Chapter 4
Indy
I stared at the closed bedroom door.
Was being here a betrayal to my dad? Honestly, it kinda felt like it.
All throughout that one phone call I’d gotten from him back when he’d been arrested he’d ranted about Dylan Burns.
How he’d snitched on the club. How the guys were counting the days until they could make him regret it.
How they wouldn’t be sitting in jail but for him.
And now I was sitting on the spare bed in his condo.
I was a horrible daughter.
Maybe I could spy on Dylan, find his weakness or whatever, and report to my dad.
Help him out that way. I was literally in Dylan’s inner sanctum.
There had to be something here I could use against him.
Or at the very least, I could figure out some way to screw with him as payback for what he did to my dad.
And besides, Dylan was rich enough to help me out. Whereas if I’d stayed with Anne, I would’ve been a drain on her—another mouth to feed, another body taking up resources in her home that she could scarcely afford. Unlike Dylan.
And this whole situation was his fault anyways. Why shouldn’t I milk him for everything he wanted to give me?
My little mental pep talk didn’t really help since my heart was still heavy as I stood up and quickly made the bed.
Turning to the closet, I opened the doors so I could grab the comforter he’d told me about.
I saw it folded up on the bottom right side, but the stack of canvasses next to it grabbed my attention.
Holding my breath, I stepped closer and peered at the canvass at the top.
A family in bright technicolor, like something out of a Rockwell painting covered the canvass.
Not exactly what I thought Dylan’s art would look like.
But then I spotted the colorless boy standing outside the window, peering in at the family.
All done in blacks and grays, his features were so similar to the family’s and yet not a part of the group.
My heart lurched.
I gently picked it up and set it aside to look at the painting below.
This one showed the same little boy—this time in color—at a prison visitation, holding a phone in one hand while peering through the glass at an older man who was all in grayscale.
The little boy looked so excited while the man looked…
calculating? Something about his eyes read as shifty and not to be trusted.
In the distance a door closed, and I jumped like I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t have.
Mostly because I was.
After gently placing the first canvass back, I grabbed the comforter and closed the closet door.
I didn’t know it was possible, but my heart felt heavier than when I saw that notice to quit sign on my apartment door. I still had so much anger deep down over my situation, but something about Dylan’s art made me feel so sad.
And kinda seen.
I hurt for the little boy in the painting and knew exactly how he felt.
I’d been there too.
And then I was annoyed. I wasn’t supposed to be feeling like this about him. He’d betrayed my dad. Narc’ed on the club. He was a traitor.
Who had daddy issues, like someone else I knew…
Sighing, I turned back to the bed and finished making it up.
Then I looked at the pile of clothing Dylan had so thoughtfully provided me.
I picked up the white t-shirt and sniffed.
It smelled clean. I don’t know why I’d expected them to smell like him.
But that scent had been so comforting in his truck on the drive over.
Or maybe that was him.
I was so screwed up I didn’t know what to think.
Shaking my head, I shrugged off my clothes and pulled on his.
The sweatpants drooped so much I had to fold the waistband over three times.
For some reason, that made my breath hitch. My emotions bubbled just below the surface. If I tried to take a deep breath, they threatened to overtake me.
As I tried to fall asleep, I tried not to think about how truly fucked I was.
Tears clouded my eyes, blurring the dark ceiling overhead.
What was I going to do? How was I going to get through this?
It all just felt so hopeless.
* * *
The next thing I knew, the scent of bacon and freshly brewed coffee teased me awake.
God, what did he do this time?
I opened my eyes. But it wasn’t my bedroom ceiling I was looking at. The water stain and cracked drywall were missing.
And it all came crashing back.
The mural.
Dylan.
The apartment.
How truly screwed I was.
“Uh,” I groaned, scrubbing at my face. I felt so grungy and crusty.
Paint from last night still flecked all over my hands and arms. My face was no doubt all crusty from my crying jag last night.
Nothing would make me feel better faster than jumping through the shower…
well, aside from soaking in a huge tub, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Literally.
Groaning at my awful attempt at humor, I got out of bed and grabbed my clothes off the floor. Then I tiptoed out the door and down the hall to the bathroom.
Bacon popped in the distance, followed by Dylan’s muttered cursing.
The normalcy of the sounds made me smile.
