Dylan

by Brittany Dreams

  I probably ripped into her worse than Mac. At least she stops with the moving, but something about the sadness that comes into her eyes grips me.

  I move back when a tear runs down her cheek.

  I would have left her but more tears come when she sits up and tries to wipe them away.

  I kneel down before her and she looks down at her fingers.

  “Abby, why are you crying?”

  The worst thing is trying to talk to a drunk person. They tell you all kinds of shit that makes no sense. Sometimes they tell the truth. I’ve been trying to figure out this woman for days and nothing fits. Where she works suggests she’s super intelligent. Mac speaks very highly of her, and I know what he’s like. He doesn’t normally speak highly of anyone.

  And no way would he have residents working for him as part of his team. No way. He’s very particular so there must be something special about her to have gotten where she is today.

  I know what I’m looking at isn’t the real version of her. It can’t be.

  “I looked in the box and I shouldn’t have,” she whispers.

  “What box?”

  “Jack’s box. He filled it with all this stuff we were going to do. We started filling it from when we were fourteen. We were so crazy. Can you believe he asked my mom back then if he could marry me?”

  I’m listening as the pieces of the puzzle start coming together.

  Jack must be an ex .

  She takes a breath and continues.

  “I looked in the box and it’s got all this stuff we were going to do, but we can’t do them anymore. He can’t. He died.”

  My heart stills and the puzzle comes together, except I never thought she was going to say that.

  He died.

  I was on the train of thought that was leading me to believe she’d broken up with her ex until she said that. Now it hit me fill force, but I’m still listening.

  “He died and left me and I think I’m supposed to throw the box away but I can’t. I don’t know how I’m supposed to let go of someone like that. I don’t know how to move on.”

  Instinctively I reach for her hand and cover it with mine.

  “You…take one step at a time,” I say, and I notice I have her full attention. “One day at a time. One step at a time, little by little until you get there.”

  “There? Do you actually get there? The place where you move on?”

  I nod. “Yes, you do, and you realize the place you’ve reached is a place where you remember all the good stuff. Everything good. So you shouldn’t throw away the box. You’re supposed to keep it. You keep it and remember everything good, you remember the good memories. That’s what you do.”

  I sound like I’m some expert but I’m not. I’ve just seen my fair share of death.

  The deaths I took the hardest was Luke’s and his mom’s. I grieved with Mac. It’s not the same because for years the man blamed himself. I grieved nonetheless.

  She wipes away the last trace of tears that stream down her cheeks, and the light comes back into her eyes.

  With her free hand she reaches out to touch the stitches over my left brow.

  The feel of her fingers on my face is like feathers, soft and soothing, but as her fingertips run over my skin heat shoots straight to my dick.

  She traces a line down to the edge of my cheekbone and stops.

  I don’t know if this is drunk her or actual her. I seem to be getting a combination of both, but she leans forward and plants a kiss on my lips as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do.

  It’s soft. That’s what I first think.

  Soft. The kiss, and her.

  Her lips are soft and so full they cushion mine.

  The kiss is brief but powerful. The kind you remember because it does something to you. I realize it’s the same something that piqued my interest in her from that first day.

  Just when I start to really kiss her back, it ends and she moves away.

  “Thank you,” she says, barely above a whisper, then lies down and falls asleep.

  I just look at her and I’m stuck on what to think.

  So I go with the safe route and decide that Dr. Abby Lincoln is the most interesting woman I’ve ever met.

  Abby

  My eyes flutter open and close in an instant at the bright sunlight.

  It’s too bright.

  And…

  My head feels like it might fall off my body.

  With a deep breath I force my eyes open again. The brightness feels slightly better.

  My gaze lands on a wall of pictures. Family photos…

  I see Mac and a younger picture of himself on his wedding day with his wife.

  That makes me sit up because I realize then that I’m at Mac’s place and I must be in one of his other rooms. His place is big and he has a separate living room where he usually entertains his guests .

  This room feels more homely. It has pictures and is more personal.

  I’ve never been in here before.

  I see pictures of his nephews and realize that if I’d seen those before I would have known what Dylan looked like when I first met him.

  Dylan…

  I have a memory of him saying something to me. It was something important, I just can’t remember what.

  And how did I get here? How the hell did I get here?

  I’m wearing yesterday’s clothes with a blanket spread over me, a pillow under my head. It’s like I actually went to bed here. On purpose.

  I look to the clock on the wall, which says it’s seven.

  It’s Monday morning and I’m at Mac’s place.

  Serves me right for drinking so much last night.

  I look around for my bag but I don’t see it, and I don’t remember where I put it.

  There’s a clattering noise that makes me jump. It sounds like pots being shuffled around.

  I get up and leave the room, deciding to go into the kitchen. I have no memory of getting here but if I’m here I’m thinking that Mac must have forgiven me for the craziness of last week.

  And Dylan…

  I still feel so bad about what I did.

