As I disconnect, I think for the first time maybe it’s true. I will be fine, without his money and demands, without the pressure to be someone I’m not. Audrey has been telling me all along I should get a job, move out, become independent. If I’d listened to her, I’d have saved myself a lot of heartache.
Though, if I’d listened to her, I’d never spoken to Dylan again. I wouldn’t have waited, wouldn’t have hoped… wouldn’t have slept with him again.
And where did that get me? Stupid, Tessa. Stupidity on repeat. I can’t sleep with him again. For him it’s just a physical release, unlike it is for me.
Not that it wasn’t good. God. My body tightens at the memory. No, the reason I stayed, I remind myself as Miles climbs into the jeep and beams at me, is to fight back and gain my freedom, my self-esteem. To find myself again.
If Dylan’s brothers need my help—if Dylan needs my help—I’ll help them. I’m making a difference in their lives, and this makes me feel strong. Needed. Worthy. It makes me feel damn good, better than I’ve felt about myself in a very long time.
I’m not doing it for Dylan. I’m doing it for me. I’m taking charge of my life.
Miles interrupts my thought when he enters the jeep. He looks good. The bruises he sported when I first met him are fading now, and his smile comes more easily. He’s so cute.
“How’s Teo today?” I ask as we set off.
“Better.” Miles grins. “I didn’t know if you were coming today.”
“I called Dylan this morning and let him know.”
He’d sounded surprised. Wary. And as always, tired.
“Dylan won’t be home now,” Miles says. “And Charlie is looking after Teo. Can we go get ice cream?”
“You should eat lunch first.”
He sticks his tongue out at me. “You’re as bad as Dylan.”
But he grins again, and somehow it doesn’t sound so bad. It probably means I’m doing something right. Getting the hang of being around kids.
No idea why that should matter to me, but it does. Probably comes with fighting the whole “she’s-a-pampered-princess” thing Dylan seems so set on believing.
The day is gray and miserable. It starts to rain as we approach the house. I think of the cold and damp inside and shiver.
I park and turn to Miles. “Here we are.”
“You like Dylan, don’t you?” Miles gives me a dead serious look. It looks out of place on his young face, way too old and wise. He reminds me so much of Dylan it’s crazy.
“We’re friends.”
“More than that. You want to be with him like… Like Mom and Dad used to be.”
I swallow past a knot in my throat. “Miles…”
“And he wants to be with you.”
I close my eyes and gather my strength. “I don’t think he does.”
“I told you he has your photo on his wall.”
“That’s not enough.” Even if it’s true, which I don’t know… Could it be true?
“So you’ll leave. Like Mom did.”
I open my eyes and stare at him in horror. “No, of course not.” Oh God, he has tears in his eyes. I reach for him, and he lets me hold him.
“Dylan thinks that, too,” Miles mumbles. “He thinks you’ll leave. I hear him talk in his sleep sometimes. He thinks everyone will leave.”
He does?
“Miles…” I stroke his hair. “I’ll be here for you. Whatever happens between Dylan and me won’t change that.” I pull back to look at his tear-streaked face and smile. “Tell you what. I’ll give you my cell phone number. That way you can always call me and talk, and we can have ice cream. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
As he nods, I wonder what has come over me and what the hell I’m doing. My safest bet would be to run away from this family as fast as I can, put as much distance between myself and Dylan as possible.
But I instead I write down my number and give it to Miles. I can’t skip town now. Not when I’ve made up my mind to stay and fight for myself.
***
As I have no doubt my father will go through with his threat to cut my funding, I try to come up with a plan, in spite of my jumbled thoughts. After some nail biting, I call Mr. Walker and ask for details regarding the social/archaeology project. I explain that, due to personal and unforeseen circumstances, I’m looking for a paying job, and ask if that’s what he’s offering.
Mr. Walker assures me the offer is still open and that a small salary can be arranged. Although curiosity is evident in his voice, he doesn’t ask me directly what is going on—why the daughter of Jonas Leon, of Leon & Perez, is in need of a salary. He also tells me I can start next week.