I find the bench.
I findhimstanding just behind it and wearing my borrowed hoodie, looking at me like I'm a dream he didn't believe would come true.
"Jamie."
It's difficult to see, but I think his eyes are wet when he smiles. "You're as gentle with my name as I am with yours."
"I'm afraid to let it go."
He could tell me we have to. It's what I'd said to him. Instead, he moves around the bench and steps close to me. Arm's length, if it were a thing we were measuring. We should sit or talk or search the sky for something that will save us, but both of us breathe around the reliable rumble of the waves until I speak again.
"I guess you've been here a while. I was looking for you down by the rocks, but I—" I stop talking as Jamie tilts his head, the slightest frown there and gone when I glance over his shoulder. The houses of millionaires. One that helped light my way. And a path from there to here, because this bench belongs tosomeone, and it's only now that I realize we never trespassed at all. "I'm such an idiot. This is your—you live here. We're in your backyard."
"More or less," Jamie says.
"We can't go up there. I can't go inside."
"I'm not asking you to. This is where the rest of my life leaves me alone, remember?"
I nod. "Where the great Jameson Sinclair can pretend time doesn't count."
He ignores my tone and swallows hard. "We already made it count, Mateo. We made it count so much it hurts."
"So why did you invite me here?" I ask. "Because you're right. We made it count, and we can't pretend a damn thing. We can't keep meeting here like everything we might say and do won't spill into the rest of our lives. And if it hurts—"
"I've lived with pain for a long fucking time."
His honesty takes my breath away, and I watch as he finally sits on the bench. He's left room for me, and I don't take as long as I shouldto join him, my eyes on the ocean because I think I'll kiss him if I look anywhere else.
"I don't want to be the reason you're in pain," I say.
"You're not," Jamie huffs. "I can't imagine ever hurting when I'm with you."
We fall silent, careful not to touch, and I want to stay here until morning just to let another sunrise absolve us of sins we won't commit. As it is, we sit for a long time on a bench I already consider ours. It's unfair to consider anythingourswhen this feels like a prolonged goodbye, but there's something in the air that makes it okay, and I breathe it in.
"You're not going to come out," I finally say, too soft about it until I clear my throat and try again. "It was going to be hell for you anyway—all the wrong attention—but while you might've done that for me, and while you would've done anything to help protect Harper from the worst of the fallout, you won't put her in the middle of it by dating her teacher."
"I can't."
"You shouldn't, andIcan’t.”
Jamie sighs and swallows feelings I know well. "You love your boring life. You might've given some of it up for me, but—"
"I won't put Harper in the middle of it, either. And the chance of getting fired over it—”
"Mmmm. Is this where I point out that she won't be your student forever?"
My head turns sharply at that. "You'd wait a year to be with me?"
"Four. She wants to play soccer."
"Jamie," I say, struggling past the lump in my throat.
“What if we still see each other?” he asks, hurrying on. “We could be friends, right? We could talk and get to know each other and hang out like friends do. Even if we do it quietly, so nobody asks questions.We could have something else for these four years. We don’t have to wait for everything.”
“Jamie,” I say again.
I don’t know how to explain how I’m wounded by what he’s just said, still far from recovered from seeing him walk into my classroom two nights ago. The idea of being nothing more than friends isn’t something I can fathom yet. And doing it quietly feels so goddamn unfair that I want to drag us both in front of a press conference for the chance to ruin it all.