Page 126 of Still Beating

Then we simultaneously spit it out.

Everywhere.

I start gagging as Dean wipes at his shirt. We both look at each other accusingly, our eyes brimming with blame, when both children break out into hysterical laughter beside us.

“Gotcha!” they shout, doubling over in a fit of giggles.

Dean and I share another glance. Our mouths tip up into a smile, growing bigger and brighter, as we absorb the fact that we have raised devious little pranksters, much like ourselves. Then we race to the sink and start wiping the salt coffee off our tongues with paper towels, while chugging down water.

I wonder if Mandy and Reid would mind taking an extra two beasts with them.

“Do you think we can bring some seashells home for Nana Asher?”

Brooklyn skips over to me across the shoreline, her arms full of delicate seashells.

On the way to the airport, we made a quick stop at the assisted living facility to visit Dean’s mother and to deliver homemade masterpieces from the children. Aiden and Brooklyn love spending time with Holly, despite her memory loss. Her door is now completely covered in construction paper, crafts, and love notes created by the kids. We spend hours with her a few times each month, singing songs and telling stories. Holly has moments of clarity here and there, more so lately, especially when we sing.

She knows every single word toHey Jude, and I can’t help but wonder if the song helps her cope with the darkness like it did for me.

I smile down at my daughter, bobbing my head. “I think that’s a wonderful idea. She’ll love them. Make sure to grab some for Gram and Gramps, too.”

“Yes! Gram loves shells. We can make necklaces with them.”

She scurries away to join her brother in the sand, her auburn hair floating behind her and catching on a breeze.

I’m taken by the moment, lost in a daydream, as I study my two babies filling buckets with sand on the scattered beach towels. And then I feel his arms slide around my waist, his fingers dipping just slightly into my bikini bottoms. I melt into him, my back to his chest, his chin finding the crook of my shoulder. We stand like that for a long while, both soaking up the feel of each other, both reminiscing, both being fully present in the blissful moment.

I turn in his embrace, grazing my fingertips down his bare chest. The sight of him alone, shirtless and lean, all toned abs and broad shoulders, has me swooning as I teeter on both feet.

Dean ducks his head, planting a kiss onto mine. “You have that look in your eyes,” he whispers against my hair.

My arms snake around his midsection, clinging tight. “What look?”

“Like you’re falling in love with me all over again.”

I grin into his chest, pressing soft kisses to his sea-swept skin as his hands travel dangerously low on my hips.

He’s very familiar with that look.

Dean reaches for my hand and tugs me towards the water. “Ready?”

My heart dances inside my chest, my nerves tingling. I follow him to the edge of the sea, where sand touches water, and we slow our steps, gazing out at the roaring waves.

It’s November 8th.

Every year on this day we go to the ocean. I still recall our very first trip together one year after we made our relationship official. Dean was finally able to secure a job transfer back to his original union location after eleven, agonizing months of waiting and only seeing each other on the weekends. But the distance just made us stronger and more certain of our future.

Three weeks after moving in together, we hopped on a plane and headed out to Santa Monica, so I could finally dip my toes in the sea. It was an emotional moment, made that much more potent with Dean by my side. We ran into the waves, hand in hand, side by side, and I screamed when the cold water engulfed me.

And then I broke down.

I collapsed against his chest, overcome by the power of it, thebeautyof it—the reality of finally conquering my lifelong fear. And as I sobbed in his arms, shaking from the cold and from the sheer intensity, Dean dipped down onto one knee and proposed. Right there in the middle of the ocean as I cried my heart out, tears mingling with seawater, and my skeletons washing away for good with the crest of each wave, disappearing to the ocean floor.

I jumped into his arms, my legs wrapping around his waist as I shoutedyesover and over and over into his neck, holding onto him as the waves tried to take us down.

But we held tight, fighting each surge, standing strong like we always do.

Like we always will.

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