Page 109 of The Doctor's Truth

He’s so sweet, so kind, so full of unconditional love, and I hate him for it suddenly.

Why can’t I be satisfied with this beautiful man in my bed, with the biggest heart known to mankind?

Why does my love need to have porcupine quills to feel real?

Quietly, I slip out of bed. I brush my teeth, tease the sex-knots out of my hair, and slip into clean clothes. Then I sit on the edge of the bed and rub my hand gently over Jason’s bicep. He stirs, blinking out of his deep slumber, and when he sees me, he grins.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.” I try to match his smile.

He props himself up on his elbow. “You’re up and at ’em.”

“I have to make breakfast.”

“No. You don’t.” He pulls himself out of bed—and even in the cold morning, dear Lord is he impressive. He finds his clothes on the floor and steps into them, pulling his pants around his hips. “You hang out. Relax. Everyone likes scrambled eggs, right?”

I bite my lip. There are thorns inside my chest, and I feel the urge to say something cruel.

“I thought about him last night,” I say casually. “Donovan.”

Jason looks up at me as he ties the laces of his shoes. “I know.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No,” he says plainly. He tugs his shirt over his arms. “I was thinking about him, too.”

His words vibrate through me. He catches the side of my face and presses a kiss to my forehead instead when I tilt away from his mouth.

And in that moment, I do think of Donovan. And something he told me. He’d said—is it possible that you’re looking for reasons to hate Jason…because hating him is easier than telling him the truth?

He was right. Jason has done nothing wrong. It’s the lie that’s poisoning us. This venomous sac that has latched itself to my heart and spoils everything it touches.

“I’m going to get Otto ready,” Jason says, fingers on the doorknob. “Come down when you’re ready.”

“Jason.” He stalls and waits. My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, but I have to get these words out. “There’s…something you need to know.”

* * *

I tell Jason everything.

I tell him about taking the pregnancy test when I was eighteen, after the first time the three of us had sex. I tell him how I went to his father for help. I tell him how I struggled with the secret, how it ate me up alive for the rest of the summer. I tell him about running away from Hannsett. About keeping Otto away, all those years.

And then I tell him about coming back. I tell him about the deal I struck with Mr. King, and how he made me swear that I would never tell Jason, or else. I tell him about how Donovan found out, but how I made him promise to hold my secret, too.

The words come spilling out of me, everything I’ve kept enclosed in my chest for so long. Jason doesn’t say anything. He just sits on the bed beside me and listens, occasionally furrowing his eyebrows with displeasure, occasionally glancing at the floor as though lost in thought.

His eyes are on the rug, with a faraway look in them, when I finish. For a minute, we’re both silent, letting the weight of the words sink into our bones.

“Otto is my son,” he repeats, as though he has to hear the words in his own tongue for them to make sense.

“Biologically,” I say, as though that makes a difference, as though this is still something he can opt out of. And maybe there’s a part of me—a selfish part of me—that’s protective of these past twelve years where it’s been only Otto and me against the world.

Maybe there’s a part of me that’s still struggling to let other people in. Even Jason.

I wet my lips and measure my words before I speak again. “I understand if you hate me, or—”

“Hate you?” His dark eyebrows furrow. He looks at me and then takes my face in his hands. “Thank you,” he says suddenly.

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