Page 81 of Courageous Hearts

“Hm?”

“Are you expectin’ company?” A car door shuts outside a moment before Sara peeks her head around the corner. “Somebody’s here with Will.”

“Huh?” I reply, hopping up and following Sara over to the window. Who could it possibly be that my aunt wouldn’t know?

When I catch sight of the person standing outside next to my friend, I gasp, losing my very breath. For a moment, I worry I might wobble to the ground. But then I’m moving, pushing through the door, my feet carrying me fast. A flicker of uncertainty flashes over Jameson’s face as I rush toward him, but as soon as I throw myself into his arms hard enough to send him back against the door of Will’s truck, he grabs me fiercely, holding on tight. I wrap my legs and arms around him like a child, and face tucked against his neck, the sobs come unbidden—noisy, ugly things. But Jameson squeezes me through it, shushing me gently, never taking his hands off me. Never wavering. Never giving me even an inch of space.

He smells like the ocean, like sandalwood and the sun and the waves. And even as I pour my tears down his shoulder, soaking his shirt, he doesn’t once complain. His arms stay around me like a vise, the crushing pressure keeping me together, and his lips brush gently against the side of my head, moving with murmured words and soft kisses.

It takes me a moment, once my eyes have finally stopped running, to realize we’re not against Will’s truck anymore. In fact, it’s gone, and Jameson is walking me slowly down the long dock that belongs to Sara’s neighbor, Nash. He stops at the end, where it’s wider, and ever so gently, he lowers to the wooden planks. My legs stay around him, and once he’s firmly seated, I settle my weight onto his lap.

I don’t pull my face back right away, too comfortable in the crook of Jameson’s neck. Too content in the warmth beating down my back and the gentle breeze whispering across my skin.

Too embarrassed about my breakdown to face him quite yet.

But he doesn’t let me stew for long. He rubs my back as my breathing slows, and after a final hiccup on my part, he speaks.

“So once, there was this little girl. And she was very brave. She had two older brothers and an older sister, and they were playing hide and seek.”

I lift my head, leaning back enough to look Jameson in the eye. He smiles when I do, his brown irises so warm, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he watches me. He’s so beautiful, and my breath catches all over again. The sturdy planes of his brow, the elegant nose, the stubbled jaw and that dang dimple in his right cheek.

“The little girl,” he says, never breaking stride, “decided to hide in a wardrobe.”

I huff a laugh. “What’re you doin’, Jamie?”

“Telling you a story,” he says simply. “Do you recognize it?”

I nod. I never read the books, but I saw the movies.

“Good,” he says. “So this little girl, Lucy, found out that there was this whole wide world that existed just on the other side of her wardrobe. It was vast, and it was new, and she was so excited to tell her siblings. They went through together, visiting Narnia often. They had many adventures.”

Jameson pauses to run his hand along my brow, brushing some hair away from my face. His fingers linger, flitting over my cheek and under my chin.

“They fought battles,” he says softly. “They stood up for what was right. They explored along land and sea. They made new friends. And, eventually, they all grew up, and they couldn’t visit Narnia anymore.”

“That’s sad,” I say, unable to shift my gaze away from Jameson’s.

He shakes his head. “They had new adventures, I’m sure. The grown-up kind.” He waggles his eyebrows at that, and I bark a laugh.

“That part didn’t make it into the books, huh?” I say.

“No way,” he answers.

“Why are you tellin’ me this, Jamie?” I ask softly.

“Because you, Bo, are just like Lucy.” At my blank stare, he goes on. “You are brave. And you are good and kind. And you’re fighting for what’s right. I’m so proud of you for that.”

My breath leaves me in a rush. “You think too highly of me, Jamie. I’m not brave. I’m not. I’m not like Lucy. I’ve done some real shitty things. I—”

“Stood up to your brother because he was hurting you,” he says plainly, his expression brokering no argument. “You are courageous every single day. Every day. Because the world you walk through is one so few people will ever understand, and you do it with your head held high. You’re gorgeous and caring and fierce. And I’m so fucking glad I found you.”

“Damn it, Jamie,” I croak, wiping at my face. “I just finished cryin’.”

“Cry all you want,” he says, kissing my cheek. It feels raw from all the salt. “You’re so strong. I hope you know that.”

“I don’t feel it,” I admit.

“If only you could see what I see,” he says quietly.

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