near London Bridge, and he points to it. “The two of you would stand there on the bridge and make wishes over the water.” There is no recrimination in his voice, only the warmth of memories.
“I remember that too,” I say, a little softly, as the images of those moments play before my eyes. “I wonder what I wished for.”
He sets his arm around my shoulders, his voice a little more serious. “I know what I wished for.”
I look at him curiously, a strange lump forming in my throat. “What did you wish for?”
He squeezes my arm. “For you to be happy.”
And that lump grows tighter, a knot now clogging my throat, and I don’t know if I can speak. Or if I could, what I’d say. I bite the inside of my lip because I have a feeling about what’s coming.
But he’s undeterred, determined to keep on. “And I have a feeling that wish is coming true.”
I furrow my brow, head pounding with the intense turn he’s taken. I’m not sure I can handle it, so I try to sidestep. “I’ve been happy.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m talking about, and I think you know it.”
I look at the water, thinking about certainty and uncertainty, things we know, things we don’t know. The chances we take. This time, I face the reality of what I’m going to do head-on. “I know what you mean, Dad.”
“Do you though?” he asks. This is a true father-son talk. No more cheek. No more sarcasm. It’s all been washed away.
I exhale deeply. “I do know.”
He doesn’t let it stand at that—typical of him. He’s fixed me with a stare that won’t let go until he’s sure I know my mind. “So, what are you going to do when you see him next week?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” I won’t be able to dance around it either. I’ll have to say more, say everything, when I see Fitz.
Determined, Dad waits for me, finally prompting, “Well? Are you going to go after your happiness?” His mouth relaxes into a tiny smile that grows when it spreads to his eyes, where it becomes a gleam of possibility. “Are you going to make those wishes come true?”
I draw a deep breath, then ask the hardest question of all, the one that weighs on me. “Will you be upset if I go?”
“No.” He yanks me in for a huge hug. “And I’d be shocked if you didn’t.”
And then, a tear slides down his face, and somehow that makes the choice crystal clear.
A FEW DAYS LATER
Also known as the day I decide to speed up time.
44
Fitz
If I thought time passed slowly before, it’s nothing compared to the snail’s pace at which it moves now that I have a fixed date to anticipate.
Now that Dean has a ticket to New York.
I call him when I wake on Tuesday. “I’m going to see you in five days,” I say when he answers. He’s running in the park, looking sexy as hell in a T-shirt, the waistband of his running shorts visible at the edge of the screen.
“You are, and you better have your arse at the airport to pick me up, because I’ll need my lips on you the second I’m on American soil.”
I scoff. “Like I wouldn’t pick you up. What do you take me for? Some guy who doesn’t know how to romance his boyfriend?”
That’s the first time I’ve called him that. Boyfriend. But it feels right.
Dean’s quiet for a moment as he runs, staring at me on the phone instead of watching the trail. “I’m your boyfriend?”
“Yes,” I say emphatically. “You are. Don’t even try to get out of it.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
I stretch in bed, the sun beating through the window. “Do you want me to make plans to take you to . . . where was it you wanted to go? Empire State Building and Statue of Liberty?”
He laughs. “Do you think we’re actually getting out of bed?”
Stroking my chin, I pretend to consider this, then answer truthfully. “No.”
“You’re very smart, Fitz.” He peers a little more closely at me on the screen. “What are you up to today?”
“Early morning paintball. Feel free to shudder in horror.”
Dean does.
“And then I’ll work out with Ransom, grab some lunch. We don’t have another game till—”
“Thursday.”
I shake my head in appreciation as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. “You’re going to need to wear my jersey next.”
His eyes bug out, and the cackle that