14. Dylan #2
As I approach his battered pick-up truck, I struggle to recall the last time I’d ridden in it. Probably not since Dad left, back when things between us had at least been manageable. The thought leaves a hollow ache in my gut.
I have a hand on the rusty door when I hear footsteps behind me. Tommy’s hard voice slices through my lingering nostalgia. “So, what kind of errands are so important that they can’t wait until the morning?”
My earlier tension returns in force. “I need to do something for a friend.”
“What friend?” he asks a little too casually.
I should’ve just said Cat or Robbie, but nerves make me hesitate.
Tommy takes a step closer, and I catch a whiff of stale beer on his breath. “Don’t lie to me, Dylan. You’re going to see that friend of yours, aren’t you?”
Anger sears through me, temporarily drowning out my fear. I cross my arms and square my shoulders, turning fully to face him. “So what if I am?”
Tommy scowls. “I can’t believe you’re going to ditch your family for that spoiled little punk.”
“Ash needs my help!” I protest, hating how defensive I sound. “Besides, why do you care? It’s not like you want to be around me anyway.”
Something I can’t quite identify flickers over Tommy’s face. Abruptly, he turns his back on me. “You’re right,” he says, stalking back toward the house. “I don’t care.”
The harsh bang of the door slamming echoes around me. I take several deep breaths to calm myself before I climb into the truck and start the engine with a rattle. At least, Tommy had left me the keys. I’ll deal with the rest once I get back.
Despite my best efforts to relax, my apprehension only grows as I approach Emily’s house. By the time I pull up to the bottom of her driveway, my knuckles ache from how hard I’m gripping the steering wheel.
I’m looking for a place to park when I spy two figures walking down the driveway toward me. Well…one of them is walking. The other is swaying so precariously that it looks like they can barely remain on their feet.
Great.
I get out and hurry over just in time to catch Ash as he stumbles into my arms. Under other circumstances, I might’ve enjoyed having his muscled chest pressed against me. The stench of alcohol and fresh vomit wafting off him kinda ruins the effect, though.
“Dylan!” Ash exclaims. His hands fumble at me in either a failed hug or a clumsy attempt to grope my chest. “You’re here!”
“And thank God for that,” Greta says. She steps back, leaving Ash clinging to me.
“I managed to corral him outside when I told him you were on your way, but he’s not exactly the epitome of patience.
” She waves a hand in front of her nose.
“Or fortitude. I feel bad for that poor bush, but hopefully that means he’ll be fine for the drive. ”
I picture Tommy’s reaction if I return his truck smelling like puke and shudder…even if the thought does give me some small measure of satisfaction. “Hopefully. Thanks for looking out for him, Greta. You’re a good friend.”
“Not my friend,” Ash grumbles. We both ignore him.
Greta smiles at me. “Of course! Sorry again for requesting backup.” There’s a heavy crash in the near distance as something shatters, followed by muffled cheers. Her gaze flicks to Emily’s house. “Think you can handle it from here? I should go check on Leo.”
I stagger, adjusting my feet to steady myself as Ash leans more of his weight against me. “Yep. All good here.”
“Awesome! Good night, Dylan. Good night, Ash.” With one last quick smile, Greta marches up the driveway, clearly already focused on the next problem that needs solving.
I shake my head as I watch her go, marveling at how she manages to juggle so many plates while making it all look so effortless. If I had a bit more of that in me, maybe I wouldn’t be struggling this hard just to balance school, work, and family obligations.
“Now what?” Ash asks, snapping me out of my reverie. His face lights up. “I know! We should go play some games!”
He starts to step away from me, heading toward God knows where, and I quickly wrap an arm around his back to jerk him to a halt.
“It’s pretty late,” I say, steering him around Tommy’s truck to the passenger door. “We’ve gotta get you home.”
“Don’t have a home,” he says, snuggling against my side. “I’m all alone.”
