Chapter 12 #4
“A therapist,” I respond. “She helped me confront things I didn’t want to face. I’d leave sessions so furious I’d go to the gym or break things. There’s a smash room in Brooklyn where you can take a baseball bat to glass. It helped.
“I’d been self-medicating for a long time with drinking, doing drugs, and lots of sex—anything to avoid the pain. I thought I was free, but I’d ended up in a different kind of cage. One morning, when I couldn’t get out of bed, I decided I was done being miserable.”
He’s quiet for a while. “That makes sense. I’ve never thought of it like that before, like being stuck in a cage. I know how this sounds, but part of me feels like I deserved the things Ray did.”
That’s the dangerous lie I want to tear out of him.
I turn to him, my voice firm and direct, looking him straight in the eye.
“I want you to hear me and let this sink in deep: you did not deserve any of it. Ray’s bullshit opinions don’t control your life anymore.
Listen to me and the people who truly care about you.
I see you, and I know who you really are. ”
Jay’s eyes are wide, staring at me with the same longing I feel from my head down to my toes. The air between us is charged, thick with desire. His plush, pink lips are begging me to lean in and take them. And God, I want to. But I know I can’t, not yet.
I cradle his face with my hands, the look of expectation flashing across his blue eyes, before I dash his hopes.
“I want to kiss you right now so badly, b…Jay,” I stumble over my words, stopping myself at the last second before Baby spills from my lips.
“But I’m going to stop myself for both our sakes. ”
His head drops, and his shoulders slump. Shit, this isn’t how I want this to go.
I lift his chin with my fingers. “I’m not rejecting you. You have to know how much I want you. But the last thing I want is to be a rebound. You need time.”
His lips tremble, and a lone tear spills down his cheek. “You’re right.” He drops his gaze and looks at his feet. “I know you’re right. I know how broken I am.”
“Fuck that,” I say, making him look at me again. “You’re not broken. You have damage. But who doesn’t have damage?”
He nods slowly, his shoulders sagging.
Pasting on a reassuring smile, I say what I know needs to be said. “I think for now, we need to just be friends so you can take some time to deal with that.”
“Okay,” he whispers, raking his hands over his face.
He falls silent, only the sound of the tide slipping between us. I can only hope my words seeped into the broken cracks and permeated the wounded spaces inside him.
After a while, he finally speaks. “Can I ask a favor?”
“Of course, anything,” I reply.
He squirms a bit, looking uncomfortable. “Would you please not to tell me about certain things? I mean, you haven’t so far, but in the future.”
“What things?” I ask, confused.
He sighs. “About your sex life. I know your OnlyFans is your income, and it’s important to you, but I don’t think I can hear about it.”
I contemplate whether I should tell him where I stand, but I think better of it. Instead, I agree to his request.
“Sure, I can do that.”
The air has that late-day bite as the sun slides below the horizon. I scoot closer, shoulder to shoulder, letting our warmth settle between us. The cold begins to creep in, and we both shiver, so we decide it’s time to go.
The silence between us feels heavy as we return to the car, so I try to lighten the mood.
“Do you remember when you got your hand stuck in that claw machine trying to nab that stupid Furby?” I ask, laughing at the memory of his face, which went from determined to totally defeated after throwing dollar after dollar into that thing.
He swears he spent over twenty-five bucks trying to win it, and when the claw finally grabbed the Furby, it didn’t drop; it hung on the lip just out of reach, and he jammed his hand in trying to pull it free.
“Oh God, that was awful,” he groans, grinning. “My hand was numb by the time they got me out. But it was worth it. I’d been hunting for that Church Mouse forever. I still have it in a box in storage.”
We fall into an easy rhythm for the rest of the night, settled into our separate beds, trading dumb stories and having the kind of late-night conversation that used to keep us up until morning. At some point, we both finally drift off to sleep.
We get up much later than normal and find a popular breakfast spot before driving up Astoria’s steep streets to the Column. I’m terrified of heights, but Jay nudges me up the spiral staircase.
“Come on, don’t be a chicken,” he prods. “I won’t make you spit over the edge or anything.”
“Fine, I’m coming,” I say, surrendering to his grin.
We climb the 125 feet of creaking metal to reach the top. When we step onto the observation deck, the view leaves me speechless. The vastness of the river meeting the Pacific, the bridge stretching across like a spine, and the sweeping patchwork of inlets and mountains are breathtaking.
We bought a couple of balsa gliders from the gift shop, so we launch them off the edge and watch them float down like paper birds.
