Dylan(83)
Silence spreads in the room. I don’t know what I expect from Ash at this point—to call me names? To get up and go? To say my apology is not accepted—not adequate?
What I don’t expect him to do is grin. It’s a bit crooked, and self-depreciative, and rueful.
“You were trying to protect Audrey,” he says. “Can’t be angry about that, even if it was to protect her from me. Her safety is my first priority, too, and I was a hot mess back then.”
Audrey squeezes his arm, and some of the weight that has been dragging me down all this time lifts a fraction.
“Is Tessa here?” I ask. “Can I talk to her?”
“I heard the door a minute ago. She just arrived.” Asher gives me a measured look. “I’ll let her know.”
***
Keeping awake is a struggle. It’s quiet, with the guys gone from the room, and my lids are growing heavy. I fight it, clenching my hands and digging my blunt nails into my palms. The slight pain rouses me for a moment, but then the heaviness in my body grows, and every blink lasts longer than the one before.
Images flash before me, trees and lakes, houses and tall buildings. I’m walking down an empty avenue, the cars abandoned and rusty, vultures perched on their tops. They’re staring at me as I pass, my boots thumping in the quiet. This is my doing. This destruction. This devastation.
I am the city. I am the emptiness. The loneliness is what I brought on myself. I know this, and I accept it. I suffer from it, and I regret it. Awareness is my punishment.
What will you do now?
I find myself in a conference room talking with my mom. We sit on either end of the long table, and I’m trying to convince her not to go, offering arguments and presenting as evidence the skeleton of my father, arranged on the table between us. She doesn’t say anything to me. She reaches out, touches my father’s bones. They’re black, as if charred, and smooth like polished onyx.
“It wasn’t me who killed him,” she finally says, her voice low and sad. “It’s himself. It’s not love that killed him. It’s his own fear.”
She stands up and leaves the room. No sooner is she out, all the windows implode, and I’m tipping backward, my arms spreading wide. Dropping. Falling. Plunging into the void.
“Dylan,” a soft voice says, close to my ear. “Dylan, wake up.”
I jerk awake, my breath coming in gasps, my heart booming. Stinging sweat drips into my eyes. My muscles are locked so tight my neck is stiff.
A hand is nestled inside mine, small like a songbird. She’s sitting next to me, her blue eyes concerned. “Dylan,” she says. “It was just a dream.”
No, not just a dream. The truth. Dad may not be dead, thank God, but I can see it now. It’s not love that broke him and then drove him away. It’s sorrow and fear. Fear of having failed my mom. Fear of losing everyone in his life.
The same fear I’ve suffered from, the one that made me push Tessa away, ignore what I felt for her for years.
She leans forward. “Are you okay? Shall I bring you some water?”
“I’m fine.” Better than I’ve ever been. “Thanks for being here. Taking care of me. Of my brothers.”
She shakes her head, gives a faint smile. “Of course I’m here.”
“I’m not…” I draw a deep breath as my frantic heartbeat begins to slow. “Not doubting you would be. I just want to thank you.”
Her smile widens for a breathtaking second, making her eyes brighter. “You’re welcome.”
Silence stretches. She’s dressed in a white blouse with a slogan that reads ‘Damage Control’ over her breasts.
“Thinking of getting a tattoo?” I nod at her blouse and try desperately not to stare at her pretty tits while doing so. We need to talk, and I’m easily distracted when she’s near. “Or is Zane paying you to promote the shop? Not that that’s bad,” I rush to add, nervousness tripping my tongue. “I mean, everyone would line up outside the shop if you advertised it.”
Damn. I bite my tongue.
“This blouse?” She looks down her herself. “It’s Dakota’s. She loaned it to me. Still haven’t worked up the nerve to go back to my apartment.”
“I’ll go with you,” I say. “As soon as I can.”
She squeezes my hand, a light pressure of her fingers. “I know. You’ll be well enough soon.”
Shit, I hope so. I hate lying around, letting others take care of me, of my brothers. It makes me feel useless.
And goddamn grateful. I have the best friends in the world. Don’t know what I’d have done without them. It’s slowly dawning on me they’ve been around the house for days, taking care of me and my bros.