by Brenda Novak
After downing half his soda, Aaron belched. “Didn’t I just tell you?”
“You don’t give a shit about my love life. And it’s got nothing to do with you, anyway. So is there something else we need to talk about?”
A strange look flickered over his brother’s face. Aaron seemed to struggle to come up with the right words. Then he muttered, “What the hell. Forget it,” and got up.
There was emotion in his voice beyond his usual petulance. It caught Dylan’s attention, brought him to his feet. “Aaron!”
He turned at the door and stared at him with hollow eyes, as if he couldn’t tolerate the pain that was eating him up inside.
“What is it?” Dylan asked, softening his voice.
Aaron’s throat worked as he swallowed. He seemed desperate to talk…and yet reluctant at the same time.
“Tell me,” Dylan prompted.
Rubbing his free hand over his face, he said, “I hate Dad.”
This wasn’t news. This was merely the warm-up. “Just Dad?”
He dropped his hand. “No. Mom, too.”
As the oldest, Dylan had known their mother best. He felt it was his duty to defend her and yet…what could he say? He felt as robbed as Aaron did. But, he tried, as usual. “She was mentally ill.”
Aaron lifted a hand. “Don’t feed me the bullshit you’ve been giving us ever since it happened. Far as I’m concerned, she took the easy way out. Bailed on us.” When Dylan didn’t react, Aaron’s hand shot out to punctuate his words. “Come on, you have to be angry with her, too! Look how much it changed your life.”
If only Aaron knew how angry Dylan had been. What did he think had fueled the rage driving Dylan at eighteen? Did he think Dylan wanted to get into the cage with some of those fighters? That he hadn’t been afraid of the experienced martial artists he’d had to go up against?
He’d done it because it was the one thing he could do to pay the bills when the shop wasn’t covering them all.
Rage had saved him, had made him an indomitable fighter. It’d helped that he’d had more at stake than his opponents. But the rage fueling him during those fights was mostly spent. Every once in a while, Dylan experienced a trace of it, enough to remind him what his emotional state had been like, but he’d learned to let go. Learned that he had to overcome the past or the past would overcome him. “Not anymore.”
Aaron’s jaw tightened. “How did you beat it back?”
Dylan often had difficulty stating how he felt, especially toward his brothers. He’d tried to show them with his actions, by the fact that he’d stayed when he could’ve taken off. But he wasn’t sure he’d ever actually told any of them he loved them. He’d kept a roof over their heads and food on the table, and he’d done what he could to keep them in line. That was more than J.T. had succeeded in doing once he started drinking so heavily. But Dylan had been absolutely inadequate at replacing their mother. They’d missed out on the gentleness and nurturing she could’ve provided. So Dylan forced himself to speak even though the emotion behind what he said made him uncomfortable, especially in front of Aaron. “I knew if I gave in to those negative emotions I’d lose you.”
His brother’s eyebrows jerked together. “You mean Mack.”
“I mean all of you. Do you think I’ve done what I’ve done just for him? If that was the case, two mouths would’ve been easier to feed than five.”
After hours, the office felt abnormally quiet. The workday was so loud and frenetic. But this silence seemed even more profound.
“I feel bad about Presley,” Aaron said at length.
So that was what had triggered this heart-to-heart. Dylan was relieved to know his brother had some reaction to what had happened besides his usual “I don’t give a shit.”
“So do I.” Dylan felt bad about Cheyenne, too, but he didn’t want to get his life tangled up with a woman who was always looking beyond him, always wanting something better. He figured he should steer clear of that emotional crash if he could. Lord knew he hadn’t avoided many other pitfalls.
“Where do you think she is?” Aaron bent his can as he turned it in his hand. “You don’t imagine…” He stopped talking the second his voice cracked.
Dylan felt a fresh burst of concern. “You’re really that worried about her? Why?”
“She’s gone, man!”
