Chapter 31
“I
t’s not fair,” Dylan says for the bajillionth time since I walked through the door two hours ago.
“Well, I’m very pleased they’ve suspended you for a week.” I’m not. I’m furious. But I’m not going to let Dylan know that. “Hopefully it’ll teach you a lesson to not steal things, not play with dangerous substances you don’t know anything about, and to respect property.” I count the three things off on my fingers.
“I did not steal it,” he says, balling his fists and screwing up his face in frustration that I don’t seem to be able to grasp that fact.
I do grasp it. And I do believe him. And that’s why I’m enraged he’s been suspended for the same amount of time as the other two kids who did steal it.
“It was Ryan and Karl who took the stuff from the chemistry lab.”
“And you mixed the concoction with them in the corner of the library. The library.” Turns out it wasn’t a classroom at all. It was worse than that. They’d started a fire in the one place that’s packed floor to ceiling with fucking paper. “The most combustible room in the whole school.”
“But I put it out as soon as it started. With my jacket.” He points at his charred jean jacket that’s lying in a heap on the doormat. “We’d had a fire safety movie a couple weeks ago and there was a part that showed you how to throw a blanket over flames to put them out. It starves them of oxygen,” he says with pride in his newly acquired firefighting expertise. “So I thought I could use my jacket as a blanket.” Clearly, he expects me to be impressed by his attention to the film and his quick thinking.
“Dylan, if you hadn’t started the fire, you wouldn’t have had to put out the fire, would you?”
He looks down, and his shoulders sink.
I could cry. I could. For him and for me. But there’s no other parent for backup here. No partner to shoulder the discipline responsibilities. It’s all me. I am the provider of all the love and all the tough love.
“Anyway. While you’re suspended, there’s also no video games for the week.”
“What?” Now his eyes are as wide, his expression as horrified, as if I’d told him I’m going to burn all his Overlord Hybrids posters. Although at this rate, there’s a danger he might do that himself.
“Consequences, Dylan. Choices have consequences. Actions have consequences.”
I head toward the front door, suddenly aware I might be talking as much to myself as to him.
“Can I have more guitar lessons with Tom while I’m off?” he says behind me.
The anger and frustration spin inside me and turn me around to face him. “Are you kidding me? Of course you can’t. Suspension isn’t a vacation for fun times. It’s a time to consider whether you want to be on the right path in life or the wrong one.”
“What am I supposed to do all week, then?”
“I’ll find out what schoolwork you’ll be missing, and you can keep up with it. And maybe read books. Go for walks in nature. Help Maggie clean up the yard for spring. Something that gets you out in the world and learning to consider others.”
“You don’t consider others.”
“I beg your pardon!” I have never once said “fucking” in front of Dylan, but how the hell I managed to stop myself in the face of the red mist of anger and hurt at the sentence that just fell so easily from his lips, I will never know.
“If you considered me, you wouldn’t have made us move out of the house where I had a nice big bedroom. And you wouldn’t make me leave all my friends and move to California.”
I wasn’t planning to tell him about this right now, or in this way, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting him think for a second longer that I’m moving us for selfish reasons.
The pain of his words stings in my chest as I take a breath and force myself to calm down and use a more caring tone.
I move back toward him and rest my hands on his shoulders. “Dylan, it’s because I’m considering you that we’re moving to California.” He’s staring at his feet, so I take his face in my hands and tip it up to look at me for the most important part. “Rachel’s gotten you into a clinical trial for a new ear treatment at her hospital. It might stop your hearing from getting worse.”
“My hearing’s fine.”
“Right now, yes. But you know it will get worse as you get older. This might stop that happening. Or really slow it down.”
“But not definitely?”
“Nothing’s guaranteed with a trial. But there’s a chance. And it’s a chance worth taking.”
“But I like my school. And my friends. And I like Maggie and Jim. And Tom is super cool and teaching me guitar.”
And there’s the knife to my heart. My fear. My dread. Getting attached to Tom.
“Tom’s going back to London in a few weeks. Don’t get used to him being around. Tom is leaving.” My feelings are one thing, but there’s no way I’m having him break my son’s heart too.
“And you’re going to make me move away from all the other things for something that might not work.” Dylan yanks himself from my grasp and turns away.
