Never (Never, #1) (111)

“Who!” he yells more. “I’ll kill them. Give me their names.”

I stare up at him and I tell myself that I’m not afraid, but my voice comes out small.

“No one, Peter.”

And then he hugs me.

It’s a strange hug—desperately tight. He wraps his whole self around me as much as he possibly can.

“I would kill them,” he tells me.

“Okay.” I nod.

Peter shakes his head. “I won’t share you, Daph.”

“Okay.” I pause, glancing up at him. “Well then, I’d prefer not to share you also.”

Peter looks confused. “With who?”

“With anyone.” I give him a funny look. “Not with Marin, not with Calla—”

And then Peter laughs. “You don’t have to worry about mermaids.”

“And Calla?”

He lifts his giant shoulders like she’s a beetle on them. “Or Calla.”

“Do I not?” I blink. “She’s with you every chance she gets.”

Peter sniffs, amused. “Yeah, but everyone is.”

“Peter.” I fold my arms. “She likes you very much. Maybe even more than that.”

He frowns a bit. “She more than likes me?”

I nod.

“Like on the lily pad?”

I scratch my cheek before I fold my arms again. “I’m sure if you wanted.”

“Oh.” He thinks for a few seconds, brows low, and then the thought’s gone. Flies away, right off his face. “If she makes you jealous, I won’t see her anymore.”

I stare over at him, surprised. “Really?”

Peter nods. “Yeah.”

“Do you promise?” I ask cautiously.

He bows dramatically. “On my honour.”

I stare at him for a couple of seconds, then nod. “Thank you,” I tell him.

“Daphne, girl.” Peter hooks his arm back around my neck. “Of all the things I have, you’re my favourite one.”





* * *



* Even though I don’t technically have a leg to stand on.





CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN


I’m in front of the shack like I have been every day this past week. Weeks, actually. I’ve been like this awhile. Since before the ball, and the ball was fifteen notches under the table ago.

And I shouldn’t be like this. I should be unfastening this bloody yoke from around my neck and leaving it for dead, but I’m not.

I’m swinging my arms back and forth as I pace, trying to convince myself it’s the right thing to do.

“You’re going to burn a hole in that cloud,” John calls to me as he reels his line in.

I stare over at him, my eyes wide and wild in a way that I think only happens when I’m feeling exponentially crushed by Jamison.

I put my hands on my hips and sigh. “Do you see it?” I call to him. He’s rather far away. Maybe seven or so yards. “What’s on me?”

The man shakes his head, staring out at the sea of clouds. “It’s not my place to judge.”

I walk over towards him. “I’m not asking if you’re judging me. I’m asking whether you can see it?”

He flicks his eyes over at me, and they catch on the yoke—so yes—then he looks away again, casts another line out.

“I don’t have anybody!” I tell him urgently, now suddenly at his side, whether he wants me to be or not. “I have no one to talk to about this, except a hotheaded fairy whose opinion is extremely slanted.”

He shrugs as he tips his bucket hat that he’s always in. “For a reason, perhaps?”

“Perhaps! I don’t know.” I shrug wildly. I think there is a reason. I think I used to wonder about it. I think I put it away, didn’t I?

I stare over at the sweet old man whose eyes look as familiar as they do sorry for me. I plop myself down on the cloud next to him, cross my legs, and drop my head in my hands.

“I don’t know! But I’m exploding inside.” I look up at him. “So I need to know, sir. Do you see it?”

His face softens. “Yes.” He nods gently. “I see it.”

I nod back at him, wipe a rogue, treacherous tear from my eye. “And you know what it is?”

“I think so, yes.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I tell him, and it comes out like a muffled cry.

He touches my shoulder gently, and I take a staggered breath.

“Because I—I think I…” My voice trails and I look over at him, my eyes going how they do about Jem. I swallow heavily, try to push it down. “You know?” I shrug hopelessly. “And I didn’t come here for—well—I didn’t come here to—”

I wonder how many ways there are to not say you love a person?

I sniff, wiping my nose with the hem of the dress he bought me. I stare back up at John.

“I came for Peter, I think.” I frown. “Didn’t I?” I stare over at him, shake my head like it’s a kaleidoscope, like moving my brain around might help me to see. I press my hands into my temples and squint at nothing. “It feels so fuzzy now, but why else would I have come here?”