13. Nate
Nate
My heart pounds in my chest as I walk up the driveway and to the front door.
I feel ridiculous about the nerves. I’m a cop. I knock on people’s doors all the time, often strangers, and frequently at really bad times in their lives.
So why the hell is my stomach in knots?
I shake my hands at my sides, like I’m trying to brush away the nerves.
Pull it together, Patterson.
Just go in there, say what you have to say, and be a man about it.
But when the person I’m here to see is the man who can make or break any chance I have with Rory, it’s not as straightforward as it sounds.
Wiping my palms against my jeans, I pull in a deep breath and then knock on the door.
There’s no answer for a minute, and I start to hope that maybe he’s not home.
There’s a temporary dumpster parked in his driveway, the one that’s been sitting here for months while he’s been finishing construction on his house, but I don’t see any other vehicles.
If he’s not home, though, I’ll just have to come back. There’s no winning over Rory without Dylan.
I spoke with Allie and Stacey two days ago, and Mr. and Mrs. Kelley yesterday. By pure numbers, it seems like I’m almost there.
But Dylan can make or break my strategy here.
Just as I’m about to raise my hand and knock again, footsteps approach the door. The pulse in my ears gets louder, pounding in time with the footsteps.
The door swings open, and Dylan stands there, barefoot in jeans and a Lonesome Pine Baseball T-shirt. He eyes me, his brows creasing together.
For a second, I wish I was wearing my uniform. It may give me some kind of edge here. And I really need one, because not only is Dylan ten years my senior—I’m sure he still thinks of both me and Rory as the eight-year-olds we were when he left for college—but he has a good two inches on me.
Doing my best to salvage what little pride I have, I hold my hand out. “Hey, Dylan. How’s it going?”
He stares at my outstretched hand silently.
I raise my jaw, keeping my hand steady. I’m not going to be the one to fold here.
Not with a fucking handshake, and not with Rory. And Dylan needs to understand that.
Finally, he sighs and takes my hand, giving it a curt shake. “Come on in.”
I follow him into the house. It’s large for one person, a two-story home that from the outside looks like it would have at least three or four bedrooms.
I know he bought this place when he moved back to High Lonesome to take the job as the high school principal. Did he imagine starting a family here?
The kitchen to the left has a table with four chairs, the white cabinets and subway tile giving the room a clean look I didn’t expect from Dylan. I’m pretty certain it’s been recently redone, too.
But then, I’m realizing that while I grew up around him, and have lived in the same small town for much of our adult lives, I don’t really know him at all beyond his role as Rory’s older brother.
He turns right into a family room that has a similar vibe, cozy but minimalist and modern.
A yellow rug sits in the center of the dark hardwood, with two gray armchairs facing a matching sofa. The fireplace isn’t lit, but he’s stacked three logs on the grate, so it looks like he’s ready for winter any day now.
I wonder off-handedly if it’s functional or just for looks.
“How are your renovations going?” I say, stalling for time.
He doesn’t answer.
Gesturing to the couch, Dylan sinks onto one of the chairs and drags a hand through his dark hair, the same color as Rory’s. “What can I do for you, Nate?”
I take a seat.
He knows why I’m here. I’m sure of it. It’s why he invited me inside in the first place.
But it’s time to man up and talk.
I clear my throat. Leaning forward, my forearms on my knees, I look him in the eye. “I want to talk to you.”
“I figured.” He scrubs a hand over his face, readjusting himself on the seat. “I think she needs space, Nate. There’s a lot going on.”
“I know. I spoke with your parents.”
His eyebrows shoot upward as a flash of surprise crosses his face, but he schools his features quickly. “So you know, then.”
I do. And my heart is breaking for all of them. “I’m so sorry, Dylan. Truly.”
“Thank you.” He gives me a tight nod. “But that’s not why you came over here. Is it?”
I swallow, my throat tightening. Honesty is going to be the best policy here, even though laying it all out there means exposing the rawest parts of me.
“Not completely. I want a chance, Dylan. A chance to explain things, to tell her everything, so she understands, and so she’s hearing the truth, instead of whatever twisted version of events Yvonne believes.
I know Rory may never forgive me, and that’s fine.
I’m willing to work for it. But more than that?
” I take a breath. “I want to be there for her. My dad passed away a few years ago. Cancer, too.”
Dylan nods slowly.
“And I know what it’s like, at least to some extent. I just want to be there for whatever she needs.”
I want to fix this for her is what I want to say, but even I know that what’s going on with her mom isn’t something that can be fixed.
Blowing out a breath, Dylan pushes his hands against his thighs to stand and paces in front of me.
“I don’t know, Nate. I know you want an answer from me here, or my blessing, but I’m torn, too. She does need support. Someone to lean on. And as much as I want to be the one to do that for her, I’m her brother. I’m going through this, too.”
My heart twists, understanding passing between us. Losing a parent is one of the worst kinds of pain, especially when you’re as young as we are.
Even at thirty-eight, Dylan shouldn’t be going through this.
Dylan pauses at the picture window that faces the front of the house, then he turns back to face me. “She needs someone in her corner, someone to look out for her. And I appreciate that you want to be that for her. But…”
He tugs on his dark hair, leaving some sticking straight up, while I hold my breath.
“She came to me earlier today, Nate. She opened up, explained her side of things. It’s more than just you. She feels like she can’t trust herself to know what to believe.”
