Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
TANTRUMS
DAHLIA
By the time we settle into the cabin, my nerves are shot. My emotions have run the full gamut today, and it’s not even noon yet.
The cabin is beautiful. It’s not the one we stayed in before and has different furnishings and colors.
I appreciate that they’ve made each place unique.
There are still soft blankets and cushy throw pillows.
A giant stone fireplace. Big windows overlooking the lake.
But this one has a painting of a kayak out on Lake Superior at sunset that is so captivating, I want to sink into the picture.
I can imagine, as a guest coming every year, I’d want to experience each cabin before settling on a favorite.
And then I’d request it every year, even moving around travel dates to ensure I’d get that one.
It’d be more about the memories made there than the actual surroundings, but staying in the same place would help re-create that feeling.
Even in the short amount of time I was with the Whitmans, I could see how close-knit they are.
I felt something similar as a kid when I went over to my friend Lana’s house for a sleepover.
I had never been around a family that seemed to adore each other so much.
It filled me with such longing that I started crying, and they drove me home.
My mom thought something bad must have happened, and I couldn’t put into words that I’d just seen what I’d been missing.
We weren’t the kind of family that did vacations where you spent a lot of quality time together.
There were no talking-over-the-campfire experiences or playing games late into the night, laughing over private jokes while we ate our favorite family recipes.
So I settled for stability, relying instead on numbers and facts. Anything based on feelings would come up short.
My mom has provided the steadiness, and my dad has provided the tumultuousness, both loving me in their own way. I don’t begrudge them for their limits, but I want so much more for Chloe.
I’ve learned as much about parenting from my parents about what not to do than what to do, and for Chloe, I hope to show her more of the latter.
The Whitman family—I’ve never experienced that kind of closeness. I didn’t know that was possible with so many people.
I sink onto the couch and lean back.
Dylan drops down beside me, his knee brushing mine, and exhales like he’s trying to clear an entire day out of his lungs.
“Well,” he says dryly, “this has been intense.”
I swivel my head slowly to look at him, too exhausted to even lift it off the couch. “Too many things in one day.”
He laughs softly, then reaches for my ankles and pulls my legs across his lap so he can trace circles on my shin. It’s grounding, and sweet, and exactly what I need.
“I love this town,” I say suddenly, surprising myself. “I knew I would, just from driving through it the first time, but…it’s so much better than I thought.”
Dylan smiles at me. “Good. I knew you would.”
“Your family is amazing. And this luxurious cabin in the woods—it’s so romantic and dreamy. I mean, people probably come here and really do that.” I point at the picture, wide-eyed.
He glances at it and grins. “You’ve never kayaked at sunset?”
“Never.” I gesture around wildly and laugh somewhat maniacally. “This doesn’t feel real.”
“Pinch me.” He smirks. “Anywhere you like. That should tell you something.” He leans closer. “I like a firm hand. As you well know.”
I snort. “Even in the midst of trauma, your mind is in the gutter.”
He leans closer and kisses the tip of my nose. “Don’t you dare call your pussy the gutter, Doll,” he says sweetly.
I burst out laughing and then cover my mouth, listening to see if I woke up Chloe.
And then, like I have all day, I’m jolted, remembering all over again that things with my dad have blown wide open.
“What is that cloud that just crossed your face?” Dylan asks.
“I’m so sorry my dad did that to you. And why now? Like…what tipped him off?”
Dylan shifts uncomfortably. “I…forgot to tell you this earlier. Everything was happening so fast.”
“What?” I ask, a new dread creeping in.
“He said he got a call from Christian.”
I sit up straight. “What?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “He didn’t go into detail, but yeah. Christian called and told him about me.”
A new wave of anger shoots through me. “Christian is the one who started this?”
Dylan rubs my thigh. “Well, first he said that Chloe had mentioned me a lot, and then Christian called. So he drove by your place, saw my car, and started investigating. It wasn’t hard once he saw my plates.”
“That absolute—” I choke back a lump in my throat.
“Christian has no right to insert himself like this. Calling my father? Who does that? Who calls the most controlling, vindictive man alive and says, ‘Hi, I’d like to start a war’?
