Chapter 43
Morgan
Sawyer doesn’t touch me like a man grieving. He touches me like a man possessed.
In his caress, his kisses—the deep strokes he makes inside me—I feel him starving for passion.
I feed his need, fulfilling my own with the ecstasy I feel in his grip, his mouth, his body.
He holds me like I’m clay in his hands he’s caressing, shaping me to new heights. Like he’s terrified of ever losing me.
It’s hard not to feel insecure, being the first woman to sleep with him since his fiancée. But the truth is, Sawyer is who he is because of Kennedy, so I don’t fight the thought of his ex. I love who Sawyer is, which means I’ll remain grateful forever for her part in his life.
He moves with complete certainty, unmaking every concern I had for the pace of our relationship.
We only have the one condom, so after, we spend the rest of the night telling each other how much we want this with our tongues, our fingertips, our heartbeats joining in a cleansing rhythm.
We use every moment like it’s something individually precious.
With the moonlight pouring over us in the quiet darkness, I’m his undoing. He is mine.
—
Waking in his embrace on the floor of the van, wrapped in blankets, I’m wonderfully happy for one perfect moment.
Then realization crashes over me, like the waves my ghostly best friend spent the night watching.
If Zach isn’t gone yet, he won’t have long.
Panic jumbles my sleep-softened senses. I’m hurting but whole.
Ready but terrified. Of course I want Zach to resolve his unfinished business.
It’s why we’re here, and when I watched him last night, experiencing the love his friends will carry forward for the rest of their lives, he looked so rapturously content. It’s everything I ever wanted for him.
I even want to say goodbye, in my heart’s purest resolve. It’s what Zach needs, what he deserves.
I’m just not ready for the pain.
Holding on to the comfort of last night, I extricate myself from Sawyer’s embrace. Outside, the sun is only just rising. The marine layer coats the shoreline in the early morning, making everything look hazy and soft.
What haunts me now is the list of lasts.
Knowing what’s coming, my mind organizes them with ruthless efficiency.
This is the last sunrise Zach will ever see.
His last sunset has passed. Soon, I will hear him laugh for the last time.
I will look into my friend’s eyes for the last shining moment before they disappear.
I will follow the current of time sweeping me into the world without him, knowing it will never be exactly the same.
“Don’t leave me.”
Sawyer’s sleep-fogged voice pauses me. His eyes still closed, his hand finds mine.
I lift his knuckles to kiss them softly. “I’m not,” I promise him. “I’ll be right back.”
He nods, then rolls onto my pillow, breathing in the scent of me.
I leave him to the serenity of the morning. Stepping out of the van, I continue down the sand to the seashore, listening to the gentle crash of the waves, looking for what I hope I’ll find.
I do. He’s there, sitting on the sand.
When I come closer, Zach doesn’t look up. He keeps his gaze on the horizon, like he expected me. He looks…content. I don’t know if I could manage this morning if he didn’t, but this, I remind myself with every passing moment, is why we’re here.
I sit down next to him, close enough to touch. To my surprise, ghostly cold doesn’t emanate from him. Instead, he’s warmer than the sand beneath us.
Without knowing how I know it’s going to work, I lean on him. I find Zach solid. Soft, comforting, and impossibly real.
With my head on his shoulder, I hug his arm to me. He kisses the top of my hair, and I feel it. He’s finally here. He’s finally real.
Tears sear my vision, sadness streaked with joy, warping my vision of the water. “Zach…” I choke out.
It’s horribly funny. I don’t know what to say. I’ve had months, days, hours to prepare for the moment of Zach’s departure, readiness many people never receive for the cold crash of loss. Still, I have no idea what to say.
Maybe nothing, I decide. Zach was one for living in the moment.
Living every drop of life for its fullest experience, without examining or interrogating or memorializing.
Maybe enjoying the silent sunlight with my friend is exactly the right way to conclude my list of lasts—to end my heartbreaking, healing haunting with Zach Harrison.
We watch the waves for a few minutes, until finally, I put my free hand into my sweatshirt pocket.
Zach eyes the packet of letters I pull out. My tribute.
“They’re from…everyone,” I say, my voice wavering. “Everyone who loved you.” On top is Sawyer’s familiar handwriting.
Zach receives them, holding them like they’re fragile. “How?” he whispers.
The scariest, happiest parts of the past couple months return to me.
