Page 63 of Adrift

Berty doesn’t look unkind, but he nods anyway. “I’m off work ’til Monday, son.”

“Damn it,” I puff out a little laugh, but I can’t even turn my sunshine on. I’m too distraught. “I just… what do I tell him?”

Berty draws a deep breath, like he’s preparing a whole speech, but Murph interrupts him.

“The truth.”

Berty looks startled, opens his mouth and then closes it… and then he nods. “Yeah. What Murph said.”

“Is that enough?”

“I don’t know,” Berty admits to me quietly. “But if this is meant to be… it has to be, right?”

I stop and think for a moment, my brow slowly furrowing.

I guess he’s right.

Never mind the visa. We can’t have a future together if I don’t tell him the truth… or if he isn’t willing to hear me out and forgive me. And I won’t know until I try.

“Ride?” Berty offers again, jerking his head toward his garage.

But I shake my head, because now isn’t the right moment. I haven’t earned it yet, and I know it.

“I’ll walk,” I tell them, drawing a deep breath and letting it out. “Thanks, guys.”

“Anything for a neighbour,” Berty tells me as Murph nods. “You’re one of us now, kid.”

God, how I wish that could be true… but I’m afraid it’s already too late.

Chapter

Twenty-Three

GAGE

I thinkthat was the least satisfying shower I’ve ever taken. And definitely the saltiest—this time, supplied by my eyeballs rather than the ocean.

Fuck.

Crying only ever makes me feel worse. But I can only stare into space in numb shock for so long. I splash cold water over my face, but it doesn’t do much either.

Mostly, I want answers.

A familiar, soft knock echoes through the cabin, and I already know who’s at the door.

It’s Kieran.

I’ve been expecting him. But what’s worse: if he knows what I know, or if he doesn’t? The latter, I think. I don’t want to watch him pretend that nothing is wrong while I know the truth.

Above all, I can’t shake the feeling I’m a gullible idiot, and I should have known.

Thisis what I watched flashing across his face so many times these last few weeks. I thought it was something in his past—something I could help with. But it’s not.

It’s his future.

“Coming,” I call out, drying my hands and face on a towel. Then I turn to walk for the door, my guts churning with a fresh wave of heartache.

I brace myself to pull open the door, and…

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