by Emery Rose
“I didn’t mean to say anything. It just slipped out.”
Ollie snorted with disgust. Shoulders rigid, he turned and strode away. Torn between wanting to make this right and just letting him go lick his wounds in private, I hesitated a moment before I called out to him. “Ollie, wait.”
As if he hadn’t heard me, he kept right on walking.
Dylan wrapped his hand around my arm to hold me back. “Let him go.”
“He’s acting like a dick,” Nic chimed in.
“I can’t just let him go. I hurt him. I need to talk to him.”
Dylan released me and crossed his arms over his chest, clearly not happy with my decision. I didn’t look at his face. Didn’t want to see what he was thinking. Instead, I chased after Ollie.
When I caught up to him, I grabbed his arm to stop him and moved so I was standing directly in front of him. He rubbed his jaw, his eyes narrowed on something in the distance. “I never stood a chance, did I, Scarlett? It was always him.”
“What happened between us had nothing to do with Dylan. You know that.”
He laughed harshly. “Sure it didn’t. Why him? Of all the guys you could have gone for, why did it have to be him?”
Ollie made it sound like he and Dylan were mortal enemies, and I’d chosen the wrong side. When in fact, they didn’t even know each other. My eyes sought out Dylan. He was too far away to hear us, and he was talking to Nic, but he was watching me.
I returned my gaze to Ollie and considered his question. Why him? I’d asked myself the same thing so many times. It wasn’t something I could put into words. And even if I could, it wasn’t something I wanted to share with Ollie. “I don’t know.”
“I can deal with us not being together. I get it. I do. We’re better off as friends. I wouldn’t even have a problem with you hooking up with someone else. I’d get over it. I wouldn’t like it, but I’d be good with it because I want you to be happy. But I can tell you right now, he won’t make you happy. He’s fucked up, Smalls.”
“You don’t even know him. He’s not the same boy he was at seventeen.” But even if he was, it wouldn’t matter to me. I had crushed hard on that seventeen-year-old boy and it seemed that time hadn’t changed that.
“Always defending him.” He shook his head and exhaled loudly. “Just go back to him. But when he fucks you over, when everything falls apart, because it will… don’t come crying to me.”
His words, and the venom in them, stunned me into silence. Where was the boy who had once promised me that nothing, and nobody, would ever get in the way of our friendship? Our bond had been forged fourteen years ago when he taught me how to ride a bike because my parents were always too ‘busy’ and my sister told me to get lost and stop pestering her. He was there for me when Sienna used to kick me out of her room and slam the door in my face. When my father heaped praise on my sister and treated me like nothing I ever did was good enough.
And I was there for him when his dad stood him up on the weekends he was supposed to spend with him. I was the one who begged my dad to buy Ollie a drum kit for Christmas. It was all he had ever talked about. All he had ever wanted. But his mom couldn’t afford it. My dad said no because he was a stingy bastard. So, I sold my brand-new bike, my Christmas present to buy Ollie a drum kit and I didn’t care that I got grounded and lectured. It made Ollie happy, and that was all that mattered to me.
“Wow. Okay. Thanks for being a friend. Good to know you have my back.”
“Just returning the favor.”
“I always defended you, too,” I whispered. But he didn’t hear my words. He was already gone.
Tears coursed down my cheeks as I stood on the beach and watched him walk away. I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly feeling the cold. He grabbed the blonde and pulled her into a kiss as if he wanted to show me how it felt to have it shoved in my face. It hurt, but not because he was kissing someone else.
Ollie and I weren’t kids anymore. We weren’t even on the same team.
Suddenly this party wasn’t so fun.
I turned at the sound of Dylan’s voice. His eyes searched my glossy ones and he brushed away the tears with his thumbs and tucked my wavy, windblown hair behind my ears, his touch so gentle, so unbearably soft and sweet that it made my chest ache. Dylan could be kind. But I also knew he could be cruel. Nobody was all good or all bad. Not Dylan. Not me. Not Ollie.
