Page 52 of Came the Closest
I nod, more of a jerky movement than anything else. I can’t say more than a whispered yes, and I only say it because I know how deeply Colton’s need for words of affirmation runs. Volunteering to be his fake fiancée spur of the moment was one thing. But this?
This is simultaneously the happiest and saddest moment of my life. I’m sure of it. Not all that long ago, I imagined exactly this. I dreamed of watching Colton lower to one knee and ask me to be his wife. I always wondered how he would combine his penchant for grand gestures and my preference for quiet ones.
But over the last few weeks, I’ve learned I will always love Colton. Not the fleeting kind of love. A deep, beautiful, sometimes painful love that defies all logic. One that will never look right on paper, one that might always be unrequited. But right now, I don’t let that stop me.
“Can we dance?” I ask, unable to meet his eyes. My own throat works as I watch his Adam’s apple slowly bob up and down. “I know this is fake, but…couples do something when they get engaged, you know? Dance, hug…kiss.” I swallow to hide the tears in my voice. “Can we dance, Collie?”
Colton doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t make me feel like the idea is ludicrous. He slides the ring over my knuckle and eases to his feet with a tremoring grimace because of his formerly injured left hip. He pulls up my newly created Choose Happy playlist, shuffles it, and tugs me to my feet.
One large palm settles between my hip and the small of my back, fingertips pressing just possessively enough into my skin. His other hand supports mine, and his pulse thunders against his ribcage. I tip my head until my cheek rests in the hollow between his throat and his collarbone, and my eyes flutter closed, damp lashes resting on my cheeks.
Bubbles Up by Jimmy Buffett drifts through the sunroom while sunset brushes strokes of warm honey light through rain clouds.
And we dance.
Barefoot, he in pajama shorts and me in linen ones, he in a t-shirt and me in a sweatshirt.
Quiet, our chests pressed together, his heartbeat and mine in sync.
Steadfast, like he’s afraid I’ll slip through his fingers if he holds me too loosely, and I’m scared to fully let him in.
It’s not until his other arm tucks me closer and I feel the pressure of his soft, trembling lips against my skin that I realize it. We’re not dancing anymore. We’re standing still. My bare feet rest between his, my salty tears drip onto his shirt, and both of his hands hold me close.
A dance, a hug, a kiss.
At his core, Colton Del Ray is still the little boy who wants nothing more than to be loved like he loves. But until that boy learns to love himself that way, I don’t think he’ll stop running away from those of us who have always loved him with a deep, beautiful, sometimes painful love.
Chapter Sixteen
The Salty Crab
Sam
From Memorial Day to Fourth of July to Labor Day, a lake town rarely sleeps. Our population swells by close to a thousand percent, hovering there on weekends and weekdays alike. Nights are for live music and campfires, afternoons are for young parents pushing strollers through Palmer’s Park Amusement Park, and sweltering days demand air conditioning or submerging in lake water.
As a general rule, locals like me avoid the lake itself on major holidays. I used to drive into Omaha or close myself in my home office, treating the day like any other. I’d pick up a ribeye steak and eat it alone on my back deck while music and laughter dotted the lake from shore to shore, watching the fireworks explode into an onyx sky and wishing I had someone to ooh and aah over them with.
Now, it means planning my youngest son’s bachelor party around the busyness of the Fourth of July. Graham despises being the center of attention, but Jordan decided to do something to mark the momentous impending life change, so we’re going to take the boat out. We’ll go to The Salty Crab, a hole-in-the-wall across the lake, and Graham can pretend it’s just a normal evening.
On this first Wednesday of July, after everyone is done with work for the day, we meet at my house. Jordan is leaving Jolene with Sydney and Colton thought Milo would have more fun with Indi and Cheyenne. Graham is ticked that Jordan bought him a t-shirt that says Sorry ladies, this guy is getting married, and refuses to wear it. Nash took Jordan’s “old money” theme seriously by showing up in linen, boat shoes, and a fedora that looks like it belongs in the sixties.
Graham frowns when Nash reveals a stack of matching hats, but he’s a good sport, so he puts it on his head like the rest of us. Unlike our plain ones, though, his says I’m The Groom!
Nash whistles, long and low, when we reach the dock. “Shoot, Sam. Did you let Dolly girl have free pick of the whole marina?”
“Try the entire Falls Lake district of marinas,” Jordan says. He squats at the bow of the boat to unknot the rope. “We walked through three different marinas before circling back to the first for this boat.”
“It needs a name,” Colton declares.
Graham studies the navy and white fiberglass hull of the Sea Ray through critical eyes. “Could somehow mashup Sea Ray and Del Ray?”
“Too formal,” Jordan says.
Nash folds his arms over his chest. “Aren’t boats usually named after women? It should be something romantic.”
“John named their boat The Jacqueline,” Graham offers, referring to Ember’s parents.
The adoptive ones, that is. Her biological parents treated my son’s wife-to-be like she was dispensable. I might’ve been a workaholic father who was partly absent, but I would never lay a hand on my sons.