More Than Enough (More Than Series, Book 5)

by Jay McLean

  Dylan: Doesn’t sound that exciting.

  Riley: It was. And you were. You were happy telling me about it.

  Dylan: And you were bored, right?

  Riley: No. Why would I be bored?

  Dylan: Because it’s an engine, Riley.

  Riley: It’s also your passion, Dylan. If it excites you, it excites me.

  I think about Heidi and all the times I’d tried to talk to her about cars. She’d shut me down every time. Sometimes it wasn’t even verbally, she’d just tune out, grab her phone and ignore me.

  Riley: You okay?

  Dylan: Yeah. Just thinking.

  Riley: About?

  Dylan: Nothing.

  Riley: Because you’re not allowed to talk about her to me?

  Dylan: lol.

  Riley: You lol’d.

  Dylan: I did.

  Riley: You can talk about her. I was just kidding.

  Dylan: It’s weird.

  Riley: Says the guy who wanted to hear all about my ex-boyfriend? Not weird at all.

  Dylan: Valid.

  Riley: So?

  Dylan: I was just thinking… She never really cared much about what I was into, you know? Not just cars, but even little things like basketball. Did Jeremy go to your swim meets?

  Riley: Every single one.

  Dylan: See?

  Riley: I’m sorry.

  Dylan: It’s okay. I guess when you say things like that… like you being excited about the things I’m excited about, I kind of just wonder, you know? Like, why were we even together for so long?

  Riley: Can I be completely honest with you?

  Dylan: Always. I don’t ever want anything else from you.

  Riley: I feel like it’s kind of a blessing, you know? That you guys broke up.

  Dylan: Well yeah, because then I probably would’ve never met you.

  Riley: You’re sweet, but no. That’s not what I meant.

  Dylan: Then what?

  I can see the little dots on the screen moving. It feels like forever before her message finally comes through.

  Riley: You know those couples in high school who seem so perfect on the outside, but are unhappy on the inside? They spend their teenage years together, go off to college and keep the pretense of perfection going because by then it’s all they know. I’m not saying you didn’t love each other. You probably did. In fact, I’m sure YOU definitely did, because I can tell when YOU care for someone, you care for them deeply. I just think that maybe time changed you both. At some point you grew apart and you didn’t realize it was happening until there was nothing left. And you’re probably bitter and angry because you might feel like you don’t exactly know how it happened. It’s been what? Over two years since you’ve been together and she’s still on your mind.

  I read her text over and over, me and Heidi’s history running through my mind like a slideshow of irrelevant events.

  Dylan: Last November.

  Riley: What?

  Dylan: I was with her at Cam and Lucy’s wedding three months ago.

  Riley: Oh.

  Dylan: Sorry.

  Riley: You don’t owe me an apology, Dylan.

  Dylan: Still.

  Riley: So you were together when you were deployed?

  Dylan: Not really.

  Riley: I’m confused.

  Dylan: She Dear John’d me when I first deployed and said she wanted to see other people. I’m not really sure what she did after that. I don’t want to know. But then I saw her at the wedding and we… you know…

  Riley: What’s Dear John mean?

  Dylan: It’s just a term for when your girl breaks up with you in a letter while you’re deployed.

  Riley: I’m sorry.

  Dylan: Yeah…

  Riley: But you were together again after the wedding?

  Dylan: We all went to Vegas for Cam and Lucy’s honeymoon.

  Riley: Hello, Captain Avoidance.

  Dylan: I broke up with her for good there. She went home. I went back to Afghanistan.

  Riley: I assumed something happened while you were in Vegas?

  Dylan: Just don’t keep secrets from me, Riley. That’s all I ask.

  The little dots on the screen move again.

  It feels like forever. Again.

  Finally:

  Riley: Good night, Dylan.

  Dylan: Wait. What did I say? Or do?

  Riley: It’s just a little rich for you to be asking me not to keep secrets when you obviously want to hold on to your own.

  Dylan: I looked up Jeremy. I know what happened. I know you were there when he died.

  Riley: I guess some secrets are easier to find than others. Maybe there’s a reason we want to keep them a secret instead of pushing the wrong buttons with each other and ending up in a place neither of us want?