He wrapped me in his arms and it took me a few seconds to recover from my surprise and wrap my arms around his waist. I pressed my cheek against his beating heart and was reminded of the eleven-year-old girl who used to squeeze fresh lemons and limes and carry the ice-cold drinks to him when he was cleaning our pool. I didn’t know why I was thinking about that now, on a starry beach on a winter night ten years later. Maybe because of Ollie’s question. Why had I always seen something in Dylan that others didn’t? Why had I always believed in him? I couldn’t answer those questions. Half the time, he hadn’t even been nice to me. He’d never once said please or thank you. And yet, I knew deep down he cared.
“You good?” he asked, releasing me to assess the damage.
I didn’t know what I was. “I just want to go home.”
“I’ll give you a ride.” I nodded and trudged across the sand, weary and defeated, while he strode ahead and left me trailing behind. As I passed Ollie, I looked over at him. He was still making out with the blonde, but his eyes were on me. I’d hurt him, and now he wanted to return the favor.
Nic joined me and we trailed Dylan to his car. “I’ve got you, babe. We’ll go home and eat ice cream and watch 80s movies.” She wrapped her arm around my shoulders and squeezed. I gave her a grateful smile as she sang the chorus of “Don’t You (Forget About Me)”, her fist raised like Judd Nelson from The Breakfast Club.
“Sounds perfect.”
The ride to our apartment was silent. My happy bubble had burst, the mood ruined by that kiss and the aftermath. I expected Dylan to just drop us off, but he cut the engine, got out of the car and opened the hatch. “Got something for you.”
Nic and I exchanged a curious glance and met Dylan at the back of his G-Wagen. I stared at the brown boxes, trying to make sense of it. “What is all this?”
“Your birthday present.” He carved a hand through his hair and looked like he regretted this grand gesture, but knew he was screwed. It was too late to take it back now.
“My birthday present?” I repeated. He bought me a birthday present?
All three of us carried the boxes upstairs to our second-floor apartment and Dylan had to go back for a second trip. The boxes were big, and heavy and crowded our living room. Our two-bedroom apartment was small, but still, this seemed excessive. I hadn’t expected anything from him, and I’d even convinced myself that he wouldn’t come to my party, much less come bearing gifts. Nic looked like she was bursting at the seams, desperate to rip into the boxes and see what was inside.
Dylan dropped the last two boxes to the floor and pushed them against the wall then straightened up and crooked his finger at me as he headed for the front door. Like I was his beck and call girl. Like a fool, I followed him outside and leaned against the brown stucco. He caged me in his arms, a hand planted on either side of my head, and I watched him from underneath my lashes. Those turbulent blue-grays were the only thing that gave away his emotions. Dylan had this intensity about him, like he was a ticking bomb only seconds away from detonating and he had to use all his restraint to keep it contained.
It should scare me, but it didn’t.
“Are you in love with Shaggy Doo?”
“Shaggy Doo? His name is Ollie. And no, I’m not. But he’s my friend and I care about him,” I admitted. “I hate it that I hurt him.”
His fingers curved under my chin and he brushed his thumb over my jaw. “That’s you, isn’t it, Starlet? Why are you so good?” As if he truly believed I was good, even though I knew I wasn’t the good girl he seemed to think I was. “You hate to hurt anyone, don’t you?�
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“And yet I do it all the time.” I averted my gaze. I wanted some answers. “Why did you kiss me, Dylan?”
“Why did you let me kiss you?”
Perhaps that was the better question. “Because… I wasn’t thinking straight.” I swallowed as he wrapped a lock of my hair around his fingers and gently tugged on it. “What game are you playing?”
“I don’t play games. I’m not a boy,” he scoffed. He wanted to make it clear that he was nothing like Ollie. They didn’t even know each other but the animosity was still there.
“Then what is this? What about Sienna?”
