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Dylan(39)

By:Jo Raven


“I see.” He didn’t call me yesterday to ask for help. Of course he didn’t. I’m the last person he wants to see. “No problem.”

“Hey.” She sounds distracted. I wonder if she’s driving. “I told Dylan I could pick Miles up from school, but I just realized I’m teaching a new student at that time. Could you pick him up? If you don’t have classes. And if you don’t mind. I mean…”

“I’m not going to class,” I mutter.

“Why not?”

Damn. “I… I’m thinking of dropping out of college. Listen,” I rush to say when Erin gasps in the phone, “I’ll pick Miles up. Just tell me the time.”

“Tess…”

“Please, Erin. Don’t wanna talk about college now.”

With a sigh, she rattles the address and time off. “After you pick him up, take him to Dylan’s neighbors. Miles will spend the night there. Gotta go now. Talk to you later, and thanks a bunch!”

She disconnects, and I stare at my cell.

So much for Dylan being ancient history. So much for keeping away. For deciding I shouldn’t care. One word of trouble about him, and I’ll drop everything to help.

No. It’s not the same. I’m just going to help with his brother. Nothing more. Just today.

Worried and distracted, I grab my bag and go.

***

My discovery of the day is that Miles looks a lot like Dylan. He’s a real miniature of his brother. He stops when he sees me waiting at the school gate and scowls.

I wave and smile. It’s hard not to, in spite of his scowl. He’s frigging cute. He’ll break hearts when he grows up.

Just like his older brother…

“Hi, Miles,” I say when he approaches enough to hear me. “I’m here to take you home.”

“Where’s Dylan?” he asks, still hostile.

“At the hospital with your brother.”

“And Erin? She was supposed to pick me up.”

“Well, she has to work and asked me to do it.” I study his small face and say on impulse, “and I’m happy she did.”

He eyes me skeptically as I lead the way to my jeep. “You are?” he finally mutters, as he climbs into the car.

“Yeah. Why?”

He says nothing for a while. He buckles himself in and clutches his backpack to him. “I thought you don’t like us,” he says as we drive away.

That brings me up short. “What? Why would you think that?”

“You never visit. Not like Dylan’s other friends.”

I chew on my lower lip. “I would visit, if Dylan invited me.”

He shoots me a wide-eyed look. “Why hasn’t he?”

Oh man. “I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t like me.”

“He likes you,” Miles says quietly, looking out the window. “He’s just stupid.”

A snort escapes me. “You are something, aren’t you? That wasn’t nice to your brother.”

“I mean he’s stupid if he told you he doesn’t like you.”

“Why’s that?”

“He has a photo of you on his bedroom wall. He sits and stares at it sometimes, and looks sad. I’ve seen him. Not that,” he hurries to add, “that I…”

“That you spy on him?” I supply, stunned at what he’s telling me. Dylan has a photo of me on his wall? And he sits and stares at it?

“Yeah, not that.” Miles still isn’t looking at me. “But I pass outside his door sometimes. You know.”

I nod. This kid sounds like a grown-up. How is that possible? Is this what happens when your parents leave and your older brother raises you?

But then he goes and spoils the illusion when he says, “Can we get chocolate ice cream before we go home?”

How can I say no? So I drive Miles to an ice cream parlor—he gives me directions—and we settle back into the jeep as he licks his towering cone. Suddenly I wonder if he’ll get stomachache from this much ice cream, or…

“Have you had lunch?”

He shrugs. “Not yet.”

Shit. “You tricked me, didn’t you?”

“You’re an adult. You should know better.” He winks, and again he’s so much like Dylan my chest aches.

“Fool me once…” I mutter as I start the engine.

“Does that mean you’ll be picking me up from school again?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant.

I freeze. Does it? “I don’t know. Maybe until your brother gets better, and Dylan has time.”

“Dylan doesn’t have a car. I ride home on the bus.”

“And why not today?”

He says nothing for a while, eating his ice cream, and I think he won’t answer. But then he says, “There are these kids from a few streets up who like to beat me up sometimes.”