Page 164 of We Are Just Us

“I’m scared to turn my head too fast,” Rory interrupted, voice breaking. “I’m terrified I’ll move wrong and undo everything.”

Kieran sat beside him, close but not touching. “That’s normal.”

“It doesn’t feel normal.”

“I know.”

They sat in silence. Then Rory said, quietly, “What if I never surf again?”

And Kieran heard what he was asking. What if I’m never myself again?

“Then we’ll figure that out,” Kieran said. “But you don’t know that yet. You don’t know what you’ll be able to do.”

“The doctor said…”

“The doctor said maybe. Not never.” Kieran finally reached over, taking Rory’s hand. “And even if you can’t, even if surfing is off the table, you’re still you. You’re still here. That’s what matters.”

Rory’s fingers curled around his. “I don’t know how to be me without it.”

“Then we’ll learn together.”

But Kieran saw it. The small victories Rory couldn’t see himself.

Progress came in increments after that. Holding a dog leash for a walk around the block. Gentle neck exercises and shoulder work with light weights, Rory’s face tight with concentration as he rebuilt strength in his upper body. Eventually, going back to work part-time, desk work mostly, nothing that required climbing ladders or crawling through old buildings.

But god, it made him happy. He’d come home exhausted but lighter somehow. Being useful again, being himself again, was worth the fatigue.

They were at Sam’s house for Sunday dinner, almost a year after the accident.

Aubrey had gotten so big. Four now. All legs and opinions and an ongoing campaign to teach her Uncle Rory how to do a proper cartwheel.

She’d been chattering about her soccer team, gesturing wildly with a juice box, when she suddenly launched herself at Rory the way she used to.

Before Kieran could react, before anyone could warn him, Rory caught her.

Not easily. Not smoothly. He planted his feet carefully, engaged his core the way his physical therapist had taught him, and lifted her up into his arms.

His body didn’t buckle. Didn’t scream in protest. It held. He held.

Aubrey squealed with delight, wrapping her arms around his neck, and Rory’s eyes filled with tears.

Sam noticed. Kieran noticed. But Aubrey, blessedly oblivious, kept talking about her team’s new uniforms and how the color was “yucky.”

When Rory finally set her down, carefully bending at the knees, Aubrey looked up at him with concern.

“Are you crying, Uncle Rory?”

Rory wiped his eyes quickly. Smiled. “I’m just happy to see you, bug.”

“You see me all the time.”

“I know. But today feels special.”

Aubrey seemed to accept this and ran off to the coffee table to resume coloring.

Rory stood, one hand drifting to the back of his neck, fingers brushing the scar, testing the sensation, checking for pain. There was some. There was always some.

Kieran’s Substack had kept growing through everything.