  Dylan: I wish I was in my truck, you next to me, my hand on your leg, sun shining while I tell you about the dumb engine in my garage.

  Riley: It’s not a dumb engine. And I wish I was there, too. Maybe if we close our eyes and go to sleep and wish on it enough it will happen in our dreams?

  Dylan: I’ll make it happen, Riley. Just not in our dreams. In reality. We’ll drive toward the calm of the horizon until you feel like you’re touching the earth. And we can stay there. I’ll show you our reality. Just you and me. And it’ll be perfect. You’ll see.

  After a long pause, she replies:

  Riley: You made me cry.

  Dylan: I’m sorry.

  Riley: I’m falling so hard for you, Dylan Banks.

  Dylan: I’m already there, Riley Hudson.

  She doesn’t respond after that and I don’t mind that she doesn’t because it gives me the opportunity to work on something I was supposed to do yesterday. I grab what I need and sit in the corner of my room, imagining exactly what she described in her dream. And I let that feeling guide me through my task until I fall back asleep, her dream now becoming mine.

  Nineteen

  Dylan

  I wake up to the sound of my phone ringing. For a second, I get excited, thinking it’s Riley. It’s not. It’s Jake.

  “What’s up?” I check the time. 9:47. They’re not meant to be here until 11.

  “Yo. My fucking truck died on the way to your house. Cam and Logan are with me. The girls are coming later. Can you come get us?”

  “Yeah, man.” I sit up and rub my eyes. “Where are you?”

  “Close. We’re just at the exit off the highway.”

  I hang up and shrug on some clothes, still half asleep as I walk through the hallway, past the kitchen, and toward the back door leading to the yard.

  As soon as I open the door water splashes my face and my chest. Followed quickly by something brown and soft. And now I’m awake.

  Awake and angry.

  I look down at myself before looking at them. I’m soaking wet, covered in feathers.

  Jake and Logan are standing a few feet in front of me—both holding buckets. Jakes drops his. “Oh, fuck,” he whispers, eyes wide.

  Then Logan breaks out in laughter.

  “You know I carry, right?” I threaten, only half-joking. The second I take a step, something wet hits my head. It’s white. Milk. I start to look up, just in time to see eggs falling from the sky. The first one hits my shoulder, then the rest is a blur. After closing my eyes, I ball my fists at my sides, trying to keep my anger in check. Jake and Logan are cackling like idiots, and now another guffaw from above. I wipe my eyes so I can see Cameron’s stupid face hanging over the roof edge, one arm out holding a paper bag. I don’t need to see it to know what’s inside, I taught these assholes everything they know. He gives me a face splitting grin before flooding me with the entire bag of flour. “Mayhem, motherfucker!”

  I shower and change quickly, leaving them outside to clean up their mess, which they do without protest. “You fucking jerks!” I call out, stepping out from the back door.

  Cam stifles his laugh. “It was funny, asshole. Come on. If it
were one of us you’d claim that Op. Mayhem genius.”

  “Dude,” Logan whispers, his smile so wide and so smug it takes everything in me not to punch him. “Who’s that smoking hot chick I saw leave your house this morning?”

  “Who? Sydney? That’s my brother’s girl.” I smirk. “And I’ll be sure to tell Amanda you said that.”

  Instantly, his smile drops. “Don’t you dare.”

  “She’d put your balls in a vice,” Jake says.

  “Or worse,” Cameron chimes in. “She won’t touch them ever again.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Logan mumbles, rubbing his face. “Don’t talk shit like that. You’ll jinx me.” He looks at me with fear clear in his eyes. “Seriously, D. Don’t fucking tell her I said anything.”

  Cam chuckles while he taps away at his phone.

  “It’ll cost you,” I tell Logan.

  “Name the price.”

  “Give me time.”

  “Fine!”

  Jake shakes his head. “It blows my fucking mind we’re all friends.”

  “No shit,” I murmur.

