14. Ivy
IVY
W arm summer air whips around us as we shoot down the Atlantic City Expressway toward the coast.
With my arms wrapped tightly around Cam, the miles fall away too fast to process.
And it feels like we’re flying.
Really.
Truly.
Flying.
The single most exhilarating rush I’ve ever experienced.
Despite pulling back my hair, loose strands get ripped from the low ponytail and float around my face like feathers caught in the wind, tickling my skin. And the farther we move away from Philly, the closer I find myself shifting toward Cam.
I lower my head to press my cheek between his shoulders.
Smooth, warm leather slides across my skin, and I inhale the scent that’s all him, somehow heightened by the swirling wind as we cut across New Jersey toward the ocean.
My eyes drift closed, and the engine rumbling beneath us, his solid presence in front of me, and this strange sensation of floating melt away the tension in my body, despite what we’re on our way to do.
For a brief moment in time, grief doesn’t overwhelm me.
It doesn’t rear its ugly, snarling head, trying to snap at me and bring me to my knees.
It doesn’t gut me and make me feel like I can’t breathe.
It quiets.
It floats on the wind like we do.
Cam reaches down and slides his hand over mine, where they rest on his taut stomach, entwining our fingers and squeezing. That simple gesture sends warmth flooding through my body, and I press in even closer, until every breath I take is all air and speed and Cam.
Now I understand…
This.
Why he loves it so much.
Why he wanted to do this for Drew.
Because it feels like freedom.
Freedom from all the questions. Freedom from all the pain. Freedom from all those agonizing things that were keeping me pinned in place, unable to move an inch in any direction without crippling me. Freedom from the blistering reality of life without Drew.
Time and everything else weighing me down disappear the farther we pull from Philly. The more I concentrate on the feeling rather than what we’re doing, the easier it becomes to just be.
But it can’t last forever.
And far too soon, Cam pulls his hand away and slows the bike.
The road’s almost entirely deserted, as the highway was for most of our trip, and by the time we pull up to Strathmere Beach and I lift my head to scan our surroundings, it’s a ghost town.
No one on the streets or sidewalks. No one on the sand.
The rumbling of the engine as we pull into the tiny beach town seems to echo off all the concrete, combining with the rushing of the waves only steps away.
And it’s stunning.
Clouds billow in the sky, threatening another summer storm, but the moon peeks out from behind them, doing its best to break through and illuminate the night.
Cam pulls to a stop near one of the beach entrances and kills the engine, knocking down the kickstand. The sudden change from flying to coming back to Earth makes my head spin momentarily. But the smell of the ocean and the peacefulness of the night settle over me quickly.
He tugs off his helmet and hangs it from the handlebar, then glances over his shoulder at me. “You good?”
I nod, releasing a long, steady breath. “Yeah, that was…”
The corner of his lips curls as he offers me his hand to assist me off the bike. I gladly accept it, and the second I get on my feet, I wobble. His other hand shoots out to grasp my hip, keeping me steady.
He smirks, amusement dancing across his eyes. “It can be a little hard on the legs the first time.”
They feel like Jell-O underneath me, still vibrating from the feel of the engine between them and the thrill the ride gave me. “You’re not kidding.”
He grins as he climbs off while still managing to keep one hand on me to keep me from face-planting onto the pavement. “Just give yourself a minute. You’ll be fine.” His gaze flicks up to my helmet. “Let’s get this off.”
I reach back and grab the seat to keep myself steady as his fingers slide to the buckle under my chin and unstrap it.
He tugs it off my head and examines me, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear with so much tenderness that my chest aches. His scrutinizing gaze scans my face like he’s looking for more than only if I physically survived my first ride. “You sure you’re good?”
Am I?
My legs don’t tremble as badly, and I slowly release my death grip on the seat to fully support my weight on them. But that isn’t really what he’s asking. I nod regardless, unwilling to give up the last vestiges of that flying feeling to have to focus on the task in front of us. “Yeah.”
That was exhilarating.
A rush I never thought I would feel.
With how Drew always talked about motorcycles being absolute death traps, I probably never would have climbed on one if it weren’t for Cam. Never would have gotten to experience that .
