Page 73 of Kneeling for Them

Finally, the ocean comes into view.I roll down my windows and allow the ocean breeze to move through the car.I travel north along 101 until I hit the tiny coastal town of Mirarosa.It boasts some nice restaurants for tourists, although the best place to eat is a tiny, family-owned Mexican restaurant far off the beaten path.The town also holds the usual artsy gift shops, an upscale toy store, and the kind of saltwater taffy store that seems to be a staple among beach towns.

Just past the busy downtown area, I take a left down a road shaded by large Monterey cypress trees.There in front of me, past a large gate, is the beach house Bash and I purchased a few years ago.The idea was we’d always have a place to relax, outside of the demands of San Esteban, but we rarely make it out here.

Sebastian’s black Range Rover is in front of the house—he must have driven himself, too.I climb out of my car and stretch, looking around the property and imagining Ella seeing it for the first time.I think she’ll like it here, with the trees at one side of the house, blocking it from neighbors and the town, and then, far beyond a generous deck, the ocean.The beach isn’t private, but we have a gated path of our own to reach it via a short hike.

I can just imagine her eye-roll if she thought we had a private beach.Little brat.

After letting myself into the house, I don’t have to look far to find Bash.He’s sprawled on one of the sofas in the living room, a black throw pillow over his eyes, probably there to block out the light.

“Kingston,” he says, keeping his face covered.

“Sebastian,” I say.

“Should’ve known you’d track me down eventually.”

“Yep.”I wait.Let him fill the silence.Let him apologize for creating the mess by not telling Ella everything, and then skipping town at the first sign of conflict.

“It’s really fucking hard to spiral with you standing there,” he says, moving the pillow and cracking an eye open to glower at me.

“Good.”

“I fucked up.”

“Many times,” I say.

“I’m not sure how to fix it.”

He sounds so miserable, I’m actually starting to feel sorry for him again.I push away the impulse.I felt sorry for him that night seven years ago, and I’ve felt sorry for him since.But right now, he needs some tough love.“Come back to San Esteban.Ella misses you.”

“She said it wasn’t okay with her.I’m staying put for a while.”

“You idiot.None of it’s okay with her, because…you know what?You can talk to her about it.But it was childish as fuck for you to just take off like that without talking it out.”

“Childish?She couldn’t stand to look at me, King.You were there.”

“No, she’s currently trying to bend over backwards to come up with reasons why you weren’t at fault for this.”

He sits up the rest of the way.“She is?”

“Yeah.She believes in you, and you’re out here hiding like a pouty teenager.I never bothered you about that night because you seemed to want to forget it.But now I think I should have pushed matters more.”

“I’ll think about coming back,” he says.“But what about Schrödinger?”

“Schrödinger?”

“Our new cat.”

I look around.There is no cat.“Is this a joke?”

He points to what I had thought was one of our black throw pillows.“There’s the cat.”

Holy shit.The throw pillow is breathing.

“Since when did you get a cat?”I ask.

He runs his fingers over the cat’s side.The beast turns halfway over, putting its front paws in the air.

“I think the better question,” Bash says, “is since when did the cat get me.”