64. Dylan
SIXTY-FOUR
DYLAN
I dream about the island a lot.
In my sleep, I’m transported back.
I can feel the sand between my toes and the breeze on my skin. The unbearable heat of the sun and the salt on my tongue. In my dreams I hear seabirds screech and the canvas of the life raft flapping in the wind.
I open my eyes from dozing and find Adrian leaning over me.
He smiles gently, cups my cheek, and leans closer, lips a hairsbreadth away from mine. He kisses me languidly and slowly.
Then suddenly I have an oar in my hand, and the raft starts to sway beneath me.
My muscles burn and scream, and I try. I try so hard. My limbs start to feel heavy, and my chest heaves.
I fight to get to the boat I see in the distance—to Adrian—with everything in me. I fight harder. The raft cuts through the current, but no matter what I do, I can’t get closer.
The ocean keeps me away.
The waves throw me back to the shore over and over again.
Sometimes it feels like I can see the ship. Sometimes it’s a dot on the horizon.
“Dyl,” Adrian’s voice says, a whisper in my ear. “Come to me, Dylan. I’m here. I’m waiting for you. We’re going home.”
I never make it.
I have good intentions.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
But those all go up in smoke when faced with temptation.
And nothing tempts me quite like Adrian does.
He shows up the next morning with a box of cinnamon rolls in his hands and an unapologetic shrug when there’s that second of hesitation before I let him in. He nods hello to Indy, who immediately makes himself scarce.
I wish he wouldn’t.
I’m glad he did.
Adrian makes himself at home in my place. Pours us both a glass of milk. Puts out plates. Makes himself comfortable in my temporary space.
Early morning, sunlight falls on the side of his face through the kitchen window.
He hums while he eats.
We polish off six cinnamon rolls between the two of us.
He wipes frosting on my nose when I laugh about his milk mustache.
He gets going too soon and not soon enough.
I’m just starting to freak out about how much I want him here, but then he goes, and I miss him instead.
Nina calls us both in for a meeting in her glass-walled corner office to discuss the settlement the charter company is offering.
I wait outside, pacing back and forth.
When I see Adrian appear from around the corner, my feet get stuck to the ground, and I unapologetically take the moment to drink him in.
It should be illegal to look that good. He’s all long limbs and sinewy strength and impossibly blue eyes. He turns heads as he walks and draws appreciative looks, and I can’t blame anybody for the blatant interest because I understand. More than anybody else, I understand.
“Sorry I’m late. Parking was a bitch,” he says when he stops in front of me.
I wave him off, speechless because it’s been two days since I last saw him, and my heart beats violently from happiness at having him this close.
We eye each other, and I pretend I don’t feel the longing in his gaze.
He doesn’t pretend anything.
The meeting is long.
It ends too soon.
I barely paid attention to what Nina was saying.
We stand on the street in front of the lawyer’s office, and neither of us says anything. We look at each other.
He walks me home.
The butterflies have multiplied.
I know everything about him.
Little things.
Weird things.
Quirks.
Habits.
I know him.
I try to list all his flaws.
There are a lot.
He’s too pretty.
His eyes are too blue.
His jokes are terrible.
He sees me.
He makes my mouth go too dry.
His bare skin is too soft.
His mind is too fascinating.
When he’s gone, I miss him too much.
There are the evenings when he doesn’t show up.
I never ask.
Because I know.
I know he’s with Freya.
And then I feel guilty.
And messy.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
My foot taps against the wood effect floor tiles. There’s art on the walls, and the window is open, letting in cool air. Somewhere a bird chirps.
My foot is going a mile a minute, and I can’t stop.
Adrian’s palm on my thigh finally brings it to a screeching halt.
I suck in a breath and snap my gaze to his.
“Therapists don’t come with strings attached,” he says in a low voice. “If you hate him, we’ll just find somebody else. I just think it’ll do us both good to talk to somebody.”
My shoulders slump, and I close my eyes for a moment before I look at him again and nod.
“I know,” I say. “I know. But I also really don’t want to.”
His fingers tighten on my thigh. His thumb absently caresses the inseam of my jeans.
Goosebumps.
Butterflies.
Nerves.
My toes curl.
My heart hammers.
“I’ll do it,” I blurt.
Adrian blinks. “That was easy.”
No. No, it wasn’t.
I’d do anything for you .
We stop by the bakery and grab the cinnamon rolls to go. We’ve become regulars over the past few weeks.
It’s Adrian’s day off from the garage. He’s been slowly getting back into the swing of things, taking on shifts. He texted me earlier. I tried to resist. I tried to stay away.
Like I do.
It didn’t take.
It never does.
It’s an impossibly sunny day. We head to Harborwalk, where we settle in among all the other people who are out and about, enjoying the weather. We find a bench, but before I can sit down, Adrian grabs my wrist and stops me. I raise my brows at him.
“Let’s…” he says haltingly. “Let’s pretend, okay? That it’s just us. Nothing and… nobody else. Just us two. It’s a perfect summer day. No worries. No problems. Nothing confusing about any of it.”
“I don’t?—”
“Please.”
I nod, because when have I ever been able to resist him? When have I ever been able to deny him anything he wants?
We sit down on the bench, facing each other, cross-legged, the box of cinnamon rolls between us. Twelve in total.
“We’ll be sick if we eat them all,” I say.
He grins. “We have time.”
It’s a lie, but I won’t say that.
We take the first bite together. Like always.
With his smile, something loosens inside me for the moment.
I let myself be in the now, just for a few hours.
I don’t think.
Instead, we talk.
About nothing at all.
That time we were twelve and tried to snowboard with the silver tray his parents had gotten as a wedding gift.
When he taught me how to drive a stick.
The camping trips we’ve taken.
I tear off pieces of cinnamon roll and throw them at him, and he catches them in his mouth. We take off our sneakers and sit on the edge of the dock, feet in the water.
And we laugh and pretend this is it.
This is how we are.
Dylan and Adrian.
Adrian and Dylan.
He sweeps his hair out of his eyes and reaches out to wipe the frosting off the corner of my mouth.
His hand lingers.
My heart beats harder and butterflies flutter.
Once again, I’m aware .
Of Adrian’s expressive eyes.
Adrian’s soft hair.
Adrian’s delicious smell.
His worn jeans.
His long fingers.
The longing in his eyes.
The way I ache for him.
If I could go back…
I’m not sure I’d ever leave the island.
It can’t go on like this forever.
I know it can’t.
It’s an intermission.
A pause.
A hiatus.
An interim.
An interlude.
Before real life kicks back in.
Possibly kicks me in the teeth.
Or in the heart.