More Than Enough (More Than Series, Book 5)

by Jay McLean

  We fell in like in an otherwise empty classroom of detention.

  We fell in love in the stands at one my swim meets.

  We fell in forever at senior prom, while we danced under the twinkling lights with crowns on our heads at the highest point of our short-lived future. “Riley,” you whispered, my hands on your chest and your arms around my waist.

  I looked up at you.

  Then you spoke. “My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.”

  * * *

  I sit up and look down at Dylan, his eyes sad and unfocused. He hasn’t said a word since I started remembering Jeremy. “I don’t think I ever felt worthy of him,” I say, wiping my tears.

  He reaches up and replaces my hand with his, continuing the job of hiding the pain.

  “I want to feel worthy of you, Dylan.”

  “Riley, you are—”

  “Not yet,” I cut in. “But I want to be. And that’s something I haven’t felt since Jeremy died. I want to stop drinking and I want to stop feeling nothing but despair when I think of him. I want to be stronger than that. I don’t want to feel like the horizon.”

  His head tilts. “The horizon?”

  “I feel like I’m the sky and the earth is reality. And the horizon… it’s just the sky and the earth appearing to touch, but they never do. I want to touch reality, Dylan. I want to live in it. I want to feel like I’m here… in this world, and not just floating around it. And if I’ve learned anything from Jeremy and from you—it’s that life’s too short, and no matter how much it hurts, it’s better than the alternative.”

  Seventeen

  Dylan

  She tells me not to come over during the next two days because her mom’s home and having her mom question why I’m there may just cause her to drink. She wants to do everything she can to avoid it, which makes me proud. I tell her so and she smiles. “Good. I want to give you a reason to be proud.” We exchange phone numbers so she can text me in case her feelings ever get too overwhelming and she reaches for the bottle.

  “You look like ass,” Eric says when I step into the living room.

  “It’s been a long ass day.”

  He motions to my shoulder. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, nothing like that. Where’s Sydney?”

  “Work.”

  “What does she do?”

  “She’s a nurse.”

  “Seriously?” I ask.

  Eric laughs. “Don’t let her shitty life choices—aka, being with me—fool you. Sydney’s a really smart girl and she’s funny and compassionate and… yeah….” He clears his throat. “Hey! Have you seen my balls? I swear I lost them around three weeks ago.”

  “She probably took them to work with her,” I say through a chuckle. “Yo, what’s with all the computer shit in my room?”

  “It’s just work stuff.”

  “You work?” I ask in disbelief.

  He laughs. “I also pay half the mortgage if that means anything.”

  “What the hell do you even do?”

  His eyebrows rise. “Ah, baby brother. If I told you, then I’d have to kill you.”

  “Fuck off.” I throw a cushion at his head. Clearly, I’ve been hanging around Riley too much. “Tell me.”

  He throws the cushion back. I catch it. “I work for a secret government agency. I try to find online predators, kiddie porn, all that stuff.”

  “No shit?”

  He nods.

  I stare at him. “Yeah. You really look like you’re doing a good job with that.” I point to him sitting in his boxer shorts with a beer in his hand.

  “Fuck off, dickhead. I work nights. That’s when the assholes come out.” He shrugs. “It works out, though. I get to be home all day and Sydney and I both work the same schedule so we can see each other as much as possible.”

  “You really like her, huh?”

  “Yep,” he says, now unashamed. “Thinking of asking her to take it to the next step.”

  “What? Like marriage?” My voice is loud. Too loud.

  “No. Not marriage.” He’s looking at me like I’m stupid. Maybe I am, but what else could the next step be?

  “I’m thinking about asking her to date me, you know. Not just fuck me.”

  I shake my head. “You’re fucking gross.”

  “Okay, guy who’s on The Drug.”

  “I’m not on The Fucking Drug.”

  He laughs. “I know. Sydney told me about the girl next door. How’s she coping anyway?”

  “What do you mean coping?”

  “After the accident. She kind of went a little…” He spins his finger around his ear and whistles.

  “Don’t talk about her like that.”

