11. Dylan
eleven
Dylan
Wade’s truck is pulling out of The Tipple parking lot by the time I throw myself behind the wheel of my old pick-up, but I know where he lives, and it’s probably a good thing there’s a little distance between us. I need a few minutes to cool the fuck down. I’m running on a mix of arousal and jealousy and rage, and I’ve never felt so out of control.
I trail the taillights of Wade’s pick-up truck all the way to his house, and when he turns onto the long gravel drive leading onto his property, I pull up on the road outside. I’m incapable of rational thought as I jump out of my truck and slam my door behind me, ready to drag Poppy out of there. But then I see her hop out of Wade’s truck and follow the guy up the front porch steps, and I stop. Wade holds the front door open and she steps through. Willingly. Without looking back.
Fuck .
Poppy isn’t my girlfriend, and she’s not my problem. Not mine to protect. Isn’t that what she said?
But it’s my fault she’s here at all. I fucked things up. My dick’s half hard after what happened at the bar and my lips taste like her cherry lip gloss, but kissing Poppy was reckless. And what am I trying to prove by storming into that house and treating her like a kid in trouble instead of a grown woman who can make her own decisions? What the fuck do I think is going on here?
Inside the house, the curtains twitch, and a second later, my phone chimes with a text.
Poppy
Still not your problem.
I look back up at the window, but the curtains are still, and they don’t move again.
I’m halfway to the front door before I force myself to turn around and go back to my truck.
My fingers are on the door handle before I decide I’m an idiot and an asshole for leaving her here, so I turn back and stalk up the drive again.
I get two-thirds of the way this time when I spin on my heel and storm back to the truck, muscles tense and jaw popping as I slide behind the wheel.
The truck door slams in the night as I jump back out and start toward the house.
Not my problem? Not my problem? Fuck. Is she right? Is Poppy my problem or not?
I blink back spots in my vision as I turn around at the porch steps, not missing a beat as I stride back to the truck, my breaths fast and coarse.
I’m a fucking mess. I can’t think straight enough to stay or leave, so I open her message again. Still not your problem.
And though it goes against every instinct I have, I get back in my truck, turn the key, and try not to lose it as I drive back to Silver Leaf.
By the time I get home, I feel…defeated. And embarrassed. Still stressed. Still pissed. Still stupid jealous. But also, just plain stupid. It’s an interesting mix to process.
The house is dark when I pull up, but instead of going inside, I linger in the driveway, leaning on the hood of my truck and hoping I’ll be soothed by the silence of a January night in Sonoma.
We used to camp a lot as kids. Our parents, and my mom especially, made a big deal about sleeping with only sky above us, and we did it almost every weekend in the summer. We’d have campfires and marshmallows and games and stories, always the seven of us—and Poppy—until Chord was drafted to the NHL at eighteen. We didn’t go on big family trips—with five kids and a ranch to run, our parents didn’t have the time or the money—but Mom had a knack for making camping on our own property feel like an adventure. It’s a random thought to have now, but I don’t sit under the stars anymore, and I’ve never taken Izzy camping. I feel like I’ve let yet another person down.
“Sorry, Mom.” I look up to the twinkling darkness above. “I can do better. I promise.”
I push off my truck and find the key to the front door on my keychain. When I let myself in, I find Daisy curled up under a blanket on the sofa, the blue light from her phone bouncing off her face.
“Oh, hey,” she whispers, glancing at me, then back at her screen. “What are you doing home so early? It’s not even ten o’clock. How did things go with Molly?”
After everything that happened with Poppy, I’d almost forgotten about my date. I think I asked all the right questions. Laughed in all the appropriate places. Molly was all the things Daisy said she’d be. Smart and polite and attractive. Perfect on paper, but not perfect for me.
I shrug out of my jacket and hang it on the coat rack near the door. “It’s not going to work out.”
“What?” Daisy whisper-shouts. “Why not?”
“It just didn’t feel right.”
“But—”
“Stop. Please. I did what you asked, and I went on your date. We weren’t a good fit. Can you just let it go for tonight?”
The incredulity fades from Daisy’s expression, replaced with a concerned crease between her eyebrows. “Okay.”
“Thank you.” I creep closer to Izzy and crouch by her side, brushing hair back from her sleeping face. “How did she do tonight?”
“You were right about her being fussy at bedtime,” Daisy replies. “When she started to get sleepy, I tried to take her upstairs. Charlie and Finn too, but she wouldn’t settle, so we gave up and let her crash down here instead.”
I nod silently. Izzy might not be able to tell me in so many words, but her message is loud and clear. My place is here with her. Nobody and nothing is more important than my daughter.
