12. Dylan
Chapter twelve
Dylan
“It’s way too high, Dee Dee. Don’t you remember what happened last time?”
“I promise, it’ll be okay,” Dee says.
“Do I have to remind you about the Christmas cupcakes? They were so massive they couldn’t stand up. They kept tipping over.”
“It gave them character. Did your parents say something to you? That’s the last time we share our creations with them.”
A chorus of giggles echoes off the kitchen walls, forcing a grin to my lips.
I met Dee’s cousin and her husband, Morgan and Kai Arai, thirty minutes ago when they dropped their daughter, Emi, off. I’m trying not to intrude on what was deemed “Auntie-Niece Cupcake Chaos Day,” so I’m keeping quiet from my spot on the couch where I’m watching TV.
I glance at the kitchen, finding Dee stirring the batter with exaggerated flourish while Emi organizes tubes of colorful frosting and jars of glittering sprinkles along the counter.
“Are you going to help us, or just eat them?” Emi suddenly asks, peering over her shoulder at me, one eyebrow lifted in a look so similar to her aunt’s. I glance her way to find Dee watching her “niece” with pride.
“Well, your aunt and I have an agreement that all desserts are shared in this apartment.” I point to the fridge where the bylaws are scribbled on some scrap paper in Dee’s handwriting and held up by a Ruby’s Rage Retreat magnet.
“Dee Dee,” Emi groans, disappointment thick in her voice. “How could you?”
“I’m sorry.” She laughs. “I forgot we had plans to bake this month. You can have one, Brooks.”
“Works for me,” I say, hands up defensively as I throw a wink Dee’s way. She rolls her eyes. “I’ll be in my room. If the noise bothers you, let me know,” I say, and Dee nods like she always does when I offer the heads-up.
“What do you mean?” Emi asks. Based on the number of questions she’s asked Dee tonight, she’s at that age where the questions are endless.
I throw my thumb over my shoulder as I step backward toward my bedroom door. “I’m just going to mess around on my drum set for an hour or so. But if it interrupts Cupcake Chaos in any way”—I slice a hand across my neck—“I’ll knock it off.”
“Ooooooo, a drum set? I want to see!” She flings herself off the stool and flies into my room before I can stop her.
“Shit, sorry,” Dee says, dropping the bowl of batter onto the counter then grabbing a dish towel, wiping her hands as she follows me to the bedroom door. “Emi, this is Dylan’s room for now? Remember? We talked about this.”
I throw Dee a look of confusion, and she answers my silent question.
“Your room is technically Emi’s room. When we have sleepovers, this is where she stays, but we talked about”— she redirects her attention to Emi, who is seated on the stool in front of my electronic drum set—“how until further notice, she’ll be staying with me, in my room, when she stays the night. ”
“He said drum set. As if I was ever gonna let that go.” Emi picks up the sticks immediately, twirling one in the air with classic Dee bravado before it flies out of her grip and lands at my feet. “Oops,” she mumbles sheepishly, twisting both hands on the stick she has left in her hands.
“Emi—” Dee starts, but I interrupt her. Risky, I know.
“Do you play?” I ask Emi, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, resting my elbows on my knees, and threading my fingers together.
“Ugh, no. My mom said absolutely fucking not last time I asked.”
“She said the big one?” Dee asks, shocked.
“You bet. Dad didn’t even nag her about it, because he agrees.
“The drums are too loud, or whatever,” Emi mimics.
I have to hide my smile. She may only be nine, but she already has Dee’s fire.
“I think there’s something wrong with your drums.” She gives an experimental tap on the snare, disappointed by the muted sound.
“Here,” I say, grabbing the headphones off my desk, handing them to Emi, and turning the system on. “Try now.”
She slides the headphones over her head. They’re huge on her, but she manages to keep them on while hitting everything within reach, a giant grin exploding on her face, growing bigger with every strike. “This is awesome!” she shouts.
I catch Dee smirking from the doorway. “What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” She bites her lower lip. “I just can’t wait to watch you explain to Morgan why her daughter is suddenly asking for a full-ass drum set.”
“Is there something wrong with being loud, Deanna?” I give her a pointed look.
“Hey.” She slaps my shoulder. “I am not loud.”
“You are the model after which megaphones were designed. It’s an accomplishment. Physical education teachers across the nation have you to thank for the breakthrough.”
Her laugh reverberates off the walls of my bedroom, and I can’t help but laugh along with her.
