by E. R. Arroyo
She smiles warmly. “I was, yes.”
Sitting down with her over a fresh meal and hot tea, we tell the story of how we came to be friends. And we tell her the same things we told Max.
“Tyce, I’m so sorry to hear about your sweet Emma, but Henry will say no. I’m certain. I’m sure the others will too. Most of them at least. We can’t handle the problems we’ve got.”
“That’s what Dylan said,” I tell her.
Karen puts her arm around Tyce’s shoulder, her face drawn with sympathy. “I’m so sorry, hun. Truly.” She rubs his shoulder. “It’s late. Let’s get you rested and we’ll chat in the morning.”
Max sets Tyce up with a bed while I follow Karen to her room to bunk with her like I did when I first came to Mercy.
“So,” she says, brows lifted in that mother-knows-all sort of way that she does so well.
“So?”
“So, where’s Dylan?” She plops onto her bed, tucking one foot up underneath her. She hikes up the sleeves on her baggy sweater.
“He’s here. He went to check on medical stuff when we got back.”
She pats the mattress for me to sit, so I do. “And you’re still fighting?”
“Fighting? No, we’re fine. More than fine, I think.” I tuck my hair behind my ears, feeling my cheeks get warm.
She lifts her shoulders a little. “I find that hard to believe considering the way you are with Tyce.”
“How am I with Tyce?”
“More than fine.” She grins. “It’s none of my business. Seems like you two are close, is all.”
It takes a minute for me to answer. “We are.”
“I see.”
“He’s my friend,” I clarify.
“Mm hmm.” She purses her lips.
“I…” I narrow my eyes at her, realizing I’m not making it any better. “I’m going to go check on Dylan.”
“Sure,” she smiles.
The hall is dim, but I’ve learned quite well how to get around in the dark. I pad through lightly, trying not to disturb anyone. I glance into the living area and see someone on a sofa as I pass. The sofa groans under shifting weight then footsteps round the corner and a hand grabs my elbow, stopping my stealthy momentum.
“Hey,” Tyce whispers.
“Hi,” I whisper back.
“Where ya goin’?”
“Do you need something? I thought they had a bunk for you.” I cross my arms and lean against the wall.
“Right. Yeah, yeah, they do. It’s, uh…”
“What’s wrong, Tyce?” I reach for the bunch of hair that’s fallen into his face, but hesitate. He catches my wrist before I can pull it away.
“It’s weird trying to sleep without you now that I’m so used to it.”
“Oh.” I blink a few times, my physical reaction to Tyce still there but somehow not what it used to be. Even though I’ve made up my mind and I love Dylan—I want to be with Dylan—I can never deny my chemistry with Tyce. When I see Dylan, or even think about him, my heart squeezes in my chest. I feel those wonderful things only poets can put words to.
But I care about Tyce too, and my attraction to him is undeniable—especially with him touching me and inching closer.
“Why are you holding my wrist?”
“I’m not sure if there’s an acceptable way to touch you but I know I want to.” His grip softens, his thumb brushing my palm.
I clear my throat. I don’t want to hurt Tyce, but I can’t do this.
“I miss havin’ you all to myself.”
He begins to lean in, drawing his mouth toward my neck. I tense up, putting my hands on his chest to keep him from moving any closer. I can’t do this. A protest is nearly on my lips when the front door to the building opens. I shove away from Tyce without a word and walk toward the exit with my eyes downcast.
“Hey you,” Dylan says.
I glance up at him, my heart racing for a number of reasons. “I was just coming to look for you.” Trying not to look flustered, I peek over my shoulder. Tyce has sunken into the shadows somewhere. When I turn back, Dylan sweeps me up into his arms. He carries me straight down the hall I’ve just come from, his lips against my temple.
I hold my breath as we pass where I think Tyce might be hiding, nervous for him to make a scene.