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “What about her? We’ve been over for a long time.”
“It’s still wrong.”
“Then why does it feel so fucking right?”
I had no answer for that because it did feel right. Not right, exactly. It felt good though. But lust always felt good in the moment, didn’t it?
“You belonged to her first.”
“I’ve never belonged to anyone.”
And he probably never would. “But you can’t deny that you once loved her.”
I wasn’t expecting a response. Dylan had a habit of not answering questions he didn’t like. So it surprised me when he did answer, and so honestly.
“There was love for a while. And other things. Mostly other things. Sienna and I were fundamentally wrong for each other in every way. We liked the idea of each other but I’m not sure we actually liked each other that much. By the time it ended, there was nothing good left to hang onto.”
I searched his face to see if that made him sad, if she had left him heartbroken. But his expression was neutral, and I wasn’t getting any sad vibes off him.
I wanted to ask him if he liked me. If he thought we were right for each other. But that would be pushing it. We barely knew each other, although in some ways I felt like I knew him and understood him better than he could ever know. Our backgrounds were vastly different. I grew up privileged, wanting for nothing. But I knew how it felt to be told you weren’t good enough. And I knew how it felt to be betrayed by Sienna.
My sister was not a bad person, but she was weak, and she was selfish, and I had known from a young age that she would always choose herself, even if it meant throwing someone else under the bus.
Dylan dropped his forehead to mine, his soft breaths mingling with mine, and his fingers trailed down my arm. My eyes closed, and I flattened my palms against the rough wall behind me to stop myself from fisting my hands in his shirt to steady myself.
He made my knees weak. He made me tongue-tied and confused. He made me want things I shouldn’t.
“I picked the wrong sister.”
His voice was low. Quiet. But I heard the words as if he’d shouted them over the loud beating of my heart that thrashed against the walls of my chest. He wasn’t allowed to say things like that. How dare he?
I picked the wrong sister.
There was nothing right about this. Except for the way he made me feel. But even that was riddled with contradictions. I felt so alive. So desperate. Anxious. Aroused. Scared. Excited. Restless.
And so, so screwed.
I was still trying to get a grip on my emotions, to formulate a response, when he pushed away from the wall and left me standing there alone. Without another word, not even a goodbye, he was gone. Moments later, my feet still glued to the same spot, I watched his taillights disappear into the darkness.
It felt like I’d just gotten off a roller coaster. Yet I had a feeling that the ride had only just begun.
10
Dylan
On Sunday evening, after I put in a few hours at the gym to compensate for the weed and the whiskey the night before—it’s all about balance—I went over to Shane and Remy’s coral-pink beach house, and nearly tripped over a box, sitting right inside the front door.
“Rem,” I called, and heard her footsteps coming down the stairs.
“Hey Dyl.” Remy smiled at me then frowned at the box. “I forgot about that. I think it’s the car seat. So much stuff got delivered.” She bent down, wrapped her arms around the box and tried to lift it. I wrestled it out of her hands and glared at her.
“You can’t be carrying shit. Step away from the box.”
She laughed and followed me into the living room. Their house was cool, decorated in blues and grays with an open, airy feeling to it. Remy’s framed photography lined the walls—her ocean shots, Shane surfing, one of me swimming the fly in my pool but thankfully you couldn’t see my face. I hated having my picture taken. Remy always joked that she was stealing a piece of my soul and that was how it felt. Like my privacy was being violated. I couldn’t begin to imagine how she could have posed for the camera in her modeling years. I would have had to be drunk and stoned the entire time.
I shoved the car seat box against the living room wall next to the other boxes of baby furniture that needed to be put together and turned to look at her.
I had an unrealistic fear that something would go wrong. Not that I’d ever share my fears with Remy or Shane. They’d been through so much shit to get to this place, I didn’t want my dark thoughts to dim their happiness. I’d had weird premonitions, bad dreams that had woken me in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. I used to get these premonitions a lot when I was a kid, and they’d usually been proven reliable.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like a double wide.”