I wedge her stuffed bunny under my chin, slide my hands under her body, and scoop her up blankets and all. Her warm, familiar weight is the reminder I need of who I am and where I belong.
Izzy barely stirs when I set her on her bed, pull the covers up over her shoulders, and try to back away without disturbing her. At the last moment and with her eyes still closed, she lifts her little hand, and I lean in so she can cup my face.
“Goodnight, Daddy,” she whispers, still half asleep.
I swallow a lump in my throat. “Good night, Little Bee.”
Out in the hall, I’m debating whether there’s any chance I’ll fall asleep if I head to bed now when a light switches on downstairs. Daisy’s tense murmuring floats up the hallway, followed by the sounds of her moving around, then the jingle of keys in her hand. I rush to the living room just as she yanks the phone from her ear and scowls at the screen. “ Fuck! ”
“What is it?” I demand as Daisy unhooks her winter jacket from the coat rack.
“It’s Poppy.”
My heart beats hard enough to hurt my ribs and panic catches in my throat. “What about Poppy?”
I don’t remember crossing the room, but I’m already past Daisy, keys in my hand and jacket on my back when she shakes her head and gives her phone a helpless look.
“I don’t know. She called me crying, but then her phone cut out. She needs to be picked up—”
“I’ll go. You stay here with Izzy.”
“But—”
“It’s late and I don’t need to worry about the both of you. Just stay put.” There’s no way I’m arguing about this, and I open the front door.
“Okay, but Dylan…” Daisy nibbles her lip then releases it with a pained look. “She’s… She’s at Wade’s place.”
“I’ve got it,” I tell her, remembering at the last moment not to slam the door behind me as a rage-fueled kind of relief hits me.
Poppy needs me. She’ll always be my problem.
And also… Wade better not have hurt her.
My muscles twitch as I retrace the short drive to Wade’s house. As I crest the final rise, my headlights illuminate the road ahead and land on the small, dark silhouette of Poppy sitting in the ditch, her arms wrapped around her knees. A memory from twelve years earlier rushes in and I think about the night I found her in almost the exact same position, a party thumping in the house behind her, Poppy sobbing on the street after Wade broke up with her in front of her entire class.
I resist the urge to go straight to his front door and beat the shit out of him, and instead pull my truck to the side of the road. Poppy finally looks up, squinting as the headlights fade to darkness, but when I get out of the car, she groans quietly and drops her forehead onto her knees.
I crouch in front of her and slip my hand under her chin, gently raising her face and cradling her jaw as my thumb sweeps over her cheekbone.
“Hey.”
Her eyes are rimmed with red, her milky cheeks are blotchy, and her cherry lips are pink and swollen. Still, she finds the energy to scowl at me. “What are you doing here?”
“You called.”
“I called Daisy .”
“You called,” I say again.
Her mouth curls up on one side and she swipes her nose with the back of her hand.
“What did he do to you?” Only the thinnest thread of self-control keeps my voice even. I don’t want to push her when she’s fragile, but I need to know how hard to hit the guy.
“Nothing,” she says, and at my quiet growl, she rolls her eyes. “Seriously. We had a drink and I…changed my mind about the whole thing. I told him no and he kicked me out.”
She’s not hurt. Thank fuck. Releasing a relieved breath, I press a hard, grateful kiss to her forehead, then slide my arms under her legs and around her back and lift her.
“What are you—”
“Shush.” I carry her to the passenger side of the truck. “Open the door for me?”
She laughs with a slight shake of her head as she pulls on the handle, and I settle her onto the seat before fastening her seatbelt.
“You don’t have to do this,” she says. “I’m still mad at you.”
“You have every right to be,” I reply. “And you can tear me a new one when I get back.”
“Back from where?”
I ignore the question. “Stay here.”
And then I slam her door.
I jog to Wade’s front door, but it feels like a lifetime before I’m thumping a closed fist on the gray timber. He opens it with a blank expression that morphs into a scowl, and when he tries to close the door on me, I throw out an arm to stop it from swinging closed. Wade might be wide in the shoulders but he’s a head shorter than me, softer in the middle, and nowhere near as strong. Plus, I’m fueled by unadulterated fury. I feel like I could flatten a football team.
“You left her sitting in a fucking ditch because she wouldn’t let you touch her?”
“Fuck off.” Wade shoves at the door again, but I lean into it harder, and he gives up. “It’s none of your business and this is my property. Get lost before I call the cops.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll go.” I flex a fist at my side. “As soon as you agree to leave Poppy alone. No more hanging around the bar. No more phone calls. Stay out of her life. Got it?”
He snorts. “Why the fuck do you care anyway?”
I take a threatening step forward and he throws up his hands.
“Fine! Jesus Christ. I’ll leave her alone. I wasted the last six months trying to get something out of her. I won’t make that mistake again.”
