“Riley,” I breathe out, opening my eyes just long enough to look at her. “I need…” Breath. “…to see…” I try to swallow but my throat’s too dry.
“Riley!”
Riley
I jump out of bed and run straight to the hall, my eyes darting and my heart beating out of my chest. I check left, check right. And then I stop. So do my frantic eyes and my erratic heart. “Dylan!” I run toward him, getting to him just in time to wrap my arms around his waist before he falls. “What are you doing?”
His breaths are sharp, loud, filling my ears with fear.
“Go next door and get Sydney!” I order Mom, helping Dylan into the house and onto the couch. His hand’s on my wrist, and for as weak as he looks, his grip is strong. I look down at his hand, his knuckles are white.
“I need you, Riley,” he whispers. Slowly, I peel his fingers from my wrist, allowing the blood to recirculate.
“I’m here.” I sit on the couch, holding his face. His lids are hooded, his head heavy in my hands. “Do you need something?”
“You, Ry,” he breathes out. “I need you.”
Suddenly, the room fills with more bodies than the space can handle, I don’t look at them. I look at Dylan. His eyes squeeze shut as he tries to swallow.
“Water?” I ask.
He nods.
I start to get up but he holds me to him. I look at Mom. “I’ll get it,” she says, and then she’s gone.
Sydney’s in front of him now, her fingers on his wrist. “Did you walk here, Dylan?” she asks, her voice calm and so out of place with the chaos in my head.
He nods again, weaker than the last.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Sydney asks. Same tone.
Dylan laces his fingers with mine, squeezing once, before rolling his head back on the cushion and looking up at the ceiling.
For a moment, everything is still. Silent. Only Sydney moves. She checks his pulse, gives him the water Mom brought him, and checks his temperature. He’s sweating now, his chest heaving. His every movement, every breath is a struggle. He rolls his head to the side, his eyes on mine again. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
Inside, I break.
Outside, I smile. “Shh.” I sit up on my knees, my arms around his head and I hold him to me, my chest soaking in the sweat across his forehead.
“Son,” Mal says, speaking for the first time. “Let’s go home, okay?”
“No!” I cry and hold him tighter. I look at Mom, pleading with my eyes. “He needs me! Mom, please!” All the emotions from the past few weeks finally catch up. I wanted him to need me. And now he’s here. And I need him just as much.
Eric says, “Holly, we can take—”
“No!” I shout at everyone, one arm around Dylan’s head and the other out in front of us.
Dylan’s arms are around me now, his head still lowered, his breaths slowing. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
“Mom,” I cry, looking her in the eyes. I need her to see my plea, see the desperation we’re both drowning in.
“I didn’t take you away from him to keep you apart,” Mom says, sitting on the other side of Dylan. “Not like this, sweetheart.”
I look down at Sydney still kneeling in front of us. “He can stay with me, right? I can take care of him.”
“He’s overexerted himself. He needs to rest, Ry. Keep him hydrated and keep his leg elevated, okay?”
I nod quickly—my pulse resembling something like normal for the first time since Mom shouted my name, pulling me from the depths of my sleep. I had no idea it would end in this.
“Do you need anything, D?” Eric asks.
Dylan squeezes me in his arms, his head lifting just enough so he can look at me. “Riley. I just need Riley.”
Voices fade from outside my bedroom door as everyone but my mother leaves. A moment later she knocks, not waiting for a response before popping her head into the room. I turn from Dylan lying in my bed, his hands behind his head, his gaze on the ceiling like it’s somehow giving him answers to all the questions I’m positive are there. Not just in him, but in both of us. “Everything okay?” she asks, and I focus on Dylan’s leg wrapped in a cast as I place a pillow beneath it.
“Everything’s fine.”
She steps in and hands me a glass. “Keep it on his nightstand in case—”
“I got it,” I tell her.
She smiles. First at me. And then at Dylan. He doesn’t notice.
“I’ll check in in the morning.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She smiles again then starts to leave the room.
“Holly,” Dylan croaks, and her smile falters momentarily. “I’m real sorry, Ma’am. For everything.”
He falls asleep right away, his arm around me, his hand settled on my waist when I turned into him. For hours, I lay awake, the endless questions swirling in my head. But the scariest one, the one I can’t seem to shake… And I realize—just as my eyes drift shut—that I’m terrified of the circumstances that will lead me to the answer.
How long will this last?
Fifty-Three
Dylan
I wake up, the sunlight filtering through the cracks of the blinds and for a moment, I forget where I am. It doesn’t take long for me to find my bearings, because even though the room may be unfamiliar, the girl in my arms is the only thing I know.
I take a few minutes to soak in the events of last night and try to settle my emotions. I look down at Riley sleeping peacefully in my arms and I wonder how it is I spent the past few weeks, months, years, my entire goddamn life without her.
Slowly, I pull her off me, hoping not to wake her and sit on the edge of the bed. I look around her room again. Everything’s changed—the pictures she had on the walls, the bookshelf, the desk, the nightstands which once held the speakers that led me to this room for the very first time. It’s all changed. Everything but the corner of the room where cushions are scattered and jars are filled with letters.
