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PART II
Dylan
Fourteen was a tough age for all of us. I was no exception. That was one of the hardest years of my life.
That year I fell in love for the first and probably last time. I can’t remember ever having been happier or more full of hope for the future. In that same year, Mom left, Dad went into a depression, and I… I broke up with Tessa.
I couldn’t even explain to her why. All I knew was I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t cry. Couldn’t feel.
There were moments when I thought I’d lose my mind. When the doubts grew into roaring monsters in my head. How could I trust anyone when my own mom left us? How could I believe anyone will stick around?
Back then, I thought something had to give. Bad things aren’t supposed to last. Mom would come back. Dad would return to his old self. Laughing. Teasing. Mowing the lawn. Taking us out to play football.
But Mom never came back. And Dad… He got worse. Stiller. Emptier. In the worn armchair sat the shell of the man he used to be.
So I was put in charge of the Hayes household. I cleaned and cooked and washed. Looked after my brothers, and Dad, too. Made him get up, wash himself, eat, drink, sleep. Made him take his pills, talked to him, sometimes yelled at him, pleaded with him… to come back. Because in one fell swoop I’d lost both parents and had become the only family my brothers had left.
And I thought… What’s the use of trying? Everyone I love leaves me. Everything that’s good breaks, and all hope dies eventually.
Every night before I go to sleep, I stand in front of Tessa’s photo on my bedroom wall, and a light flickers in my heart.
Love… Love is dangerous, and I don’t love Tessa. I don’t love her. I don’t.
I keep telling myself that, day after day, night after night. Maybe someday I’ll convince myself that it’s the truth.
Chapter Six
Dylan
Honestly, I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me. Leaving my bros in my neighbors’ care, again, to go and check if Tessa is okay, even though I left her safe and sound at her place only last night.
Granted, the things Audrey said and, even worse, the things she hinted at, made my blood run cold. I feared… a lot of things. Maybe it’s because I’ve been around Dad so long, I know the signs of depression. So last night I knew that something bad had happened.
Hell, I saw the bruise on her face and the messed-up lipstick. The messed-up expression in her eyes. Not so hard to guess something was off.
Checking on her was a must for the sake of my own sanity. But what happened afterward—that feeling of protectiveness that hit me like a sledgehammer, followed by the need to enter her, fuck her hard, possess her… Make her mine.
Have her back.
Yeah, then it all got out of control. And oh, shit, was it good. My cock twitches at the memory of her sweet body, the sounds she made, the way she clutched at me, her nails scratching my back. Calling my name. Wanting me, like I dreamed she would.
Then things got out of control once again when I saw her suitcase open and packed and realized she was leaving. That was like a punch to the gut.
I rub my chest. Will she go? I told her I don’t want her to—but why would she care?
The weight on my chest increases. I can’t love her. If I do, then I’ll end up like my dad, left behind. Crushed. Destroyed.
Dammit. Like tactile memory, the feel of her body against mine triggered all the feelings I kept buried deep. It terrifies me, how much I need her.
Can’t allow this to happen again. Can’t be around her. Too risky.
Head lowered against the driving rain, I make it to the bus stop. It’s fucking cold, and I’m wet and shivering, so I walk up and down to keep warm while waiting for the bus.
That was a moronic thing to do, Dylan. Keep your dick in your pants and your head in what is important. Your brothers. Your work. Money for the rent and the expenses. Keeping Dad out of trouble.
Yeah, right. Easy.
The memory of her taste, her body, her voice has been haunting me from the moment I stepped out her door.
