Page 62 of We Are Just Us

Kieran wanted to say no. Wanted to protect himself from the inevitable humiliation of falling off a board in front of someone who moved through water like he was born to it. But Rory was looking at him like failure wasn’t even a possibility worth considering.

“Okay,” Kieran heard himself say. “But if I drown, I’m haunting you.”

“Deal,” Rory said, kissing him once more, quick and pleased. “I’ll text you Sunday morning. We’ll head out around five, catch the good light.”

“I’ll be the one hyperventilating in the driveway.”

Rory smiled. “I’ll bring a paper bag.”

Kieran walked home under a sky starting to darken, the sound of the ocean a constant soundtrack in the background.

He changed into comfortable clothes, dropped onto the couch, and put on a show he had no intention of retaining.

A new message lit up his phone.

RORY NEIGHBOR: Photograph’s up. Looks even better than I thought. Thank you.

Attached was a photo—the vintage aerial shot now hanging on Rory’s wall, perfectly centered above the small table by the window.

Kieran stared at it longer than necessary.

He'd said tomorrow. So much for tomorrow.

KIERAN: Glad you like it. See you Sunday.

NINETEEN

Sunday arrived before Kieran was ready for it.

Four minutes in, reality hit, literally, as he face-planted into a wave that couldn’t have been more than two feet tall.

He surfaced, sputtering, hair plastered to his forehead, and heard Rory’s laughter carrying across the water.

“You good?” Rory called, grinning, clearly enjoying himself like this was the best entertainment he’d had all week.

“Perfect,” Kieran shouted back, spitting salt water. “Living the dream.”

He climbed back onto the board, a process that involved significantly more flailing than he would’ve liked, and paddled out again.

Rory, meanwhile, caught another wave with the kind of effortlessness that should’ve been illegal. He rode it all the way in, carving smooth lines across the face, then kicked out at the end like it was nothing.

Kieran watched, equal parts impressed and annoyed.

“Show-off,” he muttered.

The next twenty minutes were a study in failure. Kieran popped up too early, too late, not at all. He clung to the board with barnacle-level desperation while waves rolled past him entirely. His knees buckled, and he launched himself sideways into the water with all the grace of a distressed manatee.

“You’re overthinking it!” Rory called, paddling up beside him.

“I’m under-skilled!” Kieran shot back.

Rory laughed. “You’re doing fine.”

“I’ve stood up zero times, Rory. Zero.”

“Then you’re due.”

Kieran groaned and flopped forward onto the board, letting his arms dangle in the water. “I think the ocean hates me.”