I straighten my back and stare over at him. “There’s no such thing as ‘home with you,’ Peter. You made sure of that.”
Something whispers over his face like sadness, but it’s just for a second and then it’s gone.
Peter brushes past me before he flies off, the Lost Boys running after him.
Itheelia smacks Jamison in the arm. “What were you thinking?”
He scowls at his mother. “I was thinking he cannae talk t’ her like that.”
“He won’t fight fair,” she tells him, and I sidle up next to her.
“She’s right, he won’t.”
Jamison scoffs, looking mildly offended. “I can take on the boy.”
“You mustn’t play fair if he doesn’t,” his mother tells him.
“Sure, but that’d just be poor form. My old man would be rolling in his grave.”
Itheelia gives him a stern look. “Better than you in one alongside him.”
Jem gives her a look before he kisses her cheek, then he hooks his arm around my neck and pulls me out of the rotunda.
“Are y’okay?” he asks after a moment.
I stare straight ahead, breathing out of my nose.
Do I care that Peter looked sad? Do I care that he said he’d drag me back to England himself? That he wants me off this island?
No. I don’t care about any of that, not compared to the burning question I have in the centre of me.
I look up at him, frowning already.
“Are you embarrassed of me?”
“No?” Jem’s face pulls back, blinking a couple of times. “No, I’m in love wi’ ye.”
I stare at him, obstinate. “Then why didn’t you tell him we’re together?”
“Daphne.” He sighs. “Do you nae remember when were in the volcano and I almost kissed ye? He was nae there, he daen see it, but the isle felt it for him. Acted on his behalf.” Jamison gives me an exasperated look. “What dae ye think he’d do if he knew?”
I shrug. “He’ll have to know eventually.”
“Aye, he will.” Jem nods. “And when thon day comes, I’ll be there, and I’ll get ye off the island for it.”
Hands on my hips, I roll my eyes at him. He’s as dramatic as Peter. “It won’t be that bad.”
Jamison blows some air out of his mouth and keeps walking. “How much ye underestimate him is wile dangerous,” he calls back to me.
“Jem,” I say, and he can hear the doubt in my voice.
He spins on his heel.
“Daphne, he thinks yer his.” He gives me a long look that’s weighed down with a lot of cute little things, like jealousy and concern. “When he finds out yer not, I d?nnae want to see what he’ll do. I’ll take ye away. We’ll go back t’ London. I’ll—”
I look up at him, my eyes wide as I touch his face. I swallow. “You said something to me just now—”
“No.” He shakes his head and turns around, back to walking. “D?nnae say it now. It’ll just feel like an afterthought after all this.”
“No!” I run after him. “I was just distracted because of the nature of the conversation before, and it felt like you—”
He glances at me over his shoulder. “Moment’s passed. Yer window’s gone.”
He gives me a half a smile and offers me his hand.
He’s in love with me.
* * *
* I would later learn that Rye’s father’s name is Ash.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Jamison spent the walk back reassuring me that he would be fine in his duel against Peter, that he’s been trained by the fiercest pirates in history, that he knew the way Peter would fight, that he’s won harder duels for worse reasons, but as soon as we were back in his cabin, he gave me this look, chin low, eyes bright and pinched.
“Maybe I may die,” he said.
“Jem.” I rushed to him, his face in my hands.
He grimaced. “We should probably make the most o’ tonight.” And then he grinned.
I said probably really, we should head to bed early to make sure he was well rested for it.
He said that sounded like a different kind of death.
So I obliged him because he loves me.
And I love him.
I kept watch all throughout last night to find a time to tell him that I loved him, but none of them felt worthy of the moment.
I suspect he knows anyway, but I plan to tell him before he leaves this morning for the duel.
But when I wake, he’s not in the bed.
My stomach goes to funny knots for a few seconds as I worry that he’s left without me. I’m not meant to be going to the duel with him. I’m meant to be staying here and packing.
Packing because we’re going to leave Neverland for a little while.
So we can be together without being afraid of being together.
But I woke up early so I could pack and watch on, just in case. In case Peter is a little bit as bad as they keep telling me he is. Which I don’t think he is.
Though it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that he goes too far or does something thoughtlessly dangerous. A child holding a pistol isn’t necessarily a murderer by intent, though he might accidentally murder someone in the process.
Besides, Jamison is fighting for me. It would be awful of me not to be there.
When I get out of bed, I find a note on his table.
My love.
Practicing with Ors.
Home before I head.
Yours.
Mine. I smile down at it, and my heart swells like a big wave as I press the note to my chest, and the ocean jostles the ship around—funny timing. I smile out at the sea.
I get to packing.
I’ve never packed for a boy before?
He doesn’t have that many clothes, so I pack them all.
I can only find one bag though, so I get dressed and then head out to find another. I know my way a little better through the town now, so I walk in the general direction towards Bets as a starting point.
I don’t remember off the top of my head whether or not she makes bags, but she feels like a good place to start.
I pass a few people I’m a bit acquainted with by now; I pass Morrigan, who sneers at me. She hasn’t enjoyed my arrival in town.
I overheard Orson telling Jamison that Morrigan’s “dirt filthy” about me being here, that he heard her wish me dead. Jem scoffed and shook his head, muttered something under his breath I couldn’t hear, but I could tell he was upset about it.
I wish I could go after her and tell her that Jamison and I are running away together, but it seems unnecessarily unkind, because I’ve got him and she doesn’t.
Which then leads me down a rabbit hole of thoughts about what our lives might look like now that we’re running away.
Where would we go?
How long would we be gone for?
Also, if you don’t fly like Peter does, how do you even leave here?
Those are the things I’m wondering when I walk past a corner and hear my favourite laugh in the world.
“And I heard you’ve got a new bedfellow,” says a voice I don’t know. British. Rather proper.
I don’t know why I don’t make my presence known, but I don’t. I probably should have. It’s sort of dishonest that I don’t, but something makes me not.
Instead, I hide behind it and listen.