Chapter Fourteen
RHYLAND
H er Highness returned to her apartment at 7:30 p.m. to find me slumped on the couch belly-down, her child sitting on my back making biscuits out of my hair. It was sometime around half an hour ago that I realized Gravity didn’t know how to braid and was winging it, turning my hair into one giant knot. I’d have to shave my head completely after she was done with it. But being bald was a small price to pay to keep her calm and in the same spot for more than ten seconds flat.
“Mommy!” The child jumped up, stepping over my head in the process of running to her mother.
Dylan picked her up and flung her in the air, spinning her and nuzzling into her neck. They shared a five-minute conversation in high-pitched, ridiculous voices in which Dylan found out Gravity had spent her day eating McDonald’s, getting temporary tattoos, scribbling all over her new bed frame, and watching Family Guy.
Dylan seemed strangely subdued and unaffected by my version of child-rearing, even when her child attempted to fart the alphabet using her hand and her armpit. Her eyes also looked puffy. I’d think she’d been crying, but I knew Dylan, and that bad bitch didn’t even cry when her father died, when Tucker left her, or during childbirth. She was no crier.
“Did Uncle Rhyland give you a bath and dinner?” Dylan brushed her kid’s hair with her fingers.
“Kentucky Fried Chicken!” the child gurgled. “Mommy, Mommy, he let me dunk my chicken in the beans and then in the milkshake, and we ate it, because he said everything ends up in the same place anyway!”
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh, and I did bath with my Barbies.”
“So cool. Why don’t you brush your teeth and pick your bedtime story?” Dylan suggested warmly. “Mommy needs to talk to Uncle Rhyland a little.”
Gravity charged toward the corridor, where she disappeared into her room.
“Where the fuck were y—” I turned to Dylan, fully prepared to give her a piece of my mind, but the minute her child was no longer in the room, her shoulders slumped and her face fell. The rest of the word perished in my throat. Her olive skin paled, her eyes sunk into two dark hollows, and her nose became red as tears drenched her cheeks.
Was this how a real parent behaved—mastering the art of prioritizing someone else even when they wanted to fall apart? I’d never seen Dylan like this. She was always the most stubborn, proud, fearless woman I knew. And I guess she’d stayed that way. But only for her daughter.
“What happened?” I demanded, a thunderstorm rolling over my temper. Up until a second ago, I’d been inconvenienced. Now, I was pissed. Row was going to rip me a new one if something had happened to his baby sister under my watch.
Instead of answering me, Dylan threw herself at me, burying her face in my neck and encircling me with her arms. She started sobbing uncontrollably, the kind of hiccupy, breathless bawling that ripped your heart out even if you didn’t possess one. My knee-jerk reaction was to hurl her to the couch and bolt. I forced myself to stay still. She needed someone. Guess that someone was me. Soon my neck was wet and warm with her tears, and I couldn’t help it: I wrapped my arms around her, bringing her close to my chest.
I’d never held a woman like this. Never been held like this either.
I was a stoic kid—independent, gruff, a rule follower, and above all, a selfish bastard. My parents weren’t affectionate outside their own dazzling marriage, and the best lesson they taught me was that love had the tendency to quickly turn into an all-consuming obsession, a mutant of insanity, so I stayed the hell away from it.
Growing up, I didn’t have girlfriends or relationships or anything that resembled intimacy. I had sex. Lots of it. But I’d always been up-front about what I was offering—a good time, a perfect date (if you could afford my rate)—nothing more, nothing less.
Her stomach grumbled between us. She hadn’t eaten. Where the hell had she been for seven, almost eight hours?
I untangled myself from her, waltzing over to the state-of-the-art kitchen. “You need a tall glass of whatever the fuck has the most alcohol in it and a hearty meal.” I tried to relax my jaw before it snapped and shot out of the Milky Way. I reached straight for the good whiskey in Row’s bar cart, pouring a generous amount into two tumblers.
