Jade
Mom's car disappears around the corner at seven-fifteen and I stand in the doorway for another minute after she's gone.
The evening air smells like jasmine and cut grass from the neighbor's yard. Down the road a dog barks twice. I watch the empty street and think about my mother's hand against my cheek.
I'm on the back deck when Phoenix's car pulls into the drive at eight. I hear the engine cut then his footsteps on the path leading to the back. He comes out onto the deck and neither of us speaks for a moment.
The marine layer that sits offshore most evenings has stayed back, pushed out by whatever wind came through this afternoon, and the Pacific is visible all the way to the horizon, dark blue going darker in the late light.
It almost never looks like this. Most nights there's a wall of gray eating the distance.
Tonight, there's just water, open and unobstructed, going further than I can see.
"Your mother gone?" Phoenix asks.
"Just left.”
He looks at the water. "How was it?"
“Good.”
He nods, putting his hand on the rail beside mine and we stand there for a moment in the quiet with the water in front of us.
It’s the first time in months that I've stood out here and not felt the weight of everything pressing against me. No Richard. No indictment. No lawyers counting down timelines. It’s just Phoenix beside me and the jasmine coming over the fence.
“Let’s go swimming," I say.
He looks at me. "Now?"
"Right now. Before it gets totally dark."
He looks at the water again, taking a beat. “It’s going to be really cold."
"That's the point," I say.
We go down the deck steps to the beach with the blanket I grab from the storage chest — the old one, salt-stiffened, the one that lives out here.
The sand is still warm from the day, that deep warmth that lingers in the surface hours after the sun has gone. I drop the blanket above the tide line and we keep walking toward the water.
There are a few people on the beach—a couple with a dog at the far end, an older man reading on a low chair, a group of people our age twenty meters down with a small fire going in a pit.
We pass the group on our way to the water.
One of them, a guy in a red shirt and an easy smile, looks at me as we pass.
It’s not a leer, but a look that lingers half a second too long.
Just then Phoenix's hand finds the small of my back. He doesn’t grab me or pull me closer. Instead, he places it there to make a statement. The guy in the red shirt reads it the same way I do and looks away and Phoenix's hand stays there until we reach the waterline.
I glance up at Phoenix, but he stares at the dark water, keeping his expression neutral.
The water is cold. Not viciously cold. September is usually the warmest month, but it’s cold enough that I gasp when it hits my waist.
“Jesus,” Phoenix gasps and I laugh out loud.
He looks at me. "It's freezing."
"It's not freezing. It's refreshing."
"Those are different words for the same thing."
"Keep moving," I say. “You'll get used to it."
He doesn't look convinced but he keeps moving. We wade out until we're deep enough to swim and then I push off and he follows. The cold hits everywhere at once and I stop thinking about anything except the water and my own arms pulling through it.
We swim parallel to the shore, careful not to go too far out.
The beach lights from the houses above are small and warm from here.
I can hear the group of people around the fire laughing somewhere behind us.
Phoenix is a better swimmer than I expected—strong, economical, not wasting energy. He catches up to me without trying.
"Race?" I say.
"You'll lose."
"We'll see.”
I push off before I finish saying it, which is cheating and I don't care. For about five seconds I'm ahead. I’m a decent swimmer, always have been. I spent my summers at the public pool. Then I hear Phoenix behind me. For a few moments, we’re about the same level and then he wizzes past me and it’s not even close.
He touches the buoy we picked as the finish line a full three seconds before I do and turns around treading water with an expression that is insufferably calm.
“You cheated,” I say.
“No, you did.” He laughs.
I splash water at him and he catches my wrist before I can do it again. He pulls me closer and I collide with his chest, both of us breathless.
His arms go around me. My legs wrap around his waist and he holds me up. We bob there in the dark water for a moment, his face close to mine, both of us wet and shivering and not doing anything about it.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi," I whisper.
Phoenix presses his lips to mine. They are cold but warm underneath. His hand grips my waist and I kiss him back, tasting salt water and feeling his heartbeat through both of our chests.
When we climb out of the water and make it to the blanket, it’s not particularly graceful. There's sand everywhere, and we're both cold and wet and he pulls me down. I land half on top of him and we're both laughing again for a second before it becomes something else.
Phoenix rolls me onto my back and looks down at me. His hair is wet and his eyes are dark and he's not laughing anymore. Neither am I.
His mouth finds my throat and I tip my head back and look up at the sky. It’s actually dark now, stars twinkling. The horizon is a deep black line where the water ends. His hands pull at my swimsuit and I help him out. His hands make their way down my bare skin and the blanket is rough beneath us.
Phoenix takes his time. Out here in the open air with the sound of the water and the distant voices and the dog barking somewhere further down, he takes his time—not building toward something, just being here, his mouth and his hands moving over me until I can't think about anything except where he is and where I want him.
“Phoenix.”
He looks up at me.
"Now," I say.
He moves over me and I pull him down and his hand slides between us, positioning, and then he pushes in slowly and I feel every inch of his penis.
My breath catches and he watches my face while he does it, dark eyes steady, waiting until I've adjusted before he moves.
I exhale. He drops his head and kisses my throat.
Then he starts to move and I dig my fingers into his shoulders and hold on.
It's not urgent or desperate. It's not about crisis or any of the things that have driven us toward each other for the last several months.
It's just two people on a beach who have been through a lot together.
His forehead drops to mine and I feel him exhale and we move together in the dark with the water behind us and the stars above and nobody watching.
When I come it's quiet. I let out a small exhale, my hands tightening in his hair. He follows and goes still after a big thrust. We stay there for a while, lying tangled on the salt-stiffened blanket in the sand under a star-studded sky.
When we get up a bit later, the group down the beach is still going, voices and laughter carrying across the sand.
The couple with the dog passed us a while ago heading back toward the stairs, the dog trotting ahead, hopefully oblivious to what we have just done under the blanket. The beach is mostly quiet now.
Phoenix puts his arm around me. I lean against his shoulder and look at the water.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Work … I’m sorry. I shouldn’t, but all of my thoughts keep returning there.”
“No worries.”
“What about work?”
“I want to build something new.”
“Like what?” I ask.
He's quiet for a moment. Not stalling, just looking at the horizon and thinking.
“I want to make something that doesn't need to be hidden," he says.
"The old structure—the offshore mechanisms, the layered entities—it worked but it worked because it was designed to stay invisible.
I don't want to build something invisible again.
" He pauses. "I want to build something people can look at. "
"What does that look like?"
"I don't know yet. But I want your name on it."
I look at him. "My name?”
"Whatever I build next, I want it to be ours.
Not Crawford Group part two. I want it to be ours.
" He looks at me steadily. "You've been in this for months.
You read the files and you asked the questions and you found Ashley when none of us thought to look.
That deserves more than watching from the sidelines. "
The water moves in front of us, dark and steady.
“I can help you with whatever you want. You know that,” I say with a small smile.
“I know. And that’s why I love you.”
“I love you too.
He holds my gaze for a moment. Then he takes my hand and we sit there on the blanket with the water in front of us and the stars above and laughter somewhere down the beach. It’s the first time in a year that I feel like what comes next might actually be good.
Not just survivable, but something positive.
I find his hand and take it in mine. And he doesn’t let go.