by Mimi Strong
My eyes flick up to the shining brass firepole. A possible getaway? That would be a classy move. I could insult his dead wife and then jump on the firepole. Really mature, Jess.
“She did shoot one person,” he says.
I hold really still, trying not to react. Is he testing me? It feels like he is. His moods shift so rapidly sometimes, I can’t get my balance.
“Was it you she shot?” I ask.
“No.”
The lofted bedroom is eerily quiet.
I remember what Dylan said about me not asking questions if I’m not prepared for the answer. Maybe I’ve heard enough about his wife for one night.
A ringing sound pierces the quiet.
A second later, another ringing—a different one—starts.
“Saved by the bell,” he jokes.
The noise is just both of our cell phones, but in the stillness, it felt like a fire alarm.
Dylan gets off the bed and locates his phone in his crumpled jeans. Holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder, he pulls on his jeans and walks to the firepole. Without even a glance back at me, he slips out of sight.
My jaw drops open. The man certainly knows how to make an exit.
My phone is still ringing.
Dylan is now talking to someone downstairs, his voice muted. I pull out my phone and swipe the screen to accept the call.
“Jess?” It’s a girl’s voice.
“Who’s this?”
She giggles. “It’s me, Amanda. It’s your roommate, dummy. Where the fuck are you?”
“At a friend’s.”
Her voice gets serious and breathy. “Listen. Drop whatever you’re doing. You have to come home, right now. I’ve got a big surprise for you.”
I’m not interested in her surprise. I’m annoyed. Annoyed that she exists, that she’s my roommate, and that she’s phoning me like a crazy person instead of texting.
“I’m busy.”
“Come home right now. Riley’s back.”
“So?”
“I can’t explain. I don’t want to ruin the surprise. I can’t wait to see the look on your face. You’re going to fucking die.”
My nerves start to tingle. I’ve had more than enough surprises for one day. “Is it a good surprise or a bad surprise?”
“Jess, you’re the worst. I told you to come home right now. Just do it.”
She ends the call without even saying goodbye.
Chapter 2
It’s not every day I have the chance to slide down a fireman’s pole. I stare at the brass pole for a minute. Normally I would, but my legs are a bit shaky, so I take the stairs.
Dylan is just finishing his phone call downstairs, in the kitchen. He sets the phone on the counter and gives me a puppy dog look. The sweetness in his expression makes my heart ache. He’s already taken me to his bed, but I want more. So much more.
An hour ago, he promised that having sex with him would brand me. I think it has. I feel his imprint on me now, like a fingerprint shadowing my own.
I point to my phone in my pocket. “Roommate,” I say. “Nothing important.”
He glances at his phone.
My heart sinks with every second of silence. I don’t need to know who was on the phone, but the fact that he won’t tell me makes me sad. He’s drawing boundaries and keeping me on the outside.
Finally, he says, “That was my… patron. Like a sponsor.”
“Sponsor? Are you in AA?”
He laughs in a way that makes me feel dumb and awkward. I look down at the wood floor, my cheeks flushing. “Sorry,” I mumble.
He walks over to me and hugs me to his bare chest.
“Don’t be sorry,” he says, stroking my hair.
I close my eyes and enjoy the scent of his skin. The smell is stronger now, because he worked up a light sweat upstairs. His warm skin gives off a heavenly, manly smell.
“Can you keep a secret?” he asks.
Snuggling my face against his bare shoulder, I say, “Definitely.”
“You can’t tell your bosses at Morris Music. This isn’t like what I told you about Susan. That’s the sort of thing that’s public record. I don’t care about them knowing that.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t talk to Morris about my phone call just now.”
“I won’t. They’re jerks, anyway. They never tell me anything. I’m working in the basement archives scanning in dusty old photos, all day, every day. I wouldn’t tell them anything, even if they actually talked to me and asked.”
“Okay, good.”
Suddenly, I remember the cameras inside the loft. My coworker, Nick, owns the building and has his so-called security system running. I was going to unplug his cameras, but didn’t have time when I got here an hour ago. Dylan swept me up in his arms and took me upstairs before I could.
Damn it. Now I’m worried Dylan is going to say something that will get back to Morris Music because Nick is spying on him.
Dylan is opening his mouth to tell me something, so I move my hand and quickly cover his mouth.
He gives me a look that says I’m crazy.
“Let’s go for a walk,” I say. “We’ll get some fresh air and you can tell me everything.”
I pull my hand away, and he gives me a sideways look. He knows I’m up to something, but he’s amused.
“You’re so cute,” he says. “Hang on while I grab a shirt. Are you sure you’re fine to go for a walk?” His eyes roll down to my lower stomach. “How are you feeling?”
My chest pinches with emotion. He’s so sweet to be thinking about me and how I might be feeling after having sex for the first time. I may not be experienced, but I can tell Dylan is a special kind of guy.
I put on a big smile and tell him I’m just fine. He disappears upstairs to get a shirt, and I go over to use the washroom to clean up.
