23. Ari
TWENTY-THREE
ARI
Me: Let’s do something normal before I combust.
I thumbed the message one-handed, sprawled on my bed, my legs tangled in sheets and half-finished laundry. A second later, I added: Also it’s your last day off and I’m selfish.
The typing bubble popped up almost immediately.
Daddy: Define normal.
Me: Not art. Not overthinking.
Daddy: Sounds fake. What else you got?
Me: The beach. Towels. Sunscreen. Sand in places we’ll regret.
Daddy: Are you asking or bratting?
Me: Both. Please, Daddy?
Daddy: Dramatic little thing. What time should I pick you up?
Me: I’ll be ready in 45. You bring snacks. I’ll bring the drinks.
Daddy: *eye roll emoji*
Me: Promise I’ll behave
Daddy: *eye roll emoji* *eye roll emoji*
Fifteen minutes in, I texted a mirror selfie. Shirt off. Swim trunks slung low. Purple sunglasses.
Me: Thoughts?
There was no response for a minute.
Daddy: Bring a towel big enough to wrap you in and you might survive the day.
Forty minutes later, Daddy’s truck rumbled up the street just as I stepped off the porch, cooler bag slung over one shoulder.
He pulled up to the curb, engine idling. The window rolled down, and there he was—cap backwards, jawline shaded with stubble, one hand on the wheel. His aviators gave nothing away, but I could feel the once-over behind the lenses.
I grinned. “Evenin’, Daddy.”
He smiled back, already reaching to open the truck door. “Got the snacks covered. What’s in your cooler?”
“Drinks,” I said, slinging the bag over one shoulder. “Gotta keep you hydrated.”
I stepped off the curb, popped open the passenger door, and leaned in to slide the cooler behind the seat. I climbed in, tugged the door shut behind me.
The cab smelled like him—clean skin, coffee, something faintly citrus. My gaze dipped, totally not on purpose, to where his board shorts clung to his thighs. Unfair. Criminal.
For a second, my hand hovered above the console. The urge to reach across and kiss him pulsed behind my ribs. Just one kiss. Quick. But small towns bred big mouths. Somebody was always looking.
Daddy shifted into gear without looking at me, but his mouth twitched. “Seatbelt, boy.”
I clicked it into place. “Yes, Daddy.”
We parked where the dunes dipped low and a few sea grape trees lined the edge of the lot, casting broken shadows across the sand.
Kids shrieked downshore, volleyball smacks echoing in bursts.
Someone’s Bluetooth speaker played rock music a little too loud, but it blended in with the buzz of conversation and the breeze.
Daddy got out first, grabbed the cooler and the snacks. He tipped his head toward the back seat. “You wanna grab the blanket, boy?”
I reached for the blanket, then followed him down the worn path between sunbathers and umbrellas. We didn’t touch, not once, but I felt him—close enough that his presence hummed through my skin.
He stopped near a clump of sea grape trees farther from the crowd, where the sand flattened and the view opened up. He set the cooler down, dropped the bag beside it, and helped me shake the blanket out over the sand.
"You gonna put sunscreen on me or let me sizzle like bacon?"
He crouched to unzip the side pouch of the bag with the snacks and pulled out the bottle. Gave it a shake. “You just want an excuse to get rubbed down.”
I shrugged, already toeing off my slides. “Can you blame me?”
He popped the cap, the scent of coconut drifting up. “Sit. Shirt off.”
I dropped down and peeled my tee over my head, back to him.
Hands met shoulders.
Slow.
Warm.
Every drag of his palms down my spine lit a fuse. He didn’t talk, just rubbed the lotion in with quiet focus. His fingers skimmed the edge of my swim trunks, then slid back up to my shoulder blades.
His gaze kept flicking to the people nearby.
"Relax," I murmured. "I’m not gonna moan or anything."
He huffed a sound that might’ve been a laugh.
"Your turn," I said, and held my hand out for the bottle.
He didn’t argue. Just turned his back. The man had the shoulders of a demigod. I dragged my palms over them slowly, soaking up the way his muscles shifted under my touch.
"You know this is payback, right?"
"For what?"
I leaned close to his ear. "For being hot and broody and off-limits in public."
His shoulders tensed, but he didn’t move away. Didn’t speak either.
