tossed a hundred on the table and hurried after him. He was already across the road, in a sandy patch of the island. He fell to his knees and ripped at his hair, letting out a strangled, guttural cry.
This wasn’t strong, capable Ronan.
It was broken, twelve-year-old Ronan, hurt by the man he should have been able to trust. In his yell, I felt his rage, but more so, his hurt. His betrayal.
Each yell pierced my chest. I had to grip at my heart just to keep from falling apart.
His yells broke into rough sobs. Not the kind that faded, the kind that came from deep in your core, from your deepest wound.
What did Ronan need in this moment? I didn't know. I just knew what I could do, and that was be there for him. I walked beside him and sat in the sand. Not touching him, not speaking, just being there.
He glanced at me from the side of his bright red eyes, and seeing an opening, I reached for his hand.
He squeezed it back, his jaw clenching. “I need to get you home,” he said, his voice rough.
Because it was the only thing he’d asked for, I said, “Okay.”
Twenty-Six
We rode the ferry in silence, and then he drove us straight to Seaton Bakery, quiet the whole time save for the wind and the roar of the motorcycle’s engine. When we got back to the parking lot, I climbed off of his motorcycle. As I took off my helmet, he looked at me, regret in his eyes. “I'm sorry for earlier.”
I reached out, touched his hand on the seat of the bike. “Don't be.”
He held my hand, then lifted it and pressed it to his cheek. “Meet me tonight?”
I nodded. “When? Where?”
“The north trailhead. Eight.”
After he sped away, I spent the rest of my afternoon texting my friends to explain why I hadn't been in school and thinking about Ronan. Sometimes he could become such a blank slate that it was hard to know what he was thinking. I just wanted to wrap him in a hug and tell him that I was there for him. That I believed in him. Soon, I hoped I would have the chance.
Unfortunately, when I drove my car to the north trailhead that night, Ronan’s bike was in the parking lot, but he was nowhere to be seen. I got out of my car and called for him, but nothing. I got my phone out of my pocket to text him.
Except there was already a text from him to meet him about half a mile down the trail.
Half a mile? Thank goodness I’d dressed in leggings and tennis shoes in case he just wanted to walk again, but now I wondered what he had in store. Was he planning a surprise? A picnic maybe? I wasn’t hungry yet, but the thought of Ronan’s lips sparked my appetite. I wanted to know what they would taste like pressed to mine.
I thought about getting my headphones out and listening to music as I walked, but decided against it. I didn’t want Ronan to surprise me and me shriek so loud I’d embarrass myself. No, I wanted to be my best self when I saw him.
I passed the quarter-mile trail marker and continued walking, each step building the anticipation within me. I found myself walking faster, wanting to get to him already.
A rustling in the trees stopped me short, and I froze. I wasn’t at the half-mile mark yet, and this was one of the more neglected trails. Was someone here? I could be murdered and no one would know for hours—days maybe. My heart sped, and I reminded myself that the only vehicles in the parking lot had been mine and Ronan’s. Still, who or what was making the bushes shake? “Hello? Ronan?”
An excited cry rang out, and soon I saw people flinging themselves from tree branches, flipping and tricking through the air. One carried a black banner that read DP in pearlescent white letters.
I watched in wonder as they swung past, perfectly at ease and in control, but whooping and hollering with gleeful shouts.
They all wore masks that covered their facial expressions, but I could imagine the smiles each of them had. They seemed at ease with themselves in a way I hadn’t seen someone be before.
As the last of them passed, I looked at the place they had been in wonder. Had Ronan planned for me to see them? How had he known where