“Come here,” Dylan says in a soft voice before she feels strong, warm arms wrapped around her. He pulls her tight up against his body as she buries her face in the softness of his flannel shirt, resting her arms against his chest. She relaxes, the tension in her body escaping as the tears begin falling. Dylan’s hand softly strokes her hair. “It’s all right,” he murmurs in a soothing voice.
Eventually, her tears turn into soft hiccupping sobs. She takes in a shaky breath and smells Dylan’s smoky shirt and his musky scent. As she leans against him, she can feel the strength and hardness of his chest muscles hidden just beneath his shirt.
Slowly, she lifts her head off of his chest and looks up at him. He stares down at her with a dark, intense look in his eyes. He reaches his hand up and gently wipes the tears from underneath her eye with his thumb, his other arm still securely holding her close to him. His hand hovers on her cheek as his gaze dips to her mouth. Licking her lips, her mouth gapes open as she mimics him and stares at his lips. He has the most beautiful lips: red and full and pouty-looking. Her breathing increases when she sees his tongue sneak out and slowly wet them.
She wonders what they would feel like on hers. She imagines how good his stubble would feel rubbing lightly against her skin, making it feel tingly and alive. His fingertips lightly graze across her cheek. He leans down towards her, his eyes still focused on her lips. She feels intoxicated by him, drunk on him, she can’t breathe…
She gasps and her eyes widen when the name Sabrina pops into her head. Immediately, she pushes on his chest and backs out of his arms.
Wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her sweater, she tucks her hair behind her ears, keeping her eyes on the floor. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles.
Dylan clears his throat.
Uncomfortable silence hangs between them.
“Do you want me to stay here tonight in case he comes back?” Dylan asks. “I can sleep on the couch.”
Myra shakes her head. “No. That’s okay,” she says before sniffling and wiping her nose on her sleeve.
“You sure? I wouldn’t mind.”
“I’m sure. Thanks.”
“All right. I guess I’ll go.” He opens the front door and turns back, looking at her. “Um, back in the kitchen when we were talking earlier. How did you know that name?”
“You mentioned it the night you were drunk.”
Dylan gulps and his face turns pale. “I did what?”
“You called me – Sabrina – when you were here.”
Dylan grips the door, his knuckles turning white. “Damn it. What did I say about her?”
“Nothing. You looked like you were going to… kiss me and then you called me Sabrina before you passed out.”
“Jesus Christ,” Dylan mutters, running his free hand through his hair and tugging roughly on the ends.
“I gotta go,” he mumbles, not looking at her. “Call me if he shows up.”
“I will. And thank you. Again.”
Dylan nods, still not meeting her eyes, and walks out.
* * *
Myra stumbles to her couch, not having the energy to go upstairs. Pulling a blanket around herself, she lets the tears flow again. Seeing Trent tonight made her feel weak. It brought up all those old feelings of inadequacy she experienced when she first found out about the affair.
She still can’t believe he had the nerve to turn all of this around on her. Make her look like the bad guy for not forgiving him and taking him back when she did nothing wrong.
Her thoughts shift to Dylan and she begins crying even harder. She saw a different side of him tonight. He was so soft and tender with her, so caring, so unlike his normal harsh self. But she can’t figure out why he offered to stay the night with her. Why would he want to be away from Sabrina?
Myra sighs as she rubs her eyes. Then her body freezes. Because she heard a sound. Like a footstep. In the hallway. Sitting up, she doesn’t move as she listens. But the house seems to be quiet. Taking in a deep breath, she lies back down and cries herself to sleep.
Sometime later, groggily, she wakes to her phone ringing in her pocket.
“Yeah?” she answers.
“Were you asleep?” Susie asks.
“Yeah.”
“Your voice sounds all frog-like. Are you sick?”
“No,” Myra says as she sits up and tries to rub the sleep out of her swollen eyes. “Trent’s in Nyssa.”
“What the hell?” Susie shouts.
Myra sighs. “He found me.”
“How the, what in the, where in the…” Susie splutters.
