Dylan

by Jo Raven

  “Nah, school bus brings him right to our doorstep.” Dylan flashes me a bright smile.

  For a moment, his expression holds me captive—faint dimples in his cheeks, skin crinkling at his eye corners, a boyish, happy grin—and it makes me want to smile back.

  ***

  Having left both kids at their respective schools, I drive to work where I’m shown to a small desk with an old computer and shown the ropes—like where to make instant coffee, where the toilets are, and—ah yeah, what I’m supposed to do. Gather information, write proposals asking for funding from various organizations, organize the files, set up meetings with heads of different groups based in the country.

  It’s fascinating. I read up on both the social program and the archaeological dig, and I can’t remember ever being happier.

  Except… Yeah, except when I’m with Dylan, but that doesn’t count. Shouldn’t count.

  Which means it does.

  I freeze. Isn’t that what he said? ‘I shouldn’t love you.’ Shouldn’t. As if he already does.

  That makes no sense at all.

  And good God, can I spend two minutes of my life without thinking about Dylan? Thinking and wondering, hoping and hurting.

  This is a part-time job, and I’m done even earlier today since it’s the first day and Mr. Walker isn’t there to tell me more about my responsibilities. I grab a sandwich on my way to my car and brave the cold to stop at a small café round the corner and ask if they need a waitress for the afternoons. Turns out they don’t, and truth is I don’t think I’d be good at waiting tables—I’m a bit clumsy and would hate to spill hot drinks on anyone—but I feel better for having tried.

  I’ll find something else.

  Mom calls my cell as I unlock my car and slip inside, shivering with cold.

  “Hey, Mom,” I say warily as I turn on the heater and wait for the air to warm up. “If you’re calling to tell me what a disappointment I am, and how I should stop this foolishness and go apologize to Dad, be a good girl and let Sean hit me and call me names, then this is going to be a very short conversation.”

  A strange sound comes over the phone. I’m not sure whether it’s laughter or a sob. “I’m sorry, darling.”

  “You’ve said this before, Mom.” What’s going on? “In fact you’ve said it more times in the past few days than I can remember you ever saying it. Are you all right?”

  She’s definitely crying now, soft weeping sounds that fill me both with annoyance and pity. “It wasn’t meant to happen like this,” she whispers.

  “What do you mean? What wasn’t meant to happen?”

  “Your father. He wasn’t meant to betray us both.”

  I blink, then frown staring out at the busy street. “What are you talking about, Mom?”

  “Oh, Tessa...” I hear her blow her nose. “I’ve filed for a divorce. Can’t let him do this to you.”

  Divorce. The word hangs between us like an alien spaceship. Despite everything, the thought of my parents separating stings.

  “A divorce.”

  “He’s been cheating on me for years. Or since I met him, for all I know. And all the lies…” She sounds steadier now. Her voice is strong and level, more determined than ever. “He’s been feeding me stories about the firm’s finances, about alliances, about the Anholts… About his sleeping around and pawning you off like… like…” She sputters.

  Cogs start turning in my head. “You weren’t at the gala and the meeting with the Anholts. Did you know about Sean being back and Dad’s intentions?”

  “He told me you decided not to go to the gala and that we’d meet the Anholts at the yachting club, so I was there waiting and waiting… Then I got fed up and went home.” She falls silent for a moment. “Your father told me what happened with Sean. Yelled it at me during our fights these last few days. So I’m sorry, baby. It’s not for you to pay for my mistakes.”

  My mom has never been a good liar. So maybe she’s telling the truth. Maybe she didn’t sell me to the highest bidder.

  Despite the awfulness of it all, I feel a little lighter.

  “I got a job,” I say, not sure why. “And I’m dropping out of college. And I moved out. Staying with Audrey and Asher for a few days, until I decide what to do. I don’t know…” I swallow hard. “Don’t know if I want to go back to the apartment. What if Sean is there?”

