“You’re not going to make me wear a Ronald Reagan mask, are you?” he jokes, turning around and lacing his fingers in mine before pulling me out the door. We head back upstairs and grab some water bottles, towels, and my camera. As we exit through the kitchen, he stops to pick up the key lying on the landing and puts it back on top of the doorframe. I point to the hole in the wall. “Did you do that?”

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

“River why . . . ,” I start to ask, but I know why so I stop.

He responds anyway. “Well, let’s just say I was in a piss-ass mood and the key wouldn’t cooperate.”

I look away in avoidance. I’m not ready to talk more about Ben, and I know he isn’t, either, so I step by him and head down the stairs. I really just want to spend the day together and enjoy each other’s company.

We cruise down to Malibu in his vintage black Porsche, managing to somehow keep the mood light.

“Did I tell you Jack talked to me about helping him produce MC Hammer’s Too Tight album?”

Snapping my head in his direction, my jaw drops. “Shut up. You’re shitting me. How did he get that? I thought it was buried along with his career.”

He laughs. “No I’m not. He picked up some small production company that years ago had acquired Death Row Records’ vault and it’s just sitting in there waiting for someone to show it some love. Jack just has to see if he can get MC to sign off on it.”

“Isn’t gangster rap a little passé?”

River shakes his head. “Maybe, who knows? But the cameo by Tupac will have everyone listening.”

I nod my head, trying not to think about the sadness of Tupac Shakur’s murder. River rolls his window down and I follow suit. Then he starts singing “U Can’t Touch This,” and I laugh hysterically. Soon I’m grabbing my camera and shooting pictures of him. He turns and mouths, “You can’t touch this” as well as some of the other best lines and I capture them all.

To get in beach mode, I pick up his phone and scroll through the iTunes store, downloading every song I can find with the word beach or fun in it. I want him to be excited to go to the beach, but most of the songs I select just make him roll his eyes—until I download “California Girls” by the Beach Boys. As it plays his smile widens. He sings along with me and we unknowingly have a contest for who can sing the words “wish they all could be California girls” the loudest. He smiles so brightly I can see his dimples. He even splays his hand out in the wind thumping to his own beat. When the song finishes I turn the volume down and just watch him.

He glances my way and lifts his sunglasses. “Yesss . . .”

“Nothing, I’m just surprised that you like the Beach Boys.”

“Well . . . not that I want to ruin my cool rocker image or anything but I’ll tell you a secret,” he says, winking at me. “My dad made us listen to them every time we ever went to the beach and after a while they started to grow on me.”

“That’s actually really cool. And your rocker image is still intact, no worries. I won’t tell anyone.” River falls silent for the rest of the drive. I wonder if it was the song, the conversation, or the fact that we are quickly approaching the beach.

A part of me knows River feels the beach was a place for me and Ben, but that simply isn’t true. True, we both loved the beach, but that doesn’t mean I can’t love it with River. I want to be able to experience the beauty of one of the most magical places with him and this feels like the time to bridge one of the last barriers between us.

We pull into the public parking lot and he swings the car into a spot. When he turns the ignition off, I can see his reluctance. “Hey, are you okay?”

Removing his sunglasses, he looks at me; I mean really looks at me before speaking. Then pointing to the beautiful Pacific Ocean that stands before us he says, “I’m not sure we should be doing this.”

I don’t hesitate in the slightest before saying, “Well, I am.”

Then I reach over and push the hair from his eyes. “I love you. Only you. Okay? And I want to share one of my favorite places with you. I want us to experience this together. We need to do this, River—for you and for me. For us.”

He sits quietly, like he’s weighing the pros and cons of what I just said. He stays like that for the longest time. I try to hasten his decision by opening my door. But when he doesn’t do the same, I move back in my seat and decide to resort to enticement. Pulling off my T-shirt, I sit there with the hot sun beating through the window in my black bikini top then lean back and wiggle out of my shorts.

While he watches me, his lips part and his chest moves a little more rapidly. A wicked grin appears on his face as he runs his finger up one of the strings of my top. “If you’d have taken your clothes off when we first got in the car, we probably would never have made it to the beach, you know.” With that, he opens his door, takes his shoes off, and stands to strip off his jeans. I watch him and think he’s right.

***

“Come with me,” he says, quirking a finger and leading me up the mound of rocks. I stop halfway to snap photos of him climbing. His strong muscular legs easily carry him up the rocks. When he sits on one of the boulders, I crouch down and snap. The wind blows through his light brown hair and with his sunglasses on he not only looks content and carefree, but sexy as hell. Every muscle in his chest and abs is on display as I click, zooming in to capture one or two close shots. “Sing something for me.” I have to raise my voice to be heard around the camera and the sound of the ocean splashing against the rocks.

He reaches his hand to pull me next to him but I stay right where I am. Standing, I steady myself and flip my camera to video mode. “Come on, one song.”

His eyes move across my face then drift down my body. He smiles a small sneaky grin. “Do I look like a jukebox?” he says, stifling a laugh.

Feeling the familiar heat of his gaze I answer. “No, of course not. Why do you ask?” I already know his question has a purpose and I’m extremely curious to discover what it is.

“You asked for a song, if I were a jukebox you’d have to insert coins to get me to play. Right?”

