34

Six weeks later

Donovan rolled down the windows, letting the summer breeze smack him in the face. He’d forgotten how beautiful this place was. Or maybe he’d never really seen how beautiful it was. Last time he’d been here, he’d only focused on the fog, the gray skies. But today, the sun sparkled over the bay and the russet-colored bridge stood out proud against the hills behind it. He could see why the Golden Gate was such a popular place to die. If you wanted your last memory to be of something majestic, this was it.

But he had a different view that kept drawing him. Taped to the dashboard of his rental car was a photo he’d received a few days ago. As soon as it’d popped up on his phone, he’d stopped at a copy shop to get a color print of it. Marin was at a table in the po-boy shop with a group of co-workers around her. Everyone was smiling, probably a few beers into the night, and Lane had his arm draped over the back of her chair, giving Marin bunny ears.

They all looked happy.

She looked happy. Without him.

Something tight clenched in Donovan’s chest.

He parked the car, lucky to snag a spot in the small lot, and climbed out. He could remember doing this the last time, going through the same motions. Taking deep breaths, feeling the wind whipping off the water, seeing the tourists strolling over to walk the bridge. Having one purpose in mind.

This is where he needed to be. He’d been a lot of places these past few weeks, but it all came back to this. He grabbed the picture of Marin, put it in his pocket and then walked toward the bridge. He could smell the sea air mixing with the fumes of the cars whizzing by, hear the roar of waves crashing against rocks in the distance. Everything was so much the same from last time.

Comforting and terrifying all at once.

He stepped onto the walkway and grabbed the railing, feeling disoriented for a second. Heights had never been his favorite thing. But when he got his bearings, he made his way to the center of the bridge to find the spot he’d taken the photo from. To find the spot where he’d almost climbed over the railing. Crisis-counseling signs were posted on the bridge. There is hope. Make the call. He hadn’t seen those the last time. He’d seen nothing but churning water.

A few people glanced his way as they moved past him, just another guy blending in with the tourists. But he wasn’t here to be a tourist. Like last time, he was here for one reason.

He neared the center of the bridge. The water looked calm and deadly as it stretched out beneath him. The city of San Francisco hummed along across the bay. Alcatraz stood watch in between. The world went on, indifferent as always.

It didn’t take him long to pinpoint the spot he wanted, knowing the details of the view by heart. He blinked in the bright sunlight as his steps slowed. The photo on his wall was in full color now, stretching along his right as far as he could see. A stunning postcard. A painful memory.

Then, he did the thing he’d promised himself he’d never do again. A thing he’d gotten good at over the last few weeks. He turned toward the view and stopped moving. He stopped moving and looked down at the water and didn’t try to block anything out.

The same questions he’d posed to himself all those years ago drifted into his head now.

If I jumped, would someone care?

If I jumped, would I care?

Donovan gripped the rail and closed his eyes, breathing in the air, feeling the precariousness of his position above the water. Then he smiled—big and broad and full. He opened his eyes, peered over his shoulder, and stopped a young couple who was strolling by. He held up his phone. “Would you mind? I suck at the selfie thing.”

The girl smiled and adjusted the camera she had hanging around her neck, her ponytail swinging. “Sure. Would you mind getting one of us after? We’re on our honeymoon and have managed to get, like, no pictures of us together.”

“Of course.”

She took Donovan’s phone and snapped a picture of him. Then they switched places. Seeing the smiling couple through the camera lens, giddily cuddled against each other in front of the view that Donovan had looked at on his wall every day with dread, jarred him for a second. So much happiness. Hope. This view would have a new memory now.

He thanked the couple and wished them a good honeymoon. And as they walked away hand in hand, instead of Donovan feeling cynical about what lay before them, he felt something altogether different. Envy. The best kind. The kind that stoked that burgeoning fire in his gut.

He checked the shot the girl had taken of him, pressed a few buttons, and sent the photo.

The response that came was immediate.

Marin: Things that are not fair—You looking at a beautiful view and being ridiculously handsome while I’m stuck here about to counsel Karina about forgetting to wear a bra to group AGAIN. Double D’s need support, West.

