He leaves me alone, the door slamming behind him as he steps out on the front porch. As I get dressed, I try to work out what exactly I’m going to say to Oliver. Obviously, I can say I washere to return the boat, but how do I explain getting the boat in the first place? How do you explain stalking to a ten-year-old?
I pull my shirt on over my head, rake my fingers through my hair, and step out onto the porch just as Theo and Oliver step out of the woods.
Oliver’s eyes get huge when he sees me, and he waves his hand around excitedly and runs up to the porch. Behind him, Theo catches my eye. There’s a soft expression on his face. He’s almost smiling.
“What are you doing here?” Oliver asks. “Theo said he met you yesterday. I told you he’s nice!”
Heat rises into my cheeks, and I glance back at Theo, watching us from where he’s standing beneath the low-hanging branches of one of the trees. “Yes, Theo introduced himself yesterday,” I say carefully, speaking the words because it’s easier. Less chance of me messing up. “But he left his boat, and I had to return it.”
Oliver laughs and whips around to look at Theo. He signs something, although I can’t see all of it, despite how animated Oliver is. But Theo peels himself away from the tree and answers in a slow, laconic sort of way. “I got scared,” he says. “I don’t like strangers seeing me. So I swam home.” He lifts his eyes to mine, and they flash like diamonds. “Chloe was very kind to bring the boat back.”
“I’m so glad you’re here!” Oliver whips around to face me again. “Now we can all be friends. Right?”
Oliver’s eyes brim with excitement. Hopefulness, too. My heart pangs. He’s lonely. I knew that already, but this just seems to bring in such stark relief. He’s lonely. Probably neglected, which gives me another pang.
But he’s still staring up at me, clearly expecting an answer. “Yes,” I sign. “Yes, we can all be friends.”
Oliver beams, then pushes past me and flings himself on the old porch swing and starts digging through his backpack. Theo crosses the lawn. His eyes never leave me, like he’s waiting for me to do something. To say something to Oliver, maybe.
But then he lifts his hands and says, “I hope you mean that. About us being friends.”
His eyes sear through me, making my breath catch. I think of his rough hands on my body, his mouth on my mouth, his violent and shuddering thrusts.
“You want to be friends?” I sign back.
Theo steps onto the porch and stops near me, blocking the warm stream of sunlight. Behind me, Oliver rustles papers around, clearly impatient.
“I would like that very much,” Theo says. “I would like to see you again.”
Oliver stomps his foot on the wooden slats of the porch, trying to get our attention. But Theo’s gaze never leaves mine, and I feel like I’m on fire. I don’t dare ask if he means what I think he means. Not with Oliver here.
Still, it doesn’t change my answer.
“I’d like that, too.”
16
CHLOE
Ihitch a ride home with Oliver, who initially insists on doing the rowing himself. Of course, he tires out about halfway across the lake, and I have to take over, pushing us through the calm waters. I don’t have a sense of what time it is, although the sun feels higher overhead than I expected. Thank god it’s the weekend.
Penelope’s probably freaking out, though.
“I’m glad you came by,” I tell Oliver. He’s staring down at his backpack and jerks his gaze up at the sound of my voice. “Otherwise, I would have had to swim home like Theo did last night.”
Oliver laughs, his eyes crinkling up. “Theo’s strong,” he signs. “He doesn’t mind swimming.”
Yes. Theoisstrong. Dangerous, too. I know he said he doesn’t want to hurt Oliver, and honestly, after seeing the two of them interact on the porch—I believe him. He was calm and patient and complimented Oliver on the drawings he brought over. I know what Theo is, but in those moments, the two of them sitting side by side on the swing, I couldn’t see it in him. I would have thought he was just a man.
Not like when he was fucking me. The thought hits me hard, and the oars flop crookedly in the water. Oliver frowns at me.
“Sorry,” I say. “Caught an eddy there.”
“Don’t flip us over!” Oliver pats his backpack. “Mom and Dad would kill me if I came home wet. The last time I went swimming, I dripped water on the kitchen, and I got grounded for two weeks.”
There’s that pang in my chest again. “Two weeks?” I say lightly. “That’s a long time.”
Too long, really. Just for getting lake water in the house? But I keep my mouth shut.
