David glanced over at him, eyes deepened with a hope so tall, falling would hurt.
“I’ll be back soon. Wait for me,” Jonathan said, and strode out of the house.
A familiar figure lounged in his wheelchair on the boardwalk, face tipped up towards the sky, pirate hat over his eyes. He was snoring lightly, but the first drops of rain had fallen; he was about to get drenched. Jonathan bent over him, calling his name. “Mr Crank? Sorry. It’s about to pour.”
A snort. “Arrgh. Well, I’m not made of sugar.”
“Hm. Come on.” Jonathan plucked off his hat, using it as the proverbial carrot.
Mr Cranky shook his head, but followed. His hard laughter quickly settled and a sullen silence swept over him. He kept looking out across the sea.
Jonathan followed his gaze to the silvery sheen of rain cloaking Soulmate Island.
Mr Cranky rolled harder, voice softening, “It’s our anniversary tomorrow.” Mr Cranky stared toward the island wistfully. “She doesn’t want to go, but I want to . . .”
Jonathan’s step faltered. He settled the hat back in its rightful place.
After walking Mr Cranky to his villa, he doubled back for fish n’ chips for five. The order came quickly, and bells chimed in the distance as he strode home with his bounty. The results would be in. David would be hopping on his seat now, itching to check. Maybe he’d have snuck a peek anyway.
He shook his head at the image, lips twitching.
Four and a half minutes later, his hallway floorboards were creaking under him. He pushed into the lounge, arms hot with their dinner.
The room was . . . quiet. His gaze shot to the table, to where David was supposed to be. His chair was empty. The others gathered around the table couldn’t look at him.
He didn’t need to look at the results to know.
“Where is he?”
No one answered.
Jonathan’s voice cracked. “Where is he?”
Savvy looked up with watery eyes. “He left.”
“What do you mean, he left?”
Jacquie took over, “He just ran out.”
Jonathan dumped his armful of hot newsprint and took out his phone. The screen blurred as he struggled to figure out how to call.
A familiar chime sounded; Savvy bent to the chair occupied by Bastet and pulled a phone from under her.
His heart punched his ribcage.
It wouldn’t happen again. It couldn’t happen again.
He shoved David’s phone into his pocket, and raced out the front door.
Voices grabbed at him, tried to pull him back.
The gate slammed shut behind him.
Town was hazy through the veil of rain. Jonathan stormed through it, drops pinging over his hood, against his face, running down the collar of his jacket, a cold snaking line between his shoulder blades. Nothing to the cold spreading in his chest.
David.
God, David.
Where would you go?
Where would you go when you’re afraid and disappointed and hurting?
Where would Jonathan?
Urgency drummed through his aching chest and his feet followed the beat of it.
He parted the slick curtains of their weeping willow and entered the cocoon-like shelter.
David was slung on a branch, one leg bent to his chest, the other dangling. He leaned against the trunk, beautiful. And sad. His eyes, when they landed on Jonathan, were swollen like they had been under the blindfold, and . . . those were not raindrops trailing down his cheeks.
In three moves, Jonathan pulled himself into the tree beside him. Slung David’s leg over his lap. Cupped his face.
David’s cheeks pushed at his palms in a wobbly smile. “Their post really was good.”
“Stop.”
David sniffed, shook, and Jonathan brought their foreheads together. Rain pattered on the arc of overhead branches; a breeze combed through gaps in the curtains; hot cheeks warmed his hands.
“I’m sorry.” The words glided over his damp jaw. “I must have frightened you, not being home.”
Jonathan tightened his fingers against that soft, smooth skin. Yes, so goddamn much.
“I couldn’t wait. I had to check.”
“Impatient.”
Short laughter. “I didn’t want them to see me like this. Nobody sees me like this. Only . . .”
Him.
“I left my phone though. A clue, you know. That I’d come back?”
Jonathan breathed in deeply.
David swallowed. “How are you taking this so much better than I am?”
Jonathan pushed a thumb through a new tear. “I feel like this too. Inside.”
David searched his eyes, leaned forward and—David’s phone jumped to ear-splitting life, jerking their faces apart.
He flattened his lips as he plucked it from his pocket and handed it over.
“Nash. I have to . . .”
Jonathan nodded, and David accepted the call. “I’m sorry. . . . thank you. We’ll figure it out. . . .” He shut his eyes and hummed. “I know, you’re . . . thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He rubbed the phone against his forehead, collected raindrops splashing down on his temple, the back of Jonathan’s hand.
David reached out and dabbed the moisture before it pooled at his watch. “If I can visit . . . would you still—”