Page 15 of Run for Us

“Why do you have to go back?”

“Because I have a job.”

He moves his arm and turns to face me. “So? People leave their jobs all the time. Why not start a new life? What is stopping you? I’m not saying you must move here or even out of the city, but you’re an adult. You can choose the life you want, and anyone not willing to support you shouldn’t have a place in your life.”

He doesn’t understand. I tried once, and Teddy died. Living the life I was born into is how it has been since then, how it needs to be.

“I can see your brain ticking. Just think about it. Life is too short to be stuck doing something you don’t have to. I understand why some people have no choice, but I googled you, Kinsley. You are wealthy, intelligent, and have only yourself to support. Or at least I’m guessing so, since no cum trophies are running around.”

“I like you, Shore,” I say. He is refreshing. He lives his life how he wants and says whatever he is thinking.

“Go on a date with me, then?”

I snort. “God, no. I mean, you are way too young for me. You are barely twenty-one, and I’m almost thirty.”

Shore shrugs. “If everyone is legal, age doesn’t matter. And it’s only a date, Kinsley, not a marriage proposal. I will take you for a nice meal, and maybe even a walk along the pier. Then, like a gentleman, I will walk you back to your place and say goodnight.”

His eyes shine, and I can see the sincerity. I’m not used to this. For me, a date symbolizes a few things. Either a fancy meal that costs more than some people make in a day, which he would pay for, meaning sex afterward—normally a one-nightstand, because that is all we have time to maintain. Or if it’s with someone my mother has set me up with, it’s a business connection, intending to force us together with the hope it goes further.

“I’ll think about it. Shore, I love how free-spirited you are, but my life is not like yours. I wish it was, and that it was so easy to just let it go.”

Shore smiles. “Thinking about it is good enough. I’m persistent without being creepy, and I’ll wear you down. It really is that easy, but I think you’re a little scared. I have time to make you see the light.”

A group of older women walk up to the van, and Shore jumps up when one calls out to him. I decide to stay here and sketch the small boats coming and going, and the birds that follow in hopes of their next meal.

I don’t know how long I sit there before a shadow falls over me. Looking over my shoulder, I see Rip standing behind me, glancing down at my picture, and I snap my sketchbook closed.

“It’s not very good,” I say.

I plan to get some art supplies later today. I want to turn my sketches into paintings so I can hang them in my apartment as reminders of what freedom felt like.

“Can I draw you?” he asks and points to my sketch pad. I hesitate as he sits beside me. “No hand can write your story but your own. Sometimes you just have to pick up the pen and leap.”

I slide the sketchbook toward him, and he smiles.

“How do you do that? Say what someone needs to hear.”

He shrugs as he opens the book, and I look out toward the small waves that break along the shore. “Honestly? Past trauma. I had to be able to read people. It was the difference between being beaten or not.”

“You learned to protect yourself in a way most people never have to. I admire your strength.”

“It is what it is; I can’t change the past. But I now have an amazing support system here, and I’m happy. Being miserable every day isn’t living—it’s existing—and what a waste of life if you don’t live. Dwelling on the past won’t change it, so I choose to be free.”

“Is it that easy?” I ask, sneaking a look at him as the pencil moves across the page. He moves his arm to shield the picture.

“No peeking. And no, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but it’s worth it. Believe it or not, Shore helps me, just by being him.”

“I can see why you keep him around. His energy is contagious. Can I ask you something semi-personal?”

Rip’s hand pauses mid stroke when I place my hand on his arm. He relaxes quickly, then turns to face me with a nod.

“You and Shore . . . are you a couple?”

His lips pull up into a grin. “He asked you out? And you’re smart enough to have seen our interactions.”

“Something like that,” I say, followed by a nervous laugh. I don’t know why Rip makes me nervous, but he does.

“It’s not something we put a label on. He saved my life. When I was sent to live with the Eastons, I was scared and felt so alone. I trusted no one, but Shore didn’t give up on me. If I had nightmares, he would stay up with me and tell me outlandish stories of his adventures. He made sure I lived every day until I was no longer empty. He even picked my name.”

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