The water sparkled like a postcard. I peeled off my shorts and walked toward the water as if it were calling my name. I didn’t check to see if Daddy was following me. Cool waves lapped at my knees, then my thighs. Salt stuck to my lips, and I dove under.
When I surfaced, Daddy stood on the shore, hands on hips, sunglasses gone.
I waved. He shook his head but started walking in, slow and deliberate, like a man doing damage assessment.
"You gonna join me, old man?"
"Coming to rescue your dramatic ass."
"Pretty sure I can save myself."
He reached me just as another wave surged. Our bodies bumped—chest to chest, arms grazing.
He steadied me. Just for a second.
"Thanks," I said, voice low.
He didn’t let go right away.
We treaded water for a while. Not speaking much. Letting the tide do its thing. I floated onto my back, let the fading sun warm my face, and peeked at him through half-closed eyes.
He watched me.
There was distance between us—an invisible line that neither of us crossed, even though I wanted to. Always wanted to.
When our fingertips brushed, I pretended not to notice. Pretended not to want more.
Eventually, I pulled toward shore. The sand shifted under my feet as I waded out, squeezing water from my hair and pushing it back off my forehead. Daddy followed. I glanced over my shoulder and?—
Damn.
He was sunlight and muscle, all easy power and long strides. Water slicked down his torso, catching in the grooves of his stomach. His hand dragged over his face, wiping away droplets. Mouth set in that unreadable line that always made my pulse skip.
I turned away before I got caught staring. Not that I had to look to feel him coming. Everything faded when he was near.
We walked the short stretch back to our spot, the sand warm against my soles, breeze tugging at damp swim trunks. Daddy flicked a look my way.
“You good?”
“Yeah.” I dropped down on the blanket. “Love the vibes.”
His thigh bumped mine as he sank beside me, arms braced behind him. We sat in a silence that teetered between comfortable and not, ocean humming nearby. Families played down the beach. Kids shrieked. A dog barked somewhere.
I pulled open the cooler and handed him a soda. He cracked it open, sipped once, then stretched out his legs.
“What was your worst summer job?” I asked.
He snorted. “That’s a hard one. Lotta competition.”
“C’mon. Worst one. No sugarcoating.”
He tipped his head. “Lifeguard at the Y. Thought it’d be laid-back. It wasn’t. The chlorine strong enough to melt your nose hairs, screaming kids with floaties, a clogged drain situation I still have nightmares about.”
I grimaced. “Yikes.”
“Yours?”
“Worked at this artsy bookstore. Think incense and overpriced tea. No one ever bought books. I spent hours rearranging the same stack of poetry chapbooks, pretending to be deep.”
Daddy smirked. “Let me guess. You wore a vest.”
“Worse.” I sipped. “A beret.”
He choked. “A beret ?”
“I was committed,” I said solemnly.
“You were a walking Tumblr post.”
“Don’t judge me,” I said, nudging his leg with mine.
He laughed under his breath. “What happened to the beret?”
“Burned it.”
We sat for a moment, the breeze lifting the edge of the towel, sand warm beneath us. I eyed the open snack container between us.
“You brought all this and no chips?”
Daddy tilted his head, then gestured to a smaller bag tucked under the jerky. “Sour cream and onion. Your favorite. You think I packed all this for me ?”
My hand darted for the bag. “I take back everything I was about to say about you.”
“That’d be a first.”
I popped one in my mouth, then pointed at the rest. “Okay, let’s see—jerky, obviously. Trail mix with the off-brand M&Ms. Grapes, nice touch. And…” I pulled out a little container. “You made sandwiches?”
“Turkey and cheese. Extra mustard. Told you—I pay attention.”
I smiled into the chip bag, chest warming in a way that had nothing to do with the sun.
He tossed a piece of jerky into his mouth. “Say you could only eat one snack for the rest of your life. What is it?”
“That’s easy. Popcorn.”
He glanced over. “Microwave?”
I made a face. “With that radioactive-yellow butter? Gross. Stovetop popcorn all the way, baby. You can make it sweet, salty, spicy, whatever. Plus, there’s the joy of the pop.”
Daddy gave a slow nod, chewing. “The joy of the pop?”
“You ever stood over a hot pot and listened to the first kernel explode?” I asked. “It’s magic.”
He squinted, amused. “You’re weird.”
