“What have you been doing?” he asked.

My lips pressed tightly together. Brian cocked his head, eyes all-knowing.

Damn it.

“He didn’t claim me,” I argued. My face was hot. I could feel my flush creeping down my neck. “I was upset! I’ve been upset.”

“What’d he tell you about those interviews?” Brian asked. “He say anything?”

“Yeah. He said he didn’t answer personal questions. And maybe that’s true, but—”

“Not maybe,” Brian interrupted. His voice was somber. I watched him reach into his back pocket and produce folded-up pages that looked to be torn out of a magazine. He held them out for me to take. “Here.”

Brow furrowed, I hesitated briefly, letting my hand hover in the air before reaching out and taking them. I unfolded the pages and pulled them apart. There were three. Different issues of the same magazine. Rail. These were Jamie’s interviews.

“He never said anything different, Tori,” Brian said as I found the question and word-for-word answer he was referring to. The same ‘no comment’ answer I read nine days ago. “Jamie does those interviews ’cause he knows it’ll draw attention to Wax. It’s not about him. Yeah, he talks about what surfing means to him, why he loves it, but if you read those articles, Jamie is always putting emphasis on the sport, not him. And he name-drops Wax every chance he gets. That’s the kinda guy he is. He could be like everybody else and talk all kinds of shit about himself, brag, do it for the attention, but he doesn’t. And those dickheads at Rail and every other magazine that’s interviewed him, they tell him, flat out, the questions are gonna be geared toward surfing. They know not to ask him personal shit. He makes that clear before he even sits down. So when they go there, every fuckin’ time he gives them the only answer he can give without telling them to fuck off. He’s never said anything different. He never will.”

I look up then, lips parting, my breaths coming out short and quick.

“It’s not about you and him. Not in those interviews,” Brian continued, holding my gaze. “Jamie’s told you how he feels. That’s what matters to him. You knowin’. Your friends, your family, the people you care about. All of us. Christ, we all sure as fuck know. His family. Mine. Everybody in his life, babe. He’s never been quiet about it. And to the people that matter, he never fuckin’ will be. You just gotta decide if that’s enough for you.”

A dull pain shot through my chest.

It was enough. I was never Jamie’s secret. All of the people we cared about knew. Everyone in my life and in his. Jamie’s family, he’d told them all about me. His sister and his brother. He claimed me to them before I was even allowing myself to admit I wanted this as much as he did. They mattered. And Brian and Syd, my family, they were who mattered and God, I was so, so stupid.

I blinked several times as tears filled my eyes.

“He knows you were hurtin’, babe,” Brian shared, keeping his voice gentle now. “He wasn’t gettin’ it at the time, but you women gotta give us a break. We can be pretty fuckin’ stupid when it comes to you.”

A laugh bubbled in my throat. I brought my fingers to my lips.

“You gotta know, this is killing him. He’s hurtin’, too. I probably wouldn’t be stepping in if it wasn’t for him not placing, but Jamie’s always had my back. Always will. Never need to ask him to have it, he just does. He’s a good man, Tori.”

“I know that,” I whispered, letting my hand skim my throat as my tears started to fall.

He was the best man. The best. And he was mine. I had him.

“I messed up, Brian,” I whispered. “I … I shouldn’t have left him. I shouldn’t have blown up like that.”

“Yeah, well …” Brian drew his arms across his chest again. “His ass shouldn’t have let you leave. And he should’ve been comin’ over here already, but he’s stubborn as shit. Swear to God, he’s fuckin’ miserable, though. I can’t take it.”

I didn’t want Jamie miserable. I couldn’t even imagine it. He was always smiling. Whenever I saw him, he was sweet dimples and mischief behind the smuggest, most perfect grin I’d ever seen.

And I was woman enough to admit when enough was enough. We were both at fault in this. I didn’t need him to come to me. He always came to me. Maybe it was my turn …

“Is he home right now? Or is he at the shop?” My voice raced with a nervous energy. I pressed the torn pages against my chest and stepped closer, nearly begging, “Do you know where is?”

Brian’s mouth lifted in the corner after hearing me, which I thought was a little strange but I didn’t have a chance to tell him that.

“It’s Sunday. Where do you think he is?” Brian asked, shoulders lifting casually. Then the other half of his mouth curled up and he gave me that before turning around and stepping outside. The door shut behind him.

I blinked, sniffled, and wiped at my face.

It was Sunday. Sunday was family dinner. I knew that. And Jamie never missed one of those, not unless he was away and Brian would have told me if he was.

My stomach tensed and warmed all over. My skin tingled. I was so close to making this right. To getting my guy back. I couldn’t help it, I smiled. My first smile in nine days.

I knew it. We weren’t going to make it to ten.

Realizing where I was headed, I folded those torn pages back up, set them on the table Jamie had replaced for me, and immediately got to work in the kitchen.

Never in my life would I ever show up to family dinner without a dish.

* * *

Using my elbow since my hands were full, I rang the doorbell at Brian and Syd’s place and stood on the porch, waiting. The November air cooled my cheeks.

I needed that. I was nervous. Freaking out, if I was being honest. My smile was long gone. I had no idea how Jamie was going to receive me. But that didn’t mean I hadn’t done everything in my power to appear ready for this.

I was completely dolled up, wearing full makeup, my hair curled more than usual and styled in a twist so it was half pulled back, and one of my cutest outfits—an oversized cable knit sweater, leggings, which weren’t cute but I knew how Jamie felt about them, and my brown knee-high boots that had a substantial heel.

I never dressed this fancy coming over here. It was Sunday dinner. We were all just hanging out. I’d even wear my uniform sometimes if I was coming straight from work.

But it had been nine days. Nine. Days.

Nine days called for fancy.

I had parked behind Jamie’s Jeep, so I knew he was here, and being this close to him, this close to possibly fixing things and making things right, was causing my stomach to flip-flop and my heart to batter and the pulse point in my throat to pound.

I was fine back at the house getting ready and on the drive over here, but now, all of a sudden, standing on this porch, I was terrified. What if I couldn’t fix this? What if it was too late? It had been nine days. Nine days of me not going to him. What if Jamie didn’t want to hear me out now? Brian said he was miserable, but what if he was angry, too?

The door swung open just as panic soaked into my bones and settled.

Syd filled the doorway. She tilted her head with a soft smile and reached out her hand.