Scratch that. Christian would. There’s a reason he and my dad are friends.
And why does he even care? He cheated on me! ”
Dylan gives me a sympathetic look. “I’ll never understand why he did that to you. But despite the cheating, he’s still hung up on you. And that I do understand. But what a way to try to get you back.”
“It’s probably more that he hates that I’m with someone I actually care about.” My voice cracks. “And wants to ruin it.”
Dylan’s face softens. “Hey.”
But before I can say anything else, my phone starts buzzing on the coffee table.
We both freeze.
I stare at it, my stomach dropping.
“Speak of the devil,” I say between gritted teeth. “It’s Christian.”
Dylan’s jaw works once, slow and controlled.
“Do you want me to answer it?” he asks quietly.
I swallow hard. “No. I’ll do it.”
My fingers tremble as I reach for the phone. I swipe to answer.
“Christian.”
No hello. No warmth. He doesn’t deserve it.
“You’re with a fucking Whitman? What the fuck, Dahlia? What are you thinking?”
“You called my dad?” I stand up and start pacing. My body is buzzing with fury. “You knew it would blow up. Didn’t you? You wanted it to.”
“I wanted to know what he knew about the guy you were seeing. I didn’t know you were keeping it a big secret. You’ve conveniently left out that Dylan is a Whitman. Seems like you’re the one asking for things to blow up.”
“My life and how I live it have nothing to do with you. And who I love is absolutely none of your damn business, Christian.” My voice shakes, but I’m steadier than I’ve ever been. “Listen to me. You don’t get to control that part of my life. You don’t get to control anything about me anymore.”
“Oh, please,” he spits out. “Love? You barely know the guy. I know you. I’m the father of our daughter. I’m the one who will take care of you.”
“You should care about what’s best for Chloe. I can take care of myself. It’s what I’ve been doing all along, in case you’re conveniently forgetting that now.”
He’s quiet.
“Trying to sabotage something good in my life is not caring about our daughter. That’s your ego throwing a tantrum.”
“So you’re really moving forward with this…nepotist baby? Your dad’s not going to tolerate this, Dahlia. You need me.”
“I wouldn’t put labels on someone when you’ve literally gotten where you are because of your parents.
My dad would’ve never given you a job if your dad hadn’t asked him to.
You wouldn’t have that McMansion in California if it weren’t for your trust fund…
so spare me the name-calling and look at yourself in the mirror. ”
I want to brag about what Dylan has actually built in California, versus Christian living a pipe dream that shows no signs of coming to fruition, but I don’t need to draw any more attention to Dylan. It would only backfire.
“I need you to stay out of this,” I say, ending the call.
When I turn, Dylan is watching me with something fierce and tender in his eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I exhale a shaky breath. “Yes.” I nod. “I am. I’ve needed to say that for a long time.”
It’s not even five minutes before Dylan’s phone rings.
“It’s Rudy,” he says. “I should take this.”
“Of course. I’m okay. Answer it…and tell him I said hi.”
I go into the kitchen and open the bottle of wine that’s on the countertop. Pouring two glasses, I pause when I hear Dylan’s tone change.
“What the fuck?” he says, his voice low.
He’s the one pacing now. “I’ll call the insurance company. How bad is it really, Rudy?”
Whatever Rudy says has him cursing again, and I move closer to him, feeling sick to my stomach.
“Okay, I’ll get there as soon as I can. No, this isn’t on you at all, man. Have you looked at the security cameras yet? Okay, yeah, I’ll take a look too. Call me if anything else comes up, okay? Love you, man. It’s going to be all right. We’ll figure this out.”
He hangs up and puts both hands on his head, tugging his hair as he looks up at the ceiling.
“Dylan? What happened?”
He jolts like I’ve startled him. “There was a fire at Surf Culture early this morning. I need to fly back to California as soon as possible.”
I feel sick.
I rush toward him. “Oh my God. Dylan! I’m coming with you.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I don’t want to make things worse for you.”
We stare at each other, neither of us stating the obvious—that either my dad or Christian is behind this. Possibly both of them.
“I’m coming with you.”