Chapter Forty-Nine – Torin
All night. All fucking night.
I drove around Ivywood like a man possessed, scanning the streets, back roads, the alleys, praying her car would materialize if I looked hard enough. I doubled back more times than I can count, even took roads that led me places I haven’t driven in a long time, and still, no sign of her anywhere.
There was no way she’d leave her grandpa. I’m positive about it. So, I called the nursing home — I fed them an utter lie, like I was some distant nephew calling to check up. They said he was okay and doing well. Basically, confidentiality is out the window, because they confirmed he’s still there.
But by the time the sun rose, I’d lost confidence, exhausted. I finally drove home feeling hollow.
Dylan has no clue I went out last night, and he doesn’t have to. He’s hanging by a thread as it is, and now, I’m sitting on the couch with my boots on, elbows on my knees, staring at the canvas on the wall.
The three of us on the dock.
My eyes wander to the corner where the words are etched.
Us three.
The three of us.
Always.
Yeah, fucking right.
I rub my hand along my face and lean back, chest constricted. I know there’s no way she would leave without a goodbye or explanation. That’s not Fawn.
Something isn’t adding up, I know it deep down in my gut. Something pushed her away, and until I find out what that something is, I’m not going to stop.
Dylan strolls into the living room like a weight has been removed from his shoulders. He is clean and fresh, his hair damp. He looks . . . really good, considering his last two days. I try to cough to relieve the tension in my chest as I watch him.
“Holy shitballs,” he says, looking over his shoulder at me. “I didn’t know you were awake.”
“I had to respond to an emergency call about an hour ago,” I lie, rubbing my jaw.
He raises an eyebrow.
“Some old lady locked her keys in her car,” I add smoothly.
He snorts, clearly not believing me but going along with it as he grabs a set of keys off the counter.
“You’re off to the nursing home, right?”
“Yup.” One shoe, then the other.
I straighten up just a little. “Remember our plan. If you see Fawn, let her talk to you. Don’t corner or trap her.”
He simply hums, his eyes fixed on tying his shoes.
“Dylan . . .”
“I will,” he replies quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender, keys jingling in his fingers. “Chill. I’ve got this.”
I’ve heard that a thousand times. “Are you going to the bakery to get some donuts for your mom?”
A grin crosses his face. “Of course. Anything to make my momma happy.”
“Alright, well if you need me . . . call.”
He pauses at the front door. “I would, but my phone’s still in pieces in my bedroom. Remember?”
Oh yeah. Fuck.
Before I can reply, he’s already out the door. A part of me wants him to bump into Fawn just so we know she’s okay, but the other part of me knows he’ll probably confront her.
Fuck, I should have gone with him.
The house falls silent as I slump back against the couch. It’s only now that I’m alone that the tiredness hits me. My eyes feel like lead weights, and every inch of my body aches.
A nap wouldn’t hurt.
Just . . . not too long.
****
Something slams and my eyes are open. Just like that — asleep, then not.
“Fuck! How long have I been asleep?” I shout, already pushing myself upright and glancing at the clock.
Thirty-seven minutes.
Dylan is in the doorway, not moving. All the blood has left his face. His eyes are open but not landing on anything.
“You weren’t gone long. Are you okay?” I ask, already on my feet. “What happened? Did you see Fawn?”
A brown paper bag falls from his grip, spilling out donuts. His lips part, but nothing comes at first. Then—
“She’s . . . she’s dead.”
I hear every word but not one of them lands. The room now feels like a black hole, sucking me in.
“She’s dead,” he repeats, softer now, as if saying it softly will make it not be true.
No.
No.
No, no, no, no.
“What?” I manage to choke. The word rips straight through my chest like a sharp knife. For one second, I’m sure he means Fawn. My knees threaten to give out, and my heart feels like it’s caving in on itself.
He swallows hard, his throat bobbing, his shoulders sagging a little. “My mom,” he says, his voice completely cracking. “She’s dead.”
His mom.
I dart across the room in two steps and grab his shoulder, steadying both of us.
“My mom—” He inhales a shaky breath. “She died early this morning. In her sleep. They think it was a stroke.” Words spill out of him, like he’s repeating something he heard secondhand rather than something that actually happened to him.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, gripping him even tighter. “Dylan. I’m sorry.”
He lets out this sound like a cross between a breath and a sob as he looks at the floor like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.
“All morning, they’ve tried to call.” His eyes wander off toward the hall, toward his room. “But my phone . . .”
Something in me wants to come apart at exactly the same rate he is. I don’t; I need to be strong for him.
Without thinking, I pull him close, cupping the back of his head with one hand and holding his neck with the other. “I’ve got you,” I say, even as my own chest feels like it’s going to split. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
Suddenly, he pulls away from me, as if my touch hurts him.
I can tell right away — by the look in his eyes, the way they glaze over as if he’s seeing something a thousand miles away.
Shock. Pure shock. Brutal. Just like when my father died.
The numbness. The impulse to disappear before the pain hits.
“I’m going to bed,” he mumbles, already turning away.
“Dylan . . .” I reach out, grabbing his wrist. “Please. I’m here.”
“No! Torin.” He pulls his arm away as if I’ve trespassed on some boundary. “I just—” He clears his throat, regaining control of his voice. “I just need to sleep.”
He doesn’t wait for me to respond; he simply walks down the hall, moving sluggishly. The door to his bedroom closes softly behind him.
I want to run after him, to pull him into me, to hold him until the world makes sense again. He’s numb and hollow at the moment. I know a hug won’t fix what’s going on: nothing can fix losing a parent.
The only thing I can do is to be there for him, be near him so when the numbness wears off and the pain sets in, he won’t be alone.
As I stand there, I realize I don’t know what the fuck to do. Everything is slipping through my hands, and I can’t do a single thing to stop it.