I can hear my molars grinding, and I remind myself that this is all I need from the guy. Breaking his jaw would serve no purpose other than it’d make me feel better, and that’s not a good enough reason to do it.
“Glad we agree.”
I step out of the doorway and onto the porch, fighting the violence in my blood, the urge to work out my frustrations on this asshole’s face. It’d feel so freaking good, but I’m a father. A business owner. A real man. I don’t hit people.
It takes willpower, but I turn away, only to be stopped by Wade’s irritating whine.
“If you think this kind of thing will make her want to fuck you—acting all chivalrous and shit—you should think again. She’s frigid now, and even if she wasn’t, take it from me—she’s a disappointing lay.”
I spin around, take two steps, and throw a fucking fantastic right hook. My knuckles scream at the impact, satisfaction pounds in my ears, and Wade stumbles back, tripping over a pair of boots in the hallway and bracing himself against the far wall.
“Stay—the fuck—away,” I spit. “Got it?”
Wade pinches his nose to stop a trickle of blood and glares at me around his hand, but his silence is enough agreement for me. I launch off the porch, leaping over the steps, and jog back to the truck, shaking my hand like I can shake away the pain. I’m a fucking idiot. It’ll be days before I can hold a knife again.
When I slide behind the wheel, Poppy’s staring at me like she doesn’t know me, a small curve of disbelief on her mouth.
“I can’t believe you hit him,” she whispers.
“You saw that?” I turn on the engine, casting a sidelong look at Poppy as she rolls her lips to hide her smile.
“Yeah. And you’re nuts.”
“He deserved it.”
She shrugs like she might agree and glances toward the house, where the front door is closed again. There’s definitely a pleased tilt to her mouth now.
“You’re still nuts,” she murmurs.
Her almost-smile makes the pain in my hand and a week off kitchen work worth it.
“What happened to your phone?”
“Nothing. I just…” She exhales and rolls her eyes. “I forgot to pay my bill.”
“But you’re going to pay it now, right?”
Another eye roll that says so much. “Yes. As soon as I get home. Quit being so bossy.”
“Not when you need to be bossed around.” I hand her my phone. “Text Daisy to let her know you’re okay while I take you home.”
“Fine.”
The apartment Poppy shares with her mother is only a short drive from here, and we travel in silence. The adrenaline from my confrontation with Wade ebbs away as the consequences of kissing Poppy grow larger in my mind. Is she thinking about it too? How do we move forward with something like that hanging between us? Tonight’s behavior aside, I’m used to being the mature one. That’s my job. It’s always been my job. It’s up to me to make this right.
Maybe Poppy knows that too because when I pull my truck to the side of the road, she doesn’t take off her seatbelt. Instead, she moves like she wants to touch my hand, then changes her mind.
“Does it hurt?” she asks.
I straighten and curl my fingers, noting there’s no swelling yet and barely wincing at the pain. “It’s not too bad. I’ll put some ice on it when I get home. It’ll be okay.”
“Oh. That’s good to know.”
“Yeah.” There’s a beat of awkward silence, which I spend distracted by her face, before I gather the courage to speak. “About what happened tonight…”
“Which part?”
“The kiss.”
“You regret it,” she says, her throat bobbing with a nervous swallow. “It was a mistake.”
I shake my head, huffing out a dry laugh, hating myself for reacting the way I did and causing her hurt. “No. I don’t regret it and it wasn’t a mistake.”
Poppy blinks, her eyebrows drawing down like she thinks she misheard me. “You don’t? It wasn’t?”
“No, and I never should have said that. I’m sorry.” I run my good hand over my head, fingers sticking in the styling gel I don’t usually wear and don’t particularly like. “I’m attracted to you, Poppy. You’re beautiful and warm, and that kiss was… It was fucking fantastic.”
Her hopeful smile falters, replaced with something self-mocking. “I sense a but coming.”
“ But I was a selfish prick to do it. And it can’t happen again.”
She nods, glancing away for a moment before she says, “Because of Daisy?”
“Uh, sort of. I mean, that’s part of it. There’s always been an unspoken agreement that I’d never date her friends. She was weird about it for years although I can’t tell you why.”
Poppy casts a lopsided smile my way. “I can.”
“Seriously?”
Poppy lifts one shoulder and drops it with a small sigh. “When we were at school, there were always girls who feigned interest in Daisy to get to you.” A twitchy smirk crosses her mouth as she lifts one eyebrow. “You were kind of hot stuff back then.”
“Hey! Aren’t I hot stuff now?”
