Page 72 of Break Out the Girl

“I know, you’re right.”

He kisses my temple. “And think how cheery you’ll be when we rescue your BFF.”

“You say ‘when’ like it’s a given.”

“Of course it’s a given. All we need is to find the house with the moat. We’re done with the boat, so now it’s the moat—and you’ve got a goat. It’s destiny.” He moves his mouth to kiss the top of my head then wraps me inside his floral cardigan.

My arms tighten around his waist, soaking in the beautiful heat radiating off him. “London?”

“Yes, Kitten?”

I take a moment, trying to work out how to say the words on my mind.

“Kitten?”

Deep breath. “You’ve been so great with the kids, and I truly feel that you are one hundred percent invested in helping me find Sky…”

I feel his body tense. “This sounds like one of those times when people say ‘but’ and then something sad comes out of their mouth,” he sighs. “Go ahead, Kitten, I can take it.”

Fuck. “I guess, what I want to know is, um, is this the real you? Like, the rhymes and the fun, and the facts. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate it at all, but I get the feeling it’s a defense mechanism or something. I think what I’m saying is, don’t think you have to ‘do your bit’ around me all the time. Or keep a cheery attitude. I want to know you. All of you. You don’t have to hide yourself from me.”

For a long beat, the only sound is a flock of geese overhead and the hum of an engine somewhere in the distance.

“Nan had a bit of a temper,” London eventually whispers, his voice dropping into that rare monotone. “And a big wooden rolling pin for the jam tarts. Sometimes when I’d get too chattery or skippy, she’d try and knock the devil out of me.”

He lets out a slow shuddering breath.

“I think it scrambled my eggs a bit, to be honest. Made things a bit hazy in the old brain-hole. One day, the rolling pin came down so hard my ears didn’t stop ringing for weeks. After that I kept forgetting things, Kitten, so I did my best to learn to remember again by learning world records, and practicing rhymes.”

My heart is fucking breaking.

“Remember, remember, the fourth of November. Guinness book of records, learn a new one everyday. I was sitting on the docks, trying to remember the biggest cargo ship in the world, which is the MSC Irina by the way, and my brain-voice told me it was time to get on a ship myself. Sail away, sail away, sail away. I just walked up the gang plank to the first cargo ship that had a crane moving and told them I was part of the crew.”

I’m stroking my hands gently on his back, and London stops speaking for a moment and shudders.

“I know I’m a bit much for people,” he continues. “I can see it in their faces. Burt looks at me like I’m a silly sausage, and Shane looks at me like I’m a bug on his rug. I get it. But sometimes... sometimes the rhymes and the records are the only pieces of string I can find to tie myself down. They keep the world from spinning too fast. Spinning me around until I slide right off the edge.”

He pulls back just a fraction and looks down at me, his green eyes filled with worry and pain. “I can tone it down, Kitten, if it’s doing your head in. I can try right hard to just speak regular, like. But don’t send me away. Please don’t send me away.” A tear tracks down his cheek.

My own eyes fill in response. “Oh, London.” I reach up, my palms cupping his cheeks. “Don’t you ever tone yourself down for anyone, London. Especially not for me. I wasn’t trying to change you, or shame you. What I was trying to tell you, poorly, is that it’s alright to drop the coping mechanism if you’re tired. And if you feel lost, hold my hand and I’ll keep you safe. I accept you in every single mode you have; acrobat, bard, amazing facts-man—confused and sad-man. Every single one. So be who you want to be. Who you need to be. But you’re not alone any more, so if you want me to be the string that stops the world spinning, I can do that too.”

Another tear cuts a clean path through the smudged flour and dirt on his cheek. It sparkles in the early morning light before tumbling into the wool of his collar.

He blinks, a fragile smile touching his lips. “My name isn’t really London, you know. Nan just called me ‘boy’ or ‘idiot’ or ‘spawn of the devil.’ But when I was on that freighter, the crew was from all over—and the cook just started calling me ‘London’. ‘Hey, London! Peel the spuds!’ ‘Hey, London, fetch the salt!’ I liked it. I liked having a name.”

“It suits you,” I say softly, maneuvering his head so he’s looking at me again. “And I’m sorry you had to go so long without a name.” I stand on my toes and give him a gentle kiss. His lips feel like velvet, soft warm. Just that small connection has my whole body flooding with emotion.

Intense, glorious.

Like our souls are meeting.

The sound of movement pulls us apart.

Out of the mist a wolf appears, Basil riding on his back, clutching a sheet of paper. The kid rolls off, letting out a sharp hiss as his foot hits the ground, but his face displays a triumphant smirk.

Tally shifts back to human form as Basil waves his paper at us while pulling the goggles off his eye and shoving them back to the top of his head. “Address and directions to the nearest creepy moat-house. It’s called Ménage Manor. Some rich prick lives there.”

I release London and step forward. “You weren’t gone even fifteen minutes! How did you get this?”