“Oh, Jesus. He’s going to drown, and we’ll never deliver him whole to Liz,” Clay groaned.

“Don’t worry. I got him,” Chris said, fending him off. “He’s probably about to pass out, and then I’m following him.”

“You know,” Clay called to Brady down the hall, “if you practiced drinking more, this wouldn’t happen!”

Brady flipped him off and Clay just laughed.

God, his brother was a fucking wreck. And it was awesome. He hadn’t known what to expect, coming to this bachelor party, but it was better than anything he could have anticipated.

Lucas staggered out of his chair and nodded his head toward the stairs leading to the beach. Clay followed him right out to the beach. He’d been right. Lucas pulled a joint out of his pocket, rolled it between his fingers, and then lit it. He took a drag between his thumb and forefinger and gradually released the smoke.

“You in?” He passed it to Clay, who shrugged and took a hit off of it.

“Fuck,” Clay said. “I haven’t done this shit since college.”

“Haven’t had one since basketball season started,” Lucas admitted.

Clay passed it back to him. “You smoke regularly otherwise?”

“Nah. Just at parties and shit.” He took another hit and then offered it to Clay again.

“I’m good. I think I’m going to go for a walk.”

Lucas’s eyebrows rose. “Yeah? You going to see the girls?”

Clay shrugged. “Might just do that.”

Lucas smirked at him. “Let’s do it.”

“Don’t forget what I said about how I’d beat your ass,” Clay told him.

But there was mischief in Lucas’s eyes that Clay recognized, that reminded him a bit of himself.

So, they walked down the beach in silence.

It was better not to know.

The night air was cool, a total contrast from the oppressive heat that hit them during the day. The stars were just visible on the horizon, and the moon was nearly full to bursting.

If not for the nearly full moon, Clay would never have noticed the blonde girl seated on a blanket on the beach. Lucas bumped him in the shoulder and then disappeared into the night. Whatever he planned to do, Clay no longer cared.

He was just drunk enough to actually go through with this. Andrea was sitting there, just like the lost twelve-year-old girl she had been that day he’d found her crying on the beach because her parents were arguing. The same day they’d shared their first kiss.

He hadn’t walked away then.

He couldn’t walk away now.

“Hey,” he said softly as he approached.

When she heard his voice, she jumped and glanced up at him. He could see tears brimming in her eyes. She looked as if she had been sitting here, crying, for a while. He hated that.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. She hastily wiped at her cheeks.

“Thought I’d walk on the beach. Want to walk with me?”

She shook her head. “I’m just going to sit here. You go ahead.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“If you must.”

Clay sank down onto her blanket and stared out at the ocean. The waves were nearly black in the dark. Watching them crash evenly was melodic and comforting.

“Going to tell me why you’re crying?”

“No,” she whispered. The wind carried it away, and he barely heard her.

“All right.”

They sat there like that listening to the waves crash against the sand. Clay didn’t know how much time had passed. But he just sat there with her. She needed someone, no matter if she would admit it or not, tell him what the issue was or not, allow herself to be comforted or not. She clearly needed someone.

And he was her someone.

He was her person.

“Tell me about the gallery,” he finally said into the stillness.

She stirred next to him. He could feel her eyes on him. He turned to face her and saw that she seemed startled.

“What about the gallery?”

“Everything. How did it start? Where have you been getting the paintings? How much do you love it?”

Her face changed in that instant, as if a weight had been lifted and she was thinking about the happiest part in her life. “I’d never wanted to open my own gallery. It felt really…constricting. I’d thought for a long time that it was just a hobby, you know?”

“I do.”

She smiled and glanced away, as if admitting that she couldn’t face that he’d been there for all of that. “Then, I sold that French piece for over half a million dollars.”

“The one of the woman looking out the window when it was raining?” he asked.

Her mouth opened slightly in surprise. “Yes, that one.”

“And that changed the game?”

She winced. Wrong choice of words.

“It made me realize that my collection could become a career. One that I enjoyed.” Andrea crossed her feet and turned to face him. “After that, I had a few people contact me about opening my own place. I was kind of floored. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to just work with anyone, and I needed the perfect space.”

“And you found it?”

She winced slightly and nodded. “Asher actually found it.”

Clay tried to play it cool and not let her know how much that actually hurt. He just kept trudging forward. “Oh, yeah?”

“He’d heard that I was in the market for a space. He had a space. He kind of knew what I was looking for. And then I just kind of acquired it. I mean…it’s not even officially open yet,” she told him.

“When does it open?”

“I don’t know,” she said with a sigh. “I have the artwork for the space, but it has to be perfect to have an official grand opening, and I don’t have that piece yet.”

“You’ll know when you’re ready.”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I think you’re right.”

She fidgeted and leaned back on her elbows. She shifted her legs out straight in front of her in the sand.

“Why didn’t you date Asher?” he asked finally.

“What?” she asked, startled by the question.

“You broke up with me. You…you left me,” he said, unable to keep the waver from his voice. “Why aren’t you dating him?”