Page 65 of We Are Just Us

“RORY.”

“No.”

“I’ll pee on it myself then…”

“That won’t help either.” Rory jogged back to his truck, returning seconds later with a water bottle. He cracked it open and poured it over Kieran’s foot, rinsing away the sand and salt.

“There,” Rory said. “Better?”

Kieran paused, assessing. “Maybe?”

“Good. Now stop being so damn dramatic.”

“I’m WOUNDED.”

Rory shook his head, smiling. Then, without warning, he bent down and scooped Kieran up with stupid ease, one arm under his knees, the other behind his back.

Kieran yelped. “What are you—”

“You’re limping. I’m carrying you.”

“I can walk!”

“Badly.”

“Rory, I’m not a toddler—”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Rory was already heading toward the truck.

Kieran wanted to protest. But Rory’s arms were solid, his foot did still hurt, and there was something deeply, stupidly comforting about being carried.

So he gave up and let his head rest against Rory’s shoulder.

“This is humiliating,” he muttered.

“This is efficient,” Rory corrected.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Completely.”

Rory deposited him gently into the passenger seat of the Tacoma, then tossed the boards in the back.

Kieran strapped himself in, foot throbbing, pride wounded, watching Rory move with swift competence.

When Rory climbed into the driver’s seat, he glanced over.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Kieran said. “Thanks. For...not peeing on me.”

Rory’s laugh came out full and bright. “Anytime.”

He started the engine and pulled out onto the coast road, the last light of the sunset bleeding into darkness behind them.

Kieran looked down at his foot, red, angry, already starting to swell a little.

“Did we see the green flash?” he asked.