Page 64 of The Last Sunrise

“My pare is a good judge of character. He would never love someone who didn’t deserve it. The parts of her that are the most lovable are probably parts only he has seen. As kids, even though we aren’t kids, we never truly see our parents forwho they are. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve despised your mom my whole life, sorry”—he winces and continues—“but the woman he wrote those letters for was worth loving and the cold, distant, and controlling woman you know is also worth loving,” he says confidently.

“Do you really believe that everyone deserves to be loved?” I let my thoughts roam into the air between us, not sure I agree with him, but wanting to believe it the same way he does.

“I don’t. Not everyone. I don’t think most people even know what love is, and I don’t believe that whole idea of humans being born good and all that either. I think our instinct is to be evil and we have to work against it, so those of us who do deserve love, but most people don’t.”

“How cynical.” I close my eyes, focusing on the way his fingertips drag lazily across my skin.

“And my mom would be considered evil by most people. Especially the ones who don’t have jobs because of her and the ones who won’t be able to see the ocean they call home because her resort is blocking the view,” I argue.

“An evil person and a woman trying to survive and support her daughter in the only way she knows how aren’t the same.” His words cause a heavy lump in my throat and my eyes to prick, fighting tears.

“What about babies? Don’t you think they’re born pure innocence and good?”

“Not all of them. Some of those babies grow up to do bad shit. Jails are full of adults who were once someone’s baby. The world isn’t black-and-white, and it’s certainly not a bright place, Ry. For you, I wish it was. I’m a cynic, just like you, and I think humanity may be doomed, but I’m happy if you’re happyand I’m so fucking thankful I met you and I don’t wish ill on anyone or these random babies you’re asking me about.” He lifts his face up slightly to kiss my cheek.

“But you’re a good person and only good things deserve to happen to you. That’s all I care about.”

My heart sinks. And soars. God, the world truly is unfair. Julián is going to end up hurt by me, one way or another, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

“Can we talk about something else?” I ask. My mind is too heavy and I’m fighting to not let the guilt consume me.

“Sure can. What about turtles? Do you like turtles?” he asks with a smile.

A laugh escapes me, and it works, he distracts me from reality. I love the way he never pressures me to ruminate or elaborate on a subject that I don’t want to.

“Turtles?” I laugh again. “That’s the first thing that popped into your head when I asked to change the subject?”

He joins me, his body gently shaking against mine. “Well, I didn’t think you would want to talk about climate change or politics…”

“You’re right.” We’re both giggly and buzzed off each other. “I do like turtles. Doesn’t everyone?”

He shakes his head. “No. I hate them. Fucking turtles. They’re the worst.” My breath catches in my throat from laughing, and I begin to cough.

Slight worry covers Julián’s face instantly and he sits up a bit on his elbow to look down at me. He hands me a half-full bottle of water and I down it. The light from the dock is shining on his face so gently, caressing the strong structure of his jawline, the plane of his nose, the thick of his brows. Such awonder to behold, his beautiful face. It’s beyond me how close we’ve gotten, how much has changed, since the day we met at the beach. The grumpy, annoyingly hot man has turned out to be a deep, enchanting, caring soul who I’m bone-crushingly in love with.

Curious if he does or was just trying to make conversation, I wonder, “May I ask why on earth you hate turtles?”

“They’re just annoying. Everyone pretends to love them because they’re endangered, but they’re full of germs and just poop everywhere. Sea urchins are more my thing. They’re misunderstood and ignored just because they’re a little spiky, and the turtles are stealing all the attention, if you ask me.”

The random pettiness of his annoyance toward turtles is way funnier than it should be. I feel drunk, like I had another one of Fabio’s famous flaming shots. My stomach rumbles at the thought. No more Fabio for me this summer. That night feels like a fever dream.

“I mean, fair. But random. Do you have any other grievances with animals that I should know about?” I ask him.

He nods. “Too many to name. Dolphins, pigeons, rats, cats—” I cover his mouth with my hand.

“Dolphins and cats? I don’t know if this is going to work,” I tease, and he gently bites the tender skin of my palm.

“Have you ever read how dangerous dolphins can be? If you want to be terrified, I suggest you google it.”

“No way. Not googling it.”

“Do you have a cat?” he asks, reminding me of how little we know about each other on a personal level. He seems to be able to read my mind yet doesn’t know if I have any pets. If only we had the time.

I shake my head. “My mom hates animals.”

He nods. “Not surprised.”

“And your dad probably feeds strays all the time.”

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