by A. J. Logan
Stopping in front of where Dylan stands as he remains fixated on me, ignoring his cackling friend, I mutter, “I doubt there’s anything decent beneath it.”
When we step onto the elevator, we descend the floors in utter silence. It’s better that way. The more we talk, the more accusations and insults we exchange.
Once we’re in his car and out of the parking garage, he steers across town. I realize we’re making our way to a side of town that’s known for not being the best part of Sunland to get caught in. He pulls into an apartment complex, the building worn down by years of decay and very little maintenance. The STI comes to a jerky stop, and he steps out of the car. I do the same, following behind him as we walk down an uneven pathway between the buildings before stopping in front of a door just to the right.
Dylan unlocks the door, steps inside, and shoves his keys back in his pocket. “Wait here.”
Glancing around the bare apartment, I look at the sofa—the only piece of furniture in the living room. It’s nothing fancy, just a simple black leather couch but it looks out of place in the otherwise empty apartment. Walking a few steps forward, I peek through the doorway where Dylan had gone. It’s a bedroom and it looks as sad as the living room with only a mattress on the floor. Somehow the bedding looks more out of place with the hunter-green comforter neatly tucked and situated on the mattress.
Dylan appears in the doorway, halting as he catches me studying his nearly empty bedroom.
“I didn’t realize … with your car and then Bryce’s and his hotel, I just thought—”
“Where I live makes no difference on who I am.”
“No, it shouldn’t,” I utter.
“But it does.”
“No. It doesn’t.” My sympathy fades as the idiot won’t even let me apologize for assuming he was just another overindulged, pampered brat like Kyle. It does explain his insecurity with Kyle and his comment about the tuition, but it’s no reason for him to be such a dickwad. “You can’t even let me say I’m sorry without being insufferable, can you? You know what—I’m not sorry. I couldn’t care less how much money you do or don’t have. It seems to bother you a helluva lot more than it bothers me.”
His expression hardens as he takes a lingering look around the apartment. Yep. Struck that exposed nerve. Again.
Dylan takes a calculated step forward, then hooks his finger under my chin and lifts my face to his before brushing his fingertips along my jawline. “I know for a fact that it wasn’t great sex, or even tolerable sex, that kept you going back for more. So, if that asshat’s wealth didn’t contribute to you putting up with him, why else would you allow him to treat you like a doormat for all those years?”
It had been a mystery to me for a while too, but I won’t give Dylan the satisfaction of an explanation. He probably wouldn’t understand or believe me, no matter the reason. His tender touch fused with his cruel words are a perfect example of how he gets enjoyment from twisting me around.
“You have no room to talk about how anyone treats me. And you might not be a spoiled punk, but you are a callous son of a bitch.”
He doesn’t react to my words. His eyes are locked on my mouth as his thumb brushes over my lips. “How did you not see it? What was going on right under your nose.”
Yeah. There’s my exposed nerve. Thanks again for reminding me that I’ve been in the dark while my dad and Kyle have a deeper alliance with each other than I ever had with either of them.
Jerking away from Dylan’s hold, I rub my hand across my mouth and every spot of skin he’d been touching on my face, unsuccessfully attempting to remove the feel of him. “I’m done. This isn’t getting us any closer to the truth.”
“No, we’re not done. You need answers as much as I do. You’re just afraid of what you’ll find.”
Looking to him, I admit something I shouldn’t. “No. I’m terrified of what you’ll find and use against me because you have the power to hurt me more than Kyle ever could.” My voice breaks as I turn, walking to the front door and pulling it open.
Dylan’s palm slams into the door, shutting it as his arm remains next to my head, my back to him. “Bryce knows me better than anyone else … and he’s right. I am terrified of you. I came here for Noah, but I want to stay for you.”
My breath hitches. I feel his body hovering behind me, so close but not touching. Yet, I feel more from him than I’ve ever felt from anyone else. How does he do it? How does he touch me without laying a finger on me? “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why did you allow him to have you so easily, but you keep hiding from me?” His warm breath floats over my neck, sending a shiver through me as goose bumps appear on my arms. It’s the perfect example—proof—of his ability to make me feel things, intensely and profoundly, by only breathing on me. That is what terrifies me.
