Chapter Thirty
DYLAN
G rav was equal parts excited and frightened for our plane ride. I couldn’t blame her. There was something deeply unsettling about entering a metal tube someone else was in charge of that soared through the sky. She’d been on airplanes before, when we went to visit Row and Cal, but back then, she was too young to understand what was happening.
I dutifully distracted her with snacks and Bluey—every parent’s emergency kit for the distressed child.
Throughout the flight, Rhyland looked right at home on the private plane, working on his laptop and occasionally goofing around with Grav. It was a reminder that our lives weren’t the same. Not really. In a few days, he’d return to his glamorous existence with his billionaire friends, and I’d keep busting my ass in a bar to make ends meet and bickering with a good-for-nothing ex about supervised visits with our daughter.
The flight passed quickly, and we were greeted by a huge black Escalade that took us to Bruce and Jolene’s ranch on the outskirts of Dallas. Grav was glued to the window, nose smushed to the glass, oohing and aahing at the sunflower and strawberry fields. Rhyland and I were kind and impersonal with each other, as we always were around my daughter. I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea. To get her hopes up. To get mine up.
It was an hour before we reached the ranch-style house, which appeared surprisingly modest. Gray brick, with open red shutters, overhanging eaves, and a wide, open-plan porch. Surrounding it were cattle grazing freely. Cows, elk, and sheep with shepherd dogs running around.
An intense pang of realization stabbed at my chest. This was what I wanted for my daughter. This carefree, natural lifestyle.
Bruce and Jolene were waiting on the porch with sweet iced teas, sitting on rocking chairs and talking easily. They stood up as we poured out of the vehicle. The golden glint of an unforgiving summer glazed every surface—the ground, the walkway, the heat rolling off the concrete walls of the house—and Gravity, who in her excitement forgot to be shy, dashed outside, running everywhere, trying to play with the dogs.
“Grav,” I laughed nervously, trying to snatch her back to me. “Careful, sweetie. You don’t want—”
Rhyland scooped her up even though he was holding both our suitcases. “No way, little stinker. We’re going to ride horsies together now.”
Bruce and Jolene approached us, and we exchanged pleasantries. They were obviously impressed by the deep, genuine connection Rhyland had with my daughter.
“Hey, Lil Miss.” Bruce tousled Gravity’s hair affectionately. “Does Mr. Rhyland right here take you to do fun things?”
“Yes!” My daughter’s eyes widened with delight. “We do all the fun things together. And he makes me waffles.”
Rhyland sent Bruce a satisfied smirk, and it occurred to me his relationship with my daughter could be part of a grander, more sophisticated scheme. The thought made me shudder.
Jolene and Bruce showed us around the house. It was an open-plan, one-story, L-shaped house with two wings. Their bedroom was on one side, ours on the other, and there was a huge living room and two dining areas in between.
“I raised my five kids in this place.” Jolene touched her cheek longingly as we weaved in and out of comfortable, generously furnished rooms that smelled of farmland, with dancing curtains and folded quilts and the intense, pleasant feeling of home.
“You have five kids?” I shrieked. I had one kid—not a particularly difficult one—and still found it overwhelming.
Jolene laughed. “I sure do. I kept having boys and wanted a girl.”
“And did you get one?” I hoped she had. Hell, I was half considering giving her mine, she seemed so committed to the task.
“I did!” Jolene said brightly. “Our fifth one is adopted. Her name is Lorelai. She lives right down the street from us.”
“That’s amazing,” I breathed.
We followed Bruce and Jolene to the backyard, which had a huge, gated pool and an impressive play area, including a tree house, swings, slides, and a sandbox. Gravity lunged into the sandbox without even asking for permission, doing the breaststroke in the hot sand.
I snorted out a laugh, shaking my head. “Sorry. This’ll make a mess, but I’ll clean it up.”
“You will not,” Jolene chided, grabbing my hand and squeezing it. A rush of gratitude coursed through me before she caught my gaze and said, “This weekend is not only about business, Dylan. It’s also about you. I’ll take care of Gravity. I have ten grandchildren between my children—I know what I’m doing. And you’ll always be within reach, close enough to see her. We’ll shadow you while Bruce shows you around. There are so many things to see here.”
My knee-jerk reaction was to refuse. I had a hard time letting other people take care of Gravity. But I needed to let go if I was serious about going to school at some point in the near or distant future.
“Okay.” I nodded, my voice grainy and heavy with emotion. “Thank you.”
We started off with pony rides for Gravity and exploring the property. The Marshalls had owned this land since the 1800s, and every generation was engraved onto it, worked it, and cared for it.
