“Say the magic word, Dot, and I’ll set you free.” “Plea—” “Nah. Our magic word. The one we came up with together.” Oh shit. He was doing that whole routine we’d used to do growing up. Whenever Dylan was busy and I was bored, I would wander into his room and rummage through his stuff. If he caught me—which he rarely did, because he was always out doing big, lovely Row things—we would grapple until he would inevitably press me against his bed or the floor and have me beg him for mercy. Only I hadn’t used the word please. I had used another word that used to make him laugh. What the hell was the
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