Page 4 of Donovan
“Finn always whines that Asher bosses us around too much,” Donovan said. “But Finn’s the real troublemaker between the three of us, I swear. You wouldn’t believe half the stuff he’s dragged me into.”
He handed me a plate before taking a seat at the long wooden table.
Donovan continued, “One time, he convinced me to help him steal Asher’s boots and bury them in the garden. Asher was so pissed. He ended up chasing us halfway across the grounds before Finn tripped and took me down with him.
Despite myself, I smirked. “Sounds like you’re all troublemakers.”
Donovan grinned around a mouthful of cake.
“Maybe.” He swallowed, then shrugged. “But I think it’s just Finn. He’s got way too much energy. Sometimes I think Asher only yells at him so much ‘cause he’s worried about him.”
I hummed in response, chewing slowly.
I was an only child. I didn’t have brothers to get into trouble with or fight with or look out for. Hearing Donovan’s stories fascinated me in a way I hadn’t expected.
It was a glimpse into something I never had.
And it took my mind off my parents.
I should’ve felt guilty about that. About the way I clung to distractions instead of dealing with what happened. But the weight of grief, of anger, of whatever the hell I was supposed to be feeling had been suffocating all day.
Sitting here, listening to Donovan complain about his brothers, was the first time I didn’t feel like I was drowning in it.
We ate in silence for a bit, the only sound the scrape of forks against plates and the occasional creak of the old wooden chairs.
I thought maybe Donovan would just keep talking about his brothers, about anything that had nothing to do with death or loss, but then he glanced up at me, blue eyes sharper than before.
“So,” he said, watching me, “are you sad?”
I froze, fork halfway to my mouth. “What?”
“About your parents,” he said. “Are you sad they’re gone?”
The question hit me harder than I expected.
My first instinct was to scoff, to throw up a wall so fast he couldn’t see how the question actually unraveled something inside me.
I shrugged instead, trying for indifference. “I never really knew them,” I told him.
Donovan frowned.
I forced a laugh, though it sounded fake even to me.
“They were always gone. Always on assignments, doing important work, making the world safer or whatever. The Guild practically raised me.” I scraped at the empty plate with my fork, as if there were still something left to eat. “So, what’s there to miss?”
It was bravado, of course. A lie wrapped in something that sounded like the truth. Deep down, I had loved them.
Even if they hadn’t really known me. Even if they’d cared more about hunting monsters and making the world a better place than being my parents.
Donovan didn’t say anything for a moment.
Then, quietly, he said, “It’ll get better.”
I frowned.
He didn’t look at me, just traced patterns against the counter with his fingertip.
“It hurts at first,” he continued, his voice softer than before. “And even the smallest things will remind you of them. But it passes.”