  Logan’s phone sounds. “This better not be her,” he says, his eyes fixed on Cameron whose phone’s still in his hand, smiling like the Cheshire cat. Logan taps his screen a few times, his brow bunching more with each passing second. Then his gaze snaps to Cam again. “Did you get a strap-on sent to my house?”

  Cam shrugs and shouts loud enough to be heard over Jake’s and my laughter. “You know… just in case you ever feel like being a man again.”

  * * *

  We head out, in my truck, over to the batting cages while we wait for the girls to arrive. But not before I leave something for Riley at her doorstep.

  I don’t know why we chose to go to the cages considering I can’t even bat. Or pitch. Not that any of us would since we’re with Jake. We end up sitting at a table talking shit and watching people strike out.

  Cameron drops enough food to feed a small village on the table and sits down opposite me. “You know we’re grilling at my house, right?” I tell him.

  He nods and shoves half a hot dog in his mouth. Then he tries to speak, but with a mouthful of food it’s kind of impossible to understand him. He finishes chewing and makes his attempt to swallow look like the hardest thing in the world. When he’s done, he wipes his mouth on his forearm and says, “Lucy’s gone all wifey and has been attempting to cook every night. And every night it tastes like balls. Side note: I fucking hate Pinterest.”

  “Me too. Her and Amanda share some fucking board and the other night we had a single piece of ravioli—”

  “Raviolo,” Cam interrupts.

  “What?” Logan snaps.

  “Ravioli is plural. Raviolo is singular. One giant piece of pasta: Raviolo.”

  We stare at him, unblinking.

  He throws the hotdog wrapper on the table. “Fuck you, Pinterest!”

  Jake laughs. “So what you’re saying is that her cooking is bad?”

  “I’m not talking bad-but-still-edible,” Cam responds. “I’m talking, I-want-to-puke-as-soon-as-it-hits-my-tongue type bad. Let’s just say I’ve mastered the art of optical illusions—food editing. I’m fucking hungry, man. Like, all the time.”

  Logan goes to pick at the fries on the table but Cam shoos his hand away, then spreads his arms around the food and brings them all closer to him. “I’ve had Amanda’s cooking,” he tells Logan. “You can afford to starve. I can’t.”

  Jake chimes in. “Neither of you cook your own meals?”

  Cam answers first. “I try to. Hell, I try to do anything as long as it doesn’t mean eating ball-sweat-flavored raviolo but she’s on these hormone meds to regulate her period or something and she’s crazy. As in, more crazy than normal.”

  “You married her,” I joke.

  “And I wouldn’t take it back, D,” he says, throwing a handful of fries in his mouth. “Not for a fucking second.”

  “I cook!” Logan announces, sticking his chest out. “I’m beast-mode with the ramen noodles.”

  “Beast mode?” I ask.

  Jake ignores me. “Kayla cooks for me. She has this weekly plan or something. Certain days she makes me carb-load for training and shit. It’s fucking annoying.”

  “You love it, Jakey. Don’t deny it,” Cam says.

  I laugh and look over at Jake. His cheeks are redder than they were a minute ago, and his gaze is lowered at the phone in his hand. He’s most likely messaging his girl about how much he loves and appreciates her. Seeing it makes me grab my phone from my pocket and text Riley.

  Dylan: Hello. Do you cook?

  Riley: Hello back. Where are you?

  Dylan: Battingxcages witg thenboys.

  Riley: And you’re texting me? Surely that’s breaking bro-code…

  Dylan: Fuxk bro-code. I miss yiu.

  Riley: :D :D :D

  Dylan: wtf is that?

  Riley: You said wtf! My boy is growing up so fast.

  I laugh to myself.

  Dylan: Chexk yourxdoorstep. I ledt you somwthinf.

  Riley: And you were doing so well! Go be with your friends! I’ll be here when you get done! :D :D :D

  Dylan: :d?

  Riley: GO!

  Dylan: Wait. Still no drink?

  Riley: Not a drop!

  I put the phone away and look back up to see three sets of eyes watching me. “What?”

  Logan sighs and bats his eyelashes, then sits his chin on the back of his hand. With a high-pitched voice, he croons. “Soooo… who are you textiiiiing?”

  Cam laughs. Jake doesn’t. He just continues to watch me with a slight smile.

