“Please don’t make me do this.” Dustin stopped beside the second iron gate of the day and hung his head. “Please, Nicu. If you give a f**k about me at all, don’t make me go in there.”
“I told you,” Nicolae said, “I want to meet your parents.” He circled both arms around Dustin’s waist, one in front, one in back and leaned to nuzzle the side of Dustin’s face. “Now let me.”
He wanted to make up an excuse, tell Nicolae he couldn’t remember where to go, or how to get there, but Dustin knew he could never speak the lie as truth. Dustin would never forget where his father lay; both his conscience and subconscious had memorized the path the one and only time Dustin had been there. His dreams had brought him back countless times; his body had refused the journey just as many. The previous day’s
