80. Ryan
Ryan
The sound of the Pacific was a constant, rhythmic crashing against the shoreline, a stark contrast to the silence of the desert I’d left behind. I stood on the back deck of Jackson’s house, holding a mug of coffee that I’d actually managed to drink while it was hot.
Down on the stretch of sand that bordered the dunes, Willow and Cory were deep in the middle of a construction project. Willow, true to her nature, was the architect, pointing emphatically at a sandcastle, while Cory was diligently digging a moat with a bright yellow shovel.
“They’ve been at it for an hour,” Anna said, stepping out onto the deck beside me. She looked lighter than the last time I’d seen her—the weight of grief that had shadowed her since I got back was still there, but it wasn’t the only thing anymore.
“They’re good kids,” I said, my voice quiet. I watched Cory laugh at something Willow said, a sound that carried clearly on the wind. It was the sound of a childhood that didn’t know the smell of diesel or the sound of incoming fire. “He’s got his dad’s laugh.”
Anna nodded, her eyes misting over. “He does. Every time he laughs, I see him.” She turned to look at me, her expression serious. “We’ve been over here every weekend, Ryan. You don’t have to keep doing this. I know you’re trying to build your own life.”
I set my mug down on the railing and turned to face her.
“I’m not doing this because I feel like I have to, Anna.
I’m doing this because I promised Brody.
And because I want to.” I met her gaze, making sure she saw the resolve there.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m not just going to drop in and out.
I’m here. Whenever you need a hand, whenever Cory needs someone to teach him how to skate, well, I’m really not the guy for that, but I definitely know a few people who might be able to teach him!
The point is I’m here. That promise I made him? It’s not a burden. It’s an anchor.”
Anna reached out, squeezing my forearm. “He would have been so proud of the man you’ve become, Ryan.”
Before I could answer, the screen door slid open, and Jackson stepped out. He didn’t hover; he walked straight over, his presence immediately shifting the energy. He looked at the kids in the sand, then at Anna, with a warmth that made my chest tighten.
He slid his hand into mine, his thumb tracing my knuckles in that familiar, calming rhythm.
“I was just talking to Logan,” Jackson said, his voice easy and open.
“He’s planning on dragging all of us to the ice rink next Sunday.
Willow’s already demanding that Cory learn how to stop without face-planting. ”
Anna laughed, a genuine, startled sound. “I think that’s a great idea.”
Jackson turned to her, his smile sincere. “We mean it, Anna. You guys aren’t just visitors here. Your family. My house is your house, and our door is always open. We want you here.”
He squeezed my hand, then gave Anna a reassuring nod.
The tension I hadn’t realized I was holding—the fear that I was dragging Jackson into a life he hadn’t asked for—melted away.
Jackson wasn’t just accommodating my promise; he was claiming it.
He was making room for the past so we could actually start a future.
I watched the kids, the ocean, and the man beside me. The quiet pond wasn’t a fantasy I kept in an envelope. It was right here, in the sand and the laughter and the quiet promise of Sunday morning skating.