Dylan(76)
Rafe grabs a towel from behind him and dries his face. His mouth is pressed in a flat line. “Bunch of stupid assholes,” he finally says. “They’re recruiting every desperate guy, so they can sit around together and bemoan the futility of our existence, day in and day out.”
“Are they dangerous, Rafe? I need to know.”
“I don’t know.” He works his jaw. “Not for sure, anyway. There’s one case of a Sky Gate member who tried to strangle his brother, but Sky Gate says they’d nothing to do with it. That every member acts on his or her own free will. Fucking hypocrites.”
“What do you mean?”
“They brainwash their members, make them believe their life and the lives of others are standing in the way between them and heaven. And when the more desperate, more depressed members act on it, the church leaders wash their hands and say they had nothing to do with it.”
Jesus. “This doesn’t sound good. But it doesn’t mean the Church is dangerous. Doesn’t mean Dylan’s dad will do anything like that.”
Rafe shrugs and throws the towel to the floor with more force than necessary. His muscled, tattooed arms are glistening with sweat. “No, it doesn’t. It’s all up to his state of mind, his susceptibility to suggestion. That what you wanted to hear?”
“I guess.” No. What I wanted to hear was that Dylan’s dad poses no danger to anyone. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” He wipes a hand over his mouth. “Everything okay with you?”
I shake my head, force a smile. “Yeah. I… I left my apartment. Asked for a restraining order on Sean, my ex. Haven’t seen or talked to my dad in days. Dropped out of college. Everything’s fine.” I slant a look at him. “You?”
He whistles, his cat-like eyes wide. “When did all this happen?” He winces. “Wait, don’t answer that. I haven’t been around much, have I?”
I clench my fingers around the handle of my purse. “Want an answer?”
“No, leave it.”
I grin and open my mouth to tell him it’s time he came out with us one night for drinks, when my cell rings. I whip it out and answer without looking. “Yeah?”
“Tessa?” A boy’s voice. “Tessa!”
“Who is this?”
“Miles. It’s Miles.” His voice breaks. “You told me I could call you.”
I get up so fast my purse falls off my lap to the floor. “What’s wrong?”
Rafe gets up too, frowning at me. He picks up my purse and hands it to me, then grabs a sweater hanging on the machine and pulls it on.
“Dylan,” Miles says, his voice rising in panic. “He can’t… he can’t get up.”
My pulse thumps in my ears like a time bomb. “What do you mean?”
“He fell asleep and won’t wake up.”
“Jesus. Miles, are you at home? Is he there?”
“Yes! I… yes.”
“Okay.” I’m already running toward the exit of the gym. “I’m on my way.”
***
“Tessa! What the fuck’s wrong?” Rafe is following at my heels as I jog toward my jeep. “Hey!”
“Dylan.” I cross the avenue, weaving between cars, and I hear Rafe curse behind me.
“Dammit, Tessa, wait up!”
I reach my jeep, waste precious seconds searching for my key and finally locate it and unlock. I slip behind the wheel.
The passenger door opens, and Rafe folds his tall frame inside. He slams the door closed. “Now. About Dylan. What happened?”
“Don’t know. I think he’s been sick for a while. Wrote it off as stress.” I start the engine, and shoot out into the traffic. “He’s been dizzy, and I think he had a fever this morning.”
“This morning.” He sends me a curious glance. “You two got together?”
I don’t know. I have no idea. So I focus on driving as fast as I can.
“Who called you?” Rafe is still watching me. It’s as if he can see right through me.
“Miles. Dylan’s brother.”
“And?”
“He said Dylan can’t get up.” The knot in my throat is like the stone blocks that make the pyramids.
“From where?”
“I don’t know.” I hit the wheel with my palm. “I didn’t ask. I was in a hurry to leave.”
“Give me your cell.”
Wordlessly, I pass it to him. It looks tiny in his big hand. He scrolls to find my last received call and hits connect. He identifies himself and asks questions to which I’m dying to know the answers—where Dylan is, how he is, if he responds when talked to, when touched—and I keep driving.