Chapter 15
Dillon
Charlie doesn’t look back at me as she stalks outside, her head high like she didn’t just crush Bliss under the heel of her sneaker.
I wish she would stop—just for a second, just long enough to see me. I feel like a ghost, trailing after her, desperate for even a speck of her attention. We step outside, the silence between us taut and thick, only broken by the sound of my heart pounding in my chest because she’s right here.
I reach out and snag her wrist, tugging her to a gentle stop. “Charlie—”
“Yo!”
Keeping one hand on Charlie’s arm, I turn out the shout, finding Corey bearing down on me with a crooked grin, his eyes drooping and glazed over. Amber is a step behind, not looking much better, except—
Is that a stick in her hair?
Corey holds a hand out, and I slap mine against it by rote, watching as Amber tugs her skirt down.
“Didn’t know you were coming tonight, man,” he is saying, rocking on his heels. “You’ve been missing in action for weeks.”
The skin around my mouth pulls tight as I give him a close-mouthed smile. “I’ve been busy. Hey, we’re just—”
“Charlie?” Amber’s finished fixing her clothes, blinking in surprise as she glances over at us. “What on earth are you doing here?” She flicks a look at the house, and then back, something sly sliding through her eyes. “Does Bliss know you’re here?”
“Fuck off, Amber,” I snap. And then I’m turning away, tugging Charlie down the sidewalk after me.
“What the hell, Dillon?” Corey yells furiously. I don’t stop until we’re next to Barrett’s truck. They’ve got the interior light on, so I can see him behind the wheel and Jack in the passenger seat. They seem relaxed as they talk, and I figure Marisa must be passed out in the back.
Charlie tugs herself free from my grip as I whirl around, facing her, gorging myself on the sight of her.
I step closer, the subtle fragrance of orange blossoms and vanilla—a scent that had lingered in each room of our apartment, like she’d always just left the room.
Suddenly, for the first time, I understand how home isn’t just a physical place.
“Angel…” There’s so much I want to say to her, but how do I fix something I broke so irreparably?
She’s standing here, her gaze cool and distant as she watches me, but then, it’s not her I’m seeing.
It’s my mother—broken after years of my father verbally beating her down, berating for every little thing.
The image morphs into Charlie as I remember the moment my anger took over and I turned into him.
I clench my hands into fists, my fingers clammy, the words jamming in my throat like they’re blocked by a concrete brick.
I want to tell her that I regret what happened at the bar that night, and that I’m sorry for every ounce of bullshit that flowed from my mouth the next day.
I want to tell her how I wish, more than anything, that I could take it all back.
If I said all that, I’d also tell her that none of it was true. That the honest truth is that I am nothing. I’d say that, without her, I’m no better than dust in a tornado.
It’s all just words, and I’m aware they’re the very thing that ripped her from me—ones I didn’t say and ones I did.
The wind is a bitter chill that creeps under my collar. Charlie shivers, her thin hoodie doing nothing to protect her from the cold, so I shrug out of my jacket, stepping closer so I can drape it over her shoulders.
“Here,” I murmur.
Charlie doesn’t put her arms in the sleeves, going so still that I can’t even be sure she’s breathing. She doesn’t push me away, so I take it as a small win.
As the silence stretches out, she turns toward the truck, intent on ending this night once and for all, but I’m not ready for her to go.
Not yet.
“Wait!” It’s a burst of sound, too loud in the quiet of the street, and Charlie flinches, her shoulders creeping up to her ears. She doesn’t look at me, and I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans to stop myself from reaching out to her. “You, um…You look good, Angel.”
Charlie turns to look at me, her green eyes full of ice.
There’s no affection on her face—nothing to give me hope that she’ll ever look at me the way she used to.
The apathy strikes straight at my heart, desperately wishing for anything else but such a complete lack of reaction.
If she were screaming at me, at least it would mean she cared even a little… just enough to feel something.
Instead, it feels like she’s already shut the door on us, locked it, and walked away.
“Can we…?” I start, faltering at the weak plea in my voice. I clear my throat, trying again. “Can we talk?”
The breeze carries her soft sigh to me, and my throat goes dry.
