One day I wouldn’t need the bathtub anymore. One day there’d be no earthquakes and all would be well. I would be normal and the memory of my mother would be just that: a memory.

That was what I told myself. That was what I tried to make myself believe.

But this was Dom. This was my Dom. He could read me almost as well as Bear. Maybe even better. He saw right through my words to the things I didn’t say. He sat down next to me on the bed and patted my knee. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly.

I couldn’t look at him. “No one can know that.”

“Maybe. But I do.”

I wanted to believe him. And maybe part of me even did. But a bigger part, an unwelcome part (isn’t that always the way?), knew about the Julie McKennas of the world. It knew that people said things they didn’t mean. It knew they did things that hurt others. It (I) knew that people left. They said they wouldn’t. They said they couldn’t. But they did. They usually did.

I wanted to believe him. So very badly.

“Yeah,” I said. “Okay.”

But Dom was clever, and he knew the things unsaid. “Tyson. Look at me.”

I didn’t want to because my breathing was becoming slightly labored and I knew the bed was starting to shake. It felt like an ocean was near. And yet, somehow, I sat up. Slid next to him. Looked up at him as he slipped his arm over my shoulder and pulled me close.

“I promise,” he said. “Where you go, I go. Friends until we’re old and gray.”

“Beginning to end,” I murmured. “Day after day.”

“It’s inevitable,” he said.

And I wished I could believe him. I wished with all that I had. And when you’re eleven, you’re on the cusp between still believing wishing worked if you wanted something hard enough and understanding the world is teeth and sharp edges. I wished. I did. I promise you with all that I have that I did.

But I knew the teeth. The sharp edges. And they were bigger than wishing. I was only eleven, but I was the product of my upbringing too.

Maybe that’s why I was able to be the one to leave. Maybe I’d been looking for a reason and latched on to the first one that came, no matter how hard it was. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s that it’s easier to leave someone before they leave you. Because eventually, everyone leaves.

It’s inevitable.

“Sure, Dom,” I said, and we left it at that.

I’M NOT surprised when we end up on that stretch of beach I swear only my family knows about. Clouds are coming in, and the water looks choppy, but there’s no rain. At least not yet.

Dominic turns off the car, and I hear the wind outside blowing through the sea grass, a sound that reminds me so much of my childhood that I have to blink the burn away. The only other sound is the ticking of the cooling engine.