  “Honey...” Music wafts through the line, and I wonder where she is. “Your father shouldn’t be allowed to chase you away from your home. He’s done enough damage already. It’s not fair. You should be free to pursue the studies you want and do what you like.”

  I ponder this, watching people window shopping, talking on their cells, driving around. “Not everything is about what I want or even need. Fair is a relative term. I’ve lived an easy life, Mom. And although I’d love to study archaeology, I think it’s best if I start living like a normal human being.”

  “Honey, what are you talking about? You’re an intelligent young woman, with many talents, and you deserve to study what you want and do—”

  “Many people deserve that, but will never get it, so I don’t know that has anything to do with fairness. It has to do with having money, and money isn’t something I have right now.”

  “You do have money,” Mom says. “I have a fund at the bank in your name. You’ve had access to it since you turned eighteen. It’s not millions, but it’s something.”

  Something. Don’t take anything for granted.

  “Thank you, Mom.” I smile, and the act of smiling makes me think of Dylan. Not everyone has such a cushion, a parent to back them up when push comes to shove. “But I think I’m keeping my job, and I’ll take a year off to regroup, you know? Decide what I really want to do with my life. What really matters.”

  “Fair enough.” She pauses, sighs. “I’d love to see you. Can we, I don’t know… Do a mother-daughter thing one of these days? Go shopping? Go out for coffee? So you can tell me all about what happened?”

  I’ve never been close to her. She was always distant, hidden in my father’s shadow, parroting his words, endorsing his actions. But she’s reaching out, and I want to believe she means it. I want to regain my faith in the people I love. Find my trust.

  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 d
one 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.

  “You should go shopping,” I say.

  He clears his throat. “What are you doing?”

  “Making dinner. For your brothers.”

  He’s silent for a bit. Then he sighs. “Not for me, huh? You’d leave me to starve?”

  “You’re a big boy, Dylan. You can make your own food.”

  He says nothing, and I turn to find his gaze on me, dark and unfocused. He’s braced on the wall as if in pain. I’d worry, but then I notice the front of his gray jogging pants is tented, so the only one I’m worried about is myself.

  Because I’d give in if he asked to take me here and now, on the kitchen table, on the floor. And I won’t.

  With an effort, I turn back to my task, heat climbing my neck. My breasts feel heavy and tingly when I imagine his hands, his mouth on them. My core throbs in time to my heart.

  Crap.

  “You could make omelets,” Dylan says from behind me. “There’re eggs.”

  “Is that what you normally make?”

  “Guess what, princess,” he mutters. “I cook lots of different things. I cook every day. Who do you think takes care of everyone here?”

  “I thought the standard fair would be take-out,” I say, my mouth on autopilot.

  “Take-out is expensive and unhealthy for kids. I was gonna make fish fillet in butter sauce, but I know you hate fish, so I won’t offer to make it for you.”

  I stare at the eggs I have been taking out of the box. I didn’t know he ever paid enough attention to me to know what I like, or not like. It’s sweet of him—and dangerous for me. “Yeah, I’ll pass.”

  “I also make a mean steak and great burgers. You do like those.”

  I do. Oh God.

  Caught like a deer in headlights, I try to focus on what I’m supposed to be doing. This is some sort of sick joke of the universe, because I want to be angry with him, and I can’t, not when he’s being thoughtful and kind.

  I hear him step closer behind me, and goosebumps run over my skin. His hands close around my waist, and his warm breath feathers against my neck. His hard body molds to my back, letting me feel his arousal, his desire.

  This was a bad idea, and I knew it. This is… Oh God, I want this. I want him.

  His muscled arms wrap around me in a full body tackle, and he kisses my neck, his lips hot, the ring piercing shockingly cold. His teeth scrape on my sensitive skin. His hands slide up and cup my breasts, kneading them, his thumbs brushing over my hardening nipples. I gasp and he does it again, over and over, sending bolts of pleasure down my center.

  How can I think when he’s doing this to me even as we’re standing, fully clothed, inside his kitchen?