“Okay, food snob. What’s yours?”
“Jerky.”
“Of course it is. That’s so… dad-coded.”
He gave a short laugh. “It’s protein-packed. Portable. No fuss.”
“Dry,” I said. “Chewy. Hard pass.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love it.”
He didn’t answer right away. Just leaned back further, one leg brushing mine again—barely there, but enough to notice. I let the quiet stretch, let the ocean do the talking for a minute.
A shadow stretched across the blanket.
“Reid? Ari?”
I blinked up. It was Heather Reece, back from wherever life had taken her. Still tan, still beachy in a way that looked effort-free. She was in the same year in high school as Daddy and Sage. Her floppy hat nearly took me out when she leaned to hug Daddy and then me. I’d always liked her.
“Come back for good, Heath?” Daddy asked.
“Nah. I’ve got a family reunion this weekend. You haven’t aged a day.”
Daddy gave her a quick smile. “You look good.”
“And you,” she said, turning to me with a playful squint. “Still breaking hearts?”
“Trying to be good,” I said, lifting my hand in a lazy wave. “No promises.”
She laughed. “Figures you two would be camped out here, playing hooky from real life.”
Daddy gave a small shrug. “Today’s my day off.”
Looking between us, she said, “You two look like an old married couple. I mean that in the best way.”
Something flickered across Daddy’s face. Not panic. Just the tightening of muscles. A shift.
I jumped in before things got weird. “We’ve known each other forever. Comes with the territory.”
“And where’s Sage? At his shop?”
“Yep.”
She nodded, sunglasses sliding back on. “Well, enjoy the sand and sun, boys. Tell your mom I said hi, Ari.”
I nodded. “Will do.”
And just like that, she breezed off.
The silence she left behind stretched longer than it should have. The kind that usually meant something was wrong, even if no one said it out loud.
I stood, brushing sand from my legs. “Gonna walk a bit.”
“Need company?”
I shook my head. “Nah. I just need a minute.”
He didn’t push.
I walked toward the waterline. Let the tide soak my ankles.
Breeze cooled the sweat behind my knees.
Too many feelings pooled behind my ribs, none of them clear enough to name, but all crowding the same space.
It wasn’t that Daddy had stiffened. It wasn’t even the lie—or omission, or whatever we were calling it.
It was the ache of wanting to reach for his hand without having to check who might be watching.
Of wanting to exist beside him without the weight of secrecy pressing on the space between us.
Of wanting a life where loving him out loud didn’t come with consequences.
I crouched where the sand thinned, eyes scanning for something pretty. Found a shell shaped almost like a heart, chipped on one side, pink inside. I ran a thumb across it.
Footsteps padded close behind. A second later, Daddy crouched next to me. His hand rested on his thigh, fingers curling like he wanted something to do with them.
I held up the shell. “This reminds me of you.”
His gaze lingered on the shell. “Yeah?”
I passed it over. “Kind of rough. Chipped. But you wanna keep it anyway.”
He turned it over, thumb brushing the edge. “That supposed to be romantic or an insult?”
“Maybe both?”
He didn’t laugh, but his eyes softened. “I’d keep you, too.”
That got me. Lodged something in my throat.
We sat there for a minute. Let the tide lap against our feet. Let the sky shift into that hazy late-afternoon orange. The noise on the beach softened. Families packing up. Kids whining about leaving. Someone’s music playing faintly in the distance.
A couple strolled past us, walking slow. Their hands linked. The woman’s head leaned into the man’s shoulder.
I stared at their hands.
Then at mine.
Empty.
Want throbbed behind my ribs—quiet, familiar.
Daddy reached out and clasped my hand in his. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to my knuckles—briefly, sweetly, the kind of touch that left no heat behind.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t need to.
The shell sat in his other palm, pale pink catching the last of the sun.
I turned my hand under his. Let our fingers curl together. Just for a moment. Long enough to feel it.
Long enough to want more.
“Daddy…” His name left my lips softer than I meant.
He looked over. “Yeah?”
It was right there. The thing I’d been holding.
I love you.
Not spur-of-the-moment or desperate.
True.
I swallowed. Blinked fast. “Nothing. Just… thanks for today.”
“Anytime,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You make everything better, you know that?”
I nodded, but couldn’t speak. My throat burned with the weight of everything I hadn’t said.