“Everywhere we went,” I explain, “I left notes behind, asking your friends and family, your neighbors, your coworkers, to write you a letter and mail it to me. I told them I would set them to sea in a tribute to you. But I think they’d all agree”—tears trickle down my cheeks—“handing them to you is even better.”
Zach swallows hard. Even my happy-go-lucky ghost looks overcome. He crushes me to him in a hug.
“You’ll take care of them, won’t you?” he murmurs into my shoulder. “You’ll check in on my family?”
I nod ferociously. It feels good to have something to hold on to. Not just hope. Not even just optimism. Something sure and certain, like the ghost made real in my embrace. Something pure and clear and real I can use to fend off the pain of losing this man I’ve grown to cherish.
“Good,” Zach replies. “And Sawyer?”
“And Sawyer,” I repeat readily. “I promise on your grave.”
Zach laughs at this. His last laugh. I smile, and it’s enough to stuff my sobs down a little longer. Live in the moment, I remind myself.
“You let him take care of you, too, okay?” Zach says. Withdrawing from his hug, I find real concern in his eyes. No, not just concern—love.
If it is the last look he ever gives me, I might just be okay.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I think I can promise that.”
Zach nods, each of us understanding there’s nothing more to say. Neither of us wants to utter Goodbye or I’ll miss you. Now is enough. The moment is enough.
I hug him one final time. Then, feeling like I’m tearing off a piece of myself, I stand. I honestly don’t know how I’ll get through this moment—only that I have to.
“Read your notes, Zach,” I urge him. “See how much everyone loves you. How you’ll never be forgotten.”
“Morgan, I—” He falters, then composes himself. “Thank you. I can’t thank you enough.”
I smile. If it’s the last look I give him, I think I’ll be okay. “It was a privilege to be haunted by you, Zach Harrison.”
Now Zach smiles back.
I force myself to turn, realizing that this is one last that I get to choose. I want my final memory of him to be that smile. Walking back up the beach, I hug myself in the morning cold. One step in front of the next, I continue on into the new world.
Finally, when I’m near the van, I look over my shoulder. Zach’s form remains on the shoreline.
I watch him read his letters slowly, handling each folded message carefully while the sun rises, lighting the sky in front of him.
I wait. Finally, Zach stops flipping through the letters. He hugs them to his chest, and then he seems to glow brighter and brighter until, suddenly, he’s gone.
The wind picks up the letters, carrying them in one gust out to the sea Zach loved. The beach is empty. I’m by myself.
But I’m not alone.
Sobs rip through me, overtaking me with every step up the rest of the sand. When I reach the parking lot, Sawyer climbs out of the van to meet me. With one look, he knows. I crumple into his arms.
Weak in Sawyer’s embrace, I understand with perfect clarity that I’m confronting something I’ve never had to in my life of constant motion.
This feeling—like my heart has been wrenched out of my chest, like the colors of the world have gone cold—only comes when you find something you’re not ready to lose.
It scares the living shit out of me. Sawyer holds me fearlessly, and in his embrace, I remember he survived the unimaginable. Worse than the loss I’m experiencing, much worse. His healing was lengthy, unconventional, and haunted, yet still, he survived.
With him, I decide—with patience, with resilience, with love—I will survive this.
I sob until I have nothing left, letting myself lean on Sawyer. I empty myself out, cleansing the panic, the pain, the wretched lasts from my system.
Then, with the sun underlining the horizon in kintsugi gold, I draw the new day into my lungs.
“Let’s go home, Sawyer,” I say.
He kisses me on the forehead, intertwining his fingers with mine.
We bid our goodbyes to Zach’s friends, knowing Zach’s memory is kept forever in the hearts of those closest to him.
We promise to come back next year. We load up the van, except for Zach’s memorial surfboard, which we leave with the Perfect Weekend crew.
It belongs with the people who helped make Zach who he was.
Not needing to speak, Sawyer and I return to the sky-blue van. I sit in the passenger seat, letting myself remember glove-compartment gifts and license plates spotted.
Sawyer quietly retakes the driver’s seat, starting the car with the keys that began everything. He’s looking over his shoulder to reverse out of the parking lot when the radio crackles to life.
“Call Me Maybe” is playing.
Sawyer and I lock eyes. Then we burst into teary laughter.
With the sunrise ahead of us, we sing Zach’s favorite song—the whole thing—while Sawyer takes us to the open highway leading us home.