His matter-of-fact tone breaks my heart. I wrench open the passenger door and help hoist him up the two-foot gap to step inside. “You’re not alone. I’m right here.”
I expect Ash to protest like he had with Greta, but he only fixes me with a lopsided grin. “Of course you are. I’m glad.” His flailing hand finds mine, and he offers a brief squeeze before letting go.
My hand tingles as I shut his door and move around to slide into the driver’s seat. I try not to read too much into his words or the gesture. Ash is drunk, that’s all. In the morning, he’ll wake up and regret all of this…if he even remembers it in the first place.
The drive to Ash’s aunt’s house passes in silence.
For all his talk of hanging out, Ash falls into a stupor basically the instant his head touches the headrest. Even after we park outside his aunt’s, it takes me a couple attempts to shake him awake and drag him out of the car.
I guide him up the path past several creepy garden gnomes while tinkling wind chimes herald our arrival.
“Do you have a key?” I ask Ash.
He mumbles something and gestures at the front pocket of his jeans. When it’s clear he has no intention of retrieving it, I swallow and do it myself, my cheeks reddening as my fingers brush against his thigh through the thin fabric.
We stumble together inside, and I wonder fleetingly how light of a sleeper his aunt is or how much trouble he’ll be in if she finds him like this. Not your problem. If he didn’t want to risk getting caught, he shouldn’t have gotten too wasted to get himself home.
True enough. Still, I guide us down the hall, across the cluttered living room, and up the stairs as quietly as possible. Ash seems happy enough to follow my lead, allowing me to direct him without complaint.
Somehow, we make it into his room without waking his aunt, and I plop him onto his bed, fighting down a shiver when his fingers briefly trail along my ribcage. “So cute,” he murmurs as I start toward the door.
I freeze before turning back to look at him, but his eyes are already closed, his body curled atop his comforter. I watch him for a moment anyway, admiring the sharp lines of his face and the curved muscles beneath his usual too-tight black shirt.
Shaking my head, I move to the door. Time to stop being a creep and go home.
“Wait!” Ash calls out behind me.
This time when I glance back, I see his wide green eyes locked on me with something close to panic. “Stay with me?”
I hesitate in the doorway, warring with myself for several heartbeats before finally letting out a resigned sigh. “I’m going to grab you some water. I’ll be right back,” I add at his look of growing dismay. “I promise.”
Making sure he’s hydrated seems like the least I can do before leaving. Besides, maybe by the time I return, he’ll have already passed out and I’ll be off the hook.
I stop to pet a dozing Onyx when she mews plaintively at me from the couch, then make my way into the kitchen.
When I return upstairs with a glass of water in hand, I find my plan hasn’t panned out.
Instead of falling asleep, Ash is fumbling with some sort of container.
My gaze settles on the familiar orange cylinder, and I rush over, my eyes widening.
“Oh God, Ash! What did you take?”
“Nothing yet,” he mumbles, slumping back into bed. “Need them to sleep.”
He holds the bottle out to me, and I grab it, checking the cap and rattling the contents. I’m relieved to find it still sealed and full of pills.
“Not tonight,” I admonish, stashing the bottle in the back of a desk drawer. “You should know as well as I do that you’re not supposed to mix sleeping pills with alcohol.” I snort when I turn back and see his huddled form. “Besides, I don’t think you’ll have any trouble falling asleep.”
“Please, Dylan. Don’t go,” he mumbles at my retreating back as I once more step toward the hallway. “Don’t leave me all alone. Not again.”
The whimper that follows his plea melts the last of my resolve, especially when I’m worried he might go hunting for those sleeping pills the instant I leave. “All right, Ash. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
Praying Tommy doesn’t murder me for not bringing his truck back before morning, I scrounge an extra blanket and pillow from Ash’s bed and lie down on the floor beside him.
Soon enough, Ash’s breathing steadies out above me before devolving into drunken snores. It’s a long while after that until my own racing thoughts settle. Eventually, however, I find myself drifting off to join Ash in sleep.