  Carefully I make my way down the corridor but freeze up as I get to the mirror and see myself. My hair looks like a massive mess of cotton wool on top of my head.

  Mostly the long waves cascade down my shoulders, but it’s a mess that looks like I must have slept badly.

  Quickly, I smooth down the top to make myself look a little more presentable, then I continue to the kitchen where I stop once again.

  The sight of shirtless Dylan before me makes me wonder if I’ve just stepped into some forbidden erotic fantasy because I’ve never seen anyone with a body like that in real life.

  Muscles upon muscles line his arms with such distinction the veins strain against tight, taut skin. Skin that has tattoos inked into the ridges of his muscles like he was made that way.

  There’s an eagle on his left pec and Arabic writing down the line of his right side. He turns and I see a dragon on his back as he places the frying pan on the stove and cracks some eggs into it.

  I’m thinking he’s oblivious to my obvious ogling until he clears his throat and says, “You should stop looking if you want me to believe you can’t stand me.”

  He looks to me and my lips part.

  “What?” is all that comes to my mind to say.

  “Usually when you can’t stand a person you’re supposed to act like it. You’re failing by the second.”

  As usual I don’t know what the hell to say to him. I’m not used to guys with such strong personalities. His is through the roof in strength, and very sexy. The thing is he knows it. Big time.

  “Do you usually make breakfast shirtless?” I ask, and he chuckles.

  “Miss Thing, I only wear clothes when I’m around people. So I’m basically wearing pants for your benefit.”

  He has me stumped again but now the image of him naked and cooking breakfast fills my mind, and I know my
skin has just flushed crimson.

  “Where’s Mac?”

  “Wow. Do you remember what happened last night?”

  I stare at him and don’t know how to answer. I don’t remember anything past going to the bar in town to take a break from life. I had five cocktails. I remember nothing else.

  What sent me there was getting upset after I looked through the little treasure box I made with Jack when we were kids.

  If there’s something I’m supposed to remember and can’t, that will make me look worse than I already look to him. But…this might be the case where saying yes to remembering could be the thing that’s worse.

  Releasing a tense sigh I shake my head. “I don’t remember. Is Mac here?”

  “He’s not here. Woman you are one interesting being, you know that? Seriously, you can’t remember anything?”

  I shake my head.

  “Okay…just…” He looks like he doesn’t know what to say to me. “Be grateful I’m so forgiving. I might hold the various attacks against you. Might even take you to court on that last one.”

  “I’m really sorry, but if you do that’s fine. I don’t want you to think I’m saying sorry to butter you up. I really mean that. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “And because you sound so genuine I’ll accept the apology and start again with the question I had the other day. Help with the files?”

  I actually smile at him. “Yes, of course, and thanks.” I’m grateful, very grateful, and now my questions return, and I have more.

  “If Mac’s not here, how did I get here?”

  “Yours truly.” He points to himself.

  I pull in a sharp breath and my eyes widen. “You? You picked me up?”

  He smirks and sighs again. “Take a seat, you should eat something.”

  “You’re giving me breakfast?”

  “Like I said, be grateful. I’m very forgiving.”

  I sit and he makes a Spanish omelet that tastes amazing.

  He also makes me a pretty good mocha which could give Starbucks a run for their money. By the time I’ve been fed and watered I actually feel a little better in my body, although for the whole time I’ve sat here I’ve been trying to remember last night.

  “Do you know where I put my bag?” I ask.

  He starts laughing. “Miss Thing if you don’t know that, there’s no way I’m gonna know. I think you had one hell of a night last night. Let’s finish up here and I’ll take you home. One thing at a time.”

  I stare at him as he says that.

  One thing at a time.

  Those words mean something to me. I think for a few moments then…it hits me.

  I remember it all.

  Everything.

  I remember drinking that sixth cocktail and that’s when I went wild. I started dancing in the bar, then I played pool and left my purse on the sofa by the pool table. I was in the bar for hours and then I left and tried to find my car.

  That was bad. That whole thing of being on the road with no memory of where I parked my car was awful, but just like always I had to make things worse by calling Mac.

  Except I didn’t speak to Mac.

  I spoke to Dylan. He came and got me, we drove around for hours looking for my house, then ended up where I told him about Jack’s death and the box.

  I remember what he said to me and then I kissed him.

  I blink several times and he smiles.

  “You remember anything yet sweetheart? Looks like you just did.” He gives me that cocky smile.

  I think of Tania and what she’d tell me to do in this instance. “No, I thought I did, but I don’t. I don’t remember anything.”

  “Really? Well that’s a shame.”

  “Yeah.” My cheeks start burning and a flush creeps down the line of my jaw.

  I notice him look at my cheek and I’m certain he knows I’m lying.

  He doesn’t say anything though.

  One step at a time, one day at a time…

  Of all the advice everybody has given me, that seems to have helped the most. Or maybe it’s possibly all of it.

  Everything everybody’s told me has rolled into one to help.

