I leave my number with Leonard King and tell him to call me when he’s made a decision. But from the pale look on his face, I’m feeling pretty good about it.
We’re in. We have to be in. Otto doesn’t have any other options.
And Mr. King doesn’t want his legacy, his hospital’s reputation, and his son’s name smeared across television on the Dr. Mazie Show, in front of millions of viewers.
Otto is exactly where I left him, sitting in his chair, kicking his legs back and forth. I give his shoulder a squeeze, and he pops up.
“Now can we go?” he asks.
“Yes. Now we can go.”
We head to the elevator and ride it downstairs. I numbed myself for my meeting with Mr. King, but now I’m starting to feel it—the panic rising in my throat, like bile.
My shirt is constricting, my lungs tight. I take in small, short sips of breath and unbutton the collar on my shirt.
“Mum?” Otto asks. “Are you okay?”
“Fine, baby. I’m just tired.”
The elevator dings and lets us out. I’m a horse with blinders, gaze straight ahead for the door, and all I can think about is escaping this hospital, escaping this island, so much so that I almost miss it when I hear—
“Kenzi?”
I turn to the voice, but I don’t recognize the man that stands before me. There’s something familiar about him, a shadow of memory hiding behind him, and I have to squint. “Um…”
He exhales on a laugh. “The summer of Blink-182. Catching fireflies. Dock boy.”
My heart nearly stops in my chest.
“Donovan—”
I rush to him and throw my arms around him. It’s been thirteen years. Thirteen years. And yet when I’m about to have a panic attack, stuck at a crossroads, there is Donovan.
Always there when I need him.
I didn’t know I needed him until I have my arms around him, and he has his arms around me, and we’re holding each other with a tightness that feels too familiar.
“Hey, stranger,” Donovan murmurs as we pull apart. “How long has it been?”
“About ten lifetimes,” I respond.
Donovan’s real hair color, it turns out, is cherrywood brown. The kind of brown that fluctuates between auburn or blond depending on the light. His curls are coiffed, and he’s arranged a perfectly faded stubble that accentuates his jawline and outlines his lips.
Gone is the dyed black hair. The lip ring. The skintight pants and eyeliner.
He wears a lab coat now. A lab coat. The boy has left, and a professional, well-groomed man stands in front of me now.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks. Even his voice is deeper now. It has grit. It’s hard not to get lost in his startlingly intense dark eyes.
“Uh—Donovan, this is Otto. My son.” I step to the side to introduce Otto, slipping my hand to my boy’s back.
I try to discern Donovan’s reaction. To his credit, he doesn’t bat an eye. Instead, he smiles at Otto. When he smiles…oh boy. He has dimples in his cheeks and crinkles lining the edges of his eyes. There’s something about that—signs of a life well lived, maybe—that makes my heart beat a little faster.
“Nice to meet you, Otto,” he says. “I’m Dr. Donovan, an old friend of your mom’s.”
A bit more than friends. One night, thirteen summers ago, Donovan, Jason, and I tangled limbs and lips in the belly of an abandoned boat. With so much time and distance, that part of my life has felt like a distant fantasy.
Until now. With Donovan standing beside me, it suddenly feels very, very real.
“Hi,” Otto says, though I can tell he’s gone shy.
“I like your helmet,” Donovan says, breaking the ice.
“Kevin won’t leave me alone,” Otto replies by way of explanation.
Donovan knits his eyebrows. “Kevin, huh?”
“That’s what we call his sickness,” I break in, translating. “Started as a therapeutic technique…give it a name and it’s not as scary, right? But no one seems to be able to diagnose him, so. We might as well call it something.”
“I’ve never met a Kevin I liked,” Donovan says.
“Kevin McCallister,” Otto prompts.
“A brat,” Donovan argues.
“Kevin Bacon,” I add.
“Overrated.”
“Kevin…um…and Hobbs.”
“That’s Calvin,” Donovan says. “Now, a Calvin I can get behind. But I tell you what.” Donovan crouches down so he’s level with Otto, arms hanging loosely on his thighs. “If you’ve got a Kevin problem…you’ve come to the right place. Because we know how to take care of Kevins here.”
Otto smiles and leans against my legs. “Cool,” he says.
“So you’re a doctor now?” I prompt.
Donovan stands. “Yep. I’ve been working at Lighthouse Medical since med school.”
“Congratulations. That’s huge.”
He scratches the side of his neck, as though the compliment is rash-inducing. “It’s what I love. One of the best hospitals in the state. I wouldn’t work anywhere else.”
I have so much I want to ask him. So many questions. But everything gets balled up in my throat when I look into his eyes.
“I’ve got to tell Jason you’re here,” Donovan says. “He’s going to lose it.”
“Jason?” My anxiety spikes. “Jason King?”
He snorts a laugh. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
Donovan flutters his eyelashes and fans himself as he puts on a falsetto. “Oh, Jason!”
“I don’t sound like that!”
I smack his shoulder. He laughs at me.
Funny how quickly we fall into these old roles.
“What—are you two friends now?”
“We’re more than friends.” My eyebrows hike up my forehead. Donovan must hear how that sounds because his face starts to redden. “Not…like that. Get your head out of the gutter.” He clears his throat. “We’re roommates. Ever since his divorce.”
“He’s divorced?”
“Feeling a little vulture-y, are we?”
“It’s not…like that,” I protest.
“Uh-huh. You can ask him any questions yourself. He’s on his way to surgery, but I might be able to grab him if he hasn’t gone in yet—”
“No! I mean…we’re tired. It’s been a long day. Maybe later?”
“Come over for dinner tomorrow.”
“Great!” I smile widely to hide the fear pounding in my chest. “Can’t wait.”
And then I turn to book it to the door, but—
“Are you going to give me your number, or am I going to have to track you down?”
“Right! Sorry.”
He takes out his phone. I enter my number in quickly so he doesn’t notice my hands are trembling. When I give it back to him, he leans in. His lips brush my cheek. I feel the stubble on his beard and catch a whiff of his cologne—peppermint and leather. “It’s really good to see you. We’ll catch up later. The three of us.”
The three of us. I don’t know why, but something about the way he says that…it makes my heartbeat flutter in a way that has nothing to do with the anxiety.
I take Otto by the hand, and we exit Lighthouse Medical, bursting into the blistering cold.
“Mummy, who was that?” Otto asks once we’re in the car.
“Just an old friend.”
He yawns. “I liked him.”
I wring my hands over the steering wheel.
“Yeah, baby. Me too.”
