Page 166 of We Are Just Us

“If I don’t do it now,” Rory said quietly, “I’ll find a reason not to tomorrow. And the day after that. And eventually I’ll be the guy who used to surf, and I can’t be that person.”

Kieran didn’t argue.

They walked down to the water together. Rory carried his board under one arm, much longer than his old one, more stable, something his PT recommended. Kieran carried towels and a water bottle and the kind of worry he’d learned to keep off his face.

At the waterline, Rory stopped. Looked out at the small, clean sets rolling in. Ankle-high. Barely waves at all.

“They’re tiny,” Rory said.

“They’re perfect.”

Rory cracked a smile. “You sound like my therapist.”

“Your therapist is very wise.”

Rory took a breath. Then another. Then he walked into the water.

Kieran stayed on the beach. That was the deal, he’d be there, but wouldn’t hover. Rory needed to do this himself, or it wouldn’t count.

He watched Rory wade out to waist depth, the board floating beside him. Watched him pause, letting the water move around him, relearning the feel of it. Then he climbed onto the board and started paddling.

His stroke was different. Shorter, more careful, his neck held in a way that protected the surgical site. He moved slowly, nothing like the effortless glide Kieran remembered from those early days when he’d watched from the shore and pretended he wasn’t staring.

But he was moving.

A wave approached. Barely a ripple. The kind of thing Rory would have ignored two years ago and would have paddled right through on his way to something bigger.

Rory turned the board. Positioned himself. Started paddling.

The wave caught him and he pushed up, not the explosive pop-up of before, but a careful, controlled rise, one foot and then the other, knees bent, center of gravity low. He wobbled, and Kieran’s whole body went rigid on the beach.

Then Rory steadied. He stood. He rode.

Three seconds, maybe four. A nothing wave on a nothing day. The kind of ride that wouldn’t make anyone’s highlight reel, wouldn’t earn a single point in competition, wouldn’t even register as surfing to anyone watching.

But Kieran saw Rory’s face. And he was smiling.

Not the careful, controlled smile he’d been wearing for months. Not the brave face, the I’m-fine face, the face he put on for doctors and family and Kieran when he didn’t want anyone to worry.

This was the real one. The one from before. Open and wild.

The wave dissolved into foam and Rory stepped off into knee-deep water, the board drifting beside him. His chest heaving, hand going to the back of his neck the way it always did now.

Then he turned toward the beach and found Kieran.

Their eyes met across fifty feet of sand and shallow water.

Rory raised one fist. A quiet, private triumph.

Kieran raised his fist back.

And that’s all that mattered.

“You up for some…wellness activities?”

Rory turned his head, eyes crinkling with amusement. “What do you have in mind?”

Kieran propped himself up on one elbow, grinning. “Well, you’re forty now. I thought maybe we should do something age-appropriate. Like talk about our investments. Or get really into fiber.”