I feel him, warm and solid. Right here. With me. Where I’ve imagined him to be every day.
And my heart is about to break all over again.
“Shit,” I say with feeling as my mind begins to clear. The reality of what has just happened slices through me like a blade. “Shit, Dylan.”
“What?” He raises his head, and the sight of his faint smile will be my undoing if I let it. “Damn, I’m crushing you.”
He carefully pulls out of me, removing the condom, and it has begun—the disconnect, the end, the completion of this crazy moment where I let myself forget and imagine everything was perfect.
I jerk back and curl on the sofa, pulling my knees to my chest, covering my breasts. My nipples still throb from his attentions, as does my core. Heat climbs up my neck, and it’s welcome because ice is spreading through my limbs, making me shiver.
“What’s wrong?” Dylan mutters, slumping on the sofa next to me, still gloriously naked, his pants pooled on the floor, his sweater a heap by the metal-and-glass coffee table. His blond hair is mussed, his lips red from our kissing, his body damn perfect, laid out like that, made to derail my thoughts.
“Nothing.” I shudder, a full-body shake.
“You’re cold. Let’s move.” Before I realize what’s happening, he’s standing, bending over and lifting me in his arms. “Bed, now.”
Bed?
I cling to him, just like I did last night, more aware than ever of his strength, his imposing physique. Holding me easily, as if I weigh no more than the flimsy nightgown I’m wearing, he strides across the room and kicks the door to my bedroom open.
And stops in his tracks.
“What the fuck?” He turns in a circle, with me still clutched in his arms. “You’re leaving?”
Crap, crap, crap. I forgot the suitcase.
“Maybe,” I say and wiggle. “Put me down.”
He lets me slide down, but as soon as my bare feet hit the floor, he hauls me to him, crushing me to the front of his tall body.
“Are you leaving, Tess?” he asks quietly, seriously. He’s looking down at me with those intense blue eyes, and his mouth presses into a tight, painful line.
My hands settle on his slim hips. We’re standing there naked, skin to skin. Truth to truth.
“Would you notice if I was gone?” I whisper, and I close my eyes, waiting.
“Jesus, girl.” His arms tighten around me, so that my face is pressed to his shoulder, and he nuzzles my hair. “Of course I’d notice. Christ. Why would you go?”
His words unclench something in my chest, and I know I’m about to fall apart again.
“Not sure yet,” I whisper.
“What? Not sure why you’re leaving?”
I shake with laughter that will probably soon turn to sobbing. “Not sure of anything.”
He’s silent for a few heartbeats, just holding me. Then he says, “Don’t go, Tess. I don’t want you to go.”
“You don’t?”
“No, hell no! Why would I…? Oh, fuck.” He releases me and takes a step back. His face looks pale. “Fuck, no.”
“Dylan…” I stare at him, confused, then stumble after him as he strides back into the living room. “Dylan, what’s going on?”
He says nothing as he pulls his clothes back on. He tugs on his boots and heads to the door. He opens it and pauses, a hand on the frame.
“I have no right to ask you to stay,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
Long after the door has slammed behind him, I find myself standing in my living room, arms folded over my breasts, wondering why he asked me to stay.
PART II
Dylan
Fourteen was a tough age for all of us. I was no exception. That was one of the hardest years of my life.
That year I fell in love for the first and probably last time. I can’t remember ever having been happier or more full of hope for the future. In that same year, Mom left, Dad went into a depression, and I… I broke up with Tessa.
I couldn’t even explain to her why. All I knew was I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t cry. Couldn’t feel.
There were moments when I thought I’d lose my mind. When the doubts grew into roaring monsters in my head. How could I trust anyone when my own mom left us? How could I believe anyone will stick around?
Back then, I thought something had to give. Bad things aren’t supposed to last. Mom would come back. Dad would return to his old self. Laughing. Teasing. Mowing the lawn. Taking us out to play football.
But Mom never came back. And Dad… He got worse. Stiller. Emptier. In the worn armchair sat the shell of the man he used to be.
So I was put in charge of the Hayes household. I cleaned and cooked and washed. Looked after my brothers, and Dad, too. Made him get up, wash himself, eat, drink, sleep. Made him take his pills, talked to him, sometimes yelled at him, pleaded with him… to come back. Because in one fell swoop I’d lost both parents and had become the only family my brothers had left.