41. FORTY-ONE
FORTY-ONE
Kieran woke slowly, pulled from sleep. Not the alarm. That wasn’t set to go off for another twenty minutes. Not the dogs. They were still asleep somewhere, probably on the floor at the foot of the bed, judging by the soft snoring.
It was awareness. The slow creep of consciousness that meant his brain now decided sleep was over.
He kept his eyes closed. Didn’t move. Just lay there, cataloging sensations.
Rory’s arm was heavy across his waist. His breath was against the back of Kieran’s neck, slow and even. His body was pressed close, chest to Kieran’s back, legs tangled together under the sheets.
Kieran pushed back, settling deeper into Rory’s body.
And there it was…or rather, there it wasn’t.
After yesterday, after everything they’d done, everything they’d said, this was different. Intimate in a way that had nothing to do with sex. Two bodies fitting together.
Kieran smiled into the dim morning light filtering through the blinds.
Behind him, Rory stirred. His arm tightened around Kieran’s waist.
“You awake?” Rory’s voice was rough with sleep.
“Yeah.”
“What time is it?”
Kieran cracked one eye open, squinting at the clock on the nightstand. “Five forty-three.”
“Alarm goes off at six.”
“I know.”
They lay in absolute silence, neither of them moving, as if the slightest shift might break the fragile peace of the morning.
“Nervous?” Kieran asked quietly.
Rory exhaled slowly. “A little.”
“You’re going to do great.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely.”
Rory pressed a kiss to Kieran’s back. “Thanks.”
They stayed there until the alarm went off at six, seventeen minutes of existing together.
“Time to get up,” Rory said, though he didn’t move.
“Yep.”
Neither of them moved.
Then Mabel started whining at the door, and the spell was broken.
“Okay, okay,” Kieran muttered, rolling out of bed.
He stumbled to the back door in his boxers and let the dogs out. The morning air was brisk, fog still clinging to the coast. He watched Hank and Mabel investigate the yard, breathing in the salt air.
Today was the day. The North County Labor Day Surf Competition.
He called the dogs back in, fed them, made sure they had fresh water.
Behind him, he heard the shower turn on. Rory was up.
Good. That gave Kieran time.
He headed to the kitchen.
Coffee first. Then food.
He started the coffee maker, listening to it gurgle and hiss. While it brewed, he pulled out bread, turkey, cheese, lettuce. Made sandwiches for the beach. Wrapped them in foil. Grabbed a couple apples, some granola bars, bottled water.
He was pouring coffee into two travel mugs when he heard the shower turn off. Kieran paused. Set down the coffee pot.
There was one thing he needed to do. Something he’d been thinking about doing.
He walked to the bedroom, found his shorts on the floor, and slipped his hand into the pocket until his fingers found it.
The St. Christopher necklace. His mom’s necklace.
Silver. Tarnished despite his best efforts to keep it clean. The pendant was small, maybe the size of a nickel, with the image of St. Christopher carrying the Christ child across the river. On the back, worn almost smooth, were his mom’s initials, D.M.D.
She’d worn it every day for as long as Kieran could remember. Said her grandmom had given it to her.
Said it was for protection, for safe travels, for watching over the ones you loved.
It was on her nightstand the morning he found her. He picked it up and put it in his pocket.
And now, standing here in Rory’s bedroom, holding it in his palm, he knew.
This was the right thing to do.
Today, of all days. A day when Rory would be out on the water, pushing himself, competing, being brave.
His mom would’ve liked that. Would’ve wanted him to have this.
Kieran closed his fist around the necklace and walked to the bathroom.
The door was open. Steam was still pouring out. Rory was standing at the sink in a towel, wiping fog off the mirror, hair dripping wet.
He caught Kieran’s reflection in the mirror and turned.
“Hey,” Rory said.
“Hey.”
Rory studied him for a second. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I…” Kieran opened his hand, holding out the necklace. “I want you to have this.”
Rory’s eyes dropped to the necklace, then back up to Kieran’s face. “What is it?”
“St. Christopher. Patron saint of travelers. Safe journeys. Protection.” Kieran’s voice was steadier than he expected. “It was my mom’s.”
Rory didn’t move.
“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to,” Kieran continued quickly. “I just thought today, with the competition, it seemed like the right thing. Like she’d want you to have it. For luck. Or protection. Or just…because.”
He was rambling. He knew he was rambling. But he couldn’t stop.
Rory reached out slowly, taking the necklace from Kieran’s palm. He held it carefully, reverently, like it might break.
“Kieran,” Rory said quietly. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
Rory swallowed. Hard enough that Kieran could see it. His eyes got bright in a way he was clearly trying to fight. For a second, he thought Rory might cry. Or say I love you. Or pull him into a hug and never let go.