Donovan chuckled, the sound getting lost in the wind. Marin knew exactly what that picture signified, knew this was different than all the ones they’d exchanged since he’d left, but he loved that she didn’t go there. She went with making him laugh. And despite the view, he wished with everything he had that he was there with Marin, dealing with the antics in group. He missed his life at The Grove. His clients. His job. Marin.

Miss wasn’t a strong enough verb for that last one. Pine was more accurate. He pressed his hand over the place where her picture was in his shirt pocket, a heavy ache there. But he’d needed to do this. He’d needed to step off the hamster wheel and sit still. Be with all that ugly stuff he’d been sprinting from. Get real help this time instead of just throwing himself into a relentless work schedule to block out the bad. Grieve his parents, the losses in his life. Breathe through it all. Feel it. Take the advice he would’ve given a client who was in this position.

But all this time away felt like an eternity now. He’d checked himself in for a thirty-day intensive therapy program, finally facing the demons head-on. And then he’d traveled, taking his first break from work in his life and putting his head back together. So he could be that guy. He wanted to be that guy. Not just for Marin but for himself. His parents wouldn’t have wanted him to be some miserable workaholic asshole. It wasn’t who they’d raised him to be.

Donovan’s fingers moved over the screen of his phone.

Donovan: Maybe she was trying to help everyone overcome distraction. Unsupported double D’s could be a powerful teaching moment.

Marin: *rolls eyes* They have the power to derail a group therapy session, for sure. Two guys took really long bathroom breaks. But srsly, u good?

He’d talked to her last night, told her where he’d be today. He’d talked to her every night since he’d left. About nothing. About everything. They had long phone dates every night doing all the things he should’ve done with her instead of just jumping straight into sex. Though their talk had slipped into the erotic zone on more than one occasion. She got him sexually. Understood and connected in a way he’d never experienced before. But it was so much more than that. She got him. He fell in love with her a little more each time they talked. And he loved that it wasn’t always serious. They had fun. A concept that had eluded him for most of his adult life. Last night they’d caught a rerun of Dawson’s Creek. They’d sent each other selfies of their best Dawson ugly cry face. He’d totally won that contest—and had gloated. Obnoxiously. She was still making him ridiculous.

He loved being ridiculous.

And once upon a time that question—you good?—would’ve stirred up all kinds of complicated answers. But this one was an easy one.

Donovan: I’m good, Rush. But I miss you.

Marin: I know.

He laughed.

Donovan: You going Han Solo on me now?

Her response was a long time coming this go-round, the little dots indicating her reply seeming endless. Then her response popped up.

Marin: Joking is easier than telling you the truth. That your photo kind of wrecked me. That I miss you every goddamned minute.

The simple words reached inside him and gripped, making everything yearn. He’d already known it was time, but now he wished he had a teleporter, that he could just snap his fingers and have her there in front of him. Wrap his arms around her.

Donovan: I’m ready to come home. Ready to have me?

More dots. More waiting. More held breath.

Marin: Is this a sext?

Donovan smiled. He could picture her there in her office, grinning through the tears and being the strong woman he knew her to be. One who would always keep him on his toes.

Donovan: Yes. Obviously.

Marin: Then yes. Obviously.

Donovan ran his finger over her name on the screen. When he added it all up, he’d only known Marin for a short time. But in some ways, he’d felt like he’d known her his whole life. They’d missed that first opportunity, and the universe was giving him his second chance.

Another text dinged.

Marin: Come home, West. We all miss you.

We. Not just Marin. But the people who’d kept in touch with him on this trip. Lane. Ysa. A few of his clients who had emailed him wishing him a relaxing vacation. Even Dr. Suri had sent him well wishes, though no one but Marin and Lane knew about where he’d gone and why. He had people. It’d been a long damn time since he’d had people. Too long.

Donovan: OK

He didn’t say anything more after that. There was nothing left to say. He’d finally figured out where home was. And the answer to both those questions the water always asked when he was here was an easy one now: Yes.

He walked back down the path and to the car.

Yes, he cared.

And yes, someone cared for him.

That was all he needed.