“I didn’t realize you knew how to cook,” she sniffled, and I caught her in my periphery wiping her eyes quickly.
“I don’t,” I reassured her, “but I am fucking excellent with my phone and the DoorDash app.”
“I still need to put Grav to bed and take a shower…” She trailed off.
I spun around and handed her the drink I’d fixed for her. “Down a quarter. Now.”
She took a shaky sip but didn’t sass back this time.
“The child can wait.”
“Stop calling her the child like she’s something that needs to be extorted,” she scoffed, the color returning to her cheeks. “And it’s already past her bedtime. I promised her a story.”
“I’ll let her play a game on my phone.”
“She doesn’t know how to play mobile games.”
“She does now,” I confessed.
Dylan’s jaw went slack. She looked ready to pluck my nuts with a pair of tweezers.
“Hey, I was in survival mode, okay?” I grabbed her shoulders and swiveled her toward the hallway, physically escorting her to the master bedroom. “Go take your bath—I’ll order us food. I’ll read the chil—Gravity a bedtime story.” What difference did it make? I’d already wasted my entire day on the kid.
Dylan was reluctant to move, hugging her midriff. “She also needs a good-night kiss.”
“Consider it done.”
“And words of affirmation.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And…and…”
“Dylan.” I clutched her shoulders, forcing eye contact on her. “Go.”
I read the child Gravity a surprisingly entertaining book called I Need a New Butt. As far as I was concerned, it was the height of literature. Fart jokes? Check. Crack jokes? Check. Stupid pranks? Check. The kid was draining, but at least she had good taste in books. I then threw a blanket over her like I was putting out a fire.
“G’night.”
“Uncle Rhyrand, you forgot my good-night kiss.”
Internally gagging like a cat with a hair ball stuck in its airway, I leaned down and pressed my lips to her forehead. She had that tiny-human smell, somewhere between baked goods and a warm, fluffy pillow. I stood up. She blinked back at me in the dark. “Don’t forget words of affirmation, asshole.” Dylan’s words echoed in my head. Even in my head, she was busting my balls.
Also, crap. What should I say? I didn’t know this child, and whatever I knew didn’t exactly impress me.
“Let’s see. You…uh, aren’t too annoying for a kid?”
She tilted her head, searching my face through heavy-lidded blinks.
“I like that you are potty-trained,” I offered. “I’d hate to change your diaper.”
She curled her lips inward. “Mommy’s better at this.”
I sighed, searching my brain for something, anything, that was genuine and positive about her.
“You’re funny,” I sighed. “You make me laugh. You outran that greyhound, which was fuc—fully impressive. If I weren’t so exhausted from today, I’d say it wasn’t terrible.”
She grinned, small white canine teeth flashing in the dark. “You wanted to say a bad word.”
“No, I didn’t. Now you’re just projecting.” Was I gaslighting a three-year-old?
“What?” She cocked her head on her pillow. The room still smelled of freshly shaved wood and crayons.
“Nothing. Good night, rascal.” I tousled her hair.
When I turned around, Dylan was there at the door, staring at us, transfixed. I strode past her, ignoring whatever was stuck in my throat. Maybe I was allergic to children. I needed a Zyrtec if I was gonna babysit this kid on a weekly basis.
“Rhyland…” Dylan followed me, and I stopped at the dining table, ripping open the brown bag containing our DoorDash: triple burgers with crinkle-cut fries and two strawberry Oreo milkshakes. “Thank you for today.”
“Don’t mention it.” I shoved four fries into my mouth, taking a pull of my milkshake. “Seriously. Don’t. I’m fucking traumatized here. This is how people live with toddlers? Day in and day out? How are we not, like, extinct?”
She snorted out a quiet laugh, grabbing us plates and utensils from the kitchen. When she opened the drawer to grab a knife to poke through the sealed sauces, it pricked the tip of her finger. “Ugh. Fuck me,” she hissed, sucking the blood off her finger.
