Page 15 of Camp Bliss
Josh blinks, and I swear, the vulnerability in his eyes makes him look about ten years old. “What should we tell him?”
Stupid toxic masculinity.
I shift my hand from his knee to his lower back and rub it hard.
“Sure is a shame that you’ve strained your back.” I sound like a terrible community theater actor, and Josh laughs.
But his laughter fades lightning fast.
“What if a few days off doesn't help?”
I shift my touch from theatrical back massage to soothing strokes between his shoulder blades.
“We’ll figure it out, babe.” Then I kiss his cheek. “This is our dream we’re talking about. And I promise you, it’ll be better than any old tropical beach.”
Josh snorts. “This place is sorely lacking in bikinis and Mai Tais.”
My grin is real because he’s teasing and being playful. And that gives me hope.
“I’ll put on a bikini and make you a Mai Tai right now.”
He laughs full force, and it’s a relief.
Right now, I’d do whatever it takes to make him okay. To make this okay.
And I ignore the little voice that’s asking me if that meansI’mokay.
ChapterThree
ZACH
If I ever doubt theinstincts that led me here, mornings on the lodge porch reassure me.
The birdsong. My God. The birdsong.
Cardinals. Black capped chickadees. Mockingbirds. Warblers. They are owning the woods right now. A red-headed woodpecker is adding a little back beat to the performance.
Life.
The birds. The trees. The endless sky.
Out here, I remember what it feels like to be alive. And that’s a feeling I’ve chased since I was seventeen. When I learned not to take a single morning for granted.
It’s when I sit out here that I really feel the whiplash of my life and thank God I’m here. Not in Boston.
Don’t get me wrong. Boston is the best city in the country. Maybe even the world. It’s clean. Beautiful. Mass transit is top-notch. With nearly a hundred colleges and universities in a ten-mile radius, the diversity and intellectual pulse of the city are life-giving. There’s so much to drink in. Concerts on the wharf. Jogging the RFK Greenway. The buskers. The Back Bay. Mike’s Pastry in Little Italy.
It’s the best city to live in.
I just never had the time to enjoy it. Not after law school, anyway.
Once I started with Hartley, Merrimen, and Volkl, all I saw of my favorite city was through the windows of the Inbound Red Line. Yeah, crossing the Charles River never, ever gets old.
But that flash of beauty was just a tease. A mirage. If it could speak, it would say:
Here, Zach. Everything you want is out here. You can look, but you can’t touch.
Not while working eighty hours a week.