“We Marshalls never did too badly for ourselves,” Bruce explained with a piece of straw wedged into the side of his mouth. “But it wasn’t until I worked for a technology company and came up with Telephonication that I saw a real big buck in my bank account.” Telephonication was the app everyone used to make video calls and have unencrypted conversations all over the world for free. “I sold the app, and since then, I don’t know…” He massaged his chin with a frown. “Never put my hand on a venture that was a bad idea. I know a hit when I see one. And you.” He turned to Rhyland. “You have a good idea right there. I’m starting to warm up to you.”
Rhyland looked pensive, deep in thought. He’d been like this since we boarded for Texas, and I wondered if there was something on his mind that didn’t include our little weekend charade. Maybe something to do with his parents, whom he refused to speak to.
The last stop in our grand Marshall estate tour was off the main pathway leading to their door, beyond the ranch itself. It was an old, round well made of heavy black stones. With a galvanized metal jug hanging on a frame under its wooden roof, it looked like something out of a Grimm Brothers tale, and I pressed Gravity hard to my chest, afraid she’d wiggle off and launch herself into it.
“And this is the family wishing well.” Bruce stopped to pat the hot stones with a proud smirk. “I ain’t superstitious or anything, but this wishing well has made quite the name for itself over the past couple centuries. We stopped utilizing it for water in around 1900. My great-great-grandfather fell ill during that time, and his wife, Bertha—she was a nurse—thought he’d never get out of it. The doctors gave him a few days. Folk traveled from all over to say goodbye to the old man. One night, she sat on the edge of the wishing well, dropped a coin in, and prayed he’d get better. The next morning, he woke up feelin’ like a trillion bucks!” Bruce’s eyes gleamed with juvenile enthusiasm. “Since then, people from all over Texas come here to drop a coin and make a wish. This lil baby has helped countless people.” He smacked the stones again. “Get married, get pregnant, overcome illnesses, gather the courage to do something new. You should try it sometime.”
“Charming, but people under the age of fifty don’t carry cash on them, let alone petty cash,” Rhyland said brutally.
I elbowed him. What was wrong with him? I knew there was some tension between him and Bruce, but the latter was finally opening up.
“Don’t be a cynic,” Bruce said. “Where there is no belief, there is no growth. Doesn’t matter who your god is. Could be justice, hope, or the Big Daddy in the sky. You have to believe in something, or you have nothing to live for.”
When we got back to the main house, Jolene suggested Gravity help her make cornbread. Rhyland and I retired to our room, adjacent to Gravity’s bedroom. For all their conservativeness, Jolene and Bruce had allotted us one bed even though we weren’t yet married.
When Rhyland unzipped his suitcase on the bed, I went in for the kill.
“What’s up with you?” I hopped onto the mattress. “You’ve been surly.”
“Nothing,” he muttered, tugging out expensive polo shirts and designer briefs.
I’d never seen Rhyland in a bad mood. In fact, up until now, I wasn’t entirely sure he was capable of one.
“If I wanted a bullshitter, I’d have stayed with Tuckwad.” I frowned. “You’re obviously upset. Is it about Bruce? Is it abou—”
“Yesterday, I mortgaged my apartment.” He flicked his empty suitcase shut, tossing it to the floor.
My jaw loosened with shock, and I shot to my feet, placing my palm on his cheek. He looked the other way sharply, hissing with humiliation as the pink flush on his neck crawled up to his face.
“I’ve been such a fucking idiot for years. Recklessly spending all my money. Thinking I could live like my much richer friends. Every bad idea I ever stumbled into, I took. I got a fucking six-million-dollar penthouse basically for free…”
Holy shit, his place is worth six million?
“And I managed to lose it.”
Guilt gnawed at me for charging him an insane amount of money for our fake relationship.
“You haven’t lost the apartment,” I whispered. “Mortgaging means nothing. I mean, I heard some people do it for better rates or whatever!” I was really talking out of my ass now, since I’d never owned anything more expensive than a Dyson hair dryer and had no idea how those things worked. “And look.” I licked my lips. “Forget about my fee. I’ll pick up more shifts at the Alchemist…”
“No,” Rhyland said decisively, shutting down the idea. “Paying you so you can take care of yourself and Grav is the least stupid thing I’ve been doing with my money. This has nothing to do with you.”
“But, Rhy—”
“No.” He grabbed my shoulders, squeezing as he peered into my eyes. “Stop making this about our arrangement, okay? It’s not you I’m mad at. It’s myself. It took me all these years to figure out how to live my life, and now I’m playing catch-up.”
