D was pouring himself into Jack’s arms, his body, and the deluge was fierce; Jack clung to him like a barnacle, holding him fast in his arms. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. The thought ran over and over in his mind as D’s chest heaved great swoops of breath past Jack’s ear, swoops that had sobs caught at their dregs, as if he’d found something old and unexpressed at the very tidal bottom of his lungs now dragged into the open air by the exertion. I’m not letting go of you.