She’d brought all her jars with her when we moved out so these are new.
There are no names on any of them to indicate which one of us she’s been writing to and right now, I don’t know which would hurt less.
I reach for my crutches leaning against the nearby wall and grab the empty glass sitting on the nightstand. I struggle to hold both the glass and grip the crutch as I make my way to the bathroom. I make it two steps into the room before I lose my footing, dropping the glass. It shatters on the tiled floor, breaking into a hundred pieces.
“Dylan!” Riley shouts from the bed.
I turn swiftly, my hip crashing into the counter, my broken leg taking the weight and I fall, landing on my ass, my crutches giving out beneath me.
Riley runs toward me, stopping just outside the room, her gaze going right to the mirror and my heart drops.
The truth hits me, relentless, over and over again.
She’s afraid.
She’ll always be afraid.
With my hands in my hair, I drop my gaze to hide my shame.
“What’s going on in here?” Holly shouts, walking into the bathroom. I look up just in time to see her look at the mirror first, then over at Riley, scanning over her entire body, looking for any damage I might have caused.
The walls close in and my stomach turns, my heart pounding in my eardrums. I gather whatever dignity I have left and look at both of them standing just outside the door, their eyes wide and filled with fear. I point to the shards of glass on the floor, shattered, just like all my hopes and determination to make everything right. “I dropped the glass,” I tell them, my voice hoarse as I struggle to speak. “I shouldn’t have tried to carry that and the crutches—”
“It’s okay,” Riley cuts in, moving around the glass and sitting next to me. “We’ll clean it up.”
“I’ll get the broom,” Holly says.
I wait for her to leave before looking at Riley, my voice low, my words meant only
for her. “You looked at the mirror.”
Her gaze falls. She doesn’t speak.
“So did your mom,” I tell her.
She exhales loudly.
“She thought I’d hurt you.”
She stills.
“I’d never hurt you, Ry.”
She takes the broom from Holly and sweeps up the glass, grateful to not have to respond.
“Are you going to work?” Holly asks her.
“Probably not,” Riley says, focusing a little too much on clearing the mess I’d made.
“Okay. I’m going to try to clear my schedule for the afternoon. I’ll be home early. I’d like to talk to both of you.” Holly glances at me. “I’d prefer if you stayed here or if you need to leave, go over to Mal’s. He’s home just in case you need him. Sydney’s coming by in an hour or so to check in on you.”
“Okay,” Riley answers.
Holly hasn’t taken her eyes off me. “Okay, Dylan?”
I nod. “Yes, Ma’am.”
* * *
Riley’s by the kitchen table, standing behind a chair she’d pulled out for me and fakes a smile when she sees me approaching. There’s coffee, juice, sweet tea and water set out on the table. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted,” she says.
I take the offered seat and bring the coffee to my lips, watching her walk around me and to the other side of the table. She sits, looking down at her own coffee. “We need to talk,” she murmurs.
“I know.”
She looks up at me through her lashes. “Two minutes,” she says, and my brows pinch in confusion.
A door opens, the sound of Holly’s heels clicking across the hardwood floors gets louder with every step. “Will you guys be okay?” she asks, but I don’t take my eyes off Riley.
She smiles. Fake again. And nods once. She stares at the spot her mother already vacated as I listen to the clicking of heels fade, the front door close, and then her car start and reverse out of the driveway. Riley must’ve been listening too, because it’s not until a good minute later that she finally tears her gaze away from the blank space and focuses on me. She inhales deeply, taking another sip of her coffee. “So.”
“So,” I respond.
“So,” she repeats.
I smirk. “What are you wearing?”
She smiles, then covers it quickly with her hand. “We can’t do this, Dylan.”
“Do what?” I ask, moving all four glasses out of my way and resting my elbows on the table. I lean forward, reaching for her hand.
She lets me take it. Just the tip of her fingers. Her nails are painted a bright blue. She’s never had painted nails before. Or maybe she did. Maybe I never noticed. I skim my thumb across the nail of her index finger, my mind lost, trying to remember.
“Dylan?”
“Yeah?”
She takes her hand away. “I feel like we should talk.”
“About?” I say through a sigh, sitting back in my chair and looking down at the table.
“About what’s happening. You. Me. Here. Now.”
“Whatever you feel, whatever you want to say. I’m right here.” I shrug. “Say it.”
“I’m mad at you,” she says quietly.
“I hurt you. You’re allowed to be mad. I know that. And I can see you’re afraid of me because of how I was. So is your mom. I get it.”
“That’s not—” She pauses to take a breath, her voice even softer when she adds, “That’s not why.”
“Then what?” I try to reach for her again, but she pulls back, hiding both her hands under the table.
“Dylan.” She pauses. Swallows. Then continues. “You could’ve died.”
“It was my job, Ry.”
“No. Not that. Do you know what it was like for me seeing you in that car, not being able to get you out?”
