Wild Raspberries (17 page)

Dan turned back to Tyler who just grinned and waved him on. “I’ll find somewhere to put the cooler; you go and paddle.”

Paddle. Dan wasn’t sure about that. The ocean looked huge, an endless stretch of hazy blue ending where the sky curved down to meet it. He’d smelled it before he’d seen it, a wild, salty tang to the air, mixed in with sun-baked sand and seaweed. It had called to him, terrified him, enchanted him. He’d helped Tyler take out towels and the cooler from the truck and then he’d started walking though the sand dunes toward the source of the smell and the noise — God, that rush and surge was like nothing he’d ever heard before.

His first sight of it had dragged a whoop from him. “Tyler! God, look at it! Just look.”

“I see it.” Tyler sounded indulgent, but there had been some of the awe Dan felt in there, too. “It’s something, isn’t it?”

“It’s beautiful.” He started walking, drawn to it. “It’s just — it’s so fucking big.”

And now here he was on the wet sand, with the waves breaking at his feet — bare feet; his shoes and socks were way back, abandoned as he’d walked toward the water, forgotten, unimportant. A warm breeze whipped at his hair and plastered his T-shirt to his chest. Sand clung to his calves, and his shorts were destined to get wet real soon because he was going in, he was —

“Ow! Fuck! Cold!” There was no one close enough to hear him. The beach wasn’t deserted, but the only people visible were a group of surfers a quarter-mile away. It was just past nine in the morning, mid-week, and the rough water meant that this wasn’t a place families used. Tyler had warned Dan that swimming was probably not a great idea and promised to take him to a more sheltered bay later on.

“I want you to see it as it should be seen,” he’d said. “Just you and the water.”

Dan danced out of the way of the next wave, his numb toes tingling, his face split in a grin. The wave receded, sucking the sand from between his toes, which felt really strange and tickled, and then a new one came, bigger than the last, and splashed him.

With a wild yell, he charged at it and ended up submerged, soaked, and still grinning. Spitting out a mouthful of sea water, he struggled to his feet, shivering violently, and waved at Tyler, who waved back. Dan was willing to bet that Tyler wouldn’t take his eyes off him the whole time he was in the water. It felt good knowing someone had his back.

By the time he’d discovered that sand on wet skin was impossible to get off and itched, Tyler had set up a camp in a sheltered space made by rocks and driftwood, silver-gray and twisted, and had dry clothes and a towel waiting. Dan stripped, with an ear open for anyone approaching, and toweled off, which just spread the wet sand around a bit more.

“Sand.”

“I see it.” Tyler’s lips twitched in a consoling smile. “When it dries, you can brush it off.”

“Really?”

“Well, that’s the theory, but no. It sticks like glue. Worth it, though?”

“Oh, man.” Dan rolled his eyes, lost for words. “This is unbelievable.” He pushed his damp hair out of his eyes and gave Tyler a kiss that landed somewhere near his ear because he was too buzzed to get it on target. “Did I say thank you yet?”

“For bringing you here?” Tyler shook his head. “No need. I wanted to come here myself. I miss it. I grew up near the ocean.”

Dan waited for some specifics, but it seemed like that was all he was going to get. “Not that — well, yeah, partly this, but just — all of it, you know. Thanks.”

Tyler smiled at him. “I should be saying that to you.”

“We’re getting mushy,” Dan decided. “Give me a beer.”

“It’s not even ten,” Tyler objected.

“And you woke me at six; it’s practically lunchtime.”

He’d actually woken with the click of the motel door echoing in his ears as Tyler left. He’d rolled over, panicked, lost, and discovered a note on the pillow. Reading it with sleep-blurred eyes hadn’t been easy as the letters kept jumping around, but it didn’t take too long for him to get the message:
Gone out to get coffee. Back in twenty.

And because this was Tyler, he’d signed it with the time, not his name, so that Dan would know exactly when Tyler would return.

“I’ll split it with you,” Tyler said.

The beer wasn’t all that cold, but it tasted like summer, and Dan swallowed deeply before handing it over to Tyler who studied what was left, rolled his eyes, and finished it. Dan leaned in and kissed Tyler before he could wipe his mouth dry, this time getting the kiss just where he wanted it to be. Tyler let him do it, one hand curved around Dan’s jaw, his tongue sliding into Dan’s mouth, slow and sure.