“He got my address off of your gift basket receipt. From your purse.”
Susie pauses before she starts speaking in a slow, quiet, deadly voice. “That lowlife bag of shitty turds. That scummy, slimy sleezy maggothead. God, that shit pisses me off. He’s got a lot of nerve considering the tiny ball sack he has floating in his pink girlie underwear.”
Myra wraps the blanket around her as Susie makes a loud growling sound. “You don’t know how much I wish I was a man so that I could beat his ass. Wait. Was Dylan there? Please tell me that man kicked the shit out of him and that Trent’s in the hospital right now.”
“Sorry…”
“Shit,” Susie yells loudly.
“Dylan was here and wanted to kick his ass, but I wouldn’t let him.”
“Why not? Are you insane?”
“Dylan can’t be fighting for me all the time.”
“Yes, he can. If a fuckhawt man wants to fight for you, let him fight. So what did the douchey asshead want?” she asks.
“He said he broke up with Julia and that he’s moving out…”
Susie butts in. “They sure seem like they’re still together at work.”
“She had a miscarriage and he said she wasn’t taking it too well.”
Susie pauses. “Hm. I had a miscarriage once. I wouldn’t want that to happen to anyone, even my worst enemy, who just so happens to be Julia.”
“I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago before we even met. When did she have the miscarriage? Because she hasn’t said a word to anyone about it at work.”
“Last week. He said she called in sick a few days but hasn’t told anyone yet.”
“So why did he tell you all this?”
“He wanted me to forgive him and move back to Philly with him.”
Susie cackles hysterically.
“I know. He’s crazy. But I stood up for myself. I told him how I felt and that I never wanted to see him again. It felt good.”
“God, I’m so proud of you although I wish you could’ve added a few fists with those words. My baby’s got back bone,” Susie says before sniggering.
Myra laughs lightly.
“So is he gone? Is he coming back to Philly?”
“Yeah, I think so. Dylan said I could call him if he shows up again.”
“Good. I’m so glad that Mr. Shit-faced Asshole is getting his act together and being there for you.”
“Me too.”
“I still can’t believe Trent is in Nyssa. And I really can’t believe that hairy ass monkey went through my damn purse. I swear to God I’m going to get that little shithole back. I’m out for blood now.”
“I can’t believe it either. He acted like he did nothing wrong because he said he didn’t steal anything. He stole my address.”
“He’s such a prick. I can’t believe I left that stupid ass receipt in my purse. I swear to God, I didn’t even think about your address being on it.”
“He shouldn’t have gone through your purse.”
“You’re right. That little dick will pay. Well, I have to go. I need to put the boys to bed.”
“Okay. Good night. I love you.”
“Night. I love you, too.”
* * *
Dylan stares up at the ceiling in his bedroom unable to sleep like usual. He still has hours before he needs to get up. His thoughts are sucking him in like a fucking b
lack hole or some shit. He can’t quit thinking about Myra and the fact that he called her Sabrina.
He feels like a piece of shit for doing that; he can’t imagine how Myra felt being called another woman’s name. But it was an honest mistake, given the fact that he was drunk off his ass and his history with Sabrina.
Groaning, he throws the sheet off and climbs out of bed; time to hit the basement and the punching bag again.
* * *
Myra stirs, reaching blindly for her ringing phone on her nightstand.
“Hello?” she asks, blinking and still half-asleep.
“Oh, shit. I keep forgetting about the stupid time differences between us,” Susie says. “I just sat down at my desk and was worried about you. Sorry I woke you up. How are you doing?”
“Okay.”
“Trent didn’t show his dickey face again, did he?”
“No,” Myra says, stifling a yawn.
“Good. Hey, I have to tell you what happened last night. I was cooking supper: some nasty turkey chili I got out of that new diet book called Become a Bean Pole by Shutting Your Pie Hole. That’s a really good book, by the way. And turkey in chili is repulsive. Just saying.”
“I like turkey chili,” Myra says.