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers in my ear. “The most beautiful girl in the whole world.”

  “Dylan…” What is he doing? Wearing down my defenses with his touch, with his words, his voice so rough with need, familiar, deep and sexy.

  “Stay, Tess.”

  So tempting. But I can’t let him do this again—give me pleasure and then drop me from up high, letting me crash to the ground.

  “I can’t.” I can’t help how breathy my voice is, but at least it’s steady. “I can’t do sex without feelings. Told you.”

  His hands tighten on my breasts, and I whimper. “So you loved every guy you’ve been with?”

  Anger works its way up my chest.

  “Fuck you, Dylan Hayes.” I twist and push him off me. He lets go and steps back, his hands clenching at his sides. “You’re the manwhore, not me.”

  “Seriously?” He glares at me, and it only makes me madder. “From the moment we broke up, whenever I’d look around you’d be in some random guy’s arms.”

  “I’ve kissed many boys.” First, it was to get back at him. And then… Then it was a distraction from seeing him fooling around with every skirt in sight. I wanted him to think I slept with every guy around. I wanted him to be jealous. But what really broke me was the fact that he never even seemed to care.

  “As I said.”

  “I kissed them, but that was all. Jesus, since when do you care?”

  “I care,” he whispers. “I always have.”

  “Well, then you deserve an Oscar for your performance, because it sure as hell didn’t look like it.” My eyes burn like fire. “We have nothing more to talk about.”

  I turn back to my cooking, hiding my face. Might as well cook and get out of here as fast as possible.

  “Tess...” he starts.

  I wait for him to continue, but he’s silent again, and I work with jerky motions, fighting back the tears. This was the mother of all bad ideas. Audrey was right about everything. I’m going to finish this, walk about of here and never come back.

  ***

  The kids eat their omelets and smear it on their faces, hands, arms, the table and the floor. In the end it’d be a miracle if any of it ends up in their stomachs.

  Dylan eats slowly, looking down at his plate. So quiet. I wonder what’s going through his mind.

  He shivers suddenly, a full-body shudder that has me narrowing my eyes. He’s still dressed in his sweat-drenched T-s
hirt, but it’s very warm inside the kitchen now, with the heater at full blast.

  I shoo the boys away, and Dylan looks up.

  “I’ll clean up,” he says and stands—then he makes a grab for the table, grips the edge and sinks back in his chair, his face white.

  “Dylan!” I reach for him, my heart in my throat, but he turns away.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Really.” He looks about to pass out—like the other day in my apartment. What’s up with that? He’s always been so strong.

  He sucks in a deep breath. “I’m okay, Tess.” He nods at something behind me and lifts a brow.

  I turn and see his brothers watching us with round eyes, full of fear. Crap. They’re terrified.

  “Come on, boys.” I take their limp little hands and drag them away.

  “Is Dylan okay?” Teo asks in a small voice.

  “Yes, he’s fine.”

  “He’s just tired,” Miles says but doesn’t sound convinced. “He never rests.”

  “Why don’t you too watch some TV while Dylan and I talk?”

  They seem reluctant to let me go, also reluctant to stay in the living room, but once I find them some cartoons and settle them on the sofa, they let me go.

  I rub my arms, feeling cold all of a sudden, as I return to the kitchen. I’m so worried for Dylan I can hardly breathe.

  Yet when I enter, I find him putting the dirty dishes into the sink, his imposing frame looking too big for the small room.

  “Let me do that,” I say, but he doesn’t budge or turn. “What happened back there?”

  “Got light-headed. Happens when you get up quickly.”

  “Not to you. Never seen it happen before.”

  “You don’t see me so often.”

  That’s true.

  “What did you do that exhausted you so much?”

  He shoots me a bright sideways glance, and a corner of his mouth lifts, the hoop in his lower lip glinting. “Watching you, having you here and not being allowed to touch you.”

  “I thought you were touching me earlier.”

  “But then you told me you can’t do this.”

  “Not like this, no.”

  He turns back to the sink.