Epilogue
The beach was busy but not crowded. Sage spread the blanket and kicked his shoes off beside it. Bryce set the small cooler down and dropped beside him. They sat close without thinking about it. Bryce handed him a bottle of water.
“Hydrate,” Bryce said.
“Yes, doctor.”
They watched the water for a minute. A couple walked past with a dog that refused to touch wet sand. Bryce smiled at that and leaned his shoulder into Sage’s.
They’d been here for a week. Cheap motel two blocks off the beach. A room AC that rattled. Two sets of towels they took to the desk every other morning. It worked. They slept like rocks. They woke without alarms. They ate sandwiches and fruit and the same diner’s eggs on repeat. It felt easy.
“Mom asked if we’re back by the twenty-fifth,” Bryce said.
“We are,” Sage said. “Keys on the twenty-third. I texted the landlord.”
“Good.”
Sage rubbed sunscreen on the back of Bryce’s neck. He did the shoulders next. Bryce did the same for him. It was ordinary now. No jokes to cover it.
“Study room?” Bryce asked.
“Yeah,” Sage said. “Bedroom two becomes the study. Desk along the window wall, bookshelves on the right. Whiteboard on the short wall.”
“Coffee maker in there?”
“Small one,” Sage said. “We’re not walking to the kitchen every time we sit down.”
“Deal.”
They lay back. The sun was lower. Heat eased. A volleyball game started three blankets over and ended fast when someone smacked the ball into the road.
They were quiet for a while. The wind moved. A plane dragged a banner that said something about pizza. A kid dug a hole and forgot it. A lifeguard yelled once and then sat back down.
“We need two desks,” Bryce said. “And two chairs that don’t kill our backs.”
“I’ll bring mine,” Sage said. “We’ll get you one at the warehouse place.”
“Bookcases?”
“Three,” Sage said. “Two for me, one for you.”
“Rude,” Bryce said, not offended.
“You can share mine,” Sage said.
“Better.”
They talked about small logistics. Power strips. A second lamp. Where the router would go so the cable wouldn’t trip them. Where to put the extra set of drawers. None of it carried heat. It felt like laying track for something that already ran.
“Ben texted trivia dates,” Bryce said. “Tara says she refuses to carry us all year.”
“She always says that.”
“She always carries us,” Bryce said.
“Dan still banned from playlists?”
“Gage says yes.”
“Good.”
Bryce rolled onto his back and slid his hand into Sage’s. Fingers laced. Warm, steady. They stayed like that and watched the sky shift.
They packed up when the sun hit the edge of the water.
Shoes back on. Cooler closed. Blanket shaken and rolled.
The walk back to the motel was quiet in a way that meant neither of them needed to fill it.
The room smelled of their sunscreen and the cardboard pizza box they’d left on the desk by mistake.
Sage slid it into the trash and cracked the bathroom window.
Bryce turned the AC down a notch and flopped on the bed. “We doing the board tonight?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Sage said.
They’d made a list on the motel notepad: move-in order, study-room layout, first-week meals, bills. Sage added batteries because the remote at home had started to die before they left. Bryce added brownies and looked innocent. Sage underlined it once and didn’t argue.
They showered the sand off and pulled on clean T-shirts and shorts. Bryce sat with his back to the headboard and the notepad on his knee. Sage sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed with his phone, putting dates in the shared calendar.
“We’re share a bed now,” Bryce said. “I’m not moving rooms.”
“I know,” Sage said. He liked hearing it anyway. “We should sell the extra bed.”
“We can store it in the study for a week. Ben’s cousin wants it.”
“Okay.”
They ran through the list. Laundry schedule. Grocery days. One night a week they didn’t do homework in the study and watched something dumb instead. One night a week with friends, if it worked. They wanted a plan they could keep.
Bryce set the pen down. “We good?”
“We’re good,” Sage said.
Bryce slid down and found him at the bottom of the bed. He hooked two fingers in Sage’s waistband and tugged him closer until they were hip to hip.
They kissed. Slow. Familiar. Hands steady. They didn’t push it. Vacation had been a lot of that—heat that stopped before it sprinted. It worked.
They pulled the curtains closed and turned the lamp off. AC rattled. The building settled. A car horn honked once and stopped.
“I love you,” Bryce murmured into the dark.
“I love you too,” Sage whispered back.
The End