The way my heart seemed to beat in time with the motor and his under my hands, the way the wind whipped around us, blowing away all my thoughts and letting me just be .
Drew didn’t know what he was missing…
But Cam managed to give it to me—and him.
A final farewell ride.
Cam retreats and hangs my helmet on the other handlebar, then opens the saddlebag and pulls out the box with shaking hands. All those magical feelings that overwhelmed me during our ride here vaporize the instant my eyes land on it.
Something lodges in my throat, making it difficult to swallow.
A vise tightens around my chest.
The legs I was so sure were stable now start to tremble again.
That strength I was so sure I had to follow through with what we’re about to do vanishes as quickly as the tide washes away a grain of sand from the shore.
And I’m tumbling again.
Down.
Down.
Down.
To that dark place where nothing can reach me.
Black spots form at the edges of my vision as Cam reaches into his boot and pulls out a knife that he uses to cut the box open. He pauses for a second, staring down into it where it rests on the seat. His shoulders tense, his entire demeanor shifting as the air seems to cool around us.
Time ticks by slowly now.
With each second that passes, we seem to be more lost in our own thoughts and memories.
The last time I was here with Drew…
Bright sunshine and warm breezes.
Pale sand and crisp waters that we sank into together, wrapped in each other’s arms.
Tears slide down my cheeks, and when Cam finally looks up, they glimmer in his eyes, too.
He returns the blade to his boot and lifts the box with shaking hands.
This was never going to be easy. We both knew that and accepted it. But now that we’re finally here, about to do it, it feels like being punched squarely in the gut.
I try to draw in a breath, but it catches on a swallowed sob. Still, I force my feet to move, to step forward and reach into the box to pull out the small metal urn that holds all that’s left of Drew.
My eyes keep burning. The tears keep falling. And I want to blame it on the wind whipping into them during the drive, but it would be a lie.
This is it.
There isn’t any turning back now.
This is what Drew wanted.
Not to sit on the mantle or a shelf somewhere.
This is where he belongs, and he deserves that.
I can’t let my own grief hold me back from giving it to him.
Cam steps past me, over to a large garbage can, and tosses the box in. Then he shoves his hands through his hair as he returns to me, clamping his jaw tightly like he, too, is trying desperately to rein in his emotions.
Given the darkness overtaking his eyes and the way his entire body trembles, he isn’t doing much better than I am…
He inclines his head toward the beach entrance but doesn’t move toward it himself. Instead, he waits for me, watching as my gaze darts between him and the urn in my tight grip. “You ready?”
I shake my head, swallowing a knot of anguish stuck in my throat. “No.”
How could I ever be ready to say goodbye to Drew?
He was my life.
My heart and soul.
My everything.
Which means everything is wrong now.
Nothing feels right anymore.
And maybe it never will again.
Cam offers me a sad half-smile that’s filled with his own pain but somehow manages to ground me, too. It reminds me that he’s suffering just as badly as I am. That I’m not alone in any of this. And that this is the right thing to do.
He holds out a hand.
It’s the lifeline I need to move.
Shifting the urn into the crook of my right arm, I slide my palm against his.
Rough callouses scrape across my skin, sending a little shiver and goosebumps pebbling over it.
He squeezes gently, then starts walking, essentially forcing me to move, despite the fact that my legs don’t seem to want to move.
A thousand things I want to say to Drew race around my head, but there aren’t enough hours in my lifetime or words in the English language to truly encompass them all.
Our boots fall heavily on the wooden boardwalk, and Cam moves straight past the sign indicating the beach has been closed for hours, the emptiness of it swallowing us up the farther we walk until our boots move from wood to sand and sink in.
He leads me straight toward the water without hesitation, without any of the reservation trying to hold my heart back, and I let him.
Because he’s right. If I had left this urn sitting on that mantle, it would have controlled me.
It would have run my life for as long as it was there.
I would have stared at it day and night, thought about what was in it, tortured myself with what-if questions.
They’ll still be there, but he won’t.
It’s time to let him go, even if parts of me aren’t ready.
I draw in a fortifying breath as we reach the lapping waves, the tide pulling at the grains of sand, trying to drag them out into the ocean.