I do not have time to get into this right now. And I need to be in a calmer frame of mind when I do.
I take a breath. “Let’s talk about this properly later. I have all the details from the hospital on my laptop. We can go through it all together. But right now, I need to go see Maggie and apologize.”
He slouches off toward his bedroom in silence.
“You have homework, right?” I call to his hunched frame.
“Dunno.”
“Well, I do. And I expect to see a chunk of it done by the time I get back.”
His bedroom door slams behind him.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
I close the front door behind me, wrap my cardigan tight across my chest, and head across the dark driveway toward the light over the Dashwoods’ front door.
As I approach the wide steps, my phone buzzes in my back pocket.
RACHEL (06:41 PM)
OMFG, this is you, right?
There’s a link to a video shot by someone in the crowd at last night’s gig. I can’t bring myself to click it open. That was a fantasy. Something unreal.
My reality lies behind this large green door and the kind, generous, big-hearted woman to whom I owe a massive apology for my increasingly badly behaved son.
RACHEL (06:41 PM)
Screw being a PA. Dust off the singing stuff. You’re fucking amazing. Totally still got it!
And bet you had some mighty fine Rock Star Sex afterwards. *microphone emoji* *guitar emoji* *drum kit emoji* *eggplant emoji* *sweat emoji*
While I appreciate the support, this is entirely not the point right now.
As I shove the phone back into my pocket and take the first step up to the door, it buzzes again.
RACHEL (06:42 PM):
In other good news - get packing! Guesthouse will be ready in a week! We told them to finish it first, so you’ll be moved in before we are!
I stop with one foot on the second step, inwardly gasping as my insides lurch and my brain splits in two.
Half of it does a backflip of joy that we finally get to go to California, start a fresh life, and have a shot at fixing Dylan’s ears. The other half bursts into wailing sobs of despair at the thought of leaving Tom just as we’ve found each other in the most breathtaking way.
Shit.
Not only was last night’s orgasm the most mind-melting, fireworks-shooting-out-of-every-orifice experience of my life, but he totally looked after me this morning and got me home as fast as he could at his own expense. And he organized it perfectly. And was so caring and attentive on the flight back.
For the first time in my life, it felt like there was someone I could actually rely on.
Fuck.
Fucking fucking fucking fuck.
If I wasn’t this close to the front door, I’d scream so loud my lungs might burst.
But I need to set aside this particularly ironic trick the universe has played for a moment and deal with the mess my son’s made.
The big round iron door knocker is cold in my hand as I lift it and drop it twice against the door.
A few seconds later, the door squeaks open and Maggie’s smiling face appears. “Come in, come in.” She beckons me into the welcoming warmth.
“I’m so sorry, Maggie,” I say, wiping my feet on the doormat. “So sorry.”
“Never you mind.” She rubs my upper arm and leads me toward the kitchen. “We’re in the snug. Come on through.”
“But you were so kind to look after him while I was gone, and then this is how your generosity is repaid,” I continue, following her. “I can’t apologize enou?—”
Tom’s sitting on the sofa by the fire, his socked feet resting on the edge of the coffee table, shirt sleeves pushed up to reveal his strong forearms and their light dusting of hair.
He stops tapping on his phone and looks up with a concerned smile, that always-misbehaving hank of hair falling across his face. “Everything okay?”
This is no time for lustful thoughts. “Yes. Well, I mean no. Obviously it’s terrible that Maggie had to deal with all this.”
“Oh, I was called to the school more times than you can imagine for this one,” she says, ruffling Tom’s hair like he’s ten. “So it was nothing.”
“But a fire?” I don’t recall Tom ever setting fire to anything. “I mean, a fire. That’s bad.”
“Dylan seemed genuinely remorseful to me,” Maggie says. “And at least he didn’t get anything pierced.” She tugs at Tom’s ear, exactly at the spot where the scar is. “A fire you can put out. A burned chair you can replace. This guy came home bleeding from a hole in his ear. I was terrified he was going to get a horrible infection or something.”
“Yeah, I was so bad they sent me away,” Tom says.
“Will you please stop saying we sent you away?” Maggie bats his shoulder playfully with the back of her hand. “We only sent you for the summer. You wanted to stay. And Bob and Linda were excited to have you. I wish you’d all stop saying we sent you away.”
