But soon, rhythmic. Peaceful.
“I had nothing to do with it,” he says finally, his voice low. “I tried to stop him in the water, but…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence, letting it float away instead.
I turn to him as he lies back, his head against the sand as he stares up at the blue sky, his chest rising and falling. He looks lost right now, and I wish I knew why. I wish he would have told me. Instead, he showed up on my beach with Matteo Mancini, of all people.
Just then, Jamie shifts his position and I see a bruise curling under his left eye—decidedly fist sized. I sit up and pound on the sand.
“Did he seriously hit you?” I demand, motioning to his face.
Jamie touches the area lightly, flinching as his fingers brush the skin. “What, this?” he asks. “This was just a little difference of opinion.”
My mind spins and I can only imagine what lies Matteo told him about me. As if I’m already not humiliated enough. “Was it about me?” I ask.
“It wasn’t about you,” Jamie says instantly. “It was about him being an asshole.”
I’m grateful for the way Jamie frames it. It actually helps. Although I’m sure Matteo had a few choice words about me, especially if he was jealous, he is indeed an asshole. And sometimes I have to remind myself that it’s not my fault that he takes it out on me.
Jamie, on the other hand, is the opposite. He’s always had this honor code that only he seems to follow. The kind where he can rationalize tossing someone’s bike off the pier because they didn’t tip their server. He’s not innocent, by any means, but he has this sense of justice… this core of goodness about him. He’s always had it.
And I’ve always loved it.
We watch each other, and for a moment, it’s like no time has passed at all. As if we’ve always been here together, sitting on the beach in the sun. But that’s not what happened. When I sigh with the weight of it,Jamie studies my eyes as if trying to guess what I want to hear.
But what can he possibly say to make things right between us? It’s all still here, heavy in my chest. Only most of the good parts are blotted out by the times when I was in bed, curled up on my side and wondering what I did wrong.
“Ask me,” he says, nodding that it’s okay.
I’m scared to know, because if the answer is that he didn’t love me anymore, I’d rather not hear. But as I look at him… I know that’s not it. I know it was all real.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving Cape Hope?” I ask.
He sits up, rubbing absently over his heart. He stares at the horizon, his eyes on some fixed point. “I didn’t know I was leaving,” he murmurs. “And by the time I did, when I knew I wouldn’t be coming back… it just seemed easier.”
I almost laugh. Not because it’s funny, but because it’s selfish. It’s bitter.
“Easier for you,” I say, clarifying his shitty point. “Because for me… I waited. I called you.”
“I know.” His voice is quiet, like he’s tried to apologize a hundred times in his head but never knew how. And he still doesn’t.
“We had four years,” I whisper, and he flinches like it’s a slap. “Four summers, spring breaks, holidays. All of it. And then not one phone call, Jamie? Not even a fucking text.”
It hurts, even now. Sitting with him on the beach has torn open the wound again, leaving it bleeding and sore. And still, I wait a little longer. Because some part of me, the part that loves who he used to be, wants to hear why. Why he walked away like I never mattered. Why he shattered everything and didn’t even look back.
He really did it. He broke my heart.
Jamie wraps his arms around his bent knees, hanging his head likehe’s ashamed. He doesn’t offer an explanation. And I think that’s probably worse. I can’t just keep waiting.