We enter one of the bedrooms and Dylan pushes the door closed with his foot then sets me down on a bed. The room is smaller than Karen’s with two skinny beds, one against each side of the room. The walls are painted green and clothes and personal belongings are strewn across the floor near the bed across from me, but Dylan’s side is in perfect order.
I sit up against the headboard while he kicks off his shoes. He lies down on his stomach propping himself up on his elbows.
Heart still racing, I try to force Tyce out of my head. He’s the last thing I want to be thinking about right now. Dylan for deserves me to put an end to Tyce’s antics once and for all, something I have every intention of doing as soon as possible.
“Your place?” I ask, finally calming down.
“Yes. Roommate works nights on the tower.” He smiles.
I cup his cheek and he leans into my palm. “You really like it here, don’t you?” I ask him.
“A lot, yes.” He turns to kiss my palm before I drop my hand to my knee.
“You look tired,” I observe.
“I am. Why aren’t you?”
“I’m used to being awake this time of night, I guess. We hunt at night.” I run my hand across his forehead and then into his dark brown hair. His hair’s never been long enough to notice the wavy texture before. He sighs as I drag my fingers across his head letting the waves fall before brushing them away from his face and planting a kiss on his forehead. He smiles, his eyes glassy.
“Why on earth would you want to do that?”
“What, hunt?”
“Yeah.”
I draw out my answer, exaggerating every word. “Because meat is really good!”
He laughs a little. I peer into his eyes for a long moment, appreciating all the things I’ve missed about him. The perfect contours of his bronze face. The depth of his eyes. His strength and the fact he doesn’t make a show about using it and only doing so when necessary. His kindness. The way he’s always thinking of others first. Something I could probably use a few lessons in.
“How were things over in medical?”
“Let’s not talk about that. Let’s just enjoy each other.” He lays his head on his bicep, straining to look up at me with a sleepy smile. He grabs my hand and kisses it. “What is your favorite thing about The City?”
“Good question,” I say, thinking it over. “I like that they’re all rude until you get to know them. I think it’s funny. Except Eli—he’s not like the rest. Doesn’t have a vicious bone in his body.”
Dylan’s eyes struggle to stay open.
“What’s your favorite thing about Mercy?”
“You are,” he says over another yawn.
“I’m your favorite thing about Mercy?” I laugh a little, touching his hair again, running my fingers through it. I really like it longer.
“You’re my favorite part of anything. Of everything.” This time when his eyes fall closed they don’t open.
I kiss his temple. “I’m going.”
“Where are you going?” He forces one eye open. “Don’t go. We’re talking.”
I laugh. “Dylan, you’re falling asleep!”
He throws an arm around my waist and drags me from where I’m sitting against the headboard. I lie beside him, both of us on our sides facing each other. He kisses my lips. “I love you.”
Warmth spreads across my chest, rolls over me all the way down to my toes. Kissing him again, thoughts of anything else are long gone. Reduced to nothing. Dylan occupies all the space in my mind—his lips, his hand in my hair, his heart beating against his chest beneath my open palm. Needing to get closer, I shift forward snaking my hand around the contour of his muscular shoulder. He
only allows me to hover over him for a moment before nudging me onto my back, answering my need with his own. His hand travels from my shoulder to my hip and somewhere in the process his lips grow hungry, devouring.
Dylan pulls back enough to look at me. His eyes hold no pretense, no mask, no games. This is real. This … I cherish. Holding my gaze, he drags the back of his fingers down my cheek, the simple act sending chills over my skin. My eyes flutter closed as his fingertips trace the edge of my jaw until he grazes the scar beneath my ear where my implant used to be. He seems to hesitate and I look up in time to see him leaning in. He presses his lips gently to the scar, then moves farther down, burying his face in the crook of my neck. Even though it almost tickles, it’s my favorite thing he does. Arms around his neck I hold him close. Until he yawns. I smile and press a kiss to his temple.
“I love you too,” I whisper.
He groans when he pulls away, his heavy lids only halfway open. As he falls onto his back, I lay my head on his shoulder. I watch his face—the pure peacefulness of it. Like everything is finally right in his world again. No remnants of the anger he came to The City with.
