More Than Enough (More Than Series, Book 5) (22 page)

She hugs like Riley too. “Good evening, Mr. Banks.”

“Dylan’s fine, Ma’am.”

Riley says, “Is someone going to tell me what happened?”

“I’m getting to know your boyfriend,” her mom says, releasing me.

We sit down
for a meal at an actual dining table, with an actual freshly cooked meal, and salad, and iced tea. My enjoyment is obvious by the constant moans of pleasure. Something they seem to think is hilarious. I don’t even realize until I’ve polished off my plate that they haven’t even touched theirs. I lean back in my chair, my hands on my lap and look down at them, trying to suppress my laughter. “Sorry. I’m a growing boy.”

Ms. Hudson, who has told me to call her Holly, says, “I hate to break it to you but there’s no possible way you’re growing anymore. How tall are you now, Dylan?”

“6’3”, Ma’am.”

“Hmm. That’s not much taller than you were when we first met you, is it?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Ask Riley. She seems to remember that moment quite well.”

Riley’s jaw drops.

I squeeze her leg under the table.

Her mom laughs. “So that’s why you spent the next few weeks glued to the living room window.”

“Lies!” Riley squeals. Then her eyes narrow at me. “I was going to give you my food but after that…” Slowly, she puts her entire hand in her plate, using it to scoop up the lasagna and shoves it in her mouth, smearing bits of it around her lips.

I choke on my guffaw, pick up my napkin and start to clean her face.

“You’re a mess, Ry,” her mom tells her.

“And so cute,” I add.

She waits until I’m done cleaning her before leaning forward and kissing me quickly. Then she places her plate in front of me. I welcome the food and look across the table at Holly. She’s watching Riley with a frown on her face. Then she blinks and as if coming to, she notices me watching her. Riley’s hand’s on mine now, still on her leg under the table.

Holly clears her throat. “So do you guys have plans for tomorrow?” she asks.

Riley’s eyes widen slightly when her gaze shifts between us. “Nothing solid,” she says hesitantly.

Holly nods.

I chime in. “I was actually thinking of going into town. I need to get some supplies. But I need to be home in the morning,” I tell them. “I’m expecting a delivery.”

“Oh yeah?” Riley asks. “Of what?”

“Car shell.”

“For the engine?” She smiles. “You’re ready to move on?”

“Yep. Moving on. With you, Riley Hudson.”

*     *     *

Riley:
You in your garage?

Dylan:
Youxstalking again, Hudson?

Riley:
Open the door.

I open the garage door just high enough for her to duck underneath and then close it again. She’s wearing my shirt from yesterday and I’m pretty sure not much else. “What’s up?” I ask as she walks past me and toward the workbench. She uses the stepladder set up in front of it to climb onto the bench and sits down to face me. “Nothing. Just wanted to see you.”

“Yeah?” I walk over and clean my hands on an old rag, throwing it over my shoulder before standing in front of her and rubbing my hands on her bare legs. “I just left you an hour ago. Already missing me, huh?”

She places her forearms on my shoulders and spreads her legs, bringing me closer to her. “My mom came and spoke to me after you left.”

I kiss her quickly. “How did that go?”

“It was…
freeing
, I guess.”

“Freeing how?”

“She told me you wrote her a letter.”

I nod.

“She didn’t tell me what was in it though. She just said it helped open her eyes to what was happening with me. And the fact that she had no real clue what was going on was a huge wake up call for her.” She lowers her arms and places her palms flat on my chest, her eyes focused on the touch. “She admitted some stuff that kind of had me realizing that I’d been pushing her away since the night I lost it. I think we were both drowning in so much guilt—guilt I didn’t know she was carrying—that we lost focus on ourselves and each other and even though we lived together, we couldn’t be further apart.”

My eyes narrow in confusion. “She carries guilt?”

“Apparently,” she says, her gaze and her hands dropping. “She said she felt responsible for the accident. Not with Jeremy, but with me. She thinks she should’ve noticed my self-destruction as it was happening instead of when it was too late. She knows I tried to talk to her… It was hard for her to hear what I’d gone through that day at the lake so instead of listening she chose to ignore me. It was easier for her that way, but it’s something she regrets. I feel horrible, Dylan.”

“Why?”

“Because I should’ve seen it. I shouldn’t have walked around pretending to be blind to it all. She could’ve let me go to court, had them deal with me… she sold her salon that she worked her entire life to create, sold her pride to the town, lost clients. Now she rents a chair from a chain salon and makes half the money she used to and she did that because she cared about me and she loved me. At the time, I thought she did it to hide her shame.” I let her speak, because it’s important she talks about it, maybe remove some of the weight that’s constantly pushing her down. She adds, “I chose to become a recluse after the mandatory house arrest because I didn’t want people looking at me and judging her. I don’t even know how the drinking started. She hates that she let it go on for so long, encouraged it even. I guess she was trying to help dull the pain, you know?”

I hold her closer, her chest pressed against mine.

She cries more than a year’s worth of tears, releases more than a year’s worth of pain, and when she pulls away, her eyes red and unfocused, she says, “Jeremy—he was such a good kid.” And I can see the smile breaking through caused by the memory of happiness only they could share. “He was always happy. Always smiling. He’d talk to anyone and everyone that approached him and he’d stick up for the shy quiet kids. I wondered if it was because of me that he did that, so I asked him once and he just shrugged and said ‘if all the quiet ones have as much to say as you do, then the world needs to hear it.’ He was always thinking about other people, but beneath that—there was something deep brewing, like he wanted to change the world somehow. He wanted to leave a legacy when he died, you know?”

More tears.

Bigger smiles.