“You’re weird. So anyway, Jeff was in the kitchen harassing me about going to the gym, and I had my book out and had the chili cooking away. I went to put the book back up in the cabinet over the stove and when I reached up, my shirt hiked up exposing my big, fat blubberous belly, and I burned my gut on the chili pot. I screamed in agony and Jeff busted out laughing and yelled, ‘That’s a great way to burn that belly fat, babe.’ Can you believe that ass? I was so pissed at him that I wanted to toss the pot of chili on his head. Especially since I thought I might need to call 911 and be rushed to the damn burn unit. I have these two huge ugly burn marks on my gut about three inches long. I’m constantly doing the dumbest shit.”
Myra giggles. “I’m sorry you got burned, but what Jeff said was hilarious.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
Myra laughs as she turns on her side and snuggles into her pillow.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to sleep. Sorry I woke you up,” Susie says. “I just wanted to check up on you.”
After saying their goodbyes, Myra puts her phone back on the night stand and closes her eyes, praying that she can get in a few more minutes of sleep.
* * *
Turning on his side with just a sheet draped over his naked body, Dylan stares at his alarm clock and turns it off before it blares. “You can’t piss me off now, can you, you fucker,” he says to it with a sneer.
Grimacing, he climbs out of bed and stops to take a piss before he walks into the kitchen. Opening the fridge to chug some milk, he shakes the carton, finding it empty. He launches it across the kitchen and slams the fridge shut.
Stomping back into the bedroom, he searches the laundry basket on the floor by his bed for some clean boxers. When he can’t find any, he dumps the basket of clean clothes on the floor and starts throwing clothes around until he finally finds a pair. “Damn fuckers,” he mumbles under his breath as he slips them on.
He kicks clothes around the floor until he locates his jeans and a clean flannel shirt. Flipping on the TV, he listens to the weather report before he picks up his cell and dials Ray.
“Good morning, Daisy,” Ray answers happily.
Dylan rolls his eyes and grips his phone harder. “Look, there’s some bad weather moving in so you can stay home. If it clears up, we’ll work tomorrow.”
“Damn. I won’t get to see Myra’s beautiful face. That sucks.”
“Deal with it,” Dylan grunts before he hangs up.
Grabbing his tools, he throws them in the back of his truck and drives to Myra’s. He walks up to her door and runs a hand through his hair.
“Hi,” she says to him with a soft smile.
A strange, warm feeling spreads over him. Like happiness or some shit. A smile breaks out on his face. “No ex problems this morning?”
She smiles as she shakes her head. “No. Everything’s good.”
He pauses, studying her eyes. “Hm. Well, we can’t work on the roof today because of the weather. But I can do some prep work on your kitchen. And…” He stops and clears his throat. “I want to talk to you about… Sabrina.”
CHAPTER 16
PINK, LUST
Myra’s smile falters and her shoulders dip slightly. “Okay,” she mumbles as she moves to the side to let Dylan into the house. She takes in a deep breath as she closes the door. No way does she want to hear about his beautiful, pregnant girlfriend.
“Would you like some coffee?” she asks.
He gives her a half-grin. “Yeah,” he says with a nod.
She pours him a cup as he takes off his coat and hangs it on the back of the chair. He sits, resting his elbows on the table.
“I made some blueberry muffins,” she says as she sets a cup in front of him. “Would you like one?”
“Sure,” he says. He smiles up at her, his face scruffy and his hair wild. Myra’s breath catches in her throat; she has never seen a more attractive man.
The kitchen remains quiet as Myra moves about, putting the muffins in a basket and setting the butter and jam on the table. As she sets a plate in front of Dylan, he catches her eyes with his. “Thanks,” he murmurs. She simply nods and gives him a small smile back.
Sitting, she takes a sip of her coffee, watching him over the rim of her cup as he picks up a muffin and puts butter and jam on it. When he takes a big bite, she can’t help but smile when he moans and closes his eyes. Trent never appreciated her cooking; he preferred eating out. Watching Dylan enjoy her meals gives her a sense of pride and a feeling of deep satisfaction. He seems to like her cooking as much as her dad did. That thought makes her eyes go a bit misty.