Rubbing my palms over the tingling flesh, attempting to scrub the evidence away of his effect on me, I clutch my arms across my chest, guarding my heart literally and figuratively. “I can’t do this, not with you.”
His lips brush along my neck. “I can’t do this without you.”
Fuck. Sometimes I wish he’d just be an asshole all of the time and keep his stupid words to himself. “Stop it. I’ll wait for you in the car.”
“This isn’t a neighborhood to be running around by yourself in.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can,” he mutters, shoving off the door as I pull it open and step outside, taking a deep breath of air.
I don’t make it to his car before he’s trailing behind me down the broken path, a duffel bag in his hand. I’d like to ask what’s in it but every time I ask him a question, I get more information than I bargained for. He tosses the bag on the back seat as I plop down in the passenger seat. Hopefully, this is our last stop on today’s crazy tour because I’m mentally drained.
Relief floods me as he heads back to my place. At least until we pull into the parking lot and he exits the car right behind me, duffel bag in hand as we step into my apartment. He drops the bag just inside the door as I eye him, unable to refrain from asking, “What is that?”
“Clothes.”
“Of course.” Of freakin’ course. Clothes. Because he plans on staying here.
“Bryce is waiting outside for me. We’ll be back later tonight.” He reaches in his pocket, walks to me, and hands me a key fob.
“Um. Okay.” I hold up the key fob with a confused look.
“In case you need to go somewhere.”
“You’re leaving me with your precious STI? Really?” Why does that bother me? I’m not planning on going anywhere, but it is nice to not be stranded if I need to leave. “Shocking … since guys only care about their dick and their car.”
“That’s true. But you’re already leading me around by one, so you might as well be in control of the other too.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond (thankfully) before walking out the door, closing it behind him.
Yep. More than I bargained for.
Sitting on the sofa, I look around the quiet apartment. For the first time, I don’t appreciate the silence because my mind is screaming. Flipping on the TV, I prop a throw pillow under my head and curl into a ball on the couch. Rest. That’s all I need, but I don’t want to lie in my bed and admit that it’d felt more comfortable with Dylan beside me. Because even if he stayed for me, he’ll keep twisting me in knots until one of us breaks.
30
Dylan
Dropping into the passenger seat of the GT-R, I slam the door as I look ahead.
“I’m guessing she’s still pissed at you,” Bryce teases, only I can’t figure out what’s so damn funny about it.
“I should beat your ass.”
“Eh. She needed to know that you’re whipped.”
“Shut up.”
He snickers, slapping my shoulder as he keeps the other hand on the wheel. “Don’t worry man, it happens to everybody at some point. Not me, but you know, all of y’
all. And you couldn’t have picked better if you ask me.”
Yeah. I know. “Can you just drive?”
“Yep. Where’re we headin’?”
“Staffordsville.”
“Ah, that explains why you’re so edgy. Does she know where we’re going?”
“No.”
“Okay.” He exaggerates the word as I see him look over to me out of the corner of my eye. “Did you tell her everything?”
“Just drive.” I stare straight ahead, avoiding my best friend’s judgy look. He has no room to talk. Laying out his full hand—exposing all his cards—wouldn’t be Bryce’s choice just yet, either, if I were to wager on it. I could argue I’m trying to soften the blow on her, but the reality is I don’t know how far she’ll retreat within herself when she finds out the complete truth about Kyle. Even if she doesn’t care about him, it’s going to crush her and turn her world upside down—once again. For now, I need to shore up what I can. “Just head to the Boone dealership.”
“Are you sure that’s the best decision?”
“Is there a better one?”
“Maybe. There has to be one that doesn’t lead to her wanting to throttle you. Although, this could prove to be the entertaining choice for me.”
“As long as you’re happy.” Because no one else will be.
“You should be too. Noah would want that much for you.”