“He had this one postcard in his locker he got from Myrtle Beach and it said ‘
facta non verba.
’”

“Actions speak louder than words?”

She nods. “I shouldn’t have let the words of others control my actions. If he was around to see how badly I let it ruin me, he would’ve been so mad. Not so much at them, but at me. And I’m just pissed off because it’s not what he would’ve wanted, you know? I should’ve done better. For him. I should’ve done more. Like, what’s his legacy now?”

I keep my eyes on hers, watching the sadness and desperation consume her. “So
you
be his legacy.”

Her eyes snap to mine, her breath completely leaving her. “But… I thought I belong to you now?”

“It doesn’t have to be either/or, Riley. It never has to be. You can have us both. You can have it all.”

Riley

F
or the next
week, we spend every spare second together and when we’re not together, we text—something he’s gotten a lot better at. We leave the confines of my room and spend most of the days in his garage working on putting the engine in the shell that had been delivered. He’s been over twice since. Once with his dad and brother.

I still don’t know what he wrote to my mom. I stopped “nagging” as he puts it, after a couple days.

We keep up with his shoulder rehab. I force him to. I keep all records in the notebook from his last visit and make sure I have everything I need for when we go back next week. Maybe it’s dumb to assume it’s important, but it is to me. Besides, I love watching him do it. The best part is when he takes his shirt off and does one-handed push-ups—using his left arm, obviously.

There’s definitely a difference between a boy’s body and a man’s. Or maybe it’s just Dylan. Yeah. I’m going to say it’s just Dylan.

His buddy in Afghanistan has called twice using my Skype. I leave the room when they talk. It just seems too private and, to be honest, I’m not sure I’m ready to hear what he has to go back to when he finally does go back.

We don’t talk about it—what will happen with us when he leaves. Because like he said, he’s here. Now. And that’s more than enough.

“You’re turning into a grease monkey,” he says, eyeing me from under the hood of the Honda.

I look down at my clothes and the grease stains smeared on my white shirt. “I am!”

“It’s hot, Ry.” He stands to his full height, stalking toward me with a wrench in his hand. He has that look in eyes. You know,
that
look. The one that tells me he’s pretty much done with the car for the day and the rest will be spent with me in his arms while he makes me laugh. I love that time of day. Almost as much as I love him.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and takes a picture. (Side note: it took me fifteen minutes to show him how to use it.) Then he drops his wrench on the bench next to where I’m sitting and settles his hands on my legs. “Feel like helping out?”

“Not right now. I just like watching you.”

“Quit treating me like a piece of meat, Hudson. Jeez. I have feelings you know.”

Giggling, I lift his tank up and peek at his abs.

He slaps my hand away. “My eyes are up here,” he jokes, then pulls the collar of my shirt down and peers down. “Is there some sort of Dylan-gets-to-be-in-my-pants schedule you’re working with that I should know about?” He nuzzles his face into my neck, kissing it gently. “Throw a kid a bone here.”

My fingers part through his hair—hair that’s gotten longer since he came home. “You have to earn your bases, Rookie.”

He mocks an exaggerated sob.

I roll my eyes. “There’s no crying in baseball!”

“That reminds me,” he says, reaching behind me. He drops a book on my lap. “I got you this.”

I smile. “Part two of the pause?”

“Yep. Luce called this morning and said it came out today so I went to the store and got it. Now you can see how it ends.”

“You’re the bestest boyfriend ever,” I announce.

He laughs at that, just as his phone sounds with a text.

I reach for it before he can get to it and when I read the text, I wish I hadn’t.

Heidi:
Hey… So, I’m in town for the weekend. I heard you were back. I’m free now. Just seeing if you wanted to catch up. For old time’s sake.

“For old time’s sake? What does that even mean?” I ask.

He moves away from my neck, his eyes already narrowed. Then he takes the phone from my hand and reads the text. He looks up.

“Have you been talking to her?” I ask.

“No. This is the first time she’s contacted me.” He’s still holding the phone. He wants to reply.

“I’m not going to stop you from talking to her. Or seeing her. Or doing whatever it is…” my voice drops to a whisper. “…for old time’s sake.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not like that, Riley.”

“But you
want
to see her.”

He shrugs, his response giving me nothing. “If it’s going to cause issues then I’ll just tell her no.”

“It’s fine,” I say, my tone clipped.

“Obviously
not
.”

“I just don’t get why you’d want to see her. Do you miss her?”

“No!” His head drops forward. “Jesus, Riley. You’re making this impossible. I could’ve lied. I could’ve ignored her message now and then seen her behind your back but I don’t want to keep anything from you.”

“Well, you are!”

“What?!”

“You
are
keeping something from me!”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“
Why
do you want to see her?”

“Closure,” he yells. Then softer, “I just want closure. We left things at such a shitty point and after you and I talked about it, our relationship made more sense to me than it did when I was actually part of it. So I just… I don’t know
why
.”

I push aside my petty jealousy, just for a moment, and I think about him—how broken he was because of her—and I see things from his perspective. I jump off the bench and wrap my arms around his waist. “I’m being selfish.”

“Honestly? A little.”

I pull back and pout at him.

He smiles, running his grease stained thumb across my lips.

“Just don’t like… sleep with her. Or touch her. Or try not to even look at her.”

“You’re not being fair, Riley.”

“Yeah, but I’m also not blind and regardless of how badly I wish, I don’t have amnesia. I remember what she looks like, Dylan. And you’re a guy.”

He shakes his head with his intake of breath. Then he looks down at me. “I’m also a guy who’s madly in love with you, Riley.”

“What?” I whisper, my breath leaving me.

“You need me to repeat it?”

“No.” I try to suppress my smile. I can’t. “Maybe?”