Dylan(60)
So I say yes.
***
Funny how knowing my mom approves of my actions, but also the fact there’s a trust with my name on it at the bank, seems to lift a huge weight off my shoulders. And that brings my thoughts back to Dylan once more. Everything seems to lead back to him these days.
I think of the shabby little house with the overgrown garden, the moldy, dirty kitchen and the small bedrooms with the old furniture and awful, stained floral drapes. The hostile glances following me as I drove past the shuttered houses, the shady deals taking place on shadowed porches as evening fell and the bullies waiting to beat Miles up as he returns home from the bus stop.
I rub my chest. I’m afraid for them. For the boys. For Dylan, who’s so tired even his little brothers are concerned.
Can’t let myself care too much. Not again.
But when I pick Miles up from school, and I drive him home, my plans are once more overturned because Dylan is again there.
“No work today?” I call as I climb out of the car, and I’m immediately bowled over by a small hurricane that looks like Teo. He squeals and buries his face in my legs. My resolve to just say hi and go melts away, and I pick him up. He smells like baby talc and chocolate. “Hey, Teo.”
Miles is tugging on my arm, but I dig my heels in, rooted to the spot. My gaze has caught on Dylan. Hard not to when he’s only dressed in a T-shirt despite the October cold, his chest drenched in sweat, molding to his pecs and rock hard abs. He’s panting, blinking sweat from his blue eyes. He wipes his face on the back of his arm and grins at me.
I snap my flapping mouth shut. “What are you doing?”
He gestures at the electric trimmer he’s holding in his other hand. “Mowing the lawn, something I should’ve done back in Summer.”
“The lawn.” Laughter bubbles in my throat, because the only thing this jungle and a lawn have in common is their green color. Then the laughter dies, when I realize the amount of hard work waiting for him.
“You should hire someone to do this,” I say, thinking of this morning.
He snorts, and his brows draw together. His jaw clenches. “Yeah, well. We fired the butler last week, princess, but I’m sure the royal gardener will be around later to take care of this.”
I shake my head. I don’t need this, not from Dylan. “Right. I’ll take the kids inside and go, then.” I set off down the path toward the house. “Leave you to it.”
“Wait, Tess…” I’m about to brush past him, but he reaches for me and puts a hand on my back. His hand radiates heat even through my thick jacket. “Sorry. That wasn’t directed at you.”
“The anger, you mean?”
“Yeah. I’m just…” He steps aside, rubs the back of his head. So close, he smells of clean male sweat and musk, citrus and coffee. “I’m a bit out of sorts.”
Concern holds me still even as Teo starts squirming in my arms. “Out of sorts?”
“It’s nothing.” Dylan smiles faintly, the ring in his lip glinting, and all I want is to kiss that beautiful mouth.
“Nothing,” I say, echoing him again, and put Teo down so he can run after his brother to the house. “What’s up with you, Dylan? Why aren’t you at work?”
He shrugs. “I had to run some errands.”
He’s lying. I’m not sure how I know. Maybe it’s the way he continues rubbing the back of his head and keeps his gaze averted.
“Teo is fine now.” I nod in the direction of the house. “That’s one thing off your back at least.”
He nods. “Yeah, that’s awesome.”
I study the tension in his shoulders. “Medical expenses are covered by Medicaid, right?”
“Mostly.” He straightens and lifts the trimmer. “I should get on with this.”
Should. Shouldn’t. Shouldn’t love you. Should leave. Should this and that. Who made up these rules?
“Or maybe you should go in,” I say, “and change before you catch pneumonia. I’ll go check on the boys.”
“Tess, why… Why are you helping me with Miles and Teo?” he asks quietly, and it’s that quiet, disbelieving tone that gets to me.
As if he doesn’t expect anyone to do anything for him anymore. And despite all the pent-up anger I harbor at all his rejections, his contradictory actions, at the hurt he caused me, my love for him won’t let me walk away.
“Because I want to,” I say and walk to the house, not waiting to see if he’s following me.
***
Dylan does follow me into the kitchen. He leans against the wall, watching me as I hunt for ingredients in the fridge and cupboards. They’re mostly empty.