“That was fun,” Ryan says while we eat lunch at a small restaurant on the beach.
“It was.” I take a bite of my tuna salad (minus the tuna because I’m still traumatized from earlier). “I forgot how much I love learning about marine biology. The wildlife and water…”
“It’s your passion.”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “I’ve only taken one course in high school and an elective credit when I was in college.”
“I could see it in your eyes. The way they lit up over every detail and fact. When the guy was talking to us about the water, you were practically bouncing in place. Nobody gets that excited over the topic of saltwater unless it’s their passion.”
“Maybe,” I repeat with a laugh. “What’s your passion?” I ask, finding myself wanting to know more about Ryan. I’ve known him my entire life, but with our age difference, he graduated and moved when I was ten—only going to Breckenridge once when we were there. He was with his wife, but I didn’t really spend much time with them. Now he’s back—and divorced—and I feel like I don’t really know much about him.
“Growing up, I enjoyed robotics engineering. Learning the codes, inputting them, and building the robots. When I joined the military, I found I was good at applying those same types of skills to my job, so I got a degree in engineering.”
I shake my head in frustration. “I would’ve already graduated with my associate’s and been in San Diego working on my degree. Ian and I—” I cut myself off, refusing to finish my would’ve, could’ve. If I’m going to move forward, I have to think about what is, not what could’ve been.
“You can still do all that,” Ryan says, refusing to let me get lost in my thoughts. “You took a little detour, but you can still get back on track. No, it won’t be the same plan, but it’ll be your plan.”
We finish eating dinner, and then, after stopping by our spot on the beach and grabbing our stuff, we head back to the house. The walk is filled with comfortable silence, and once we’re back, we go our separate ways to shower. When I get out, I notice a missed call from my mom, so I call her back.
“Hey, sweet girl, how are you?”
“I’m good,” I tell her, and for the first time in a long time it’s the truth. My day out with Ryan has been really good for me. I not only thought of Ian less, but I didn’t cry once the entire day.
“What did you do today?”
“Is that your way of trying to find out where I am?”
“I can’t help but worry.” Mom sighs. “I know you’re twenty and free to come and go, but you’ve been holed up in your room for over a year, and then you disappear with nothing more than a note telling me I was right and you needed to get away. What if something happens to you? I wouldn’t even know where to look.”
The worry in my mom’s tone isn’t something I like to hear. It’s the same tone she’s been using since I lost Ian and, in turn, lost myself. I left to give everyone a break from worrying about me, and until she knows I’m safe, she’s going to keep worrying.
“I’m at the beach house, but please don’t tell Dad. He’ll have someone come check on me, and I’m okay. I promise. I went for a walk today to the pier, did a little fishing…”
“You fished?”
“It was horrible. I don’t recommend it.”
Mom laughs, and I find myself joining in. I’ve missed talking and laughing with her. “What else did you do?”
“There was a pop-up museum on the pier. An oceanarium. It was really cool. Did you know that less than five percent of the ocean has been explored?”
Mom laughs again, but this time it sounds weird, kind of watery. “I didn’t know that,” she says with a sniffle.
“Mom, are you crying?”
“Oh, sweet girl, I’m just… You sound happy, and well, that makes me happy. This last year, seeing you hurting. I hated not being able to help you.”
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about. You lost your husband and you were mourning. And even though you’re happy today, there will probably be more bad days. Days when you miss him and feel the pain. But I’m glad today was a good day.”
“It was.” And it was all because of Ryan. Because he forced me to take a step forward. He distracted me with fishing and swimming and the museum and dinner. It was the first day I didn’t focus on Ian and the pain I feel from his death. Instead I focused on myself, on taking one step forward. And it felt good. Ryan was right. Ian wouldn’t want me mourning him for the rest of my life. He would want me to live.
Mom and I talk for a few more minutes about my day, and I make it a point to leave Ryan out of the conversation. Dad mustn’t have told her he gave Ryan a key, or she would’ve mentioned it the moment I told her I was here. With the promise to call her soon, we say good night.
I throw on a pair of leggings and a Cooper’s Fight Club hoodie, then head out to find Ryan. He’s lying out on a lounge chair on the back patio, staring out at the ocean. I grab a Gatorade and a beer from the fridge and join him.
“Didn’t we talk about this?” he asks, when he spots the bottle in my hand.
“It’s for you.” I hand him the beer and sit next to him. “I thought you could use one.” I show him the Gatorade in my other hand. “This is for me.”
He grins and his two sexy dimples make an appearance. “That a girl.” He pops the top and raises the beer to his mouth. His head goes back slightly, exposing his neck as he swallows a mouthful of the liquid.
“You did good today,” he says, setting the bottle between his muscular thighs, which are stretched out in front of him.
“Because of you.”
“No, because of you. I just steered you in the right direction.” He turns his face toward me, granting me the most gorgeous smile, and a knot forms in my belly. This shouldn’t be happening. I’m nowhere near close to being over Ian, but for some reason my body and heart aren’t communicating with each other.
I push the feelings aside, refusing to acknowledge them. I need to focus on me, on healing, on moving forward, creating a new plan and life for myself.
Ryan is here to relax before he leaves to go overseas. Why he’s here with me, I don’t know. I know he’s got money. He doesn’t act like it, but Bentley and Kayla are loaded and their kids all have trusts in their names. The moment he saw I was here, he could’ve just rented a hotel room. Is he that good of a guy he would stay here just to help me get through my shit?
His phone rings, momentarily pausing my thoughts. He holds it up and it says Laura—his ex-wife.
“Hey, Laura. Everything okay?” I would expect him to walk away to have some privacy, but he doesn’t move. He nods slightly, listening to whatever it is she’s saying, and a small smile creeps up on his lips. “Congratulations.” He takes a swig of his beer then sets it back down. “That’s great, Laura. I’m happy for you.”
I try to find a hint of insincerity in his voice, but can’t find any. “I love you, too,” he says. “Talk to you soon.”