I wait for him to fall asleep then I slide off his bed. Reaching for the switch on the lamp, I notice a stack of loose papers sticking out of a book. I slide the book open. The paper on top has a pencil sketch of me. I didn’t even know Dylan could draw. I pick up the next page, a series of handwritten notes, all the way down the page. Almost like journal entries.
Dear Cori, I’m so angry. I punched a hole in the wall in your dad’s room. My hand hurts, but not as much as my heart. Or maybe my pride.
Dear Cori, I’m sorry I messed up the wall in your dad’s room. They still haven’t given the room to anyone. I’m sure eventually they will and then maybe they’ll repair the hole. Or hang something over it.
Dear Cori, I can’t believe you aren’t back. It’s been two weeks.
Dear Cori, I’m still angry. Why am I surprised? All you’ve ever wanted was to get away. Why would that instinct change just because you finally did? Can anything ever hold you down? Satisfy you? Can anyone?
Dear Cori, I want to help these people, and I’m trying everything, but I’m failing. Nothing’s working. I can’t think straight without you around. You don’t know how much you centered me. Maybe I should have told you.
Cori, I miss you.
You’re not coming back, are you? How can you be so selfish?
Cori, you can’t imagine how much you frustrate me.
I still miss you. It’s been over a month.
I love you and I’m sorry.
Overwhelmed, I keep reading. The notes go on for three pages and page four is all one letter. In it he details all the big and small reasons he’s angry with me. But it’s not a hate letter because next he explains all the reasons he loves me. It’s hard for me to understand that part because I don’t see myself the way he does. Then again he doesn’t live with the guilt that plagues me. The guilt I was running from when I left.
Maybe he’s right, though, and I would be running regardless of what from. Maybe it’s time for that to change. I love him. And he is all I need. I’m grateful to have him on my side.
I set the papers on top of the book and switch off the lamp. With a tear on my cheek I bend to kiss the face of a man that I do not deserve, then softly close his door behind me as I go.
I’m too awake to go to bed, and too keyed up to even try. So, I head out the front door. The night air is moist and cool on my face. I spend a good thirty minutes walking around the property, greeting the few guards that are working the gate and the tower.
I try to picture a life here with Dylan. When Antius is no longer a threat. I can never deny my affection for The City and the boys there I’ve grown to love, but maybe I can grow to love this place too.
After another hour of ambling about, I find a work ladder laying near the main building and on a whim I prop it against the wall and climb onto the roof. I sprawl out on my back looking up at the dark sky, trying to imagine stars where I see none.
“I’ve changed my mind, doll face.”
I prop up on my elbows, startled by Tyce’s voice. He peers at me from the top of the ladder. “About what?”
“About letting you off so easy. You don’t fit here, same as me. And I’m growin’ tired of seeing his hands on you. I’ve half a mind to slash his pretty little lips too.” He climbs onto the roof and approaches me. “The way he talks down to you, I don’t know how you put up with it. All the sass you give me, he gets none. And why? We both know he’s not like you.”
“Maybe that’s the point.”
He sits, halfway leaning over me. “You should be with me, doll, not him,” he whispers.
“This isn’t going to end how you want it to.”
“I loved you from the moment I saw you.”
I laugh. “Oh, you mean when you knocked me out and dragged me to The City where you chained me up? Ever since that moment?”
He grins, “Even then, yeah.”
“I’ve loved Dylan since I was a little girl.”
He pushes my bangs back, kisses my forehead. “So loyalty makes the decision then?”
“I love him, Tyce.”
He pauses for a moment, looking off in the distance. “You love me too.” Without waiting for an answer or permission Tyce puts his arm around me, pulling my head toward his chest. And I wrap my arms around him, too, sighing.
I pull away from him, stretching back out on my back.
“Why didn’t you tell me you broke up with him before you came to the Pitt?” His voice is soft and thoughtful. Disappointed.
“Would it have changed things between us if I had?”