“Yes, I suppose if you were but since you’re not . . .” I stand there admiring the glow of his hair in the sunlight.

He extends his hand again. “Then come here and give me a kiss and I’ll play something for you.”

Slipping my hand in his, he pulls me to his lap. I wrap my arms around him and his lips find mine. His kiss is soft, warm and full of promise. His hands move everywhere . . . up my back, over my arms, on my hips. His kisses become harder and deeper until we both break for air, both feeling that familiar desire surfacing. Placing kisses up and down my neck, his lips slide along my collarbone and up my chin to my ear. He starts singing “Beach Side” in my ear, and, in the exhilaration of the moment, I forget all about videoing him. Next to kissing him, hearing River sing to me is the most romantic thing I’ve ever known.

For hours afterward we walked the beach, made sand castles and River even used shells to carve out moats around them. We chased each other through the surf and when he caught me he always picked me up and twirled me around before throwing me in the waves. After lunch we even bought a kite and kept it flying in the air for at least fifteen minutes. Now that evening is rapidly approaching and our perfect day is just about over, he begins to sing to me again. He has seemed more like himself today, still a little sad, still a little on edge, but all in all his demeanor is far improved.

As I sit in between his legs on top of a massive boulder, his song ends and he rests his forehead against mine and pulls away with one lone groan. I can’t help my grin. Knowing we’ve gone as far as we can on the public beach we turn to the west to watch the magnificent sunset. Sunrises and sunsets are among my favorite things and have always been my favorite things to photograph. I lean back into his chest and continue to snap pictures as he wraps his arms around me, kissing my head. I don’t want this perfect moment to end, and I know when we get home we have to talk. The fact that Ben is alive means that whether or not I want him in my life, we have to talk it through, figure out what it means that he’s not dead. Ben and I share more than a past, we share more than possessions, we share a family—Grace, Serena, and Trent. And even though I’m a little upset with Grace right now, they are just as big a part of my life as his.

He jostles me out of my thoughts when he whispers, “I’m going to miss days like these.”

“What do you mean?” I have to peer over my shoulder to see him.

“Us alone. No else one around. Days when it’s just you and me against the world.”

“We’ll still have that, River. Maybe not as often or for as long, but we will.”

Unsure where this conversation is headed, I wait for him to say more.

He kisses my temple and shifts his head down to my neck. “You know I don’t want to do this. Don’t you,” he murmurs into my ear and it’s not a question.

I need to look at him for this, so I rise up from in between his legs and move to sit beside him. Resting my head on his shoulder, I stay silent a long while. I know he’s talking about the tour, but I feel helpless to assist him in any way. He made his decision and I don’t want to add any stress to the already– large emotional load he carries. Looking up at him, I stroke his cheek with my fingers and say the only thing I can. “I know, River, I know. Why don’t you just tell Xander? Explain to him how you feel.”

There’s a haunted look in his eyes. “I can’t do that. I promised I would do this and I’m not going to break my promise.”

I hesitate a minute then ask, “Who did you promise?”

His body tenses and he inhales deeply. “Dahlia. I’ve never really explained how my dad died. Not that I haven’t wanted to, but more because the memory isn’t one I ever want to relive.”

One look at his somber expression, and compassion and pain swirl inside me and I fight to keep my own face expressionless. Beyond sympathy for him, for losing his father, I also feel my own remorse. For never having pushed him to tell me how his father died, other than the fact that he died from a gunshot wound when River was sixteen. I’m not sure why I never did; I could just tell it was something he didn’t want to discuss—and that was a feeling I knew well. My eyes lock on his and I give him a look that lets him know it’s okay to go on. That I’m here for him.

Letting out a long cleansing breath he starts to open up. “Xander and I promised our dad that we would do everything we could to be successful.”

Cupping his cheeks I say, “Every parent wants that for their child, and, River, you are successful.”

Sighing, he shakes his head. “No Dahlia, he was always pretty specific. He wanted us to hit it big in the music industry. It was his dream for himself but no matter how hard he tried to achieve it, he never could. He teetered close twice. The first time he cut an album and toured, but low sales and low attendance had him starting at square one. When I was fourteen he got a second chance, but by then he was too far gone. After that he never performed again and our family life changed forever until the day he killed himself and willed his dream on us.”

A wall of silence forms between us for a moment as my eyes widen in disbelief. Tears sting my eyes and I want to hold him, to comfort him, but can tell he wants to continue so I refrain. “I’m so sorry, River, I never knew. But I’m here. You can talk to me about it.”

Sniffing and looking toward the water he says, “Like I said, my dad was a dreamer, he always wanted to hit it big, but never could catch a break. I never even knew how unhappy he was for the longest time. He made us his life. Taught us everything he could. He tried to provide for us as best he could by teaching guitar lessons out of our house during the day and performing on the weekends. When I was about ten he started playing local joints at night and not coming home until late. It was about that time Grandpa started showing up secretly to slide my mom an envelope full of cash to buy groceries and whatever we needed. She took the money so my dad wouldn’t feel like what he was providing wasn’t enough. Xander used to get so mad at her for that. He thought she should just tell him, make him stop, but she never would. She wanted to believe he’d see his dream come true.”