“Sure. Your kid’ll probably hear us, but I’m more than happy to foot the therapy bill.” I popped a fry into my mouth. “I’m chivalrous, which you’ll learn to appreciate as our fake engagement progresses.”
“Don’t let your mouth write checks your ass can’t pay,” she sighed tiredly.
If you knew what my mouth was capable of, I’d be eating more than just a burger.
But she was right. We needed to be good and boring so as not to upset her grizzly bear of a brother. Or blow my impending deal. Couldn’t risk a runaway bride.
We alternated between whiskey, milkshake, and food as she told me about Tara and Stassia and the way they’d degraded her for thirty minutes before sending her on her way. My blood boiled, then chilled to ice when she talked about how she’d saved the life of a bartender who’d had a heart attack and somehow ended up replacing her for the remainder of her shift.
The crux of the biscuit was the news Tucker was in town and working at the Alchemist.
“Did you know he worked there?” Dylan eyed me with suspicion, dunking two fries into her milkshake and tossing them into her mouth—which, I’m sorry, was the height of vulgarity. No one was perfect, I guess. Though Dylan came close, with those long legs and that peach-shaped ass. One couldn’t expect her not to have such culinary quirks.
“No.” I sipped my whiskey. “Whenever Row’s in town, we go to the gastropub down the road.”
“How come Kieran knew he’d be there? This wasn’t a coincidence.” Dylan frowned.
“He must’ve seen him the last time he swung by.” I swallowed half my burger in one bite. “Kieran stays at the Plaza, not too far from here. Asshole probably thought he was doing you a favor by bringing Gravity’s dad back into your life.”
“He knows how much I detest him.” Dylan sniffed.
“Kieran thinks he’s smarter than God himself,” I reminded her. “Just pretend that shit didn’t happen, and move on with your life. Nothing good ever came out of Tucker.”
“Other than Gravity,” Dylan corrected, dipping more fries into her milkshake.
I visibly shuddered.
“Everything okay?” She frowned.
“You tell me. You dip your fries into your milkshake.”
She shot me a steadfast look. “What’s the problem? Weren’t you the one who taught my daughter it all ends up in the same place anyway?”
“I said what needed to be said to make the little stinker eat. I don’t know where she gets all that energy from. She runs on pissing me off and applesauce,” I pointed out. “By that logic, it’s okay to eat turd, because that’s what your food turns into.”
Her eyebrows shot to her hairline. “I see you’ve mastered the art of small talk. No wonder women pay a small fortune for you to date them.”
That drew a snort out of me. “I’m off duty now. I can be my real self.”
“They’d want someone else?” She studied me tiredly.
I wasn’t in the mood to dig into my own bullshit, but taking her mind off her good-for-nothing ex was probably a good idea.
An indulgent smile puckered my lips. “They paid top buck, sweetheart. They got the fantasy. The real deal. I was the most attentive, sappy, possessive, gallant man on the continent.”
“Did you sleep with all of them?” She licked her lips, tracing her tongue along a spot of mayo. I imagined doing it myself and stifled a pained groan.
“No, not all of them,” I admitted. “And I was up-front about it with those I wasn’t interested in screwing. Most of the time, though, they weren’t interested in more than a fake relationship, too battered from whatever had made them hire me in the first place to want to sleep with another man.” I sniffed. “Otherwise, yeah. I had sex with a lot of them and got paid for it. Low-hanging fruit is usually ripe and easy to bite into. And I didn’t have the time nor the inclination to look for hookups after spending all my time playing pretend.”
That is until someone took liberties I didn’t offer.
“Anyway, have you decided what you want to do in New York?” I needed to nudge her into finding a job, because I was dropping her ass as soon as Bruce signed on the dotted line.
“Not yet, but I agreed to work at the Alchemist for a while.”
“The fuck you did.” I choked on my burger, coughing out a piece of pickle. “Tucker works there.”
