Lost Boy - Ker Dukey Page 0,51

toward me. I balk, but can’t go anywhere because of the table behind me. Luckily, the couch is in front of him. Halting his steps, he places his hands up. “Ask me who I am, Lizzy.”

“No.”

“Ask me, Liz Wiz.”

Boom. Boom. Boom.

“I can’t.”

“Tell me what you remember.”

My arms wrap around my waist. The need to be held is so strong, I almost want to weep. “I was a child. All I remember is him killing our mothers and taking Jack.” A lie. I remember everything in excruciating clarity. The sound of our laughter as we played. The smell of freshly cut grass. The hum of a light breeze through the branches of the trees.

Marco…

Polo…

Marco…

My mother’s otherworldly screech. Jack calling out to me. My own screams at the sight of Jack disappearing from my vision. Loneliness. Overwhelming guilt.

You can come out now.

I was seven years old. I couldn’t have helped him even if I’d tried. I was lucky his father didn’t kill me for witnessing the abduction. If he hadn’t been in such a hurry, maybe he would have. Now, he’s back.

“Do you ever think about him—Jack? What he lived through?” he asks, and my soul aches.

“Of course,” I gasp. Tension hangs over my eyes, weighing me down. I move to the stool and sit down before I crumble to the floor.

“Who am I, Lizzy?”

“I don’t know,” I lie.

“You do know.”

No. No. No.

“Don’t. Please don’t,” I plead.

“Fine. I’ll write it down for you.” How is this happening? My head pulses. My heart leaks through my ribcage.

“Here.” He shoves a piece of rolled-up paper into my hand. “When you’re ready, read it.”

I slip from the stool, clutching the paper, the ground shifting beneath me. I move toward the door, feeling the burn of his gaze. Whatever the hell this is between us is so potent, it’s like a thick ball of energy floating in the atmosphere between us. Resistance to the pull is almost impossible. He is the moon, and I the ocean. “I’ll be waiting. I’ve been waiting,” he calls out as I open the door and slip through it. Racing down the stairs, almost tripping on my own feet, I barge into my apartment, startling Charlotte. “Where the hell have you been?” she shrieks.

Ignoring her, I race to my room, slamming the door and throwing myself onto the mattress. My heart races. One, two—breathe—three, four. I squeeze my eyes closed. Open it. Open it. Unclenching my palm, I stare at the piece of paper. Unraveling, the bold letters jump off the page like bullets pounding into me, leaving me wounded. My head spins, my soul freezes, and the world stops.

Jack.

Twenty

Thoughts consume me. Depleted in a heartbreaking sob, I cry into my pillow. Overwhelming emotions crash down, devouring me whole. I’ve waited all my life for him to be found, and now he’s here. Can it be him—my lost boy?

Loud taps pound the door. Muffled voices hum in the depths of my mental break. The collision of relief and fear swirls in the dark, seeking out the light. Years of not knowing—of hurting—searching. A weight pushes down on the mattress, the scent of summer rain saturating me as a warm body curls behind me, large, powerful. Jack. All the loneliness, the broken pieces of my shattered soul, wield together in an upsurge of deep yearning. “How can this be?” I croak, drowning, sinking to the bottom of the ocean.

“I found you,” he breathes into my hair. And just like that, he’s diving into the depths, pulling me to the surface.

“Lizzy, what the hell is going on?” Charlotte calls from my doorway. “Do you want me to call the police?”

“No,” I rasp. “No. It’s okay, Char. Leave us.” She hesitant, but finally closes the door.

Heat spreads up my back, my soul reconnecting, fusing to its mate, all the nerve-endings awakening. “Why didn’t you tell me it was you?”

“You needed time.” He clutches me so tight, afraid this is just a dream. Turning to face him, our breathing accelerates, eyes devouring every inch of the other’s face, soaking in the years of changes, the freckles. “Aquila's,” I murmur, stroking the pad of my finger down his nose.

Taking my hands in his, he places them against his chest. “What does that mean?”

“It’s a constellation, the eagle that carried Zeus’s thunderbolt.” Frowning, I add, “It’s also supposedly the eagle who kidnapped a son of Troy to serve the gods.” My stomach dips. “I’m sorry he took you.” Acid churns my insides, a fresh wave of tears