“But it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. You know Presley. It’s not exactly unusual for her to take off. She might not surface for days.” What he’d seen in Anita’s room meant it wasn’t quite that simple. But Aaron wasn’t aware of that, and Dylan wasn’t about to reveal it. Especially because there was still a chance everything could end well. They hadn’t heard from her, didn’t know for sure what had happened.
Aaron shook his head. “I shouldn’t have let her go.”
“Wait a second.” God, Dylan wanted a cigarette. He hadn’t had one all day. But he was still trying to quit smoking, to prove to himself, if not Cheyenne, that he was every bit as good as Joe. “You told me you didn’t see her.”
Aaron’s bad attitude reasserted itself. “It was only for a minute.”
“But you said you didn’t see her!”
“I wasn’t completely honest with you, obviously.”
Son of a bitch. “You didn’t have a fight....”
“No.”
“And you didn’t withhold any other information that might’ve helped us find her?”
“Of course not.”
“Then…what is it?”
His chin bumped his chest and Dylan’s heart began to race. “Aaron?”
“When I wouldn’t go over to her place she hung up. But she stopped by later. I asked about her mother, but she wouldn’t give me a straight answer. She was too upset. She wanted to come in—started kissing me right there on the doorstep.”
“And?”
His speech slowed, but he continued. “I felt like shit. So I wasn’t interested. She asked me if I had any pills and…I gave her what I had and sent her home.”
The possibility of an overdose crossed Dylan’s mind, as it had before. Only now he had to worry that Aaron was responsible for it. Shit… “She didn’t go home.”
“No.” He raised his eyes. “But if I had any clue where she did go, I would’ve told you.”
Disgusted as well as concerned, Dylan rounded the reception desk. “What kind of pills did you give her?”
Clearly uncomfortable, Aaron stretched his neck. “I didn’t have any pills. I gave her crystal meth.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Come on, Dyl. It’s available, okay? I can get it if I want it. You can’t shut down every dealer I know. This is on me.”
“It better not be Carl.”
“It wasn’t Carl. He’s terrified of you. He freaks out every time I get near him.”
“Good.” But Aaron was right. Dylan couldn’t threaten every drug dealer in Northern California. If Aaron wanted to get high, he’d find a way. “Was Presley already stoned when she came over?”
“How should I know? I was half-asleep! I didn’t give her a drug test.”
Dylan pictured what he’d seen inside Anita’s room before they came to take the body. He guessed Presley had been on something. She’d probably left immediately after Anita died—confused, upset and maybe coming off her high enough to crave more. So she’d stopped by their house. “How much did you give her?”
“She was so freaked out and upset I just wanted her to leave me alone. I gave her a few points—all I had.” He sounded close to tears when he added, “Dyl, I need help.”
This admission frightened Dylan as much as all the rest of it. The demons Aaron was fighting weren’t ones Dylan could slay for him, so he wasn’t sure he could help. That was why he’d resorted to threatening Carl. At least it was something. “Getting clean starts with rehab. Only you can commit to that. Only you can change your life.”
“I know.” He blew out a sigh. “You’ve been trying to tell me for a long time
. Maybe if I’d listened…Presley would still be here.”
Dylan said a silent prayer that this would be a turning point, that he wouldn’t lose yet another member of his family. He also prayed that it wasn’t too late to save Presley. “I’ll do whatever I can to get you what you need.”
A wry smile appeared on his brother’s lips. “That much I can count on.”
Aaron started to leave but Dylan stopped him. “What’s love, if not that?”
* * *
Joe hadn’t been able to reach Cheyenne all evening, but he’d enjoyed seeing his girls. They’d admired the tree, just as he’d expected, ordered pizza, watched a movie and sat up talking about Christmas, school, their friends. He was determined to show them a good time while they were in Whiskey Creek. He didn’t get to have them all that often, and missed being a full-time father. But concern for the woman he wanted to date had been hovering in the back of his mind all day. How was she taking her mother’s death? And who was around to support her, since most of her friends were on that cruise?
He knew Presley was less of an asset than she should be. And Gail hadn’t been able to reach her, either.
