Page 75 of Our Own Light

“But he was your butty,” Oliver said, the words coming out with more venom than he had intended. “Sorry, I—”

“Yeah. He was,” Floyd confirmed, his tone now low and soft and filled with so much sorrow. “We won’t talk about him no more. How’s that?”

Oliver wasn’t sure that he wanted Floyd to stop talking about Matt, but...

God, he was still struggling to believe Floyd was here to stay.

Before Oliver could protest, Floyd continued, “And, Ollie, I only keep the harder tasks from you for now because they’re... well, because they’re hard. I want to keep you safe. I care about you.”

Floyd’s beautiful words brought tears to Oliver’s eyes. Quickly, he blinked them back and then, very softly, he said, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

In a measured and sincere tone, Floyd said, “I’ll learn you everything one day, Ollie. I promise.”

“I know. I believe you.”

Or well, he wanted to.

Chapter Eleven

Floyd

Feet planted at the edge of the stream, Floyd cast his fishing line into the water while Ollie knelt nearby, scowling at the can of worms. Squinting from the hot late-summer sun, Floyd looked over his shoulder with the intention of teasing Ollie somehow, only to be knocked with a whole heap of fondness instead. Using the heel of his boot, he made a little cavity in the mud and stuck the butt end of his fishing pole in it, not particularly concerned about catching a bite already, and walked over to Ollie.

“Are you upset about the worms?” Floyd asked, crouching.

“Not upset, exactly, though I feel a bit bad.” Ollie made a face. “How am I supposed to just stab one of them? It seems cruel.”

“What about the fish?”

“Well, I feel sad for the fish, too, but I like eating fish, so it sort of makes it easier to stomach for some reason.”

“Don’t you need the worm to catch the fish?”

Ollie sighed. “Yes.”

“Well, then, why’s it worse?”

“It’s not, really, but...” Wearing an apologetic smile, Ollie held out the hook to Floyd. “Will you help? Please?”

With an affectionate roll of his eyes, Floyd took the hook in his hands.

“Give me a worm,” he said.

“Oh, uhm, no, see, that’s part of the reason why I couldn’t do this myself. I can’t be the one to choose which one meets his end.”

“Oh, Ollie,” Floyd said, cracking a smile. He took a worm from the can. “You’re too sweet sometimes.”

As Floyd pierced the worm, he couldn’t help but notice Ollie’s face out of the corner of his eye—nose wrinkled, eyes squeezed shut, lips tight—and it really was about the most endearing thing he had seen in weeks, though every other contender was Ollie, too, just other versions of him.

“Here you go,” Floyd said, handing Ollie the pole.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Am I still a sweetheart even though I stabbed that poor worm?”

Ollie pursed his lips, thinking. “Yes. Somehow. It’s complicated.”

Once Floyd had picked up his pole, Ollie tried to cast his line. He succeeded. Kind of. It had barely made it beyond the edge of the water.

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