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Because it looks an awfully lot like mine.
The bed is propped better, but now that I’m motionless and sitting up, I realize how muchhe’sfrozen.
“You gave it to me,” he murmurs. “You don’t remember?”
I could lie again, but the instinct to trust him with the truth is a powerful force inside me. “I’m trying to remember.”
He runs his fingers through his hair, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Another glance to the door and he mutters, “Now I know why Farrow told me to wait.”
“You know Farrow?” Right as I say it, I gasp. “I know who you are!”
Relief rocks him. “Thank God.”
“Donnelly,” I say with total confidence. “You’re Beckett’s bodyguard.”
He goes still again.
No,no, I know I’m right! My brows bunch together in aggravation. “You’re my cousin Beckett’s 24/7 bodyguard. And you’re a tattooist! You tattooed him…” I trail off, a pit in my sore ribs.I have tattoos.Oh…
Ohhhh.
Does that mean…? Did he tattoo me?
“Are we friends?” I whisper.
He looks to the door again. “I should go wait with everyone—”
“Nonono,” I slur together in haste. “Please, stay.Please.”
Donnelly hesitates, seriously conflicted.
The kyber crystal—I spent my thirteenth birthday money on that necklace at Philly Comic-Con. It took metwo hoursto pick out the collectible, and it’s not something I would part with—but I did.
I gave it to him.
I must trust him.
He must meansomethingstrong to me. After another soft “please” he rolls the doctor’s stool closer and takes a seat at my bedside.
“You are Donnelly, right?” I ask, just to be sure. It surprises me how I’m not as worried about appearing too lost in front of him.
“That’s me.” He cups his hands, seeming a little tentative. Not like he’s scared of me, more like he’s cautious of not wanting to hurt me. “How much don’t you remember?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “What’s today?”
Donnelly scans the room like he’s unsure too. It relaxes me for some reason, knowing I’m not the only one playing catch-up. “I think maybe the 24th.”
“Of July?”
“July?” His brows jump.
“It’s not…July,” I say, and I risk staring at the harsh fluorescent lights for too long. Thinking, thinking, grasping for something. “It’s like I canalmostsee my eighteenth birthday. Like I know I had it.”
His hand shields his eyes, then he rubs them in a type of angst I can’t make sense of.
If I can’t place Donnelly beyond being Beckett’s bodyguard, then he must be part of the timespan I lost. He’s totally gone. Vanished from my mind.
“Sorry.” He clears his throat and drops his hand. “I know this has gotta be harder for you. You, um…” He looks right at me and takes a breath. “You’re turning twenty-one this month.”
