Creed shrugged. “Like I said, Bear, I don’t know what else it could be. He only talks to us, the Kid, and Jonah. I know it’s nothing we’ve done. So by process of elimination, who does that leave?”
Now, I knew he was wrong, or at least that’s what I tried to tell myself. It couldn’t be Jonah, because it was me. I was the reason Otter had changed, the reason he’d been happy over the last two months. Hell, I was the reason he came home in the first place. He came home for me. Jonah was no longer a part of this. Or so I had thought. Why the hell is he talking to Jonah? I thought, my mind racing. Why the hell is he talking to him, and why the hell has he never said anything to me about it? That’s all in the past! That’s all supposed to be in his past! I thought maybe it was because he was unhappy with me for some reason. I thought it was because I wasn’t as good a lay as Jonah. I thought it was because I was effectively keeping Otter in the closet. I thought it was because I made him promise to stay in the closet about this. I thought so many things, each more irrational than the last, but I couldn’t help it. I’ve said it before: I’ve never been the jealous type. With Anna, I knew that any guy who hit on her would be getting nowhere. We’d always make fun of them later. With Anna, that was never an issue. So why is it one with him? it asked. If you love him like you’ve never loved anyone in your life, then why can’t you trust him on this?
I couldn’t answer.
“Bear?” Creed said, breaking me from the storm. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I muttered, not okay at all.
“I thought I lost you there for a second,” he said, staring at me. “You looked like you were going to throw up.”
“Creed, there’s something I need to tell you.” The words were out before I could stop them.
“What, Bear?” Creed asked.
This was it. This was going to be the moment. This was going to be the time that I told him. I was going to tell him something I should have told him a long time ago. He deserved as much. He was my brother. He’d seen me at my worst and at my best. He held me as I cried when my mother left. If he could do that, then fuck him if he couldn’t accept this. My mind was wild, and it burned, but oh my God, I had to do this.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say—” I started but was interrupted as the patio door behind me opened and Otter came out.
“Hey, what’s up?” He grinned at me, that lopsided, beautiful grin. “I didn’t hear you get here.”
“That’s because you were being all lovey-dovey on the phone,” Creed snorted. “Jesus Christ, Otter, I don’t know why you don’t just tell us about Jonah. I know you were talking to him on the phone. Even Bear agrees with me. Right, Bear?” Creed looked over at me and dropped a wink, and I wanted to punch him in the throat.
“Right, Creed,” I said hollowly, the water up to my chest.
“See?” Creed said, laughing. “Now just fucking give it up and tell us! When are we going to meet the future Mrs. Otter Thompson? You might as well bring him here. Can you imagine Mom and Dad? That’s going to be fucking hilarious!” Creed broke off into another gale of laughter, unaware that he was the only one that found something funny. I could feel Otter’s eyes on me, and as much I as I didn’t want to, I turned to him. His gaze was surprised and sad and wary all at the same time. He recoiled slightly when he saw what was in mine, and I did nothing to stop it. So close, I thought bitterly. So close to finally being honest.
What’s stopping you? the voice asked. You can still set this right. Tell Creed to shut the hell up for one goddamn second and tell him. Make him understand that no one, not him, certainly not Jonah, can make Otter happy like you do. It’s not too late to tell the truth. It’s never too late to tell the truth.
But I didn’t, and at first I couldn’t understand why. I stared at Otter, and he stared back at me, and Creed laughed and laughed, and then it hit me: the
reason I didn’t say anything was because Otter had done nothing to deny what Creed had said. He sat there, gawking at me, and he did nothing to refute, nothing to take it away. I grit my teeth together, relishing the pressure it put on my jaw. I had lightning in my ears and seawater in my nose. I felt like I was drowning.
“Well, I can see you’re going to be as forthright as always,” Creed said, looking down at his watch. “I’ve got to get out of here to go… do that thing I said I had to do.” I took note on how his voice had hesitated, but it was washed away, trapped in the tide. Creed stood and patted me on the back, telling me he would see me later. He chuckled as he playfully punched Otter on the shoulder and walked past him. The patio door shut behind him. I heard his keys jingle through the glass, and then the front door opened and closed. I heard the car door open and shut. I heard the car start. I heard the car drive away. I heard all this above the storm raging in my head and heart.
Otter sighed and walked up to me and hunkered down before me. When he normally did this, I’d always found it slightly endearing. This time, though, I just glared at him.
“Bear,” he said, reaching up to grab my hand.
“Don’t,” I growled at him, pulling my hand away like he was going to scald me.
I stood up and pushed past him, about to walk back into the house (to go inside? to walk away?) but before I could make it to the door, Otter grabbed my arm. I struggled in vain to break free. His massive paw gripped me tightly, and finally I turned to glare at him.
“Where are you going?” he asked me, an edge in his voice. “Were you just going to leave and not even talk about this?”
“I would think,” I scowled at him, “that if you wanted to talk about this, you would have told me about it already. Tell me, Otter: just how many times have you talked to Jonah?”
He maintained his grip on my arm. His eyes were hard. “Bear, it’s not what you think,” he told me, his voice flat. “Whatever it is that’s running through your head right now, you need to stop.”
“Why can’t you answer the question?” I suddenly shouted at him. I saw him recoil, but he didn’t let go of my arm. “How many times! Why the hell are you talking to him?”
“I talk to him every now and then,” Otter said, and I could tell he was trying to keep his voice level. “It’s never about anything important, Bear. I told you before. I can’t just knock someone out of my life like that. It’s not who I am.”
I continued to glare at him, and then there were two Otters and then four Otters, and I felt the bitter sting of angry tears as they welled in my eyes. He saw them, too, and his face softened, and his grip relaxed on my arm. “Did you tell him about me?” I asked, willing the water in my eyes to go away. It didn’t. “Did you tell him about us?”
Of all the questions I could have asked, I knew this one pained him the most. Before he spoke I knew the answer and shook my arm loose from his hand. I turned away from him and put my forehead up against the glass of the patio door, and it was cool and hard. One of the angry tears defied me and slipped from my eye and landed on my cheek and tracked its way down.
“What do you talk to him about?” I asked. “What’s so goddamn important that you need to talk to him?”