We Are Just Us

"I saw you naked."
"That was an accident."
"Still counts. I figure the Universe likes symmetry."

Kieran Doyle is a liar. Small ones, mostly. "I'm fine. No one special. Everything's great." The kind of lies you tell the people you love when the truth feels like a weight only one of you should carry.

He drove nine hours south with two dogs, a box of his mother's ashes, and thirty-two years of silence finally behind him. Encinitas wasn't the plan. Neither was accidentally saluting the shirtless ...