I snorted. Remy had always been rail-thin, too skinny during her modeling days, and from the back, you’d never know she was eight months pregnant. It looked like she had a basketball tucked under her tank top while the rest of her was all long-limbed, toned and thin.
My twin sister and I looked a lot alike. She was the female version of me with the same skin tone, dark hair, and high cheekbones. We looked like our mother but must have inherited our light eyes from our sperm donor, whoever the hell he was.
“You need me to put that crib together?”
“Shane will be home soon. You can help him.” She went to the bottom of the stairs and called up, raising her voice to be heard over the music coming from above. “Hey Scarlett. Call me if you need my help.”
“It’s cool. I’ve got this,” came her response.
I hadn’t seen Scarlett since Thursday night. If she had been any other girl, I wouldn’t have given that kiss a second thought. If she had been any other girl, I would have fucked her and left. Or not. When it came to women, I was mostly ambivalent. Take it or it leave it. I’d never had to work hard to get a girl into my bed. Ever. But Scarlett wasn’t just a random fuck. Which was part of the problem. I wasn’t lying when I told her I had always cared about her. And I wasn’t lying when I told her I’d picked the wrong sister. But I wasn’t sure what had possessed me to be so honest.
“What’s Scarlett doing here?” I asked Remy as I followed her into the kitchen.
“Painting the baby’s room. Wait until you see it. It’s so cool. I’m so glad you talked us into hiring her.”
“You never mentioned it to her, did you?” Bad enough I’d bought her enough supplies to open a whole chain of shops, I didn’t want her to know that I had a hand in getting her a job as well.
“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe. God forbid anyone would think you actually cared.” She rolled her eyes. “She’s great, though. I never really knew her until she started working for us. Kind of weird, right? Sienna never let her hang out with us when we were in high school.”
“She was just a kid.” Sienna and Scarlett had never been that close. Their six-year age gap had always seemed so much wider when we were younger but now it seemed insignificant. As I was all too aware, Scarlett was twenty-one now, and no longer a kid.
“I guess.” Remy handed me a bottle of water from the refrigerator and took one for herself. I swapped my water for a beer, almost certain that I was the only one who drank beer in this house, and my sister kept the fridge stocked especially for my visits.
“Did you know Scarlett? I mean, did you ever hang out with her when you were in college?”
“She used to text me and shit. I saw her around.” I took a long pull of my beer, not really wanting to get into the details of my history with Scarlett.
“You used to text?” Remy raised her dark brows, waiting for more.
“What did you want to talk about?” I asked, steering the conversation away from me and back to her.
She wrung her hands and chewed on her bottom lip, a clear sign that she was nervous about something.
“What’s wrong?” I tried to keep the alarm out of my voice as my gaze dipped to the bump under her tank top. “Is the baby okay?”
“Yeah, it’s nothing like that. The baby is fine.”
My sister’s gray cat, Pearl, weaved in and out of my legs, meowing to get my attention. I scooped her up and held her in my arm like a football, worry gnawing at my gut as I parked my hip against the kitchen counter and absently stroked Pearl’s soft fur.
Remy gave me a soft smile. Before I could stop her, she snapped photos of me holding her cat. Her camera was always within easy reach and over the years, she’d taken far too many photos of me, knowing damn well I hated it.
I held up my hand as she zoomed in with her camera to get close-ups. “Stop with the fucking photos already.”
Laughing, she set her camera on the butcher block island and pulled up a stool. “Wait until you’re holding a baby. I’ll take millions of photos. Get used to it, Uncle Dylan.”
Uncle Dylan. Holy shit.
I set the cat down on the distressed wood floor and shooed her away. I didn’t even like cats but that damn cat always came to me anyway. Crossing my arms over my chest, I jerked my chin at Remy, prompting her to tell me what was wrong.
“Do you know where Mom is?”