Fuck.
I knew she’d tell Dylan the details eventually, or at least her understanding of them. But I didn’t think it would happen at a time when winning him over to my cause was so crucial.
Slowly, I nod, formulating my response. “Did… What did she tell you?” I finally ask.
Because I’m not sure what she believes at this point, honestly.
A muscle in his jaw tics as he makes his way back to the chair and sits.
I watch, waiting, as he slowly unclenches his fists and grips the armrests.
“According to Rory, you somehow sabotaged every relationship she’s had since the two of you broke up in high school. Got every boyfriend to dump her. She took it as a reflection on her. That she wasn’t lovable or some shit like that.”
“The fuck?” I exclaim, the words out of my mouth before I realize I’m saying them. “That’s bullshit. You know that. Rory’s the sweetest, most lovable person I know. How could she think that?”
He gives me a hard look. “I know that. But she doesn’t. And the fact that she has enough sense to question this version of things gives me hope, but she doesn’t trust her own judgment. That’s my point. All of this has fucked with her head.”
“Fuck.” I lean back against the couch cushion, running a hand down my face.
If she thinks I interfered with her relationships to that degree, no wonder she hates me.
I manage to raise my gaze to look Dylan in the eye, despite the war raging inside me. “That’s not— You know I wouldn’t do that. Honestly.”
Dylan just raises an eyebrow.
“I kept tabs on Rory. I’ll admit it. I kept in touch with Allie, and with social media, it’s not hard to see what people are up to in their lives. I couldn’t just never see her again. I made an account on Instagram with a different name so I could follow her. See how her life was going.”
“And?” Dylan says, his voice hard.
“No. There was no and. Never. I never reached out to her or anyone in her life. I wouldn’t do that to Rory. Ever.”
My words end on a higher pitch, almost pleading.
He has to believe me.
Dylan tilts his head. “It’s still not a great look, Nate. And regardless of what the facts are, she believes that you’re keeping something from her.”
The problem is, he’s right. “I’ll explain everything to her. She doesn’t know about Vail.”
Dylan’s eyes widen slightly as he seems to put the picture together.
“When she said something about me keeping things from her, I thought she meant that, and I’m sure I looked guilty. And I’ll tell her about that, too. But I promise, I would never do anything to hurt her.”
He drags a hand down his face. “Look, I get why you keep the whole Vail thing quiet. And to be honest, I told Rory to take some time. To focus on herself, on Mom, and to not think about you for a while. But…”
A sliver of hope rises in me, the first I’ve felt in a while.
“If you’re really going to be there for her, to support her through this shit with our mom, to hold her hand and to carry her when she’s down? I won’t stand in your way. But if you hurt her, I’ll end you.”
There’s no space to make a joke about threatening a cop. Because Dylan isn’t kidding. Besides, if I cause Rory any more hurt, I don’t think I could live with myself.
This rift between us is killing me, hurting me more than anything Dylan could ever do.
I swallow, standing as I hold my hand out. “Understood. All I want to do is to be there for her. I swear to you.”
He takes my hand, pulling me into a half hug before letting me go. “It’s going to take time, though, Nate. She needs time to trust you again. To trust herself. And it’s going to take work.”
That, I don’t mind. Because Rory’s worth it. And I’ll do whatever it takes to win her back.
I clutch the sheet of paper in my hand as I walk through the grocery store in Vail.
Besides my need to come out here for a few hours, the drive would have been worth it for the bigger selection alone.
There are a few other stores in town that I want to hit while I’m here, too. I have a plan, and it needs to go perfectly.
I add a few more items to the grocery cart before I move away from the produce section and on to the floral section, where I pick out a bouquet of orange flowers.
By the time I reach the register, I’ve found everything I was looking for, and have stocked up on essentials like dish detergent and toilet paper, because things are cheaper here than in our small market in town.
More importantly, though, I’ve gotten what I need to put Phase One of this plan into motion.
My stride is purposeful as I make my way out into the parking lot and to my SUV. I have a few more stops to make before I head back to town.
The pet store is up next. Ollie is waiting patiently at home, and he loves the Greenies that are supposed to be good for his teeth.
He’s gained a few pounds after all the peanut butter Rory was sneaking him the past few months, so I also need to pick up a bag of food that the vet recommended, some sort of diet dog kibble.
If he wasn’t my work partner, I’d say let it go and let the poor dog be fat and happy. But we’re a team, so until he retires, he needs to keep in shape, just like I do.
A few bones here and there might not ruin things, but little things become habits. For Ollie, that means not being able to chase down a perp or not being quick enough to find a missing hiker.
Spam, on the other hand, is a dog of leisure, so he can eat whatever he wants.
I slip into the driver’s seat and start the ignition. I wonder how Spam is doing. That stupid little rat pup kind of grew on me.
I mean, he’s annoying as can be. He’s always underfoot, and that high-pitched yipping? It’s the devil’s noise.
But he wormed his little way into my heart, kind of the way he forced himself into his favorite hiding space between the couch and the wall.
Patiently, forcefully, and with mild destruction to everything around it.
I can’t bring myself to fix the scratches on the wall and the leg of the couch around that area. It would be like admitting he’s not coming back into my life.
Pulling out of the parking lot on my way to my next destination, I vow to myself that I’ll get that tiny dog back where he belongs, along with his owner.
Whatever it takes.