  Not forgetting, moving on, letting go, not trying to replace Jack, keeping an open mind, one step at a time, one day at a time.

  It all helps.

  That last part was like I needed to hear it to show me the way.

  Such a pity that the giver of that advice has been silently torturing me for the last few days every time he looks at me. And every time I’m around him, or not.

  If I’m not thinking about how his lips felt against mine, I catch him looking at me and I think he’s thinking about what I did.

  It’s been like that over the last few days.

  The first two were the worse.

  Monday was terrible because I had to get a new phone and cancel all my bank cards. He insisted on helping me.

  Yesterday was bad because when I saw him I wanted to thank him for his advice because I’d woken up and found myself going over the tips I got in bereavement counseling. Tips that helped at the time but helped even more so now that time had passed. There was something in one of the booklets about taking things one step at a time and there were two exercises to follow each day that I started doing. The first was reflection and the next was imagining the way I wanted my life to be. I found that by doing both it helped set me up for the day.

  I wanted to thank Dylan but quickly realized that if I said something he’d know that I remembered what happened.

  So…I just kept quiet.

  It’s Thursday again. A whole week has gone by since I hit him with the cup and since Mac laid into me. Mac hasn’t spoken to me much and it’s killing me.

  I know he’s away again this weekend and leaves tomorrow, so I brave the task of going to see him again just after lunch because this afternoon is going to be full on hectic with Lizzie.

  He’s in his office and it looks like Dylan has done a great job so far of prepping the documents. It’s tomorrow that I’m supposed to help him, and it looks like there’s tons to go through.

  Mac looks up at me as I appear at his door. It’s open.

  “Hi, I just came to see you,” I say, giving him a hopeful look.

  “Come in,” he answers, setting his pen down.

  I walk in and close the door behind me then sit.

  He looks to me with expectancy. At least it’s not the angry face he had last time.

  “I wanted to apologize again. I’m really sorry. I assure you it won’t happen again. I’ll be helping Dylan with whatever he needs. I didn’t want you to think that you couldn’t ask me to do something important.” I’m babbling from the nerves.

  “It’s okay. It’s fine. Bygones. How are you doing?”

  I’m not sure if Dylan told him what happened. I hope not.

  “I’m better. Last week was really bad but I feel better. I feel more like me. more like…” I think about it and decide I can say what’s on my mind because it’s true. “I feel like I’m finding the person I was when Jack was alive. But more so the person I was individually, not who I was because of him or when I was with him.”

  He smiles at that. “That’s good Abby. I like that. It shows you’re getting there.”

  “I feel like I am. I’m sorry I messed up so badly last week. I promise I’ll be more focused. Lizzie is my priority. She’s had no seizures this week. She’s currently on a higher dose of Depaken.”

  He nods. “Sounds good.”

  “We can analyze things more in depth on Monday. If it works then I’ll be happy. It’ll suggest that maybe her epilepsy needs more attention from us. If not then we’ll go back to the drawing board.”

  “Okay, let me know if you need me. I’m away tomorrow but if you need me just call.”

  That means a lot to have him offer. “Thanks so much.”

  I give him a curt nod before I leave.

  I’m glad we’re good. I feel better.

>   My next worry is Dylan.

  The minute I see him the next day, I know he’ll give me trouble.

  I’m not worried about what he’ll say to me like I initially was.

  It’s just the fact of being around him.

  Abby

  “These here,” Dylan says, pointing to a stack of blue boxes on the floor. They contain foolscap folders. Mac keeps records of minutes that were taken at case conferences and various other meetings. I was the one that put all of those together.

  Currently his secretary takes the minutes, types them, and prints them off so everything is kept on paper at his request.

  Dylan lifts one of the boxes and raises his brows. “Are they seriously minutes from meetings?”

  “Uh huh.” I try to bite back a smile. “Mac’s very old school.”

  “You can say that again.” He sets the box back down and rolls up the sleeves to his shirt, revealing the Japanese characters lining his forearms. I caught a glimpse of them the other day. The white long-sleeved shirt he’s wearing is doing a very good job of drawing my attention to places where I shouldn’t focus. I’m looking at the folders but out the corner of my eye I’m involuntarily checking him out too.

  “Are they needed?” he asks. “Or can they be sent to Archives?”

  “Yeah, they can, but Mac likes to go over stuff,” I answer. “Sometimes we’re brainstorming and something may come to mind from a case conference, so he literally goes through them. At least they’re organized by month and year. That’s it though.”

  “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. Separate everything by year. Oldest first. I’ve set up a database for you all to use. It’s still a work in progress. What I need is all this scanned into the system. I’ll create a virtual portal for them with links so he can access them. You all can. It’ll be super easy.”

  He sounds like he knows heaps more than what I originally thought. Actually, I never imagined him knowing anything IT-related. He really sounds technical.

  “You can do all that?” I ask.

  “Yes. Surprised?”