She turns to leave. “I’m going upstairs to watch TV with Jim.” She pats my arm as she passes. “And don’t you give it one more thought.”
If only that were possible.
Tom turns to me. “Can I get you a drink or something?”
His question rips me down the middle.
There is nothing I’d like more than to curl up on that sofa with him by the fire with a hot chocolate, then take a long nap in his lap. But I’m a mother with responsibilities I take seriously.
Or at least I did until I listened to my clit more than my head and jetted off to London. Lesson well and truly learned.
Being a good mom is mutually exclusive from this ridiculous fantasy thing with Tom. “No, thanks. I have to get back. I don’t want to leave Dylan on his own longer than necessary. Just came to apologize to Maggie.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Yes, I do. It’s all my fault.”
“No, it isn’t. He’s just a kid.” Tom leans back, one arm draped along the back of the sofa, perfectly placed for snuggling under. “You know I did a bunch of stupid shit when I was a kid. You were there for most of it. And I’ve turned out okay. Right?”
“Not the point. Absolutely not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
“The point is that if I hadn’t been so selfishly caught up in…” I gesture from his sexy head to his sexy feet “…everything, I would have been here. And none of this would have happened.”
“You think if you’d been home the kids wouldn’t have taken the stuff from the chemistry lab and had a laugh with it in the corner of the library?” He shakes his head.
“Yes. I do. I think he took advantage of the situation. A situation I should never have left him in.”
“Well, I think thirteen-year-old boys will be thirteen-year-old boys. And you know why I think that? Because I once was one.”
“And he needs exactly what you needed—stability. But what did I do? Jetted off to London for paid-for shopping trips, singing with a famous band to an arena full of people, and”—I check over my shoulder and drop my voice—“mind-blowing sex.” Tom’s lips curl into a proud smile as his eyebrows waggle, acknowledging his part in that. “And I should have been home, giving Dylan the stability he needs to not go off the rails like you did.” I huff and shake my head at myself. “Who the hell do I think I am?”
“You are an amazing mother, Hannah. That’s who you are. You’ve dedicated the last thirteen years of your life to Dylan.”
“And if I’d been here for him yesterday, instead of there”—I point out the window as if that’s where London is located—“perhaps he wouldn’t have been mixing volatile substances.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Hannah.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “It breaks my heart to watch you do that. Please don’t blame yourself.”
“My job is to look after Dylan and keep him safe. My job is not to fly around the world browsing record stores, having lunch with world-famous reporter-punching sports stars, and rediscovering the power of orgasms.”
He gazes up at me, head tilted, one side of his hair swinging free. If he’s about to make a crack about the greatness of those orgasms, I will seriously lose my shit.
Instead, he just looks at me. Like he knows I’m saying this is the end of the road.
And it is. It has to be.
It should be easier than this. I spent a very long time telling myself I hated him for how he left. But now my whole body yearns for his whole body. My brain yearns for his smart yet stupendously disorganized brain. And my heart yearns for his generous, thoughtful, passionate heart.
Tom breaks the silence hanging between us. “Did you read him the riot act?”
“Hell, yes. He’s suspended for a week. And since being off school is more of a vacation than a punishment, I’ve banned him from video games as well.”
He nods in solemn approval. “There’s probably no punishment more severe than that.” Then a smile appears. “Hey, I can teach him some more guitar, to keep him busy, if you like.”
And my frustrated fury is back. “Oh my God!” At least it will help me build a giant mental wall between me and Tom. “Am I dealing with two idiot kids? You’re as bad as Dylan.”
“What does that mean?”
“He asked if he could have more guitar lessons from you while he’s off, and I told him absolutely no.”
“Why?” Tom’s brow wrinkles with genuine bafflement. “Don’t you think it would be good for him?”
“Good for him to have a punishment that’s a week off school learning to play an instrument he wants to learn? A week hanging out with someone he really likes and wants to hang out with?”
“He likes me?”
Tom looks like something warm has touched his heart, and the wall I successfully built around myself just seconds ago crumbles a little at the edges.
“Of course he does.” I wrap my sweater tighter around my chest and fold my arms over it, shoring up the wall a little bit. “But that’s no good, is it?”