“Mm, God, these are delicious. How’d you learn to cook so damn good?” he asks before taking another huge bite. Myra notices a bit of butter on the corner of his mouth, and as she stares at it, she finds that she desperately wants to clean him up… with her tongue.
Shifting in her chair and clearing her throat, she stares down at her coffee. “Oh, well, my mom died when I was young. It was just me and my dad, so I did all of the cooking. My Grammie – I mean my grandmother – taught me. She was a wonderful cook.”
Dylan stares at her, his eyes soft. “She taught you well. How old were you when you lost your mom?”
“Ten.”
Dylan’s brows scrunch. “That must’ve been really hard.”
“Yeah, it was.”
“Hm.” Dylan stares at the muffin in his hand for a moment before he takes another bite.
They eat in quiet contentment. To Myra’s delight, Dylan finishes off two more muffins. He takes a sip of coffee and looks up at her.
“So, about Sabrina…” he says before he pauses. Clearing his throat, he shifts in his chair. “Um, well, I…” He pauses again and takes in a deep breath, his shoulders hunching as if preparing himself for battle.
“Well, uh, the thing is...” He cuts his sentence off and presses his lips together so firmly that they begin to turn white. He runs his fingers roughly through his hair. “Jesus,” he hisses through his teeth. “I didn’t think it would be this damn difficult.”
Seeing his frustration, she leans forward. “Hey, it’s okay. I saw you with her over at Marshall’s.”
Dylan’s mouth drops open. He blinks several times before he speaks. “What the hell are you talking about? That, that’s fucking impossible,” he stutters. His face seems paler.
A deep crease forms in Myra’s brow. She knows what she saw. It was as plain as day. “I saw you there. With Sabrina. I noticed that she was… pregnant. She’s incredibly beautiful, by the way.”
Slowly, a look of realization creeps over Dylan’s stunned face. He rubs his scruffy jaw with his hand. “Jesus Christ. That wasn’t Sabrina. That was Natalie, my sister-in-law. My brother, Chad, and his family
came to stay with me over the weekend. I didn’t have any damn groceries in the house so Natalie and I left Chad with the boys at my place so we could go get some food.”
Myra blows out a breath, her shoulders relaxing. She feels almost giddy.
But she frowns when she realizes it still doesn’t explain why he said the name Sabrina.
“Oh, I just assumed…” she says, trailing off.
Dylan closes his eyes and rubs his hands roughly up and down his face. He sighs as he looks at her. “Look. Sabrina is part of my past. A big part. But it’s really fucking hard for me to talk about it.” He stands, staring at the floor as he runs his hand over the back of his neck.
“I just, I wish I could tell you everything, but I can’t. I’m kind of fucked-up that way. But, just know that I’m single and…” He pauses to take in a deep breath, “… I’ll try to talk to you about all the shit that happened at some point, all right?”
She nods. “Okay,” she says quietly.
He clears his throat and stares down at his boots. “I’m sorry I called you Sabrina that night. I honestly don’t remember saying that shit at all. I was with her for a long time so I can kinda see how it happened but, anyway, I’m gonna start on your kitchen. I need my tools…” He grabs his coat and walks out, leaving Myra staring at his retreating figure with a frown on her face.
* * *
Dylan leans against his truck and lights up a much-needed smoke. It hangs out of the corner of his mouth as he straps on his tool belt. He wishes like hell he could’ve opened up to Myra and told her everything, but for some fucking reason, he panicked and couldn’t do it. The words wouldn’t come out. He has so much shit in his past that he can barely deal with it all in his own fucked-up head, let alone let someone else in on it.
Of course, his family and friends back in Boise know what happened. They witnessed that shit firsthand. But at least his family knows to keep their fucking mouths shut and not discuss any of that shit with him. But not everyone can do that. That happens to be one of the reasons why he left Boise; not the main reason, but one of the reasons. He was sick and tired of the looks he got, and how people constantly talked. He likes the fact that he lives in a town where nobody knows his past. No one judges him or looks at him differently.
Color of Loneliness Page 22