CHAPTER FORTY-THREE Chad

"Welcome back," Rat said, splashing water toward me.

He dipped both of his hands back into the water and then brought them to his head, where he slicked his long hair back out of his face. He looked happy that we finally had a day off from the food truck.

"I know, right," I replied. "I'm glad to be back on the waves too, buddy."

"That's true too, but not what I meant, bro," he corrected. I cupped my hands over my eyes and looked at him. "I meant welcome back to the land of the living, you numbnut."

I grinned at him and slapped the water to splash him back. "You missed me, didn't you?" I teased. "What was it you said earlier this summer? That I had my dick in the dirt? Wasn't that your colorful expression?"

"Well, obviously, your dick is somewhere else now. Or is it that someone else has their dick in your dirt?" he joked.

"Grow up. Cole and I are just hanging out," I replied. "But, you know, things are going well."

"Is that what you queer-bags call it? Hanging out?"

I rolled my eyes toward him. "Queer-bags? Is that what all the cool people are calling us these days?" I asked.

"Fuck off, dude. You and Cole are totally a thing, right?"

"Yes, we are some-thing," I corrected. "We're just hanging out and seeing where it goes."

"Whatever you're calling it, I like it, dude. I like this Chad a whole bunch more than moody-blues Chad."

I glanced behind us to check for incoming waves. "I don't do moody," I protested, turning back and sticking my tongue out. "I was feeling a tad… shall we say… slumpy; is that a word?"

"Moody, slumpy, bitchy, whatever you call it. I like this version better."

"Who said bitchy?" I snarked.

We laughed out loud at the banter. He was right, though; it did feel great to be on the water with a friend and feeling excited about my life again. I'd admit to anyone who asked that the past seven to nine months had been tough, even if I hated to admit that sometimes my spirit was down like everyone else's.

"Thanks for hanging out on your only day off, bro," he said, changing subjects. "I like that about you, by the way," he added. "You know, making time and shit."

"I love you too, Rat."

"Don't make it gay, dude," he quipped. "I mean it, though. Sure, I miss the amount of time we used to have, but I'll take less time if this is the Chad I get."

Sometimes I forgot just how good of a friend Rat was. It'd be easy to look at the beach bum and think he was as shallow as a teaspoon, but that wasn't accurate. We'd been friends for years and he was always there when I needed him. Of course, he wasn't the best at sharing big emotions or wanting to get all involved too personally in my feelings, but when he said something, you could count on it being heartfelt.

"Can I confess something to you?" I asked, kicking my feet and drawing alongside his board. He grabbed my board's edge to pull me closer. "I like Cole more than I'm admitting to him."

He scowled at me. "That's fucked up, bro," he hissed, shaking his head.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't do that bullshit to him."

"Whoa, buddy," I said. "What?"

"Don't act like the rest of us, C. That ain't you, bro."

Rat turned away from me, still shaking his head. I tugged on his arm to get him to turn back. "What are you on about?" I asked.

He turned toward me, a frown still evident on his disappointed face. "Fuck, man! I count on you, bro. You're the guy that doesn't do shit like that," he lectured. "Don't be that douche, bro."

"Relax a second. What are you talking about?"

He waved a dismissive hand my way. "I look up to you, bro. Believe it or not, I listen to what you've been preaching. I have for all these years, too. Your example is important to me, fucker."

Rat sat staring at me like he'd discovered a fraud or something. He was angry with me. "What'd I say?" I asked, feeling devastated by his outburst. "Correct me then, buddy," I encouraged.

"You just said you liked Cole more than you're admitting to him, dude. That shit ain't cool. Aren't you the dude that preaches saying what you feel? Admitting your truth?"

He was right. I had said that, but I felt like I was just trying to engage him in a personal area of my life, my worries, etc. He'd heard me though. He'd caught the bullshit that I'd admitted to, and he was spot on.

"You're right," I admitted. "You called me on it and that's cool. I'm not proud, to tell you the truth."

"Then why'd you say it?" he asked. "Tell the poor dude already. I ain't even gay and I can spot a dude-match a mile away, bro." Rat laid back on his board and stretched out, his ripped stomach on display. He covered his eyes and continued. "He's your type, bro. Clint was cool and all, but he wasn't as old as you like your men."

"Look at you analyzing my type. Maybe we should be talking about your type of guy."

"You wish, bro," he stated. "But I'm telling ya, if I was to fuck a dude, it'd be you. You is pretty as fuck."

"Well, aren't you a sweet talker?"

He sat back up. "But we both know I ain't your type. You like them successful-looking dudes. Wall Street and shit."

I laughed at his nickname. I'd called Perry Wall Street before, and Rat was correct. "Funny you say that though," I began. "David, my first serious boyfriend, was a jock and a broke sports bar owner. Clint was a broke construction worker before he won all that money in a lawsuit. Neither that much older than I am."

"That might be true, dude, but you was talking about older dudes back in high school, and they were always in suits and shit. Bankers, lawyers, doctors, all those fancy types," he said. "You remember Bodie's stepdad? You know, the first stepdad, not the newest one?"

"Mr. Mitchell," I reminded him.

He snorted a laugh. "See, fucker? You still know his name," he said. "Now that dude had your panties in a twist, remember? Always wanting to hang at Bodie's so you could drool over his old man."

He was right. Lyle Mitchell was a stud. I was sixteen, maybe seventeen, trying my best for him to notice me. I fantasized nonstop about him. He sold medical equipment and always wore a sharp suit. He had style and a body that made my boy brain go crazy. Yeah, I knew my type even back then.

"Damn," I reminisced. "Mr. Mitchell was the man."

"And Cole Hicks is ten times that, bro—and I ain't even gay."

"True. Plus, I don't think Cole is chasing skirts nonstop either."

We chuckled at the memory even though Bodie's mom was a mess after Mr. Mitchell took up with the nineteen-year-old at Dairy Queen. I liked Bodie's mom. She was into crystals and tarot cards. She claimed to be clairvoyant, actually. Told me once I'd meet a man one day that would whisk me away on his private jet. Truth be told, back then I wished I'd been the girl at Dairy Queen.

"You love him?" Rat asked, drawing me out of my teenaged memories.

"I think so," I admitted. "There is something about his heart, buddy. I feel like he has so much love in there."

"Never heard you say that before, dude. Usually you're all about rescuing some poor soul," he stated. "You growing up on me, fucker?"

"Can I tell you another secret?" I asked.

"As long as it ain't about you being an asshole, dude."

"I'm not receiving any messages about Cole," I admitted. He knew about Jack and other instances of me receiving guidance. "Nothing from Jack even. My brain is totally quiet about it."

We shared a silence while we commiserated over that fact, water slapping against the edges of our boards before he spoke. "You ever think that might be a good sign?"

"In what way?" I asked, jerking my head in his direction, wondering if he was criticizing me again.

He stared at me as cool as a cucumber. "Maybe it's fucking time that you make the decisions, dude."

I hadn't thought about that.