Tom pushes his hands through his hair and holds it in a bunch at the back of his head, his elbows sticking out. “It was good for me when someone I liked taught me guitar. I told you, it refocused all my troublemaking energy.”
He simply doesn’t get it. “And I told you, it’s no good for Dylan to get close to you, fond of you, when you live on the other side of the Atlantic and will be going home soon.”
He drops his hair, and it falls back around his face as he gets to his feet and walks toward me. Reaching for me, his eyes pleading with me to not be like this.
The circles under his eyes are darker again now, the creases around them deeper. A muscle at the side of his jaw flexes as he clamps it shut.
I take a step back, leaving his outstretched arm hanging and his brow knitted.
“Are you sure this is Dylan you’re talking about?” His lips move the minimum amount necessary to get out the words.
“Of course it is. I’m a grown-up.” I point at my chest. “I’ve had to be one for a very long time. I can deal with the consequences of my own foolish actions. Him, I have to protect.”
Tom shoves his hands into his pockets. “And you think this has all been foolish? You think last night was foolish?” His eyes meet mine—they’re hurt and hard at the same time. “Because it sure as hell didn’t feel foolish to me. To me, it felt like the greatest thing that has ever happened.”
My heart hurts. Actually hurts. Throbs from the pain of knowing that we are probably meant to be together, but circumstances and timing beat us the first go around, and they’re beating us again now.
I have only so much willpower. If I stick around here, I’m done for. The only way I’m going to be able to resist him is if I put as much distance between us as possible.
“I’m going to California.” The words blurt out in a rush, almost strung together.
“I know.” His voice is soft now. “But we still have some time. Maybe we can figure?—”
“Tomorrow.” The tremble in my voice is obvious.
“Tomorrow?”
I tear my eyes away from his shocked face and gaze at the darkness outside the windows instead. “Well, maybe not exactly tomorrow.” I cough to try to clear the tightness in my throat. “But as soon as I can get us packed up and on a plane.”
Just the thought of walking away from Tom makes me want to sob and pound the walls in frustration. But I have to keep it together. I have to fight the hot prickles in my eyes and the tearing in my chest.
“I thought the house wasn’t ready?” A hint of desperation is in his words.
“It’ll be ready in a week. And with what you’re paying me, I can put us up in a hotel for a few days till then.” I sniff, determined to keep it all in. “It’s time to move on. Start a new life. Give Dylan the best chance he can have.”
“Wow.” Tom turns around and heads back toward the sofa and fireplace. “I really was just your Bridge Man. Huh.”
“We were never going to be anything more.” Someone’s trying to force a bag of pebbles down my constricted throat. “We knew we were only ever going to be here in the same place for such a short time before you head three thousand miles in one direction and I head three thousand miles in the other.”
He turns back to face me. “But when something happens like this, Hannah. Something like…this…” He says “this” like what we have is so special there’s no actual word for it. “You can’t just ignore it.”
He spreads his arms, indicating the enormity of it. And all I want to do is fling myself into them. But it doesn’t matter how special something is if you live on opposite sides of the planet, if your lives are in no way alike, if you exist in different worlds.
“I can’t do this, Tom. Look at what’s happened because I did. Dylan’s in trouble. For his sake, I can’t lose myself to you.”
“Good God, Hannah. I’m not asking you to lose yourself. I’m asking you to be yourself. Be everything you always could have been. Be everything you can still be. You can be an amazing mother and all of that.”
“The last few days clearly proved otherwise.” My eyes are so full they’re in danger of spilling over. I can’t let him see that. “Until we leave, please make it easier and stay out of our way.” I cross my arms again and dig my nails into my biceps. “I’ll come to this part of the house only to clean. And I’ll finish up that bit of work I still have to do for you tomorrow. I’ll email you when it’s done.”
I only have seconds before these tears overflow. Come on, Hannah. Don’t fucking lose it now. Don’t cry. “Other than that, Dylan and I will stay in our part of the house.”
Without meeting his eyes, because if I did I would surely just hurl myself right at him, I turn and head for the front door.
“But Hannah?—”
His voice follows me down the foyer.
I keep going.
Moving forward. Onward. Into a future without Tom Dashwood.
I haul open the heavy front door, the cold air almost freezing the tears on my face, and close it with a soft squeak behind me.