“You knew? How long did you know?" I blurt out, my blood cooling.
“Right when I got to NBC, basically," Donovan said, still quiet and a flood of despair floods my lungs, stealing their air capacity.
"It doesn't change what I think about you, or how I feel," he adds, gesturing like he wants to reach across the table to grab my hand, but stops short.
I can't tell if I want to reach for his hand or not because I don't know if it would anchor me or shatter me.
“Do you even know what happened to my dad? Did you know he can't walk without a cane anymore, or that his short-term memory is garbage?" I ask, my voice thin like tissue paper.
“No, my father didn't say anything like that. Mack, what happened?" Donovan's eyebrows furrow in confusion and I can tell he has no idea what happened.
“I