Once Josephine and Summer were in bed, and his father was home to watch them, he decided to go over to Cheyenne’s to see if he could do anything to help.
The stores were closed after ten, so he stopped by the Gas-N-Go to pick up a long-stemmed white rose and a card.
Sandra Morton was working. Slow as it was this time of night, she could’ve been sitting on the stool behind the register, reading a book. Instead, she was busy cleaning. She was one of their best employees. Her son, Robbie, worked for them, too. He was young, only eighteen, but he already had a baby to support.
“Hey!” she said when he walked in.
He smiled. “Wishing you could close early and head home to that grandbaby of yours?”
“Naw. I’m fine with staying till twelve. Little Dodge has a cold. Long as I’m here his mother has to walk the floor with him instead of me.”
Robbie and his wife, who was a year younger than he was, lived with Sandra. It was the only way they could make ends meet while he went to college in Sacramento, since his wife was still in high school.
“She doesn’t get up with him?”
Sandra rolled her eyes. “Not if she can help it.”
“Even while she’s on break for the holidays?”
“Any time.”
He didn’t envy Sandra the difficult position she was in. No parent wanted his or her son getting a girl pregnant before he could even legally drink. “Good thing you love that baby so much.”
She chuckled. “No kidding. The sun rises and sets on that kid.”
He selected a card and a pink rose since they were out of white and removed his wallet. He owned the store with his father, but he paid for everything he bought there, just like anyone else.
“Are you seeing someone?” she asked, eyeing the flower.
“Cheyenne Christensen’s mother died today,” he explained.
Her smile vanished. “I heard about that. I’m so sorry. Actually, she dropped in earlier and left a note for you. I didn’t expect to see you so I tacked it above your work desk. I would’ve forgotten if you hadn’t mentioned her. I swear my mind isn’t the same since Robbie had Dodge. That baby’s all I think about.”
Sandra kept talking but her words dimmed to background noise. Why hadn’t Cheyenne just called him back?
“I’ll grab it on my way out.” He wasn’t sure if he’d interrupted Sandra, but he didn’t particularly care. She’d talk all day if he let her. After taking his change, he headed into the garage, where his desk languished beneath a pile of work orders and auto parts.
It took a moment for the new energy-efficient lights to come on. When they did, he found a piece of copy paper with his name on it, folded up tightly and stapled shut, tacked to the bulletin board where he’d put up pictures of his kids, the shop calendar, invoices and various “to do” items he didn’t want to forget.
After retrieving it, he sank onto his stool to read what she’d written.
Thanks for all your messages today, Joe. It means a lot that you’re concerned about me. I’ve almost called you back several times, but I’m not sure I’d have the courage to come out with what I have to tell you, so I hope you’ll forgive me for doing it this way.
First of all, my life is completely upside down right now. I should get my head on straight before I start seeing anyone. More than anything I don’t want to mislead you or disappoint you. I’ve always admired you, will never forget how wonderful you were to me when I first came to town.
Joe couldn’t remember being “wonderful.” He remembered being angry at how her mother treated her and how his father had cautioned him to stay out of it. But that was all.
So I have to be up front with you. Remember when I said I was a virgin? I was—at the time. I know that wasn’t too long ago (uncomfortable laugh goes here) but since then I’ve slept with Dylan (yes, Dylan Amos). Dylan and I weren’t seeing each other or anything; it just happened out of the blue. I’m not quite sure how after thirty-one years! I know this probably isn’t what you want to hear, but you’ve already been through a lot, so before you start to care about me or build any expectations based on what I told you before, I thought it only fair to be as honest as possible.
No matter what happens I will always think of you as a hero.
Cheyenne
“Wow…” he breathed, feeling as if he’d just been sucker punched. He’d certainly never seen this coming.
“Wow what?” Sandra asked. “Everything okay?”
Joe had been so engrossed he hadn’t realized his employee had poked her head into the garage. Trying to rally from the shock, he got up. “Fine. It’s just…her car needs some work.”
“She had to ask me for a stapler to be able to tell you that?”