My chest warms at the sight of her head thrown back, dark brown hair flitting around her shoulders, hands resting on her stomach, leaving smears of flour across the black fabric of her oversized T-shirt, nearly meeting the hem of her hot pink biker shorts.
I liked living alone. I’ve been on my own ever since Dominic proposed to Ellie and they moved in together.
I like my space. I like things being where I left them—something I notably don’t have the luxury of anymore—but being here as Dee cooks with her niece, as she sings in the shower so loudly I can hear her from my room, having her laugh at my stupid jokes.
It’s warmed a corner of my chest I didn’t realize was… lonely.
Was I?
I have the guys. I have the Bridge and my coworkers.
But it’s been a long time since I’ve imagined myself finding something more.
Casual and comfortable has been the way I’ve wanted things to be.
Until Aiden and Bec started planning their wedding, I hadn’t felt the pressure of time counting down on my love life.
But this feeling…it’s something I can’t name.
Something shifting. And I can’t place it.
“You’re such a smart-ass.” Her comment forces my gaze from her thighs.
“Takes one to know one. We missed you at the convention last year.”
“Sorry to miss it. I was too busy at the hot singles convention.”
“Can you teach me?” Emi asks, eyes lit with excitement, still yelling over the sound in her headphones as she strikes every pad and cymbal in quick succession, no rhyme or rhythm to her movements.
“Sure, Emi.”
She pauses, pulling one side of the headphones off her ear. “Sorry, what’d you say?”
Dee smiles warmly at Emi. “You might have to do a little more listening before you can wear the headphones.”
“But it sounds so much cooler,” Emi complains, letting the headphones drop back around her ears and slamming away at the pads.
“I won’t mind if you tell her you can’t,” Dee says, sparing a glance in my direction. “I understand this is your space and this is super invasive of your time, on a Friday night no less.”
I lift a shoulder. “I don’t mind. I teach a few kids at the local music shop once a month.”
“You do?” Dee asks, her voice raised over the beating Emi is giving the drums.
“Yeah.” I reach into my crossbody bag, digging out some sheet music. “I wanted to start an open community lesson at the Bridge, but it didn’t work out.”
“The owner?” Dee asks, and I nod. “What the hell is up his ass anyway?”
I shrug. “If you figure it out, let me know. He’s supposedly coming to the Bridge at the end of the month for one of the concerts.
Finally, an artist he likes enough to show his face, I guess.
” I don’t miss the annoyance on Dee’s face, and I can’t help but feel the same.
It’s confusing as all hell to me too why someone would care enough to own a concert venue but not give a shit about music.
Emi tosses a drumstick in the air with a flick of her wrist, and it bounces off Dee’s hip. She narrows her eyes at her niece, who giggles as I hand her another replacement before she’s off again, pounding away with vigor.
“Shit, she’s really having a great time. Morgan and Kai are going to kill me.”
“Nah, blame it on me. It’s not your drum set.”
“We’re too good of friends for me to blame this on you.”
“Friends, huh?” I don’t know why I ask. Some impulsive string inside of me pulling taut, driving me to let the words fly between us. Wanting her to say it out loud so I can shut this voice inside me up, convincing me that maybe there’s something more between us.
I’ve known Dee for years. The verbal sparring, the constant teasing, bickering.
It was natural, easy between us. Never rattled, but ignited and inspired to drive each other further.
This competitive fire, this need to get her worked up the same way she does me.
It’s as easy as breathing. There was a moment last year when I convinced myself that I was feeling more than friendship with her.
But I talked myself out of my own stupidity.
So why am I still hearing that voice say maybe there’s more here?
There’s not. There never was. And there never will be.
“I know, I know,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. The flour on her shirt distracted me earlier, but now I catch a glimpse of a streak across her cheek.
I fight the urge to wipe it away with the pad of my thumb.
“You think we’re just an annoyance to one another, but I do consider you a friend, Dylan. You realize that, right?”
My stomach sinks at her words.
I clear my throat before answering her. “Of course.”
Relief sweeps over her face. “Okay, good. Because I have way too much free time on my hands for you to think a war with your roommate is a good idea.”
“With you? I’d never get out unscathed.”
Her laugh reverberates around the room, a sliver sinking into my chest. A piece of her that settles next to the ones that have already found a home there. A collection of moments dangerously close to affection building into…something.
Emi rips the headphones down, wrapping them around her neck. She swivels on the stool to look at me with a seriousness I didn’t realize this family was capable of. She mimics my stance, elbows on her knees, hunched over, hands clasped. “Okay, drummer boy. Where do we start?”