“Yes, I’m aware.” She sat up straighter, the defiant zing returning to her dark eyes. “I’m not going to turn down a perfectly good job offer because of that bastard. I already lost so much because of him. Skipping this opportunity would be letting him win again.”
“Dylan.” I leaned forward, putting my hand on her shoulder to catch her attention. I didn’t expect the jolt of electricity that ricocheted between us, nor the shudder that rolled across her skin and made her retreat from my touch. “I can’t afford to subsidize your ass past the terms of our deal,” I explained honestly. “I don’t have those kinds of funds.”
“I’m not expecting you to.” Pink budded across her cheeks, and her right brow arched. “Which is why I took this position.”
“Your ex aside? You need something sustainable, with regular hours. An actual profession. Go study something. Chase your dreams.”
“No point. I’ll never outrun them.” She grabbed the empty paper bag, tossing our leftovers into it. “I had my chance, and I blew it. I could’ve had my pick of any college. I chose to serve sunny-side-ups and clean coffee stains from sticky floors. What’s not to understand?”
“You’re a bright kid. You have potent—”
“Please.” She rolled her eyes, shooting up to her feet and walking over to deposit the bag in the trash. “Spare me. Studying requires money and childcare. I have neither. Being a single mom is like arriving to battle with one hand tied behind your back. I’ll forever be in survival mode.” She hugged herself, a brittle note to her tone. “You have no idea what it’s like, to feel homesick for a place you’ve yet to create. To watch people fall in and out of love from the sidelines and know that part of life is off-limits to you. To double- and triple-guess yourself, because every decision you make also affects your kid. I’m just trying to get by. Bartending will help me do that. I can’t afford to give up this work, because no one can promise me I’ll get another chance at employment here.”
It was then, when she was hugging herself, that I noticed it. The mauve-purple ring of finger dents circling her small wrist. It looked like the spot was going to become swollen too.
Her eyes followed my gaze, and she tucked her hand behind her back.
“Who did that to you?” My tone was deadly lethal, even to my own ears.
“Oh, this?” She snorted, massaging the spot softly before wincing in pain and dropping her hand. “It’s nothing. I was in a rush and…” The rest died in her throat.
“And?” I coaxed, my tone so cold she shivered.
“I fell—”
“Never lie to me, Dylan,” I warned. “I can tolerate a whole fucking lot, but I don’t do well with liars. Why are there fingerprints on your skin?”
“It was a mistake, okay?” she hissed out. “Tucker’s never hurt me before. Physically, I mean. Psychologically, he’s murdered me about a hundred times.” A humorless laugh escaped her.
“Tucker did this?”
“Accidentally.”
“You can’t be fucking serious.” I didn’t recognize my own voice, it was so thick and groggy. “He touched you? That motherfuck—”
“Leave it.” She reached out to squeeze my arm. Our eyes locked. It was the first time I’d allowed myself to see her—really see her—since she came to New York. Normally, when we looked at people, we looked through them too. But not right now. My entire attention was on her.
Dylan, the rebel. The dreamer. The potty-mouthed kid who grew up to be Staindrop’s hottest bombshell. Dylan, the smart. Dylan, the impulsive. Dylan, the mother. The daughter.
The sister, I reminded myself. Your best friend’s.
But it was too late. Her hair was so richly dark it was burnished red under the superficial light, her beauty so violent it threatened to detonate like a supernova, leaving stardust everywhere. I couldn’t help it. I wanted her in the same way a starving man wanted his next meal. Some men were into ass, boobs, or legs. Me? I was a spine kind of person. And she had plenty of it.
“Tucker can go fuck himself a million times over,” she whispered, tapering her eyes. “If taking a job at this joint means I’ll be able to afford a good nanny, nourishing food, and books for my daughter, a better future for her, I’ll do it. No one—not Tucker, not Row, not my mother, not you—will stand in my way. There isn’t a thing I won’t do for my daughter. You’d best remember that.”