When I come out of the washroom, he’s standing by the exit door, looking worried.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
I laugh. “A little sore, but you didn’t wreck me.”
He looks relieved. He pulls out his phone, checks something, and tucks it away. “Let’s go for that walk. Are you going to be okay dressed like that? Do you want to borrow a jacket?”
I assure him that I’m fine, and lead the way out the door.
We walk down the sidewalk, past other industrial buildings and a few apartments.
The area changes quickly, becoming more residential as we walk away from the main street the firehall’s on.
This neighborhood doesn’t seem scary at all, with Dylan at my side. He’s big enough that he makes me feel safe, but not so big and aggressive that he’ll attract guys looking for a fight.
He’s perfect.
His fingertips graze the back of my hand.
I look over and catch him smiling down at me. He leans toward me and scoops my hand in his. This is amazing. Just walking down the street, holding hands.
“Who’s this sponsor person?” I ask. I want him to open up to me, so I can get to know him. And I’m curious. He’s not just an ordinary street musician. I’ve seen him with bodyguards.
“My sponsor is sort of like a patron of the arts,” he says. “Actually the whole thing is a little unusual. It all started about three months ago, when I came down from the mountains.” He chuckles to himself. “Don’t worry, I shaved off my beard so I didn’t scare the villagers with my wolf-man face.”
I laugh, then say, “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Oh, you don’t know anything? Your research on me really sucks.”
“Dylan, I have zero research on you. All I know is what you tell me. If you ever actually, you know, tell me.” I squeeze his hand.
We walk for a minute, then I say, “You could start by telling me why you changed your name.”
“Shit went down in my life,” he says, his voice choking. “And then there was… some drinking. When I sobered up, I’d legally changed my name to Dylan Wolf. My friends
didn’t care. They were sick of Brandon and all his tragedy. They welcomed the new guy. Dylan.”
“That’s intense. No offense, but were you drunk when you changed your name? I thought that was a legal thing.”
He chuckles, nodding for me to cross the street with him. We’re heading toward a small park, brightly lit by street lamps. It’s past nine, and the only people in the park are some teens on the swings.
“Are you going to ask questions, or let me explain?”
I squeeze his hand. “Keep going. I’ll hold my questions until the end like a good student.”
“Where was I? The new name. Well, it turns out I was still the same guy, even with my new name. Getting drunk at funerals and knocking over tables. That sort of thing. It all came to a head the Christmas before last. One of these intervention things. Are you with me so far?”
We cross into the park and walk to the swings, which are empty now. The kids who were on the swings are wandering off, lighting cigarettes and laughing in the darkness.
“Still listening.” I grab the chains of a swing and take a seat.
Dylan gets behind me and backs up, holding me firmly by the hips. He gives me a big push, and I sail through the air.
“The intervention gave me a kick,” he says. “On Christmas Day, I had dinner with my family and then packed a suitcase. I got in my car and drove out to a cabin, and then I did what I needed to do.”
“Therapy?”
“Sure.”
He keeps pushing me, sending me higher and higher on the swing. The motion starts to make me feel lightheaded.
For a few minutes, the only sound is the squeak of the chains against the metal loop high overhead. It’s still a kids’ swing, so when I reach the lowest point of the swing, I have to raise my knees and tuck my legs under me.
I twist my head back over my shoulder to look at Dylan. Is he going to finish the story? I’m dying to know what he did at the cabin. I have a feeling he drank a lot.
I can’t imagine wanting to be alone in a cabin. He must have been in a terrible place, emotionally, to choose that.
His face is blank, like he’s lost in his head. He keeps giving me pushes, but softer now, to my relief.
I turn my head back around and look at my knees. There they are, sticking out of the bottom of my skirt. My legs are different now, different from when I was a little kid who sat on swings. I had such pudgy little calves back then, until they stretched out.
Dylan’s not talking. I slow myself down with my feet and them jump off the swing. I come around and lean against the upright pole, watching him think.
His face and form are striking right now, under the harsh yellow light of the street lamp. This could be a shot from a music video, with him looking so serious and sad. He’s gorgeous when he smiles, but when he’s sad, it just rips me apart.
“Wanna walk back?” I ask.
He blinks, coming out of a daze.
“Sure.” He reaches for my hand again, like it’s the most normal thing. We walk back in the direction of the firehall.
“It’s so warm here at night,” I say.
“Yeah, California’s great. Where were we? The talent show?”
I glance up at him. No, he has not been talking about a talent show at all. He was definitely having a whole conversation inside his head. I wish I could get a peek inside that head of his. He hasn’t said anything else about what his wife did, and I’m dying to know if she actually shot someone. Maybe I can google for information, if I can find his old last name.
Oh, but I shouldn’t spy on him, even if it’s just on the internet. Or should I? If I’m going to be his girlfriend, I should know what I’m getting into.
Dylan chuckles, but not at anything I’m saying, because I haven’t said a word in minutes. The only other sounds are traffic and our feet on the sidewalk.
“I shaved off my beard and brought the guitar into town for a talent contest,” he says.
