We set off in silence, leaving the parking lot behind and approaching that quiet, steady sound that’s so comforting to me, even though we’re in Massachusetts and not California. It’s still the same, and it’s somewhere right in front of us. My steps quicken of their own accord, and the sound becomes louder. There it is: the ocean, dark and vast. Easton is close behind me; I can hear his footsteps.
“You brought me to the ocean,” I say, my voice choked with emotion. I’m about to start crying, I know it. He remembered, and he brought me here because he knew it would help me. The endless sea is spread out in front of us, and the infinite but very cloudy sky is above us. He knows being here makes everything seem a little less bad.
“Yeah. I was hoping you could show me your star, but I don’t think that’s going to happen tonight.” He’s right; it’s not. Even if the sky were clear, there’d be no guarantee I could find it. I haven’t looked for it since I left LA.
“But that’s not why we’re here,” he says before I can remember what I don’t want to think about. He caresses my hand, just like he did at the house.
What is it about these fleeting touches that makes them feel like silent questions and answers at the same time? They say things likeI’m hereandyou’re not alone, and they do something to me that they shouldn’t.
I feel an ache of longing in my chest. It hurts, but not terribly.Not like being left alone. It’s different this time, because Easton brought me here. Because he’s here and isn’t leaving me alone, just like he promised.
I don’t know what I did to deserve him. I don’t know if I even do deserve it, him being here for me. He’s somehow helping to hold together whatever is left of me, while I’m not doing anything for him in return. There’s nothing I can give. But maybe I don’t have to.
Real friendship doesn’t work like that, after all. It’s not about debts, about somehow repaying each other for help. It’s mostly about being there for each other whenever you’re needed, isn’t it?
“What are you thinking?” Easton whispers, as if he can look into my head and see all the complicated questions in a tangled mess. Now his fingers aren’t just brushing against mine; our hands are fully intertwined. I can hardly breathe. Then suddenly I can, as he gently holds my hand. It feels way too right, and that scares me. Part of me wants to let go because I don’t know where we stand right now, but letting go is not an option for me. It never was.
I take a deep breath and just tell him the truth. I want him to know what he’s doing to me.
“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you.”
He stops so abruptly that I almost trip over my own feet. “What?”
“You know what I mean.” I don’t dare look at him, but his grip on my hand tightens, and I almost believe he’s afraid I might pull away. But that’s just as much an option for him as it is for me.
What’s going on here?
“Honestly, I have no idea. You don’t have to earn me.”
“But you do so much for me, and I—”
“You believe in me,” he says, his voice sharp.
Now I have to look at him, because the last thing I want is for him to be angry at me. We promised each other we wouldn’t argue anymore. If I’ve messed things up again, then... The voice in my head goes silent as I look into his eyes. I can’t see the blue anymore, it’s too dark, but I’ve seen enough of his eyes by now to know how intense it must be.
“You believe in me, Rayne Bellamy,” he repeats, a little more gently, but no less emphatically. “You believe in me and the band, in our music and the songs I write. You do more than enough for me. I know that if I ever had a problem, you’d be there for me. You would, wouldn’t you?”
“Always,” I reply without hesitation.
“So don’t tell me you don’t deserve me. You do, but even if you didn’t, you don’t have to. That’s not how friendship works. And we’re friends, right?”
“Yes,” I say, but all at once that quiet voice is there in my head again, shoutingNo!But I can’t say it out loud, for way too many reasons that I don’t want to think about right now because doing so will only make everything too complicated.
“Then stop worrying about it. It’s not necessary. Really.” He smiles at me, and a feeling of warmth spreads from my center.
“Okay.”
“Good that we talked about it.” He gently pulls my hand, and we start walking again in sync, toward the water. The sand gives way underneath our shoes.
“Do you think so? I feel like I’m making a big deal out of nothing.”
“I always want to know what you’re thinking, Rayne.”
“Why?”
“So I can talk you out of the ideas that are bad for you and encourage you to stick with the right ones.”
“How do you know which are right?”