“If it makes you feel any better, you’re doing a pretty awesome job.” I smiled at him tentatively.
He gripped my waist and jerked me to him, giving me a peck on the lips. We’d been careful not to be handsy in front of Gravity. “Would you call yourself a fan, Cosmos?”
“Of my nickname? No. Of you? Absolutely.”
We swayed slowly to a soundless rhythm only we could hear. I pressed my cheek to his chest, feeling his heart beating all over the place, knowing mine was doing the same thing and that this was going to end in tears.
Most likely mine.
It was as if Rhyland had decided to go on a quest to destroy my ovaries that day. After Grav had spent time with Jolene, I gave her a bath, braided her hair, and did some coloring with her before dinner. After supper, we tucked her into bed, and the little traitor turned to me seriously and said, “Mommy, I wove you, but I want Uncle Rhyrand to read me a story.”
I pretended not to be offended and used the time to unpack my suitcase. But after ten minutes of waiting around, Rhy still hadn’t left Gravity’s room, and she still hadn’t yelled for me to come kiss her good night. Despite myself, I peered through the crack of the adjacent door, spying on them. Rhyland was sprawled out next to her in her floor-level princess bed, her head tucked into the crook of his arm, flipping a page in their book.
“…then Pooh said, ‘But I love honey,’”—he made a…was it a German accent?—“and Eeyore replied, ‘Yes, we know.’” He pinched his nose theatrically when he narrated the donkey, and Gravity giggled.
I leaned against the doorframe and grinned.
“Finally, Piglet laughed, ‘So do I!’”
Each character had its own voice and accent. Sometimes, Gravity would ask Rhyland to read the same page over and over again, then she’d laugh until her tummy hurt. I was shockingly disturbed by how hot I found it when my upstairs neighbor made silly faces, crossed his eyes, and attempted different accents.
Finally, they finished the book, and Rhy dropped a kiss on my daughter’s head.
“Words of affirmation?” he offered her.
She nodded seriously.
I loved that he’d remembered. I loved too many dang things about this man. My entire body liquified into something warm and delicious and content at his voice, his words.
He stood up, tucking the book between the bed frame and the mattress and covering her with her blankie. Mr. Mushroom was pressed close to her chest. “You are my favorite girl in the whole entire universe.”
“Even more than Mommy?” Grav gasped.
Rhyland’s eyes met mine from across the darkened room, and I realized he’d known I was there all along. He smirked. “Mommy is my favorite woman. It’s not the same category, little stinker.”
“What’s a caddegory?” She rubbed her fists over her eyes.
“I’ll let Mommy explain.” He slipped out of the room, and I sat down on the edge of my daughter’s bed and kissed her good night.
“Mommy?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Is Uncle Rhyrand staying with us forever? Will he always be our neighbor?”
That simple question pierced through my skull like an arrow, making my head throb.
No, he wasn’t. In fact, soon enough, he wasn’t going to see her a few times a week—maybe not even a few times a month. He was going to live the new life we were setting up for him now.
I tried to keep my composure. “I’m not sure, sweetheart.” I stroked her braid’s flyaways from her forehead with what I hoped was an easy smile. “I mean, we’ll always see him. He is good friends with Uncle Row and the family. But sometimes you see a person a lot, and other times…not so much.” This was the nicest way I could think of telling her not to get attached.
Gravity pouted. “Well, I want to see him all the time. I wove him a lot. Maybe even as much as Granny.”
Girl, tell me about it.
Fine. I didn’t love him, but I had reconsidered my entire “no men ever” rule for him, which was a lot.
I closed the door behind me softly and pressed my back to it, closing my eyes. I was in trouble. Big trouble.
“Hey, Cosmos.”
Rhyland’s words pulled me out of my weird mood. I opened my eyes. He was standing in front of the mirror, getting dressed.
“I’m taking you out tonight.”
“But Grav—”
“Is already asleep,” he finished for me. “And Jolene insisted on babysitting her. Come on.” He made a face. “It’s time to look lovey-dovey. For my deal, yeah?”
I nodded. He needed this win desperately.
I got ready and slipped on a tight red dress. When we walked out of the house, we looked like two awkward teenagers passing Jolene and Bruce in the living room. They were watching Wheel of Fortune like it was 1993.
“Have fun, kids!” Jolene called out.
“Keep it in your pants, mister,” added Bruce.
A chauffeur drove us into the nearest nondescript town, where we drank our beers silently. We could both feel it all coming to an end. Bruce was pacified. The deal was likely going through. And there really wasn’t any point in doing more bonding.
Rhyland’s phone danced on the counter of the bar. His mother again.
