Page 65 of We Drank the Dawn

As his hands skimmed my body, I wondered what I would do if Peter ever stopped loving me.

I would die. It would be the end of Sarah. Because there wasn’t a Sarah without Peter. Somehow he’d taken all my raw edges and wild streaks and made them his. All his.

There was no me. Not anymore.

Just us.

And I wanted it that way forever.

TWENTY-ONE

Sarah

Sun glistened off the beads of water resting on Peter’s shoulders. Our fingers entwined together as we climbed the back of the hill, our bare feet carefully treading across the sand, peppered with rocks and weeds. Peter’s excited breaths came fast, and a soft smile rested on his face.

When he sensed me looking at him, he glanced down and that perfect smile stretched, dumping butterflies into my stomach. His grip on my hand tightened, gently tugging me along.

I asked for the tenth time. “Where are you taking me?”

He just shook his head, knowing the silence killed me.

Admittedly, Peter seemed extra quiet today, and I wasn’t sure why. Even on the boat ride, he restlessly patted his thighs and couldn’t seem to get comfortable. Maybe he was nervous about this adventure—sometimes he worried.

My gaze flicked to the lake on the right side of the hill, now obscured by trees as the slope deepened and our elevation climbed. All at once, it dawned on me.

Jump from a rock into water.

I tugged Peter to a stop as adrenaline rushed through my body. “Wait a sec. Are we jumping?”

The brackets around his mouth that I loved so much twisted as he held back a smile. “Just wait and⁠—”

“I’m right! We’re jumping!”

Biting my lip to keep from squealing, I followed him to the crest of the hill where, sure enough, a large rock hung over the blue lake below. I squeaked with excitement as the view filled my soul all the way to my toes, and the sun scorched my skin through my purple long-sleeve UPF shirt. Peter led me to the edge and I looked over, my stomach dipping when I gauged the distance.

As if reading my mind, he said, “It’s twenty-nine feet.”

My stomach hollowed again as fear niggled in my chest. But I didn’t have to ask if it was safe—Peter always made sure I was safe. Plus, with him, it hardly even mattered.

If he asked me to jump, I would jump—heart in his hands, zero regrets.

A putting motor pulled my attention to the water where the rest of the Thompson clan waited in an idling pontoon boat. I waved like a maniac as a chorus of whoops and hollers reached us. Looking back to Peter, I beamed. We were only two weeks into the summer, and already, it was the best one of my life. Our freshmen year of college was behind us, and I’d spent nearly every day bumming around the Thompson’s house when I wasn’t at my part-time job, babysitting for Mrs. Lynn while she worked, and kissing Peter whenever we had a few minutes alone.

I let my eyes rake over the boy I loved, noting the life shimmering in his adventurous brown eyes. He had grown so tall, towering over me now. And it seemed like every day packed bulk on his shoulders that made him look very much like a man. Each breath carted away the memories of his withering form on a hospital bed, making them feel like another dimension entirely.

Sometimes, I wondered how Peter emerged so strong and capable from those dark days. How he escaped the fire with a vitality most people could only hope they got lucky enough to experience one day. Even my own fervor for life and adventure—which was a force to be reckoned with—had to run to keep up.

Suddenly, he looked at me, his eyes squinting as he glanced toward the sun. “So, what do you think? Can you catch it?”

A laugh bubbled out of my chest and Peter laughed too—the husky deep laugh I adored—and his hand came to rest on my hip. I raised my arms above my head and turned my face toward the sky. Going to my tiptoes, I reached as far as I could before my feet gave out and I fell into his chest. I whispered. “I don’t think I’m high enough.”

He looked back into the bright sky and nodded, “You’re getting closer, I think.”

We said the same things everywhere we went.

On top of the farris wheel, on every hike, on the roof.

I giggled at the absurdity of our repetitive conversation, and pushed Peter away to inch out to the edge of the cliff. But Peter didn’t move as he gently tugged back on my hand. Wondering why he hesitated, I stopped and looked back.