  “Oh,” he says, his eyes wide while he nods slowly. “So you’re more than boning her?”

  “I’m not boning her,” I snap. And now I’m pissed. Maybe because he’s talking shit—or maybe because he seems to know more about her than I do. Sighing, I drop my head forward. “What accident?” I ask.

  “She hasn’t told you?”

  “Obviously not. How the fuck do you play detective online and you can’t even work that out?”

  He shakes his empty beer and stands up. “Just look up her name online. I’m sure you can find out.”

  “Can I borrow a computer?”

  He shakes his head as he passes me. “Just use your phone.” He smacks the back of my head. “How the fuck are we brothers?”

  I pull my phone out of my pocket and search for the Internet app. When I finally find it, I don’t type her name. I type his: Jeremy Walters into the search window, and when the results load, my eyes scan the headlines, my breath leaving me completely.

  Freak cliff jumping accident takes life of promising teen.

  North Carolina teen dies after taking “The Leap.”

  I continue to scroll down the page, my heart beating wildly in my chest.

  Then I see it—the one headline that causes my heart to stop and my head to spin.

  Pre-college rite of passage tradition ends in tragedy for teen couple. One dead, one injured.

  She was there.

  She was there the exact moment the love of her life took his last breath.

  I click on the link and start to read the article, but a message pops up, blocking my view.

  Riley: Exactly how needy would I come across if I told you I was missing you already?

  I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding and read the text over and over. I picture her in her room, in the corner with all her cushions… the way her gaze lifts when she watches me in her bed. I picture her smile when I say something stupid, her head as it tilts back with her laughter. And then I picture her eyes, her clear gray eyes full of hope.

  Dylan: Aboutxas needy asxit would sound ig I tolf you that Is deal wit th wra th of your mpther just to saee you.

  Riley: What?

  Dylan: Im reakky bas at this.

  Riley: Um. Maybe go on your computer because I’m not kidding. I’m needy. And I need you to keep me sane right now.

  Dylan: Ok. Hanfxin.

  Riley: What? Lol. Wtf are you on?

  I find Eric on his laptop in his room. “Yo. Can I borrow a computer?”

  He faces me. “What? You can’t google on your phone?”

  “No. I’m texting with Riley and I can’t type on my phone for shit.”

  He laughs and gets up from his chair. Then he opens his closet where more than ten laptops are piled up high. He grabs one and turns to me. “You need me to set it up so you can text from here? Or are you on Facebook?”

  I shake my head. “Yeah, set up the text thing.”

  Riley: Dylan?

  I start to reply with Eric hovering over me. “Jesus Christ,” he says, taking the phone from my hand. His fingers fly across the screen and when he’s done he hands it back to me and gets to work on the computer I’ll be using. I look down at the text he just
sent.

  Dylan: Turns out my brother’s a Neanderthal… doesn’t understand technology and has fat as fuck fingers. Give him five. I’m setting up a comp for him. Hopefully that’ll help his cause. The kid can build an engine in his sleep but he can’t fucking type to save his life.

  Riley: lol. K. Thx.

  I show him the message. “What the fuck does this mean?”

  “Laugh out loud. Okay. Thanks.”

  “Why doesn’t she just type that?”

  He shakes his head with his chuckle. “You’re such a fucking noob, D.”

  “What the hell is a noob?”

  He ignores me and says, “All done.” He sets the computer on his bed. I sit down on the mattress and place the computer on my lap.

  Dylan: Can you hear me?

  Riley: See you? Yes. OMG. Lol.

  Dylan: okay. What is OMG?

  Riley: Oh my god. I feel like I’m writing to my grandpa.

  Dylan: Shut up. Seriously though. What is OMG?

  Riley: Oh my god.

  Dylan: Just tell me.

  Riley: O = Oh. M = my. G = God.

  Dylan: Oh.

  Riley: Yeah…

  Dylan: So…

  Riley: So…

  Dylan: What are you wearing?

  Riley: rly? Lmfao.