I sighed. “You’re going to have to deal with your parents sooner or later.”
“Wanna bet?” he drawled sarcastically, taking a pull of his beer. “They fucked me over real good and nice. Now it’s my turn. Whatever they want, it’s a favor. And I’m fresh out of fucks when it comes to their problems.”
“What if one of them has health issues?”
Rhyland shook his head, holding his beer by its neck between his index and middle fingers, eyes wandering to the football game on the screen above our heads. A rerun. “If one of them was about to kick the bucket, they’d spend all their time together and not invite me to say goodbye. Ever since I was a kid, they’ve always had this…possessiveness toward each other. I remember Dad always butting into our hugs every time I embraced my mother. He wouldn’t really let me touch her. And as I grew up, I think he kind of…almost competed with me for her. Teaching me his craft, passing along his skills, was mainly to keep me busy and away from her.”
“That’s sick,” I said quietly.
He nodded. “I grew up feeling like a voyeur in my own home. Love and affection were a currency, and I was hella poor.” No wonder, then, that he’d grown up becoming richer from that very same coinage.
Three beers in, we called it a night and stumbled back to our waiting car.
“I could get used to this.” I put my head on Rhyland’s shoulder and closed my eyes, only for a few seconds. When I opened them again, we were parked in front of the ranch.
I moaned groggily and scooted out of the back seat of the Escalade, murmuring my thanks to the driver. Rhyland snatched my hand in his and led the way. At first, I thought we were heading for the door, but then he took a sharp turn left, and we were stomping on dry summer land and mostly eaten grass.
“Where are you taking me?” I yawned into the back of my hand.
“You’ll see.” His voice sounded strangely strained, and that woke me up from my power nap.
We trudged in the pitch-black, Rhy lighting the way with his phone flashlight. Then I saw it, like a beacon in a sea of nothing.
The wishing well.
Rhyland’s grip tightened on my hand. Then we were right next to it, the now-cold stones pressing against the front of my thighs. The metal jug jingled softly to the swoosh of the wind.
He placed his phone screen down on the lip of the well so that the light touched the silhouettes of our faces. There was urgency in his expression.
“Bruce was right,” he said solemnly.
“About me being the perfect woman?” I purred. He’d said that earlier today when I helped Jolene do the dishes after dinner while Gravity hung from my neck like a little monkey.
“That too.” Rhy palmed the coin pendent on the chain around his neck, ripping it from his skin in one go and flattening the pad of his thumb over it. “You have to believe in something, and I believe in nothing, so I might as well take a leap of faith. Here.” He grabbed my hands and squeezed, brushing his thumbs back and forth over my skins soothingly. “It’s the only coin I have.”
“I’m pretty sure this thing is a part of your DNA.” I tried to inject some laughter into my voice, but the truth was I was choked up with emotion. He had one wish to spare, and he was giving it to me? “I’ve never seen you take this thing off.”
“Silver Washington quarter. Rare coin.” He smirked, ignoring my rush of incoherent words. “My grandfather gave it to me before he passed away. I used to spend summers with him. We were close.”
I shook my head vehemently, gulping. “I’m not throwing that away, you psycho.”
“If you won’t, I will. And I’ll wish for something really spiteful.” He assessed me for a moment. “That your perky boobs will go saggy or something.”
“You wouldn’t.” My eyes tapered.
“You know I would. It’s classic me.”
True. Rhyland was that level of stubborn, just like me. We weren’t yin and yang; we were two fucking yins that still managed to complete each other.
He dangled the coin in front of my face slowly, mock hypnotizing me. “You’re getting very sleepy, and you want to use this to make a wish, because I decided that’s what needs to happen, and I always get my way.”
“Ugh.” I snatched the pendant from his hand.
Clutching it, I peered down at the dark nothingness of the well and took a deep breath. The summer air hit the bottom of my lungs. I knew what I wanted, but I was afraid to ask for it. I’d spent the past four years training myself so well not to want, not to wish, not to dream, that it was hard to admit I wasn’t happy. That my sweet, bright child wasn’t enough.
I squeezed the pendant harder. No matter which direction my thoughts skidded to, I was met with a wall of anxiety.
Med school? Financial insecurity, long hours away from my daughter, the possibility of failure.
Rhyland? Heartbreak, insecurity, past trauma, crushing betrayal that was to come, because it always came. Other than Row, there had never been one man in my life who hadn’t disappointed me.
“Go nuts, Cosmos,” Rhyland urged in the background. “Ask for your wildest dream.”
I stretched my arm, letting the coin fall into the well. A soft clink sounded as it hit the still water.
“What did you ask for?”
You.