“About what, Dillon?” Charlie asks tiredly. “It’s late, and I really don’t think we have anything left to say.” She lets that land before adding, “You said plenty the last time we saw each other, don’t you think?”
I flinch, glancing away. “I want—”
She scoffs, and I bite back the rest of the words. “Not a great start, Dillon. I don’t really want to talk about what you want.”
“Charlie, please.” I squeeze my eyes shut. Desperate for something—anything—from her, I switch topics. “You handled that really well back there. With Bliss, I mean. I wanted—” Sucking that word back in, I shake it off, trying again. “I was really proud of you.”
Her smile isn’t a nice one. “Was I strong enough for you this time?” she asks almost sweetly, but there’s a bite that makes my eyes widen. “Did I give as good as I got?”
I don’t say anything, because what can I say to that? Especially when bitterness sharpens her tongue, the words thrown at me like the lash of a whip.
Charlie stares at me, expectant and hard. When I don’t answer, she shakes her head. “It’s interesting that, some days, you have absolutely nothing to say, and others, you say too much.”
She moves to turn away, but I call out her name again, desperation coating every syllable, hiding nothing from her.
“Please. I just want…” I trail off when she grimaces.
“I know. It’s not about me. I get that. I just…
I want to explain, to apologize.” It all spills out, every molecule of my being prepared to say anything to get her to stay; to make this moment last a little longer.
“Fine,” Charlie says shortly, crossing her arms. My jacket shifts, threatening to slip down her arms.
This might be my only chance, so I blurt it all out in a rush. “I’m sorry.” She doesn’t even blink. I keep going. “I’m sorry for what happened at the bar that night, for everything I didn’t do. I shouldn’t have…I should never have let Bliss talk about you like that.”
Charlie nods, her expression unchanging. She’s never been this hard for me to read, and a cold sweat skates down my spine.
“And what I said the next day—”
“When you called me soft, weak, and nothing?” she clarifies icily, and my throat works on a swallow.
“Yes.” I rub the back of my neck just for something to do. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I don’t know why I said all that, but I didn’t mean it. I just…”
She nods again, eyes darting away from me, and then back. “Why did you step in tonight?”
I blink, thrown by the question. “What?”
Her eyes flick upward to the house behind me, her hands pulling my jacket back onto her shoulders. I track the movement, satisfaction swelling that I did at least one fucking thing right.
“You’ve never defended me against Bliss before. Or Jack, for that matter. Tonight, you did”—with a pause, Charlie’s eyes coming back to mine—“or tried to. Why?”
An alarm flares in my head. “I don’t understand—”
“Because to me, it seems like you stepped in because Marisa was hurt.” I fall back a step at the venom that fills her voice. “You wouldn’t step in before, but she wasn’t the target then, hm? Tonight, you showed up just when Marisa needed you, and suddenly, you found your voice.”
“No, I’m not here because—”
“Stop!” Charlie shouts, looking startled at the volume of her own voice. She inhales through her nose before pinning a stern frown on me. “There is nothing you can say that will make any of this better, or make me believe that you aren’t here for Marisa.”
“I told you,” I protest. “I don’t have feelings for Marisa.”
“And I told you, Dillon, I don’t believe you.
Why else would you lie about your history with her?
” Charlie’s shoulders drop, her expression falling, like she’s reached the end of her rope.
“Dillon…we’re done. We don’t need to do this, okay?
I think the best thing that can happen from here is that we just…
give each other space.” She pulls my jacket off, stepping forward to drop it into my limp hands. “Goodbye, Dillon.”
It’s permanent. Final. I look down at the fabric, devastation crawling through my body, narrowing my vision to a pinprick.
“I thought you were my person,” Charlie says, voice detached. “Clearly, I was wrong…about that, and about you.” She sighs again, deep and heavy, her stare melancholic. “I learned something from this relationship, and that’s something, I guess.”
“I don’t want this to be over,” I croak out. “Please, Angel, don’t—”
“Stop, Dillon,” she whispers softly. “Give me space. This…” She shakes her head. “This is exhausting, and I need to be done with it. Okay? I told you before, you can’t unring a bell. And everything you’ve done…everything you’ve said? You can’t just take it back.”