His healing progress is incredible, and he’s gained a healthy amount of muscle, but his body still maps the landmarks of everything he went through. Flashbacks flicker inside my mind. Cole’s ashen skin as he bled into his abdomen, the agonized moans that turned to silence.
“Crazy, right?” Cole says, dragging me from my memories. “I have a few more, but they’re not as cool.”
I remember every single scar, from jagged gashes to laparoscopic surgery incisions. But when I look at him, I don’t see something broken. I see his strength, his bravery, the rugged beauty of his carved abs, the dimples at the small of his back. I want to touch him everywhere, trace every scar, kiss every rib around his broken heart.
“Want to see my presents?” Finn asks.
Cole laughs. “What a segue.”
My hand falls to Cole’s lower back on the way in. His shoulders pinch inward.
I raise my palms. “Sorry. It’s a habit.” Everything is. There’s just too much history there.
“Uncle Cole?” Finn calls from inside. He probably thinks Cole’s going to disappear if he turns his back.
“Be right there, bud.” Cole lowers his voice into an icy tone he usually reserves for assholes. “I’m here for Finn.”
Not you,goes unsaid. Then he leaves me there on the back porch in the rain, feeling so alone I might as well be the only man in the world. I close the door behind him and stay outside. Finn is too perceptive. He’ll know something’s wrong and then he’ll worry.
I stand on the tips of my toes and search for the spare carton of cigarettes Seb used to stash on the beam so he could sneak a smoke on a bad day without Finn knowing. Nicotine is an addiction that nearly every fisherman I know has battled. Cole never acquired a taste for it. Seb only smoked at sea, and I quit five years ago.
Our line of work is dangerous enough. If the ocean doesn’t kill you, the years of stress and cigarettes will. But I need the comfort of my best friend.
When my fingers find the slippery cellophane, my facade crumbles.Seb’s lighter is there too. I hold both to my chest and blink back tears. I wish he was here. I wish he hadn’t sacrificed himself for me.
That’s the thing Cole doesn’t understand. He isn’t the only one with survivor’s guilt. I take all the punches he throws at me, but I’m beating myself up too. If he’d ever let me talk about what happened, he’d see that I have even more reasons to feel guilty. Maybe then he’d forgive himself.
I plunk down at the top of the stairs. Raindrops tap on the roof of the covered porch. The back door opens. My heart stutters with a mix of fear and relief, but it’s just Shay.
“Are they okay in there?” I ask.
“Yeah. Finn barnacled himself to Cole, and they're both eating cake on the couch.”
“Not the couch,” I joke.
She banned eating in the living room after Finn spilled a bowl of melted chocolate ice cream on the couch.
“It’s his birthday.” She shrugs and sits beside me. “Where’d you get those?”
“They’re Seb’s.”
“Shit.”
I tear the plastic and pop the top of the carton open. “Want one?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
I shield her cigarette with my hand and light it, then light my own. The first drag on the cigarette fills me with the comfort of familiarity before a rogue wave of grief slams into me. My body buckles forward, and I shake with silent sobs.
“Aw, Mor,” Shay says on a nicotine-laced exhale, rubbing my back the way I wish Cole would.
“This is really fucking hard.”
“It really fucking is.”
None of this has been fair to her. Watching Finn every season was manageable, but moving here pulled her off campus, and she had to take a leave of absence.
“I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t here,” I say.