I smile, glad to have him returning to reality and letting me in. “The same guitar you have now?”
“That’s the one. It was up at the cabin when I got there, like a sign. Do you believe in signs? It was a sign that you walked up to me that day in your blue shoes. Like fate. I don’t want to believe it was a setup.”
I smile up at him. Of course it was fate. And it makes my throat feel tight to hear him talk about me, from his perspective.
Dylan squeezes my hand with his, while his free hand swooshes in front of him to help him explain. “So, I played a couple of my songs. And I won the top prize for the night, which was a pitcher of beer. But then after, a guy comes up to me and says I have real talent. He says he knows all about the music industry, from the inside. The guy looks familiar, but I’ve got no idea who he is. This town is in the middle of nowhere, so it’s not like you’d expect to see any music executives. Anyway, I share my pitcher of premium beer with the guy, and he tells me about his big plan to make me the most famous rock star in the world.”
“And?”
“You know the rest.”
We’re almost back at the firehall now, so I’ve got to get him to hurry up and finish telling me everything. I step in front of him on the sidewalk and throw my arms around his shoulders.
“No, I don’t know the rest.”
He leans forward and stops short of kissing me. His lips are an inch from mine.
“My sponsor rented me this place and flew me here to LA,” he says. His gritty voice vibrates against my lips with every word.
I resist the urge to stand on my toes and kiss him.
“Your patron paid for your trip here? And what else?”
“I don’t know. After that night in the bar, everything has been by email, and very sparse. Only instructions. I’m not supposed to tell anyone. I shouldn’t have told you, but I did.”
He nuzzles his face against mine, brushing my lips with his. But he doesn’t kiss me.
“If it’s a secret, why did you tell me?”
“I want you to know it’s okay. I know your secret, Jess.”
“What secret?” My heart starts to race.
My own secret comes to mind in a flash. I’d almost forgotten about the two thousand dollars. Morris Music promised me that much as a bonus for sleeping with Dylan, and getting him into a meeting next week.
If Dylan knows about the money I’m getting for having sex with him… I don’t know what will happen. I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again. I’ll be too ashamed. What we have will be ruined, destroyed by my pathetic greed.
I wait for him to reveal my secret.
“Jess, I figured out that you work for my patron,” he says. “At first, I thought you were following me around for Morris. But now I’ve got you figured out. You’re a double agent. You work for Q.”
“Q?”
He kisses me lightly and pauses. “I admire your ability to keep secrets, Jess. Don’t worry. I won’t tell them I know.”
He kisses me again, his lips wet and heavy on mine. I feel weak again, but luckily his arms are around my back. He holds me steady as he kisses me. Our mouths fit together perfectly, and we’re breathing as one.
My body is electric, tuned to this music he plays with my body. This music is so beautiful, it fills me up and crushes me with sorrow and joy.
In the back of my mind, I struggle to figure out what’s happening right now, but Dylan’s kisses give me a type of amnesia.
He pulls away, leaving me gasping.
“I have to leave right now,” he says. “Sorry.”
Chapter 3
I stammer, “You have to leave?”
“Immediately.”
We’re standing on the sidewalk, nearly back at the firehall.
“Do you mean we have to go back inside?” I ask.
Dylan glances around like he thinks someone’s watching us. I get a chill. Maybe we are being watched. He pulls out his phone and raises his eyebrows as he curses at the screen.
“Got another date?” I a
sk jokingly.
“Time flies. I’ve actually got to be at a gig tonight,” he says. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been getting a lot of calls tonight. I got another phone call right before you showed up. I was going to tell you, but then I saw your face and forgot.”
“You have a gig tonight?”
“Last minute. Someone who works for Q called and gave me the location. They just confirmed. I’m really sorry, Jess, but you can’t come with me. I have to do this myself. No distractions.”
I back up, pulling away from his embrace. This gig tonight is news to me. I thought we’d be spending the evening together, at the very least.
Part of me wants to stomp my foot and demand to go with him to the gig. But I don’t want to upset him.
Dylan lunges out toward the street, his arm in the air.
A taxi slows and pulls to a stop alongside us.
Dylan leans in through the open passenger window and hands the driver some money.
“See that my friend gets home safely,” he says, giving the driver my home address.
In a daze, I walk over and get into the back of the cab.
Dylan’s eyes are wild, gleaming and bright as they dart around, taking in everything. He may have told me what he thought was everything, but I still know nothing about him.
What did he do alone at the cabin? And why would he agree to let some mysterious stranger manage his career? He’s not some dumb kid who knows nothing of the world. I have a feeling he could have come to LA on his own. He had the money to go off to a cabin, and there was something about the way he talked about his family… maybe it was just the idea of them having Christmas dinner together… but it makes me think they’re not exactly poor.
Who was he before he became Dylan?
Settled into the back of the taxi, I roll down the window. “Are you okay?” I ask.
“Just feeling energetic. I always get this way before a performance.” He pats the roof to signal the driver to go.
I wave my hand to say goodbye. He’s already walking away, taking big strides away from me.
“Break a leg,” I call out.