That earns me a little laugh. “ Maybe you’re hot stuff now, but high school was both easy and hard for Daisy. She made friends quickly, but she lost them quickly too. People came and went, usually after they figured out that being close to Daisy didn’t mean getting close with you. One night when we were kids, she made me promise to never touch you. Never date you. Never even think about it.”
This is news to me. “Are you…? Is this for real?”
“Yep. It was not long after your mom passed. We’d just been ditched by a few girls at school for not being cool enough —Daisy refused to set them up with you and your brothers—and then she kind of freaked out about losing anyone else.”
A tingle of old grief tickles the bridge of my nose and I’m suddenly sad for my teenage sister. Sad and guilty that she felt it necessary to hide her pain from me. “Thank you for giving Daisy the reassurance she needed. She’s lucky to have you in her corner.”
Poppy shakes her head. “No. I’m lucky to have her . I don’t know what my life would look like without Daisy, and our friendship was more solid after I swore that I’d always love her more than I love you.”
“I… So… You mean…?”
She said love , but she didn’t mean love -love. Right? There’s a blankness to her expression that makes me wonder if she’s teasing me or if she’s got no idea what she just said.
“So, it was an easy promise to keep,” I finally say. “You, uh, loved Daisy more than you loved me. You still do.”
“Yeah.” Poppy watches me as thoughts I can’t read pass behind her eyes. “I still do.”
I should feel relief instead of a weird, almost physical discomfort, and I shift in my seat. “But it isn’t only about Daisy. It’s about Izzy too. I can’t kiss you just because I want to. I can’t complicate my life like that, because it’ll complicate Izzy’s life, and things are too fragile for me to think with my dick right now—or ever.” My bad hand is in my hair now, and when pain spasms in my fingers, I carefully drag them out. “Izzy is my priority. I don’t know if or when there’ll be a good time to introduce someone new to her life, but I do know it isn’t now. Her life is confusing enough. She needs more stability, not less. I can’t risk putting her in the middle of something between us.”
“Something that might not work out?”
“Yeah. My life is here in Aster Springs and you’re leaving again in the summer. Plus, this thing between us—it’s a physical thing. And that’s…” A fleeting thought of Annalise passes through my head, reminding me that I’ve taken that risk before. “I have to be smarter than that.”
“I get it.” Poppy drops her head back against the headrest, and I trace the graceful line of her pale throat. “I should have known better than to let you kiss me, but I’m not in the best position to resist temptation. Daisy and I are halfway through a twelve-month dick-tox.”
“A what ?”
She rolls her head to the side and grins. “Twelve months with no men, and I already had a six-month head start. We’re trying to detox from romantic entanglements and emotional risks. You know, toughen up before we put ourselves out there again?”
I want so badly to touch her. Stroke her cheek and hold her hand. She’s acting brave but I don’t think she’s aware of the undercurrent of vulnerability in her words.
“Is there a reason you need to toughen up?” I ask.
Her smile falters. “Not a very interesting one.”
I’m right. There’s more to her story, but it’ll take more than a question to coax it out of her, and I’m probably not the person she wants to confide in. My sister, on the other hand…
“And Daisy?” I ask. “She won’t tell us why she came home but I’m starting to get the impression there’s a dickhead out there who needs his ass kicked.”
“That’s not my secret to tell,” Poppy admits before she drags her bottom lip through her teeth. “But… there is no dickhead. Nobody treated her badly. You don’t have to worry about that.”
I scan Poppy’s features for signs that she’s lying, and when I can’t find any, I decide to let it go. For now.
“So, we’re on the same page?” I ask. “The kiss tonight was two people—two friends—giving in to a moment of weakness, but we agree there’s too much at stake for us to let it happen again. Right?”
“Agreed,” she replies. “Izzy comes first. Izzy and Daisy. We’ve both got baggage that makes this all too complicated, and what’s it all for? The temporary satisfaction of a kiss or a touch or…” Poppy’s eyes fall to my mouth, and she takes a single deep breath that seems to give her strength. “We’re too old to be controlled by sex.”
The word sex hovers in the air between us until I reply, “Absolutely.”
“One kiss is all we get.”
“All we get,” I echo, moving toward her without meaning to.
Another inch and I could kiss her. Another inch and I could taste her all over again.
“One kiss is all we need,” she adds, like if she says it out loud that’ll somehow make it true.
“Yep,” I lie. “All we need.”
“We’re human ,” she says with a forced laugh. “We crossed a line, but we won’t do it again.”
I hear the words but they’re not as important as the way her lips shape them. “Never again,” I murmur.
“Let’s just forget it ever happened and start fresh again tomorrow.”
It takes me a second to realize she’s opened her door and stepped out of my truck. I watch her walk away, hanging on the sway of her hips and the cherry scent of her mouth, wondering how long it’ll take before I screw this all up.
The answer? Less than a week.