  “Riley.”

  Logan asks, his voice back to normal, “Who’s Riley?”

  I keep my eyes on Jake, sending a silent message. “Just a friend.”

  Jake gets a call from Micky telling him they’re close to my house so we wait for Cameron to finish all the food and head back. Amanda’s car’s parked on the street when we pull up and her, Lucy, and Micky are standing around it, holding up signs that say Welcome Home and We Missed You and Team Silence.

  “What the hell is Team Silence?” I ask Jake as I park in the garage and get out.

  He doesn’t get a chance to respond before the cheering starts and the girls charge me all at once.

  “Whoa!” Jake stands in front of me, his hands up. “His shoulder! Jeez, I told you guys about this.”

  “Sorry.” Micky laughs, slowing down just in time. “We got a little excited.”

  Jake steps to the side allowing each of the girls in for a hug and a few words.

  “The gang’s all together again,” Lucy squeals, her arms around her husband. We all ignore the fact that, technically, she’s wrong, because for as far back as I could remember the gang always included Heidi. Considering how we left things—at a hotel room in Vegas with me telling her to get the fuck out and that I never wanted to see her again—it would be insane of her to even attempt it.

  “I hope you’re ready to eat,” I tell them, leading them through the garage into the back yard.

  The second I turn my back; I hear her voice. “Sorry,” Riley says, and I spin on my heels and face her.

  She’s weaving her way through my friends, who part like the Red Sea to make room for her. Her eyes lock on mine and there’s something about the way she’s looking at me that keeps the breath in my lungs and my hands at my sides. Her eyes are filled with tears, but her smile—her smile tells me the opposite. God, I love it when she smiles. She doesn’t speak. Not a word. She simply walks toward me as everything but my heart seems to slow and by the time she reaches me, the only sound I can hear is the the blood pulsing in my eardrums. She places her hands on my chest and rises to her toes. Then she kisses me. Right on my mouth. And now her arms are around my neck and her lips are parting and when her tongue brushes along mine, I pull her into me with my arms around her waist and I kiss her back—our tongues, our lips, our bodies uniting as one and I don’t know how long we s
tand there, her body bent back from the force of my kiss because time doesn’t exist when it comes to Riley. Neither does the outside world, apparently. After a while, but not long enough, she pulls away, her lips red and raw from my attack. She smiles again, the tips of her fingers going to her lips. “Hi,” she whispers.

  “Hi.”

  She grins wider and releases me completely. “Bye.”

  I hold her tighter. “Stay.”

  She removes my arms from around her waist. “Can’t.”

  I grab her hand. “Please?”

  She pulls out of my hold. “Sorry.”

  And just like that, she walks away. But she’s not gone. I can still feel her with me. Every single fiber of my being feels her with me.

  I watch her leave. We all do.

  “Who was that?” Logan asks when she’s no longer in view.

  “That was Riley.”

  “Holy shit,” he says, “I thought Riley was a dude.”

  “Also,” Amanda joins in. “That was the weirdest verbal exchange I’ve ever witnessed.”

  Twenty

  Riley

  I was twelve when my mom made me go with her to welcome the new neighbors. He and his dad were shooting baskets in their driveway when we showed up.

  He stood next to his Dad with a basketball under his arm wearing sweatpants and a Tar Heels basketball jersey. He was wearing a cap, too, one he took off as soon as he saw my mom and I coming toward them. My mother introduced us both and our parents shook hands. Then his dad said, “This is my boy, Dylan.”

  Dylan.

  Dylan.

  Dylan.

  His name ran on repeat in my head.

  Then he nodded at me and shook my mom’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Ma’am,” he said to her and the first set of butterflies I’d ever felt swarmed in my stomach. I remember his voice being deep, especially for a fifteen-year-old. He was tall and he had muscles—muscles that shouldn’t belong to a boy his age. His dark hair fell across his brow, and he palmed it away from his deep blue eyes. I think I was drawn to his eyes first. Then he looked at me. Right at me. And he smiled. And for the first time in my life I wondered what it would be like to kiss a boy—that particular boy—and that particular mouth.