But instead, Rory looked at the necklace, then back at Kieran.
“I love...it,” he said.
And somehow that broke the moment enough. Took the edge off the sentiment. Made it manageable.
Kieran exhaled.
Rory put the necklace on. The silver chain settled against his chest, the pendant resting below his collarbone.
He looked at himself in the mirror. Touched the pendant lightly.
“How’s it look?” Rory asked.
“Like it belongs there.”
Rory turned to face him fully. “Thanks. This means more than…” He stopped. Swallowed. “Thank you.”
Kieran nodded. His eyes stung. Needed to break this before it got too heavy.
“Alright,” Kieran said, forcing a grin. “Enough sentimental bullshit. You’ve got a competition to win, and I’ve got sandwiches to pack. Let’s move.”
Rory laughed. Soft but genuine. “Sandwiches?”
“Turkey and Swiss. Your favorite. Don’t act like you’re not impressed by my domestic skills.”
“I’m very impressed.”
Their eyes met as the morning light spilled through the back window, catching the silver of the necklace where it gleamed against Rory’s chest.
Then Kieran turned and headed back to the kitchen.
“Get dressed,” he called over his shoulder. “We need to leave in twenty.”
By the time Rory emerged from the bedroom, board shorts, faded T-shirt, the necklace visible at his collar, Kieran had everything packed. Cooler loaded. Towels folded. Sunscreen in the bag. Dogs fed and watered.
Rory stopped in the doorway, taking it all in.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said.
“I know. But I wanted to.”
Rory’s expression eased. He crossed the room and kissed Kieran. Slow. Sweet. Tasting like toothpaste and coffee.
“I’m glad you’re coming today,” Rory said quietly.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Even though you’re going to be bored out of your mind watching a bunch of guys paddle around?”
“I won’t be bored.”
They loaded everything into Rory’s truck. The surfboard was already strapped to the roof from last night.
Rory backed out of the driveway, and they headed toward the coast.
The morning was still cool, fog burning off slowly as the sun climbed higher. The marine layer hung thick over the water, but it would clear. It always did.
Kieran glanced over at Rory. His hands were steady on the wheel. His jaw was set. Focused. But the necklace caught the light every time he moved, glinting silver against his skin.
They drove in comfortable silence for a while, the radio playing quietly in the background.
As they got closer to the beach, traffic picked up. Other surfers heading to the same spot. Crowds gathering for the competition. Vendors setting up tents.
Rory pulled into the parking lot, found a spot near the back. Killed the engine and sat behind the wheel taking a few deep breaths.
“Ready?” Kieran asked.
Rory took another breath. Let it out slowly. Touched the necklace at his chest.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m ready.”
“Good. Then let’s go win this thing.”
They got out. Unloaded the truck. Rory grabbed his board, tucking it under one arm like it weighed nothing. Kieran grabbed the cooler and the bag.
The beach was already filling up. Tents and canopies dotted the sand. A makeshift announcer’s booth was set up near the water. Judges sat at a long table with clipboards and scoring sheets.
Surfers milled around, waxing boards, stretching, talking strategy.
Kieran was setting up their spot, unfolding the chairs, anchoring the cooler in the sand, when he looked up and saw Meg at the registration table with Rory.
They were mid-conversation when Rory turned and gestured behind him, a casual wave of his hand in Kieran’s general direction.
Meg’s head snapped around. She found Kieran across the sand, and her whole face lit up.
Then she jumped, both feet off the ground, and pointed at him like she’d spotted a celebrity.
Kieran laughed and waved back, his face going hot.
Meg grabbed Rory’s arm, said something Kieran couldn’t hear, and Rory ducked his head in that way he did when he was embarrassed but pleased. She punched him in the shoulder, then waved at Kieran again, big, theatrical, both arms.
Kieran waved back. Smaller. But smiling.
“Heat three,” Rory said, coming back to where Kieran was setting up their spot. “I’ve got about forty-five minutes.”
“Good. That gives you time to warm up. And stress out.”
“Helpful. Thank you.”
Kieran grinned. “Anytime.”
Rory set his board down, started waxing it even though he’d already waxed it yesterday. Nervous energy. Kieran recognized it.
Kieran was settled in his chair with his notebook, watching the first heat finish up, when he heard Rory’s voice cut through the crowd noise.
“Aubrey!”
Kieran looked up and turned toward the sound.
There, walking through the crowd, was a little girl with dark curly hair pulled into two puffs on either side of her head. She was wearing a pink swimsuit with a unicorn on it and carrying a bucket and shovel that looked almost too big for her.