He didn’t answer, but his silence didn’t deter Sandra from speaking again. Nothing deterred Sandra. But he knew she meant well.
“I wonder if she’s found her sister.”
“Her sister?” he asked, glancing up.
“That’s the reason she came here in the first place. She was looking for Presley, said she hadn’t seen her all day. Knowing Presley, I wasn’t overly concerned. You can’t keep track of someone who’s hell-bent on destroying herself. But I said I’d keep an eye out. Then she came back a few minutes later with that.”
Joe needed to think about what Cheyenne had revealed, figure out how it affected what he felt for her. But now was not the time. Sandra was being too nosy. “Maybe I’ll go by and see if Presley’s back.”
“That would be nice. Presley’s troubled, but Cheyenne’s sure a great person.”
24
Cheyenne’s car was gone but Dylan knocked, anyway. She didn’t answer, confirming his first guess. She hadn’t found Presley. She was still out searching for her sister.
He wondered if she was doing it alone.
Maybe she had Joe, her knight in shining armor, to help her.
Despite his own sarcasm, Dylan hoped she did. He hated to think of her trying to cope on her own—frantic, heartbroken, vulnerable.
He lifted his hand to bang on the door again, just in case he was wrong and she was inside, asleep. It was eleven, certainly late enough for that. She could’ve left her car elsewhere and had someone drop her off.
The sound of an engine made him turn. The vehicle pulling into Cheyenne’s drive wasn’t the Oldsmobile or the Mustang, however. He couldn’t determine the make or model, but the headlights blinding him were too high for either.
This was a truck—and once he could see it clearly, he realized who it belonged to.
Suddenly, Dylan wanted to be anywhere else, but he forced himself to stand on the stoop and wait until Joe turned off his engine and got out. If he was bringing Cheyenne home, at least Dylan would be able to reassure himself that she was okay.
But she didn’t get out of the truck. It wa
s only Joe who walked toward him. “She’s not home?” he said, his voice clipped, not open and friendly like it had been at the Victorian Christmas celebration.
Dylan figured it was finding him on Cheyenne’s doorstep so late that accounted for the change. He shook his head. “She’s not with you?”
“No.”
They stared at each other for several seconds, opponents for the first time, a subtle but unmistakable shift. Then Joe shoved his hands in his pockets and heaved a sigh. “She told me about you.”
Instantly wary, Dylan narrowed his eyes. “Told you what about me?”
“That you two—” he shrugged, obviously looking for the right words “—were together,” he finished with a wince.
Dylan frowned. “Telling you was a hell of a risk to take. But…somehow it doesn’t surprise me.”
Joe stepped closer. He seemed intent on seeing Dylan’s face. “Why not?”
“She’s been in love with you since she was fourteen, thinks you walk on water. Didn’t she tell you that, too?” The jealousy he was feeling leaked into his voice, but Dylan couldn’t help it. His chest was so tight he could scarcely breathe, let alone talk.
Joe stopped a foot or so away and toed the dirt between the dead clumps of grass. “She didn’t say that, exactly.”
“She’s wanted you for a long time. So…” He met Joe’s somber gaze. “I hope you won’t let what happened between us get in the way.”
A touch of confusion showed on Joe’s face. “Something like that’s hard to forget, Dylan.”
Especially when he’d already dealt with a cheating wife. His background would make it even harder. “I’m just telling you it would be a mistake. What we did didn’t mean anything to her. It was…an act of desperation, I think. I hit on her in a vulnerable moment.”
“So…more your fault than hers.”
“Definitely.” He knew that should be an easy sell. People in Whiskey Creek liked to blame him for whatever went wrong. In high school, he’d deserved a lot of that blame. He’d broken into the school and vandalized it, he’d stolen a car and gone on a joyride, he’d started a bonfire in an abandoned building so they could roast hot dogs and gotten in more trouble for that than the car incident. So maybe blaming him had become a habit. Regardless of the reason, he’d been picked up three different times since then for shit he didn’t do.