“No he wouldn’t. It’s my fault. He was only here because of me.”
Bryce shakes his head. “What the hell are you talking about? This was just a pit stop on his way to school.”
“I’d heard about the races at the Dome from around school. I was told it was a bunch of amateurs, drag racing at an abandoned airport. I knew it’d be an easy payday for Noah, so I told him about it.”
“That doesn’t make it your fault.”
“He wouldn’t have been here if I hadn’t told him. He wouldn’t have gotten involved in any of this if I’d just kept my mouth shut or come here myself.”
“You had no way of knowing what would happen.” Bryce’s voice is sincere and stern, but it doesn’t make the words mean any more or less.
“That doesn’t change the fact that my little brother was only here because of me.”
“Dylan, nothing is going to bring Noah back. Nothing. Blaming Kyle, proving it wasn’t an accident, nothing. You’re still gonna have that guilt plus more.”
“I need to know why it happened.”
“What if there’s not a reason? Shit happens all the time for no fucking reason.”
“There’s always a reason. Just sometimes they are insignificant and sometimes they change everything.”
“You’re so full of shit, Dylan. Noah didn’t do anything he didn’t want to do, just like his stubborn-ass brother. And he would not want you to feel guilty about it.”
“What about my mom? What would she think?”
Bryce hesitates, silently confirming my fear before he tries to recover. “She won’t blame you. That’s only you. But now I fully understand why you’re so set on this insane mission to blame someone for Noah’s death, because you don’t want to blame yourself.”
“It’ll still be my fault in the end.”
“Noah was like a brother to me. I knew him almost as well as I know your headstrong ass. He wouldn’t hold you responsible for him being in Sunland. I don’t blame you for him being there. But the only opinion that matters here is yours. It’s gonna eat at you from the inside out if you let it.”
“It already has,” I admit, knowing it’s one of the reasons I can’t let Noah’s death go. I can’t walk away. I’ll never be able to make Sadie happy, even if we get through all the other obstacles. It’s all tied together.
“I think we should take a vote,” Bryce says matter-of-factly as he picks up his phone.
“What are you doing?”
He passes me his phone. “Call your mother, tell her the heavy bullshit you’ve been carrying around, and see what she has to say about it.”
“I can’t.” I drop the phone on the floorboard near my feet. There’s no way in hell I’m making that phone call.
Bryce waves over the dashboard. “You know I can still dial her number, right?”
“Please don’t. If my mom says it’s my fault, I won’t be able to get past it.”
“You’re not gonna get past it if you keep it buried inside either.”
“I don’t want to get past it.” It is my fault, regardless of what anyone thinks. But that doesn’t mean someone doesn’t deserve to pay. Noah was here because of me; he didn’t return home because of someone else.
“We need a time-out. First round is on me.”
“Later. I need to take care of something first.”
“Okay. But I know you’re not in the market for another vehicle, so I really think drinks would be better beforehand.”
Probably so, but I just want to get this done. Sever every connection Kyle has with Sadie and get him as far away from her as I possibly can. “No. It won’t take long.”
31
Sadie
Turning over in my bed, I pull the covers up to my chin. I’d dozed off on the couch, only to be awoken by Willow arriving home. I hadn’t wanted to explain to her why I didn’t want to sleep in my bed, so I’d soaked in the tub for a while before crawling in bed, hoping I’d drift back to sleep. That had to be at least two hours ago.
Reaching for my phone, I check the time and see it’s after midnight. Why am I waiting for him to get back? He’s with Bryce, doing God only knows what. But that doesn’t stop my mind from wondering. He’d said he’d include me with anything that involves my dad or Noah’s accident, but who’s to say he hadn’t been lying.
My eyes fixate on the sheer curtains covering the window until they eventually become heavy, and I drift off to sleep until the bed shifts beside me. Holding my breath, I feel his arm loop around me as he nuzzles his nose in my hair, sighing.
I move to bring the covers tighter around me, remembering that I’m only wearing an oversize T-shirt.
“Don’t leave me, Sadie.” His words are soft and slurred as his arm hugs me closer.