“I won,” Jay shouts as his plane lands farther down the hill than mine, flinging his arms up in triumph.
I love how carefree and open he is with me.
“You did,” I grin, and reach for him. His bruises have faded even more, and the makeup is doing a good job of covering what remains, so I try again. “Come on, take a selfie with me. I can use an app to make us look pretty. And it’s just for us, I won’t post it anywhere.”
“Yeah, let’s do it,” he replies, smiling just as I hoped.
I put my arm around his shoulder, and we make silly faces to capture the moment.
Once we’re back in the car and ready to head home, Jay turns to me.
“Thank you. I didn’t realize how badly I needed this.”
“I’m just glad to have my best friend back,” I tell him. “I missed this.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Instead of retracing our route, we cross the four-mile Astoria–Megler Bridge. The road spirals upward, gradually climbing until it reaches two hundred feet at its peak. I’m letting Jay get his touristy shots out the window by slowing down so he can capture the unique city below.
“I really like it here,” he says. “I’ll have to come back sometime.”
I agree with that sentiment. There’s something truly special about this place.
As we descend the other side, the river unfurls beneath us like a silver ribbon before we glide down the long, flat approach to the Washington side.
The rest of the drive is like a moving postcard: cliffs and river, dense forests of fir and cedar, rolling hills and green valleys, as bright slivers of water catch the afternoon sun.
It’s the perfect end to a memorable adventure.
After we return to Portland, Astoria won’t leave my mind. It’s exactly the kind of place I’ve always dreamed of calling home. It’s small, walkable, with a charm and vibe I really like. Being in the same state as Jay makes the idea even more tempting.
I browse listings and find a few promising options. Without telling Jay anything, because I don’t want to get his hopes up, I tell him I need to take care of some things for a few days and plan another quick trip to look at properties.
Driving into Astoria for the second time, I see the small city from a different perspective. Tourist season has just begun, so traffic is heavier than it was a week ago. RVs and trucks pulling campers clog the roads, and more people are out on the downtown streets.
A large cruise ship dominates the marina near the bridge. I read Astoria is a stopover for several cruise lines, mainly in spring and fall.
There’s a Riverwalk by my hotel that stretches for miles; I plan to go for a run later and do more exploring.
After eating lunch, I meet with the realtor I found online.
“Mr. Amato, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Harrison,” the friendly guy greets me, dressed casually in jeans and a blue button-down.
He’s kind and efficient, just the type of person I want showing me property.
Most of the places he shows me aren’t what I’m looking for, but the last one has a lot of potential. As we enter the property, he fills me in on the details.
“This is a mixed-use riverfront building. The ground floor has three retail spaces, including a coffee shop, which the owner would like to sell with the building. The second floor features four office spaces, two of which are occupied, and the top floor has two large residential apartments. They’re both currently vacant and need some updating.
The basement has several storage areas and mechanical and maintenance rooms.”
After a thorough tour, I’m convinced, but I want more time to explore. “Do you mind if I wander through the vacant spaces on my own for a bit?”
“Of course, I’ll meet you in the coffee shop when you’re finished,” Harrison replies, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
It’s been on the market for quite some time, and I’m sure he’d love to see it sold.
I walk upstairs through the residential spaces. They’re open-concept loft-style apartments with exposed brick, concrete floors, and tall industrial windows that showcase sweeping river views. Sunlight streams in, making the rooms feel larger than their square footage suggests.
Each loft has two bedrooms and two bathrooms. The fixtures are outdated, but the bones are perfect. With simple renovations, one could be a cozy home for me, and the other a reliable rental.
I take plenty of photos and videos to include with my business proposal, which I plan to present to my investment group once I return to New York.
When I’m finished, I find Harrison sitting at a table, sipping a latte and typing on his laptop. He looks up and gives me a warm smile. “So, what do you think?”
“It’s just what I’ve been looking for.”
“You mentioned you want a business to manage as well. Does the coffee shop appeal to you?” he asks.
Looking around the bright, cozy cafe, with its bistro-style tables, comfortable seating areas with plush couches and chairs, and the bustling counter where two baristas are busy making drinks, I feel a sense of rightness about the idea.
“Yeah, I could see myself running this place,” I respond. “I’m a coffee lover, so it makes sense.”
“That’s great. Let me know when you’re ready to make an offer.”
After Harrison leaves, I spend another hour drinking coffee and thinking about my future. If everything goes as I hope, I could move to Oregon in just a few months. That brings me one step closer to having the life I’ve always dreamed of.