Page 110 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

I took them from his outstretched hand, the metal cool and unfamiliar in my palm. They were just keys. Metal and memory. But in that moment, they felt like a curse passed down by a devil who never raised his voice.

And then, without another word, I turned away.

I pushed the keys into Max’s hand—because if anyone would have loved holding onto an expensive demon car, it was him—and I ran after Ethan.

I told myself I followed him to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. But maybe I just wanted to be there for him.

Because as much as I hated him sometimes…

He was still… my friend.

And right now, he needed someone. Even if he wouldn’t admit it.

I caught up to him sitting on the pier, his back hunched slightly, elbows resting on his knees as he stared out at the water. He didn’t acknowledge me, but I knew he had noticed. Ethan wasn’t the type to miss things—especially not when someone was near him.

Still, he didn’t speak.

I hesitated for a moment before stepping forward and lowering myself onto the wooden planks beside him. The pier creaked slightly under my weight, but otherwise, it was quiet. Just the distant hum of the town behind us, the rhythmic crashing of waves, and the occasional cry of a seagull overhead.

Silence stretched between us.

Ethan was good at this—locking himself away when things got too heavy. He didn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve. Not like me. He let them fester, let them build until they either rotted or exploded into something reckless.

I didn’t know what to say.

Part of me figured it wasn’t my place to say anything. His father showing up like that, sending those creatures after us,handing me the keys to a car like that would somehow fix things—it was all too much. Too complicated. And if there was one thing Ethan hated, it was being reminded of things he couldn’t control. I had learned that just by being with him.

But I also knew that if I let the silence stretch too long, he’d fall deeper into his own head. And maybe, just maybe, I didn’t want to leave him alone with whatever thoughts were running through his mind.

So, I did the only thing I could think of.

I said something stupid.

Something completely unrelated.

Something about the seagulls being loud as hell or how the air smelled too much like fish this early in the morning. Maybe even something about the weirdest thing I had ever seen in a documentary.

For a second, I thought he wouldn’t respond.

Then, he let out a soft chuckle. Barely there, but real.

I glanced at him, surprised, but didn’t comment on it.

Instead, I leaned back on my hands, looking out at the ocean with him. The horizon was shifting, the dark night giving way to soft streaks of pink and gold as the sun slowly rose. The water shimmered, reflecting the changing sky, stretching endlessly before us.

Then, suddenly, Ethan shifted beside me, the wooden planks of the pier creaking under his weight. I kept my gazefixed on the horizon, pretending I didn’t feel the subtle shift in the air between us. The sun was still dragging itself above the water, casting hues of gold over the rippling ocean and painting everything like it meant to start over.

Then, he moved closer. Just slightly. His shoulder brushed mine.

I froze.

Not visibly—hopefully—but inside, my thoughts scrambled like spilled marbles. I could hear my pulse in my ears, loud and obnoxious. Too close, too close, every part of me whispered, but louder still was the part that didn’t hate it.

He leaned in.

His head settled gently on my shoulder, like it belonged there. Like I was something soft, not sharp-edged and awkward. His warmth soaked through my sleeve. The pier groaned below us again, as if to say ‘this is real.’

I stared forward, afraid to move. Afraid if I did, I’d ruin it—or worse, he’d pull away.

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