  I stay in Eric’s room while he works and I type (slower than Riley’s grandpa, apparently). I don’t know how long we stay in there, occasionally laughing at and with her, while Eric eyes me every so often, but I don’t care. I could talk to her all night like this. And I do. Even during Friday night dinner with Dad and E. I have to revert back to my phone when I’m at the table, which makes for more typos than the history of typewriters has ever seen (so Riley says). But now I know what lol, lmfao, omg, k, brb, btw and w00t mean. Though I’m still a little confused on the last one.

  I skip the “Friday night insert random sport here” and opt instead to lock myself in my room with the computer Eric has generously let me keep.

  Dylan: Hey. Can you send pictures through this?

  Riley: Yep.

  Dylan: Send me a picture of yourself.

  Riley: A random picture or you want me to take one?

  Dylan: Take one of you right now. I want to see you.

  Riley: You send me one first.

  Dylan: You seriously think I would even know how to do that?

  Riley: lol. True. It’s a little weird, no?

  Dylan: No, it’s not. Unless you’re naked or something. Then send me 80 pictures. Please and thank you!

  Riley: You’re such a goof. Okay. Hold on.

  She sends me a picture of her in her room. She’s sitting in bed, her back against the headboard just like I’m sitting. It’s dark, but I can make out her eyes, still clear, still perfect. Her nose is scrunched a little and her lips… God, her lips. They’re wet, a little pouty and fuck she’s beautiful.

  Riley: You there?

  Dylan: Yeah.

  Riley: What are you doing?

  Dylan: Taking off my pants. That picture does something to me.

  Riley: Wow, you’re brave when you’re talking through texts.

  Dylan: Yeah, well you can’t throw anything at me from all the way over there.

  I wasn’t kidding. That picture really did do something—to my cock. Now hard in my pants.

  Riley: God, I wish you were here.

  Dylan: Me too.

  Riley: What do you think we’d be doing if you were here?

  I think a moment before responding, trying to ignore the sensation building below.

  Dylan: What I think we’d be doing and what I’d want to be doing are two different things, Riley.

  For a while, she doesn’t respond. Maybe I’ve pushed the wrong buttons. I seem to be good at that.

  Dylan: Sorry?

  Riley: For what?

  Dylan: I don’t know. Did I say something wrong?

  Another long wait.

  Riley: No.

  Riley: Are you in bed?

  Dylan: Yeah.

  Riley: What are you doing?

  Dylan: Thinking about you. You?

  Riley: Same.

  Dylan: What exactly are you thinking about?

  Riley: You don’t want to know, Dylan.

  Dylan: I think I do.

  Riley: Maybe we should stop.

  Dylan: Stop what?

  Riley: I’m going to try to sleep.

  Dylan: Okay.

  Riley: Good night.

  Dylan: Good night, Riley.

  I don’t go to sleep. Instead, I let my mind continue the conversation. One hand slipping beneath my boxers, the other on my phone, I look at the picture she sent through—my eyes focused on her lips—lips I’ve tasted. Devoured, almost. They drift shut when my hand circles my cock. I picture her in her bed, her sheets around her waist, one hand on her breast, the other down her panties… fuck.

  I start to stroke myself, remembering the sounds she makes when she comes, wishing I was there to hear it—or better—be the reason she’s moaning, her lips pressed against her pillows and her hand working her to climax.

  It doesn’t take long for me to blow, and when the buzz fades I heave out a breath and look at her picture again.

  With my mouth dry and breaths heavy, I reach for a dirty sock and clean myself up, then smile when my phone sounds with a text.

  Riley: Are you still awake?

  Dylan: Yes.

  Riley: What have you been doing?

  Dylan: Lying in bed.

  Riley: Me too.

  Dylan: So.

  Riley: So…

  Dylan: What are you wearing?

  Riley: Nothing anymore.

  Eighteen

  Dylan

  I spend the next morning in my room talking to her through a computer screen. We don’t talk about what happened last night and how close things got to becoming appropriately inappropriate. In the afternoon, Dad and I go out and look for shells for the engine again. We decide on a white ’97 Honda Civic and make plans for it to be towed to our house. We also go to the store and get food and drinks for the gang’s visit tomorrow. Riley doesn’t text as much when I’m out because she says it takes longer for her to try to decipher the messages I type on my phone than it would to actually wait until her mom goes back to work and she can see me again.

