Chapter 7 #5
A second later, a familiar voice called from the entryway. "Before anyone shoots, it's me."
Claire shook her head. Dylan could have a dark sense of humor. She adored her nephew.
Dylan stepped into view with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, cheeks flushed from the cold.
Alex stared at him. "What are you doing here?"
Dylan glanced between his mother and his aunt. "Wow. Hi to you, too," he said, chuckling.
"I thought you were staying at Maggie's?" Alex asked.
"She kicked me out."
Claire and Alex both sat forward.
Dylan laughed. "For the night," he clarified. "She has her last paper to submit on Monday. She'll be here tomorrow."
He tossed his bag aside, moved Claire's legs, and plopped down beside her on the sofa.
"So? What did I miss?" he asked.
"You mean besides dinner?" Claire asked.
He rolled his eyes.
"My father wiped the pool table with Alex," Claire said.
Dylan laughed. "At least you didn't hurt your back," he told Alex.
Alex grumbled.
"Nah. That only happens when she tries to lift your mother onto the pool table," Claire said.
Dylan shuddered. "Thanks for that visual."
Claire chuckled, clearly pleased with herself.
"Did Grandma and Grandpa leave?" he asked.
"About an hour ago," Alex said.
"Oh."
"Don't worry," Claire said. "They'll be back tomorrow. Sunday dinner. I think they intend to make it a tradition."
Alex laughed. "It's been a tradition forever, Claire."
"Yeah. For your family."
Alex exchanged a glance with Dylan. Sometimes, Claire needed reminding that this was her family.
"Claire—"
"I know!" Claire interrupted. "It's my family. I know. You can't expect that not to be weird."
Dylan laughed. "I think all families are a little weird."
"Mm. Most don't have ghosts and zombies, though," Claire said.
"Zombies? We have zombies?" Alex asked.
Claire shrugged. "We might."
They all laughed.
Claire took a breath. "So," she said. "I guess we'll be having company soon."
"Company?" Dylan asked.
Claire looked at Alex to explain.
"Your grandfather has agreed to help me solicit a conversation with Nika Kapralov."
Dylan blinked. "Where?"
Alex sighed.
"Here?" he asked.
"Well, I thought it might give us a chance to put that secret control center your father built with mine to use."
Dylan considered the idea, then nodded.
"That's it?" Alex asked. "No opinions?"
He shrugged. "I guess I'm surprised you're telling me."
Claire looked at Alex and raised her brow.
"Dylan," Alex said softly.
“I am surprised,” he said. “It’s not like you’ve been a fan of me working at Carecom.”
Alex nodded. “I’m impressed with all the work you’ve done. I’ve told you that.”
“But you’d still prefer I went back to school full-time.”
Alex pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned.
Dylan leaned back against the sofa. “That means yes.”
“It means I’m thinking.”
“No,” Claire said. “That’s not your thinking face. That’s your I-don’t-want-to-admit-the-kid-has-a-point face.”
Alex glared at her.
Claire smiled.
Dylan looked between them.
Alex lowered her hand and looked at him.
He wasn’t the six-year-old boy who mispronounced words and followed her around with a thousand questions about bad guys and superheroes.
He wasn’t the teenager who had tried to hide every hurt behind a joke because he never wanted to let Alex know he was afraid.
He had grown. He wasn’t finished, and he was hardly invincible.
He wasn’t nearly as careful as she wished he would be, either.
But he’d grown enough to know his mind and his heart. And he still looked at her as if what she said next mattered.
The realization settled in her chest.
What she said mattered.
“I would prefer you go back to school full-time,” she said.
Dylan nodded, his expression hovering between frustration and disappointment.
“But that’s not the same as saying I don’t respect what you’re doing.”
He blinked.
Claire waited.
Alex leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees. “The world you’ve entered is complicated, Dylan. It isn’t like the world most of your friends know. You know that better than most people your age. Better than some people twice your age. And I worry about what it might ask of you.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t,” Alex said gently. “Not fully. And that’s not an insult. None of us know the cost of the path we choose until we’ve walked far enough down it that we start to lose sight of the place where we started.”
Dylan looked down at his hands.
“But that doesn’t mean the path is wrong,” Alex said.
He looked back up.
Alex sighed. “I need to do a better job separating my fear from your choices.”
Dylan didn’t answer.
Claire’s gaze moved to Alex.
“I’m not worried because I think you’re incapable,” Alex said. “I’m worried because I know you’re capable. And capable people get asked to handle things other people can’t. Or won’t. And sometimes they say yes before they understand how heavy those things can become.”
Dylan nodded. “You mean like you.”
“Yes. Like me. And Claire.”
Claire lifted a hand. “Please leave me out of any inspirational parenting moments.”
Dylan and Alex both chuckled.
Alex’s smile faded. “And like your father. Both of them, in different ways.”
The room quieted.
Dylan looked toward the floor again.
Alex let the silence linger. She had learned, mostly from Cassidy, that not every silence needed to be filled.
“I don’t know what John Merrow would have wanted for you,” Alex said.
Dylan looked up.
“And I don’t know what Christopher O’Brien would think about your choices.”
“He’d probably see me as his asset.”
“Maybe,” Alex said. “I’m not sure that’s true.”
Claire looked between them.
“But I know what I see,” Alex said.
Dylan looked at her.
“I see my son.”
Dylan swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat.
“I see someone brilliant and stubborn and irritatingly determined,” she continued.
“Someone who wants to matter. Someone who wants to help. Someone who looks at a broken system and thinks maybe he can find the right wire, the right code, the right door, and make one part of it work better than it did before.”
Dylan blinked.
“I also see someone who wants to find answers. About his parents. All of them. And I know that sometimes those answers never come.”
Dylan looked at Claire.
“She’s right,” Claire said. “You might discover things about John and O’Brien. They might not answer any of your questions. Trust me on that.”
“I know.”
Alex nodded. “And even if you never carry a gun, this work can hurt you—break you, Dylan.”
“I know.”
Alex smiled sadly. “You think you do.”
Dylan gave a reluctant laugh. “Okay. Fair.”
“You don’t have to prove you’re John’s son by following any path he might have walked,” Alex said. “And you don’t need to prove anything to me.”
Dylan looked at her for a long moment. “Then what do I have to prove?”
“Nothing,” Alex said. “Not to me. Not to your mom. Not to Claire.”
He nodded.
Alex shook her head. “You want me to support you.” She took a breath. “I can’t do that.”
He shook his head and looked away.
“I can’t do that unless you agree to listen,” Alex said.
He looked back at her.
Alex continued, “Even when you don’t like what I say.”
“It’s annoying,” Claire said. “But that is how it works.”
Alex chuckled.
“I want to help,” he said. “And I can.”
Alex nodded. “Yes. You can.”
“Is that an endorsement?” he asked.
“It’s an acknowledgment,” Alex said.