Page 71 of The Route to You

“I would never,” Tomas said solemnly, then immediately leaned on the counter. “Unless you fancy a romantic trip to the Arch with me.” He winked.

Kyle snorted despite himself and reached for his wallet. They filled out the forms and initialed in all the usual places where someone had clearly been paid to think of every possible way a person could injure themselves on open water.

They were handed life vests that smelled faintly of sunscreen and old salt. Kyle tugged his on, adjusted the straps, then slid his phone into the zippered waterproof pouch on a lanyard the rental worker had provided instead of leaving it in the locker.

“Really?” Tomas asked, eyebrow lifting.

Kyle grinned. “In case you crash and need me to call for help.”

“Ah. So thoughtful.”

“Also, in case you do take me out to the Arch after all. I don’t want to miss your proposal. Might be the only one I get.”

Tomas laughed and shook his head. “You’re a delight, you know that?”

They stepped out onto the dock, the boards warm and slightly springy underfoot. The water slapped gently against the pylons, the sound oddly soothing. Kyle swung a leg over the Jet Ski and settled onto the seat, hands finding the grips with easy familiarity. The machine felt solid under him. Predictable.

The beach had never been a part of his life growing up, and with Liddy’s scoliosis, things like this had definitely been out. Mom had generally kept family activities to things they all could do. But being the youngest sibling had its advantages, and once Liddy had her surgery and Mom and Dad had loosened up, any restrictions on types of activities had gone out the window.

He couldn’t imagine what he would have done without sports in high school.

The engine roared to life, the vibration buzzing up his arms and into his chest. He felt it, like a switch flipping somewhere inside him—something loosening, unclenching.

They eased away from the dock, slow as they first headed out, then gradually picking up speed. Spray kicked up, cool against his shins. The resort shrank behind them, the noise of people and music and forced cheerfulness fading into something distant and unimportant.

“Try to keep up this time!” Tomas shouted over the engine noise.

Kyle grinned and gunned the throttle.

The Jet Ski leaped forward, skimming over the waves. Wind tore at his face and yanked a laugh out of him before he could stop it. The sound surprised him more than anything else. For the first time since Breckenridge, he felt free—lost to the simple and uncomplicated beauty of just enjoying the outdoors.

He raced Tomas for a bit, just enough to get his blood up. Tomas cut in front of him, then Kyle returned the favor, spraying him with a deliberate arc of water.

“Oh, it’s like that?” Tomas yelled.

“Always.” He felt lighter, his focus trained on speed and angles and the small, petty joy of trying to outdo Tomas.

He eased back, then surged forward again, testing how the jet ski responded. Open water sparkled ahead of them, broken only by the distant paths of other boats. A larger wake rolled through from somewhere to their right, rising and falling in a long, smooth line.

Kyle eyed it, feeling that familiar, dangerous itch wake up.

Tomas rode up beside him and followed his line of vision. “Don’t.”

He cocked a smile. “I wasn’t going to.”

He edged the throttle forward anyway.

The Jet Ski responded like it always did, eager and immediate, the nose lifting as it skimmed over the waves. The wake ahead of them wasn’t huge or impressive, just a long, rolling ridge left behind by a passing boat, smooth-edged and catching the sun.

Familiar calculation turned in Kyle’s head, the quiet, practiced math of speed and angle and timing. He’d done worse than this. Plenty worse. He could almost hear his old internal narrator lining it up like a highlight reel instead of a warning.

Tomas glanced over his shoulder. “You’re smiling like you’re about to do something stupid.”

“It’s not fun if it’s not stupid.”

He raced for it, not straight at first, Tomas following close. The water changed under him, the Jet Ski bucking slightly as the surface shifted. Kyle laughed again, loud this time, the sound ripped away by the wind as fast as it left him. For a few seconds, he forgot to keep track of anything except Tomas’s position and the clean, physical joy of trying to beat him to a line only they cared about.

Tomas cut left, throwing up a fan of spray.