They hadn’t made love the night before. Dan had come out of the shower, a red towel wrapped around his hips, and found Tyler sitting on the bed, staring down at his hands, clenched in his lap. The broad, powerful shoulders had been slumped, muscles lax, and Dan had made a small sound of protest because it was his fault that Tyler looked like that, and gone to Tyler, falling to his knees and putting his head on those hands until they parted and cradled him, held him, anchored him.

Tyler had needed to give out comfort as much as Dan had needed to get it; Dan wasn’t sure of much, but he was sure of that. By the time he’d finished shaking, because he’d thought he’d lost Tyler once he’d climbed into that rig, each mile, each passing minute, making it more certain, Tyler was himself again. His hands had stroked Dan’s hair and face and back, offering reassurance, no more. Dan had fallen asleep with the sound of soft, calm words in his head and Tyler beside him, between him and the door, which made him feel protected, not trapped.

Tyler ended the kiss, patted Dan’s face, and leaned back against the log he was using as support. “So,” he said, with a question wrapped around it. “I guess we need to talk.”

A gull flew over them, white wings spread wide. Dan tracked it until it landed on the beach and began pecking at something he was glad he couldn’t see closely. “Okay,” he said when he was sure Tyler wasn’t going to add anything to that. “About us?”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on discussing the weather.” Tyler scooped up a handful of sand and let it trickle through his fingers. “What do you see happening?”

Dan shrugged. “I don’t know. But speaking of the weather, there was no rain forecast, and you didn’t arrange for anyone to water the garden.”

Tyler gave him a perplexed look. “No, but —”

“So, short-term, we have to go home in the next few days, or everything will be withering.”

“You’re worrying about the
garden
?”

Dan sat up straight. “I’m not worrying, I’m just pointing out that plants need water and as I worked damn hard saving it after the storm, I don’t plan on letting it die.”

Tyler still looked bemused, but he nodded. “Okay, we go back and see to the garden, but —”

“And you need to answer that e-mail,” Dan said. “You’re going to tell Cole no?”

“I don’t have a choice,” Tyler said. “I can’t do it. I don’t
want
to do it. I’ll make him see that.” He traced a pattern in the spilled, heaped sand. “Do you want us to go somewhere? Close up the cabin and just head out? Because we can. Pick a country, pick a place and I’ll take you there. Money is — well, it’s not an issue.”

“Wow.” Dan let himself consider that, because it was tempting, it really was. Seeing the world solo, scared, and always with the sense that he was on the outside looking in didn’t compare to seeing it with Tyler at his side. “I bet you’ve traveled a lot, haven’t you?”

“Been to a lot of places,” Tyler admitted, “but I never had time to relax or do all the tourist-type things you’re supposed to do. There are some places I’d like to go back to. Places I’d like to show you.” He smiled. “I got a real kick out of the look on your face today when you saw the ocean.”

“Do you want to know what I’d like to do?” Dan said. He didn’t wait for Tyler’s nod to continue. “I want to go back to the cabin and just… just settle down. Get a job in town, maybe, so we’re not in each other’s face all the time, get to know you. Spend the winter with you.” Dan couldn’t work out how Tyler was reacting to his proposal; his face was neutral, still. “Then, by spring, if we’re still — if you’re ready — we decide.”

“Decide what?”

Dan met Tyler’s eyes, gray, cool eyes, in an immobile, watchful face. “Whether to plant the garden again, or pack our bags and head out.”

“You think you’ll still be with me by then?”

Dan shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, giving Tyler honesty, because he’d earned it. “I want to be. I want it to work between us. But I can’t promise, any more than you can promise you’ll still want me around. I guess we’ll just have to try it and see.” He slid his hand into Tyler’s and felt the grit of sand and the controlled strength that drew him to Tyler as much as the man’s vulnerability did. “I swear I won’t run away again, though. If I have to go, or if you ask me to, I’ll walk away after saying good bye.”

Tyler’s fingers closed around his. “Walk slow,” he said. “So I can catch up with you.”