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Otto nods. “Okay.”
I kiss his forehead. “You’re my strongest boy.” Then I turn to my mother and promise, “I’ll be right back.”
I interrogate Jason, but he knows nothing. He does give me the keys to their place, though.
Donovan isn’t home. There are some notes scribbled on a notepad though—the ferry departure times for today.
The wheels of the rental car squeal as I jet it down the road.
I’m beating the speed limit, but I don’t care. The next ferry leaves at 5:15.
It’s 5:04 now.
I swerve around cars going too slow. I lay on the horn. It’s a miracle when I pull up to the parking lot in one piece, the car spitting gravel under its wheels.
The ferry blows its horn. Last call for passengers.
I kill the engine and race out. I’ve left my coat, and the cold nips here, this close to the island’s edge, but I don’t care.
Because I see him. Donovan. Bag slung over his shoulders. Handing his ticket to the ferryman before trudging up the ramp. The wind kicks through his hair, which looks ginger blond in the light.
“Donovan!” I call out before he can board the ferry.
He stops in place and looks at me. The muscles in his jaw go tight.
I’m short of breath, and the cold air makes my lungs feel like I’m breathing through ice. I stop at the bottom of the ramp, and he doubles back to meet me.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks.
“What are you doing?” I counter. “You’re leaving? Now?”
His eyes narrow. “I was going to call you.”
“When? When you were in New York and I couldn’t do anything about it?” He paces away, jaw set. I throw up my hands. “Jesus Christ, Donovan, just talk to me!”
He steps close, and his voice is low, intense. “I promise, I will explain everything. But I can’t talk about this. Not here.” His eyes flicker side to side, as though he’s looking for someone. Or someone’s looking for him? When they meet mine again, he says: “Right now, you need to trust me.”
“You can’t abandon Otto.” My voice cracks. My vision goes hazy. “He needs you.”
I need you sits on the tip of my tongue, but the words clot.
Donovan glances at his feet. Finally showing some emotion. A hint of shame. “He’s a strong kid. He’ll be alright.”
My jaw clenches. “Truth or dare.”
His eyes darken. “I’m not playing this game with you.”
“Truth or dare.”
He throws up his hands. “Dare!”
“I dare you to tell the truth for once.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Do you love me?” Silence from Donovan. His lips press together tightly, sealing the words in, so I continue. “Is that why you never pick truth? Because you’re afraid to confess it…you love me. You have. Ever since we were kids. I didn’t get it before, but now—”
“Stop.” It’s not angry—his tone sounds defeated. His eyes close briefly, as though he’s in pain. “Please, stop.”