“You’re drunk.” I’m not upset, just surprised. It doesn’t seem like something Dylan would do. That would relinquish his control.
“Mh-hmm. Bryce said I was being an intolerable little bitch and that I should apologize.”
Yep. He’s really drunk.
“I’m sure he’s over it,” I say, knowing exactly what Bryce meant.
“He’s not the one I need to beg for forgiveness. The one I’ll have to keep asking for mercy.” Dylan feathers a soft kiss on my shoulder as I turn to look back at him. Even in the dark room, I can see how glassy his eyes are.
“Go to sleep, Dylan.”
“I tried. Willow let me in, so I crashed on the couch. But I couldn’t sleep out there, knowing you were in here.” He hovers over me, propping up on his elbow as the palm of his other hand gently cups my cheek. There’s just enough of his weight on me to press my back into the mattress—he’s not heavy, but I like that his body has me pinned against the bed. His thumb brushes beneath my eye as he whispers, “Will you ever forgive me … let me in? Or is it too late?”
“It’s fine.” I attempt to keep my voice steady, but my words die out when his thumb brushes across my lips.
“Stop saying that. Nothing is fine.” His somber words pull at my heart, but I can’t bring myself to tell him everything will be okay because I’m not so sure myself.
“Fine. We can talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober. You’ll probably change your mind before then anyway.” And that will hurt even more.
His eyes snap shut before slowly opening. “I won’t feel any differently in the morning. I’ll find some way to screw things up, but I’ll always want you. I wanted you so bad this morning when you walked out of this bedroom. I wanted to lick right here,” he says, trailing his finger along my collarbone. “And here …” He smooths his finger over the swe
ll of my breast before dropping his hand to grip my thigh, his hips rocking against me as he hooks my leg over his hip. “Then I wanted to peel those damn shorts off with my teeth and devour you with my tongue.”
There’s no way the act can be any better than the vivid picture he’s painting in my mind. “Dylan …”
“I want to be the first who does it. Tell me that no one has ever licked you, tasted your pussy. And if someone has, don’t say anything … because I can’t stand the thought of anyone experiencing you. I need you all to myself.”
I’ve only ever had sex with Kyle and that was all we did. No foreplay, very little kissing. Maybe that’s why I’d never felt comfortable enough with him to try oral sex. Nothing else felt right, so why would something that seemed just as intimate—if not more—be appealing? Kyle only asked for head a few times, making it clear that if he didn’t get a blow job there was no chance of him going down on me. “No. No one has ever done it.”
He lets out a throaty moan, cussing under his breath as he pushes his hard cock against the thin material of my underwear. “Do you want me to be the first?”
“Yes, but …” How do I say this? “I’ve never done it to anyone either.”
His face tightens as he picks up on my meaning. “I’m not expecting anything in return.”
I clumsily nod, biting the inside of my cheek.
Dylan strokes his finger over my lips. “Sadie, I’m not going to ask you to do anything for me afterwards. This is only about you.”
“Okay,” I whisper. He doesn’t make a move, and I almost think he’s changed his mind until he slowly lowers his mouth to mine, tenderly kissing me. Reaching for the hem of my T-shirt, he pulls it over my head one-handed, discarding it to the floor, before effortlessly—really, he barely moved so it seemed to practically disappear—removing his own shirt. After tossing it to the floor, he moves over me, his chest pressed against mine, his tongue patiently exploring my mouth. I taste the liquor on him, and surprisingly, it fuels my desire to taste more of him. But I can’t focus on anything other than his hand smoothing down my side. His tongue trailing over my collarbone before moving down my chest. That demanding tongue follows the same path his finger had when he said exactly what he’d wanted to do to me after I’d walked out in a simple tank top and shorts. The images he filled my mind with are now playing out. Depositing kisses down to my stomach, I suck in a breath as he pulls down my underwear. His eyes dart up to mine with a yearning I feel in every part of my body. Settling between my thighs, his eyes take in my exposed body that’s sprawled out before him—I’m his to devour.