I choke on a breath, realization setting in. “Fuck, Riley. I—”
“I thought you were dead! I thought it was happening all over again and I thought I was losing you, too. And in a way, I did.” She looks up at me. “Right?”
I struggle to swallow. It’s all I can do. “Ry…”
“And then I find out you’d been drinking that day. Not just drinking, but that you were drunk?”
“I wasn’t—”
“How could you do that to me?”
I push my chair back and stand quickly, forgetting my broken leg.
“How could you get behind the wheel without a care for your life or mine and not think about me? How could you not think about me and how it would make me feel if I’d lost—” She breaks off on a sob, one that reaches the depths of my despair.
“Riley.” I limp around the table and over to her, watching her head fall into her hands, releasing her anger along with her tears.
I place my hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m mad at you, Dylan,” she says again, looking ahead. “I’m trying so hard not to be. But I am. I’m so mad at you.”
“I know.”
She stands up, pushing my hand off her shoulder. Then she looks up, her eyes the color of sadness.
I suck in a breath and hold it, a million emotions flooding me at once. “This was a mistake, Ry.” I reach for my crutches across the table, get them situated and turn away from her.
One step.
That’s as far as I get before her hands fist my shirt. “No, Dylan! You can’t just run away. You can’t run away from this. You can’t fucking ignore it!”
I cringe, my shoulders tensing with the loudness of her voice. She releases me, just so she can walk around me. Standing in front of me, her sadness gone, replaced with anger and strength, she lifts her chin. “I did that, Dylan! I ignored what was happening to you, and to us, and look where it got us. I hated it. I hated that distance you created when all I wanted to be was enough.”
“Riley—”
“And now you’re about to do it again. You’re about to push me away and—” She inhales deeply. “Why aren’t I enough, Dylan?”
I drop the crutches, drop the bullshit pretenses and hold her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. “Riley. I’m here because I need you. I’m here because you’re the only thing I need. You’re enough, babe. You’re everything!”
I don’t know how long we stand there, our breaths mingling, our eyes locked, our hearts beating, my hands on her face, hers circling my wrists before she narrows her eyes and lifts her chin with strength I’d once stolen from her. “Well?” she snaps.
“Well what?”
“Are you going to fucking kiss me because I have no problem throwing shit at you just because your leg’s in a cast!”
“Fuck, I love you!”
I dip my head, watching her eyes drift shut before knock knock knock.
Sydney and Eric check in on me, so does Dad. For some reason, they refuse to leave. Meaning Riley and my moment in the kitchen is on pause. But that doesn’t stop the build up, physical and emotional, of the things we want. The things we need.
She sits next to me, my hand on her leg, her eyebrows pinched. “B9,” she says.
Dad grunts.
“Did I?” she squeals, her hands raised in victory.
Dad grunts again.
She points at him. “I sunk your battleship! Say it, Mal!” she says through a laugh.
“Yeah, Dad!” Eric chimes in, walking into the living room with sandwiches a foot high. “Say it!”
Another grunt. “Fine! You sunk my battleship.”
Riley leans into me, her mouth pressed against my arm to muffle her cackle.
Dad drops his head and covers his eyes, but beneath his hands his beard shifts, revealing his smile. “You got me good, Riley.”
Riley laughs harder.
The front door opens and Holly steps in, her eyes widening when she sees all of us taking up every space of her living room. Then she smiles. “Perfect. You’re all here.”
Eric does his best to tidy up the mess we’d made in her living room in the few hours s
he’d been gone but it doesn’t seem to matter because she walks through the living room and into the kitchen. “Let’s talk,” she says, her voice firm.
Riley grasps my hand, helping me to stand, and like disobedient children, we file into the kitchen in a single line, Dad included, and each take a seat at the kitchen table.
Holly stands.
Dad grunts.
Eric chokes on a piece of ham.
Sydney sighs.
Riley won’t let go of my hand under the table.
And me? Honestly? I’m fucking shitting myself.
“So,” Holly says, pacing the small amount of space between the table and the kitchen counter. “I’ve had some time to think about things and firstly, I just need you all to know that my decision to take Riley home with me was not at all to separate the two of you long term. Do you understand?”
I look at Dad.
“Dylan?” Holly snaps, and I jump in my seat. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, Ma’am!”
Eric attempts to stifle his laugh. I glare at him. Fuck, I’d love to see him in this situation.
I squirm in my seat, my palms sweaty.
Holly sighs. “Good. Now that that’s out of the way, we can discuss living arrangements.”
I stare blankly at her.
“You are to stay here, at least until your leg is out of the cast. Even though I’m sure Eric, Mal and Syd visited you often, I never liked the idea of you living in that house alone. If something happened…” She shudders. “So?”
I look at Dad again. I don’t know why I feel like he’s somehow going to save me.
“Dylan!” she snaps.
I jump. Again. “Yes, Ma’am.”
Eric chuckles. “D, you’re twenty-four and still need a babysitter.
Sydney slaps his chest.
Dad grunts.
Holly says, “Eric, you’re almost thirty, still live at home and still check the mail in nothing but your Spiderman underwear.”