And my smile stayed as I saw the variety of toothbrushes he’d laid out for me last night.
I closed and locked the door behind me, quickly went through my morning ablutions then eyed the huge shower stall in the corner.
You could easily fit five people in the thing.
And yet the tile choice seemed distinctly feminine—so unlike Dylan.
Choices by the previous owner? Either way, the white patterned lantern tile and black fixtures looked so amazing.
And so many showerheads! I had to get inside ASAP.
I quickly stripped then eyeballed the bathroom door. It was locked, but it still felt so weird to be in a stranger’s home taking a shower.
Was I safe?
Could I trust him?
I should’ve thought through these worries last night, but I’d been exhausted. Anne vouched for the guy, but how much could I really trust…anyone?
I convinced myself that if he hadn’t touched me last night or tried anything, then he probably wasn’t interested, at the very least.
And I’d take a quick shower. In and out before he even knew I’d been naked.
But then I stepped inside the shower.
The smooth, round stones under my feet almost felt like a massage. When I stepped under the spray, the sound I let out was almost primal. It felt so good. This was officially my new favorite place in the whole wide world. And all my tension melted away.
In less than a minute, I was humming under my breath while I scrubbed at the paint on my hands and arms. The comforting scent from his truck last night enveloped me as I used his shower products, and all the tension drained from my body.
A few minutes later, I was full out belting Taylor Swift’s ‘Anti-Hero’ under the shower spray as I washed my hair.
So, I felt lighter as I stepped out of the shower several long minutes later. It had been nice to take a long shower without getting sprayed intermittently with cold water or wondering why the water had a slightly red tinge.
Not even putting on my crusty clothes from last night could spoil my mood. And when I grabbed a toothbrush, my smile returned full force. Gah, that guy.
I bundled up his t-shirt and sweats, then unlocked and opened the bathroom door. The bacon popping sounds had stopped.
Actually, all sounds had stopped.
Where was he?
The hair prickled along the back of my neck.
My earlier fear returned full force.
Why was it so quiet?
What had I gotten myself into?
Why hadn’t I just slept on Anne’s couch like a sane person? At least there I’d know there wouldn’t be any danger of the male variety. Anne’s roommate was another female teacher.
Stupid.
So stupid.
“Breakfast is ready.”
I jumped and a squeal left me involuntarily. Dylan’s voice had been soft and so close.
I whipped around and found him standing a few feet away, staring at me with a concerned expression.
“Everything okay? You look—and sound—kinda freaked.”
Clutching at my chest with a handful of his clothing, I tried to calm my racing heart. “You scared me.”
“Sorry?” He winced and shook his head. “I, uh, made breakfast if you’re hungry.”
“You made breakfast for me?” I don’t know why, but I hadn’t expected to be included in whatever he’d been making. He definitely didn’t owe me anything. I should be the one making him breakfast.
“Of course. I always make plenty. Come on.” He exuded total golden retriever energy, and I felt silly for being so twitchy earlier.
“Sure.” I gave him a little smile. “I just need to put these away. I’ll meet you in the kitchen?”
“Sounds good.” Dylan gave me another one of those wide smiles of his then headed down the hall toward the living area.
I took a deep, shuddery breath and headed across the hall. I didn’t want to like the guy, but he was making it so damn hard.
When I entered the kitchen, Dylan sat at the table with a clean, empty plate in front of him.
“Wow,” I whispered. Bacon, scrambled eggs, potatoes O’Brien, and even toast were all piled high on the table. If this guy ate all of these carbs, I’d eat the tablecloth. Although judging by the brown, nutty quality of the toast, maybe that wasn’t a good bet.
“Hungry? I didn’t know how you like eggs, so I just made scrambled.”
“Uh, I like scrambled just fine. Thanks.”
We dished up our plates—mine with eggs, bacon, and potatoes, him with eggs, bacon, and toast—and then ate in strained silence.
So awkward.
Dylan took a long drink of his water. His gaze bounced around the room like he felt as awkward as I did.
“So, uh, you’re a Taylor Swift fan, huh?” Dylan asked as he scooped up a forkful of eggs.
I choked on my potatoes. After coughing half my lung up into my napkin, I scrubbed a free hand over my eyes. “Ah…you heard that?”
“Pretty sure the neighbors heard it, judging by the way their dog started howling.”