Page 42 of From the Ashes

The truth is, I’m not sure what’s going on with anything or anyone other than Zahir. So long as we can keep seeing each other like we have been this week, I’ll be a happy man. Of course, there’s no guarantee about how long we can keep this up, either, but I’m choosing not to fret over that today.

Today, I’m going to paddle my board over to my lover and join him on a few more waves before the sun dips too low.

The way he beams when he realizes I’m back beside him makes my heart loop-de-loop like a coaster at the Critter Canyon amusement park they’re refurbishing after the incident last year. When it reopens, I want to take Zahir there and get on every single ride, but especially the tunnel of love. That’s why those things were created in the first place. So the kids could have a couple of minutes to canoodle without creating a damn scandal. Society is so much more evolved nowadays. Why is it just my parents who are stuck in the dark ages?

When we head back to the shore, I can practically feel Zahir’s contentment vibrating off him. There’s something so liberating about surfing. It’s just you and the water rushing around you. I wish everyone could find a way to feel like that. They’d probably be a lot less stressed.

Speaking of stress levels, mine spike when someone calls out my name just as we’re walking back onto land. I know the whole point of this was to not hide the fact that I’m spending time with Zahir. Yet at the same time I didn’t expect anyone to actually recognize me out here. What if they challenge me about the nature of our relationship?

Chill, Ross.This is the beach, not open court.

When I turn around, I feel foolish, as there was never anything to worry about. Of all the familiar faces I’d genuinely be pleased to see wandering along the shoreline, Preston Windward is near the top of the list. The only ones above him would probably be Elizabeth and her kids.

My colleague waves casually, coming across as effortlessly cool in that alpha male way my parents definitely want me to exude. Preston, however, is not a douchebag. I’m not sure how he manages it.

He’s not alone, I realize. In my defense, it was hard to spot the dog was with him initially due to the way they’re racing up and down, leaping as they dig holes in the sand and bite at the water rushing back and forth by their paws.

“Jack, come here,” Preston calls with a laugh. The brown and cream dog is medium sized with a solid build that makes me just a little nervous as I haven’t been around animals much in my life. But Jack lollops along with his tongue hanging out, and I soon realize that he’s just a big, dopy baby.

“Hey, man,” I say as Preston approaches with his dog, who has not only come when called, but now sits obediently by Preston’s feet, wagging his long tail. “How’s it going? Who’s this?”

“Yeah, I’m good, I’m good,” my colleague says brightly, grinning down at the dog who looks adoringly back up at him. “This is Jack Sparrow. He’s a boxer, so he’s got a lot of energy that needs running off daily. I only adopted him a couple of months before you arrived, but he’s already come on so much.”

“He’s a rescue?” Zahir asks appreciatively.

Preston nods. “From right here in Redwood Bay. My mom always drilled into me ‘adopt, don’t shop.’ She’s got about a dozen fur babies back home on the farm at any given point in time.”

“I have some friends who would agree wholeheartedly with you,” Zahir says warmly.

Preston’s nodding, but then he looks between us, a smile creeping on his face. “Oh, this is your emergency, isn’t it, Ross?” His tone is conspiratorial rather than scandalized, however, which I’m relieved by.

I laugh and glance at Zahir. “Sorry, guys. Where are my manners? Zahir, this is one of the other senior partners at Ross & Associates, Preston Windward. Preston, this is my friend Zahir Delacroix. We went to school together. Preston was the one who helped me get out of a meeting to take your videocall when we, well, you know.”

Zahir looks at me warmly. “I do know.” Then he holds his hand out to Preston, and they shake firmly. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” Preston says, sounding like he means it.

And just like that, someone I consider a friend more or less knows about me and Zahir. And the world hasn’t ended. My father hasn’t erupted from under the sand to scream about how I’m a ‘flaming faggot’ bringing disgrace on our name by flaunting my perversions out in the open.

It feels so damn good.

“Do you surf here much?” Preston asks, subtly changing the conversation.

I nod. “And run. If I can come here before I get into the office, I’m a much more pleasant human being.”

“I feel that,” Preston scoffs, both managing to agree with me and insult me at the same time. This is why I like him. “You ever fancy some company for a 5K, let me know. I suck at hauling my ass out of bed, so am always on the lookout for a good accountability buddy.” He winks at me then turns to Zahir. “If that’s cool with you? We could do it together if running’s your thing, too? Jack is a great motivator, I promise.”

My chest swells that Preston would not only want to include my friend who he only just met, but also be considerate in case he’d misread the vibe.

“That sounds fun,” Zahir replies sincerely. “I work shifts, but the pattern is regular, so I could probably tag along from time to time.”

“Zahir’s a paramedic,” I tell Preston, my heart bursting with pride.

Preston nods and claps Zahir on the shoulder. “Wow, that’s a real goddamned calling. How did someone who’s basically an angel end up with a devil like Colt here?”

“I’m so an angel,” I say with a pout.

“Oh, he’s a devil all right,” Zahir quips to Preston like they’re in cahoots. But then all color drains from his face. “On t-the waves, I mean. Uh?—”

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