Dylan(89)

He slams his hands on the desk, and I flinch. I push my hand into my purse, let my fingers close around the pepper spray.

“As for the apartment,” I go on, “I’ll empty it as soon as I can. As soon as you tell the Anholts I’m not part of any frigging deal. Tell Sean if he as much as glances at me, I’m calling the police. I have a restraining order on him. Don’t make me request one for you as well.”

A slight widening of his eyes tells me he really didn’t expect any of this. I suppose nobody who knows me would have. I’ve been passive for so long, I almost forgot how to fight back.

But it’s all coming back to me now.

“So what, you’ll walk out, like your mother did? Leave it all behind, pretend money isn’t important? That you can live on air and sunshine?”

Mom didn’t ask for his money? That’s news to me. Go, Mom. “Money is important,” I say. “It’s necessary—for food, for a roof over your head, medical expenses, books and music and movies.”

He’s looking at me like he can’t figure me out. “Yes,” he says, slowly. “It is necessary.”

“And so is happiness. That means being with people who love and accept you, doing things you like, working on projects that inspire you and making a difference in the world in your own way.”

A scowl tightens his features. “Are you done with this bullshit?”

Why am I still disappointed he doesn’t get it?

“Yes, I’m done. Done with you. If you ever remember I’m your own flesh and blood, and you want to help me achieve my own goals instead of passing me around your business partners, then come find me. Dad.”

As I storm out of his office, I realize all I said won’t make a difference, not really. Sean is still out there and may still find me and hurt me. Dad can make my life hard in many ways, if he chooses to. The fear I’ll feel walking on the street alone won’t just fade and disappear.

But these things had to be said, and no matter what happens now, facing my fears was necessary, too.

***

As I climb into my jeep and start the engine, I feel cold. My hands can’t stop trembling.

God, what a day. I can’t image what I’d be like if I’d faced Sean, too. Thank God for small mercies. His message on my door was enough to leave me shaking.

I wonder if Dad even heard all I told him. If he’ll ever understand. Probably not. I grip the wheel and stare out into the night. Sean’s message, Dad’s expectation that I’d “come around”… Bad things come in threes, my granddad used to say.

Shit. My mind is imploding from today’s stress. Relax. I press my forehead to the cool leather of the wheel and close my eyes. Nothing really bad happened. Everything will be all right.

Yet I can’t shake the heaviness from my chest as start the engine and I drive north, heading toward Dylan and his brothers.

To push back the moodiness, I play one of the Deathmoth albums I have in my mp3. Dakota’s voice fills the car, and her anger filters through the funk I’m in. I tap the rhythm of the song on the wheel, humming along. The song rises into a crescendo as I turn onto Dylan’s street.

The flames jumping into the night sky seem part of the song’s fury, until I realize I’m really seeing them—that they’re real.

Until I realize the fire is at Dylan’s house.

God, no. I brake hard. The tires squeal, and the car fishtails a tiny bit before it comes to a stop. Pushing the door open, I jump out.

People are standing across the street from the house, some even dressed in their checkered pajamas and house robes, staring at the flames as if under a spell.

I cross the street, stumbling like I’m drunk, the heat blasting in my face. Something’s off, I realize, looking around me. No fire trucks, or ambulances, but maybe they’re on their way.

And then it hits me: Dylan and his brothers are in there—two little kids, and he’s still bed-ridden.

Oh hell.

“Have you called for help?” I grab the first bystander I find in my way and shake her. “Have you called?”

“We’ve called 9-1-1,” she says in a hushed whisper, “but, between us, I think they’re gonna be too late.”

The air leaves my lungs. “Dylan? His brothers? Have they come out?”

She shakes her head.

I ask nothing else. I start running.

The fire is at the front of the house, so maybe the back isn’t burning yet. Need to get to the back door.

Thankfully there’s a path going round the house, because the rest is this jungle of waist-high weeds. Someone was supposed to be with Dylan and the boys, I think vaguely as I race toward the back. Asher? Or Zane? Can’t remember who was coming by today. Usually by this time I’d be back to take care of Dylan and the boys.