Page 86 of Come Break My Heart Again

I run until I feel like I can’t go any farther. I have no idea what time it is or how much distance I’ve covered. For the first time in so long, I’m somewhere unfamiliar. Free of any restrictions or expectations. It feels damn good. Cleansing.

The sun has burned away the haze by now. The sky is a brilliant blue above, unblemished by so much as a single cloud.

I’m still alone on the beach, none of the houses along the sand ones I recognize. I let Scout off his leash to sniff around the dunes. Pull off my socks and sneakers and walk down to the water’s edge, letting the bubbly foam wash over the tops of my feet. The water is as chilly as it was yesterday. Colder, without the rubber barrier of a wetsuit.

Scout whines. He’s followed me as far as he can while keeping his paws in the sand.

“It’s okay, buddy,” I tell him. “I’ll be right out to—crap.”

Scout interpreted my words as an invitation, dashing straight into the next oncoming wave.

I panic and rush after him, getting completely soaked in the process. Through a combination of pushing and calling his name, I get him to paddle back to shore. I could carry him if I had to, but he appears to be a pretty good swimmer.

As soon as we’re back on the sand, he shakes. Makes no difference since I’m already drenched. Now that I’m out in the water, under the relentless beam of the sun, it actually feels good.

I go to clip his leash back on—lesson learned about taking it off—but Scout takes off after a seagull. I call his name, and he races back, dropping into a down position and then rolling onto his back. He wiggles around in the sand until he’s totally coated in it, then stands and shakes once again. Most of the sand sticks to his wet fur. You can barely see his fur under the thick layer of beige.

Fuck.

I pull the bag of treats out of my pocket, relieved they stayed dry in the plastic during my unplanned swim, and lure Scout over with one. He munches happily as I clip his leash back on, then looks up at me with his pink tongue lolling.

“You’re in trouble,” I tell him.

No reaction. He looks as unbothered as Cormac did anytime I tried to discipline him.

The walk back takes a while. I decide to carry my shoes rather than try to jog in wet, sandy socks. Scout trots along happily, appearing as energetic as when we left. I wish I could say the same.

Finally, I spot the Parkers’ house up ahead. Scout and I climb the deck steps, leaving a trail of wet sand behind us.

I slide open the deck door a couple of inches, careful to make sure we’re both staying outside.

“Hey, Tuck?”

“Yeah?” He turns around from the island, a wide grin stretching his face when he gets a good look at me. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Does this place have an outside faucet somewhere? And a hose?”

“Yeah, around front. Left side of the garage.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“You need help?” Tucker calls after me.

“Nah, I’m good,” I reply before closing the door.

More clumps of sand fall as I lead Scout around the side of the house and along the stone pavers.

The spigot and hose are easy to spot. Not only is the hose a neon green, but Tucker and Keira are also standing right by it.

“How didbothof you get like this?” Keira asks, glancing between me and the dog. She looks like she’s trying very hard not to laugh.

“Scout wanted to go swimming. Then he decided to roll around on the beach.”

“That doesn’t explain whyyoulook like a drowned sandcastle,” Tuck tells me.

I roll my eyes. “I said I didn’t need help.”

“Oh, we’re not here to help,” he says, taking a sip from the mug of coffee he’s holding. “Just to enjoy this.”

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