Ignoring my mom’s complaints, I race across the bumpy street when I get the chance and stride down the sidewalk. The boatyard office is empty, so I head through the side alley. His Superhawk is parked. My pulse goes jangly. I try not to have a complete breakdown and continue on until the back concrete of the boatyard spreads out before me.

I spy his father working with two other men on a large docked boat that’s being hauled up on a crane. But it’s not until I follow a loud noise and peer into the warehouse bays that I see literal sparks flying—arc welding … and Lucky’s back bent over an engine block.

He’s alone. I wait until the bright light stops, and then I approach the work bay as Lucky lifts a metal welder’s mask from his face and turns a dial on an orange machine. The thunderous noise it was making goes quiet.

He looks up with wide eyes, startled to see me. But that’s quickly ousted by relief.

Nothing but peace on his face. Shoulders dropping, brow easing.

“Thank God,” he mumbles, head lolling backward for a moment. Then he yanks thick gloves off his hands and starts to come toward me as a machine cools near his knees. “Is everything okay? What’s going on? Why didn’t you text me? I’ve been dying over here.”

“I’m okay,” I say quickly.

He stops and holds both gloves in one hand. His eyes crinkle as he squints at me. “Are you wearing the same clothes as yesterday? Where did you stay last night?”

I don’t answer him. I can’t get any words out. Because for a moment, it feels as if I’m not one whole person but a fractured being. There’s Wary Josie who’s trying to decide if Adrian could have been telling the truth, and there’s also a childlike Josie who would never in a million years even consider that Lucky could betray us. Trusting Josie melts at the sight of him. Trusting Josie feels joy seeing his grease-smudged face—my face … my boy —and wants to run to him and fling her arms around his neck.

Trusting Josie is remembering all the things he whispered in the dark when we were tangled together in the dock house back on the island.

Before everything in my life fell apart.

He knows something’s amiss. I see the change ripple through him as if he’s a dog whose hackles are raising in defense. “Josie? What’s wrong?” he asks in a low, measured voice.

Glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one’s listening, I scan both the boatyard and the blue harbor for a moment, gathering my courage, and then turn back to him and ask, “Did you send the photo?”

He wasn’t expecting that. “Did I … what now?”