“Dylan’s dad is depressed,” Ash says, over Audrey’s shoulder. “Depression is a sickness. He can’t help it. He needs help himself.”
I knew Dylan’s dad struggled with depression. I thought he was better. Not that Dylan ever talked to me about it.
Goes to show how little I know Dylan anymore.
There was a time I knew everything about him—back when we were fourteen, when he held me in his arms in the evenings and whispered all his thoughts in my ear, about the past, the present and the future. When he clutched my hand as we crossed the street and then as we sat together, our sides touching, our heartbeats synchronized, our lives joined.
After that, after he broke up with me, we were friends, meeting in parties and going out for drinks with the guys, talking on the phone. But recently… Recently we haven’t even had that. Not for the past year. When his Dad left, Dylan grew distant and cold. Distracted. Angry. Lost.
Too many losses.
“Teo, his little brother has been sick on and off,” Zane says. “Could be the stress from their dad moving out, though it’s been a while since the bastard left. Must be a year now.”
Tyler whistles, his dark brows drawing together. “His brother’s what, five?”
“Six,” Ash says.
“Goddammit. Poor kid.”
Tyler feels strongly when it comes to little kids. His own son is four, and Tyler’s fiercely protective of him, and Erin.
“He has another brother, right?” Audrey asks.
“Miles,” I say, my mind a million miles away. “He’s ten.”
“Still, Dylan doesn’t look as bad as he did two months ago,” Dakota says, and squirms in Zane’s arms until he relaxes his tight hold. She pats his arm absently. “Maybe things aren’t that bad for him right now. He kept his job, didn’t he? The one you were all concerned he might lose?”
There. Dylan’s fine. He doesn’t need me. Not that he ever expressed any need for me, not after he broke up with me so many years ago. If he needs anything, he’s far more likely to ask any of the other guys for help. I’m invisible to him, even when I throw birthday parties for him, or ask about his day, or his classes. He pulled away from everyone—but mostly from me.
“Coming to our concert, Saturday night?” Dakota asks, and it takes me a moment to realize she’s talking to me. “Nine o’ clock, Crow Feet.”
“You should go,” Audrey pipes in. “Quinn really likes you.”
I open my mouth, close it, try again. “Who’s Quinn?”
“Quinn plays the guitar in our group, and he also sings,” Dakota says, shooting Audrey a wide-eyed look.
Yeah, she doesn’t know of Audrey’s conspiracy to find me a guy and make me forget all about Dylan. Audrey wants everyone to be happy.
If only it were that easy…
“Saturday,” I say and then I remember something. “I can’t.”
“Come on, it will be fun,” Ash says.
“I promised my parents I’ll go to the Autumn Glitter gala. It’s organized by some friends of theirs.” Friends being used loosely. More like people who can make them money. More money, that is. “It was cancelled, and now they changed their mind again and are running in circles trying to find security and catering.”
Though why I should care…
“Can’t you un-promise?” Audrey mutters.
“Sorry.” Figures that now I feel guilty for letting my friends down on top of feeling slightly terrified of having agreed to my parents’ needling just because…. Just because I still have hope.
Hope is dangerous. When will I ever learn?
***
Dylan doesn’t show up in biology class again. Concentrating on the professor is hard. I worry about Dylan.
Surely I have a right to worry, as a friend, right? And his not showing up again isn’t a good sign.
And it’s not just Dylan I’m worried about. The damn gala is coming up this weekend and I have a really bad feeling about it.
I don’t know why. My parents have forced me into going to lots of social events over the years, and mostly it’s not too bad. I dress up, show up, mingle a little, and they ease up on me for a while.
Thinking more about it, it must be the strange way my father relented on the topic of studies on the condition of me going to the gala. My studies, my future, have been a sore points since my school days.
Why is this gala so important to him?
I shouldn’t think about it any longer. My hunches have often proven wrong. Like, I thought Dylan wanted me, that he loved me, and I couldn’t have been more wrong.
And here I go again, thinking about Dylan… Christ.