  As soon as we’re home, I go straight back to my room and get on the computer.

  Dylan: Home.

  Riley: Yay.

  Dylan: What are you doing?

  Riley: I just finished reading one of those books you got me.

  Dylan: Oh yeah? I didn’t know you started.

  Riley: I started when you left earlier today.

  Dylan: Those are full-size books. Are you a speed-reader or something?

  Riley: I am, actually. I used to love reading but I hadn’t had enough focus (sobriety) since you know…

  Dylan: That’s cool. You and my friend Lucy would get along well.

  Riley: Lucy?

  Dylan: My buddy Cameron’s wife.

  Riley: Wife?

  Dylan: Yeah. They got married last November.

  Riley: Your friends from school? Aren’t they seniors in college?

  Dylan: Yeah.

  Riley: A little young, no?

  Dylan: Love is love, Riley Hudson.

  Riley: That’s true.

  Riley: I’m actually pretty mad at you.

  Dylan: Uh oh.

  Riley: Yep.

  Dylan: Should I ask why?

  Riley: That book you got me ends on a cliffhanger, and now I don’t know if the couple will ever get back together. Do you know how frustrating that is? When’s the next one out?

  Dylan: No clue. I just picked random ones from the romance section.

  Riley: And why romance?

  Dylan: I don’t know. Cam’s always talking about Lucy reading romance books. Gets her turned on or something. Was hoping for the same effect with you…

  Riley: You’re such a guy. Lol
.

  Dylan: I’m sorry about the cliffhanger.

  Riley: It’s okay. It was more of a pause than a cliffhanger.

  Dylan: A pause?

  Riley: Yeah. A pause. Like, sometimes in life you just need a pause before you start to play again.

  Riley: Like us.

  Dylan: Us?

  Riley: Exactly like us. You deployed and I… de—something’d. And now we’re playing again.

  Dylan: Playing?

  Riley: And you’re my favorite toy, Banks.

  Dylan: I am?

  Riley: You and the vibrator under my bed.

  Dylan: ?

  Dylan: !!

  Dylan: ??

  Dylan: ????!!!!!!?????!!!!!

  Dylan: aehfaincgfiqehrusdlkfjlsdhflkjasdhflkasjhdf

  Dylan: I mean, what?

  Riley: LOL. Such a guy. I gtg eat dinner with the mumster. I’ll message you later.

  Dylan: You’re mean.

  Riley: Says the guy who walked out of his house shrugging on a shirt. Nice abs, by the way.

  Dylan: Stalk much?

  Riley: Not the first time, Banks. You’ve always been the boy next door. ;)

  She has me looking at the clock. All day. All night. Even when I try to sleep I wake up every fifteen minutes, checking my phone, hoping for a message. How the hell did I live without this kind of technology for so long? Now it’s four in the morning and I can’t get back to sleep, my mind running wild with thoughts of her.

  Dylan: Are you awake?

  Riley: Now I am.

  Dylan: I wake you?

  Riley: It’s fine. You okay? Did you have a bad dream?

  It dawns on me that I haven’t had a nightmare in the past week. Not since I’d been seeing her more and more. Since I spoke to her about it, I guess. Maybe all those years of silence were a waste. Maybe I should’ve spoken up more.

  I switch from my phone to my laptop and sit up in the bed.

  Dylan: No bad dream. Just thinking about you.

  Riley: Funny. I was dreaming about you when you messaged me.

  Dylan: oh yeah? What kind of dream? Need me to leave you to play with your other favorite toy?

  Riley: Lol. No. Not that kind of dream.

  Dylan: So?

  Riley: I dreamt we were in your truck. You were driving. I was in the middle of the front seat. The sun was out and the warmth of it tickled my skin. You were driving and your hand was on my leg and you were talking to me about the engine in your garage.