Page 67 of Broken Hearts

I walk straight to the picture, grateful we’re the first ones here, allowing me the time to take it all in, to adjust and grieve.

I run my fingers over the picture. My father’s joyful, tanned and weathered face smiling back at me, and the tears spill down my cheeks without warning. Flooding from my eyes like a rushing river, and I don’t try to hold it back.

He’s smiling brightly, wearing The Pipe Dream T-shirt. His hand held in the ‘hang loose’ symbol, his wrist covered in multicolored bracelets. Behind him sits the ocean, a place he loved, along with his surfboard propped in the background.

I take it all in, the tears blurring my vision. But I catch one of the bracelets on his wrist, swiping at my eyes so I can see it more clearly.

“Nate,” I call, and he comes to stand at my side. His arms instinctively wrap around my shoulders, pulling me close. “When was this picture taken?”

“I don’t know,” he replies, lifting a shoulder. “Maybe two or three months ago. Always with the shaka though.” He laughs a little, giving the same gesture with his thumb and pinky finger. “Why?”

I let my fingers trail over the bracelet, seeing my name so clearly now etched into the silver oval and next to it, sage leaves.

If I thought I was a mess before, I’m a trainwreck now. The tears spill from my eyes without a single sob leaving my mouth, flooding my face. I don’t even bother wiping them away.

“Look,” I mutter, my word lost in the raggedness of my tears.

“He wore that every day,” Nate says, and when I take in his face, his brow is furrowed, confusion masking his once smiling face. “I never knew. I never asked.”

“For how long?”

“Since the day I met him, he had it on,” Nate replies, and this time when I take in his face, his eyes shine with the threat of tears. “He loved you so much, Sage.”

I don’t know if I can take this. He loved Nate too. He loved Alana and Tanner. He loved the island and the ocean. These people were his family. This place was his home.

Nate pulls me to him, holding me close as we cry together. Letting out what he’s been holding in, what he’s been trying to keep inside, trying to be strong.

I can’t imagine what Nate is feeling right now, given my father was the only person in his life that remained constant, the person who saw something in him, the person who possibly saved him.

“Fuck, Sage,” Nate rasps out, his words hoarse and painful. “I miss him so much.”

I want to be strong for him, but I just can’t, falling apart again, our arms wrapped tightly around each other, holding each other up. His words break my heart, shattering it into a million pieces. It’s the honesty that gets me, sharing what he really feels, and I know how hard that is for him. His vulnerability will never be seen as a weakness to me.

Pulling back, I take Nate’s face in my hands, my thumbs brushing away the tears, I kiss him. My eyes fall closed, my lips soft and comforting against his. He needs me as much as I need him.

We have each other.

When we finally separate, I look over my shoulder, and if things couldn’t get any more emotional, I see my mom standing near the last row of chairs.

I blink a couple of times, not sure if she’s really here, but when she waves, a smile on her face that feels so much like home, I run to her.

I nearly knock her over with the force of my body when I collide with her, her arms wrapping around me. She hugs me with the force that only a mother can, and I sob against her shoulder, letting myself find comfort in her presence.

“What are you doing here?” I ask through a strangled sob. I’ve never been more grateful to see her, needing her more in this moment than I ever have in my life.

“I had to come say goodbye too. Your father gave me the greatest gift of my life, and I owe it to him to be here,” she tells me, running a soothing hand down my back. I can feel the wetness of her tears as she kisses my cheek.

“Thank you.”

“And I thought I told you not to fall in love with a surfer?” she now says, a chastising playful tone to her voice, and I let out a laugh amongst the tears.

“I want you to meet Nate.”

Sage wandersover with what I can only assume is her mom because while she might have Mitch’s eyes and a lot of his mannerisms, there are parts of her that clearly come from this woman.

“Nate, this is my mom, Angie,” Sage says, her arm linked through her mom’s. “Mom, this is Nate. He runs Dad’s shop.”

“I just work there,” I correct, holding out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs…”

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