He exhales. “Hell yeah, it would’ve.”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you. You were trying hard enough already, trust me.” I start to laugh, but stop when I see the pained look on his face.
He gestures between us. “We make sense, doll, don’t you see? I would never ask you to sacrifice so much for these people. You don’t even know them. You and I … we’re the same. All we’d need is each other, minding our own business. We both know you love the Pitt, and you love us boys. You belong with us—with me.”
Somehow hearing him say it out loud like this puts a sour feeling in my stomach, even though these are things I’ve considered. I know better than anyone that I’m nowhere near as inherently good as Dylan, but I’m not willing to give up without even trying. Dylan challenges me to do more, to be more. Tyce would be more than happy to have me all to himself, never considering the greater good.
And I’m better than that. I can be better than that.
It’s a reminder of the conscience that led me to being so burdened for the people of Antius to begin with. I’ve been so consumed by my own guilt and self-pity that I forgot that same conscience is still a part of me. I can still fight for what’s right. I can still do good.
“I do love The City. And I do love the boys … and you know I care about you. I’ve had a connection with you from the start. We get each other. You’re my friend and I hope you always will be. But I can’t be anything more than that with you.” I sigh. “I’m sorry.”
He stares at me for a few moments. Shifts onto his back.
I roll onto my stomach, lay my head on my arms, and drift to sleep. When I wake up, Tyce is still here, only a foot or two away.
Between us, a few sheets of paper flap in the wind, weighted down by a single brick. I slip the papers out and find that they’re the letters Dylan wrote to me. My pulse quickens as I connect the dots. Dylan must’ve put the pages here between me and Tyce. And he has no doubt gotten the wrong idea.
Chapter Thirteen
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Dylan continues to organize medical supplies, pursing his lips. I would just start talking if it weren’t for Nicolette being in the same room.
“Sure,” he says curtly without looking at me or stopping what he’s doing.
I meet Nicolette’s eyes, embarrassed. She half-smiles and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her. Dylan pushes away from the counter, stomps across the room to set something down, then plops himself back down on his rolling chair and goes right back to whatever he was doing.
To my surprise, he speaks first. “Do you know why trust is so important?”
“Dylan—”
He pulls a plastic container from a drawer then slams it closed.
“Cori, you’re allowed to get angry. But I can’t do this if you’re going to run to him every time you’re mad at me.”
“Why do you think—”
Something falls from his grip, banging against the counter. Dylan storms toward me. He snatches the papers from me and slaps them down, holding his hand on top of them as if something within them is the answer.
He starts to speak but pulls away, turns his back to me, and moves across the room. He rifles through a cabinet.
“Dylan…” I sigh.
He doesn’t find whatever he’s looking for so he slams the cabinet shut. I flinch, anxiety building as his movements become harsher, more deliberate. He moves to another cupboard, again coming up empty-handed and slamming it closed even harder this time. I try to speak twice more, but he groans each time—his muscles taut, face strained. He pounds his hand on the countertop rattling a tray of glass vials.
“Dylan.” I grit my teeth, clenching my fists. As Dylan starts across the room again I step in front of him, his anger now fueling my own. He’s driving me insane. “Dylan, stop!”
He glares down at me, a few different emotions warring in his eyes. Jaw tight, he makes for the door. Reaching out, I barely grasp the back of his shirt before he stops short and whips around to face me. Before I can even process the look on his face he grabs the back of my head and crushes his lips against mine.
I press my hands against the contours of his chest while he backs me into the counter. He tears his lips away searching my eyes for something. Something I think he finds. He grabs my hands and guides them to his neck where I take hold. Heat unfurls inside me and I clutch the nape of his neck, acutely aware of every single point of contact. This time I don’t wait for his lips to come to me, I seek them out, pulling Dylan closer. I move my mouth against his as his hands slip from my shoulders down my back until his embrace closes any remaining distance between us. I lean back even farther, so lightheaded I would fall if the counter weren’t behind me.