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O’Hara spun around, eyes narrowed, lips poised in a hard line.
A shiver curled through Jonathan’s toes. Cold seeped through his layers. Cold, and the tired urge to move on. He gestured to the path. “We should . . .”
The ground grew steeper and more teenage laughter fell from somewhere above. Savvy was having a good time, and Jonathan . . . should have trusted in that more.
Savvy had always been careful and conscientious. They had firm principles; a strong sense of right and wrong. Fairness. They were strong of mind and will, and they were at an age where they were exploring new feelings. Navigating new responses.
Jonathan shouldn’t thwart their learning. Should just . . . be there. A rock that Savvy could return to when the seas of life grew savage.
He glanced at O’Hara and away again, then slowed his step.
Ahead, a fork in the path splintered the Clifford Pass with the Long Drop Track, which ended at the bay in town. It added another half hour, and there was one part he didn’t particularly like, but . . . he’d survived it before. He could manage.
O’Hara halted next to him, reading the sign with a quizzical gaze. Without a word, Jonathan moved down the new path, and O’Hara followed, humming. “You’re a good brother to have come. And you’re a good brother to go.”
Minutes passed. Footsteps on packed dirt, and O’Hara’s weighty, smiling curiosity. He stopped at trees and studied their leaves, and climbed one to get a better view of a tui.
He slipped down a second trunk with a laugh and Jonathan steadied him before he tumbled over sprawling, tangled roots. O’Hara turned in his arms and plunged his hands into Jonathan’s jacket pockets. “Oh my God, you came prepared.” He pulled two muesli bars out. “I thought we’d starve.”
“In one hour?”
O’Hara couldn’t speak, his mouth bulging with muesli bar.
“You ate just before we left.”
With a full mouth, “Do you want yours?”
“Have it.”
O’Hara happily tore into the second one and pranced ahead.
The path descended gently, pines giving way to the edge of a cliff, and there—a long metallic swing bridge.
O’Hara stopped abruptly and held out an arm. “Take my hand. I’ll get you across.”
“I . . .” He tapped a fist to his mouth. “I’m fine.”
O’Hara stepped close, so close his bangs flicked between Jonathan’s brows. He reached for Jonathan’s hands and coaxed them open. Slender fingers wrapped around his palms and squeezed. A surge of electricity; a transfer of strength. Like the first time they’d met. Right here, on that class trip. Unconditional kindness and soft laughter that had cocooned Jonathan in steady warmth.
The first step on the undulating bridge had him gripping O’Hara hard. God, he’d forgotten how far down it was. He could see the river through the mesh of the bridge.
O’Hara’s voice was kind, mellow. Not a single judgement. “One step at a time.”
What if . . .
He pushed O’Hara away, breaking their hold. “You should cross. Fast.”
O’Hara didn’t race to safety. He stepped forward again, calmly, and took Jonathan’s shaking hands. “We’ve crossed this before, lots more people have crossed it since then and it’s still here. It has intentional flexibility so it doesn’t break in high winds. It’s part of what keeps it safe.”
Jonathan moved another few feet, focusing on the confident lines of O’Hara’s ember-red lips, then a gust pushed at the sides, shifting them. Below—far, far below—water rushed over and around rocks. He tightened his grip.
“I’ve got you.”
A few more feet this time; they were approaching one-third. Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look—
“Look at me.”
O’Hara’s voice was soft and persuasive. Jonathan fought gravity and nausea as his gaze climbed up to controlled, careful green eyes. A dimple rewarded him. “Keep looking.” Then, cheekier, “Nothing exists except me.”
“Unbelievable.”
“There’s my Jonathan.”
Fear shook his limbs, but his gaze latched desperately to O’Hara’s. He walked. A smile said they’d made it halfway, and Jonathan fixed on those rising lips. The fuller the smile, the closer they were to the end—
Wind rushed around them and the bridge jumped up and down; Jonathan froze and O’Hara wrapped himself around him, holding him tight, whispering in his ear, “I promise it’s okay. I always keep my promises, remember?”
Arms shifted soothingly up and down his back and Jonathan slammed his eyes shut.
That hold on him . . . strong and lasting. Warm. O’Hara sighed against his neck, and the bridge swayed for eternity.
A long while passed before O’Hara pulled back and steered him to the other side. “Now I really smell of roses and fresh air.”
Jonathan rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched.
The solidness of earth thunked beneath his feet; he wheezed out a breath and let O’Hara go. Air shifted over his clammy hands and tickled with the ghost of O’Hara’s touch.
He combed his fingers through his hair and straightened himself up. The blush at his chest threatened to rip up his neck and consume his face.
