Chapter 25 Dean
TWENTY-FIVE
DEAN
After Regan closes the door to her bedroom with a light click, I start rummaging through my bag for dry clothes. Pull out a pair of basketball shorts and a plain black shirt. I quickly change into my shorts, looking behind me to be sure that she hasn’t come out yet.
I remove my wet shirt, and I’m about to put the new one on when the door to the back bedroom clicks open.
I can feel Regan’s eyes on me, raking over my muscular form.
I take my time, keeping my back turned as I drop the shirt over my head and begin to pull it down.
I turn to her, still pulling the shirt down so she can get a glimpse of my abs.
I smirk as I see her mouth is slightly agape.
This little setup is going to be intriguing, especially if she keeps looking at me like she wants to eat me whole.
As she is still scanning over me, it’s my turn to stare.
She decided to waltz out here in an oversized shirt and cotton shorts so short I almost missed them.
Her toned thighs are on full display, and it’s making my mouth water.
I lick my lips, and she clears her throat at me, bringing me out of my trance.
She walks by, swishing her hips. Has she always walked like that? Or is she just trying to drive me wild? She claims a spot on the couch and turns on the TV, switching over to Netflix.
“You want to watch Netflix or something?” she asks, flipping through the titles, trying to find something to watch.
Is she asking to ‘Netflix and chill’? Do people still do that? I sit on the opposite end of the couch, keeping my distance from her. Her thighs are too tempting, wanting to grab onto them.
And wrap around my face.
No, no, no. I can’t have thoughts like this.
Since that kiss in my apartment and in my truck, she has invaded my fantasies in a way no one has ever done before.
I never thought Regan Brady, my rival, my fucking rival, would be the one to occupy these fantasies.
She’s everything that I despise. Or thought I did.
As I’ve gotten to know her, there is more to her than I thought.
More than the spoiled rich girl, more than just tagging onto her dad’s last name, and more than just a competitor standing in my way for the Cup seat I so desperately want.
“Sure. Pick whatever.” I pull out my phone as she continues to scroll through the titles, hoping it’ll distract me from her thighs.
Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.
“You sure? Whatever I pick, you probably won’t like.”
“I’m sure whatever you pick, I’ll like just fine," I say, still scrolling.
“Challenge accepted, Dixon.” It’s silent as she continues. I don’t lift my head until I hear something playing.
“Bridgerton? Really?” I scrunch my nose at her. “I didn’t take you for a chick flick girl, Brady,” I quip.
“I’m still full of surprises, Dixon. This is what happens when you give me full rein.
” The show begins, and I’m still scrolling until I realize I’m not, and I’m fully watching Bridgerton.
Fully engrossed in what’s happening. A few episodes go by with us silently watching.
I notice her glancing at me to see if I’m watching or still scrolling.
“So, you’re telling me, she’s married and doesn’t know where babies come from?” I shout at the TV.
“Chick flick, huh?” she teases.
“The plot is good.”
“The plot that includes a love story,” she muses, drawing out the word ‘love’ as she says it.
“I can enjoy a love story, Brady,” I push back, tucking my feet under me on the couch. “Just because I’m a guy doesn’t mean that I only watch things where stuff blows up.”
She laughs. Man, I really like her laugh. It’s as if a decadent sound were dipped in chocolate. I’d like to hear it more often.
“I guess you have a point there.”
We continue watching another episode until she looks at her phone and then stops the show.
“Why’d you stop?” I whine.
“It’s getting late, and we still have a race tomorrow.” I look at my phone, and it’s later than I thought it was. “I’ll get the couch made up for you,” she says, getting items from the closet to make up the fold-out couch.
I stand as she pulls the couch out to make it flat and a bit longer. My feet are going to hang off the end, but it’s better than sleeping in a wet bed or my truck.
“I’ll turn off the lights so you don’t have to worry about it.” She flips off all the lights, and the storm that’s still going strong outside makes the room feel extra dark. She’s feeling her way around the room to make sure she doesn’t walk into anything.
As she walks by the pull-out couch, she hits the corner and loses her footing.
I reach out in time to catch her by the waist before she has a chance to fall.
We are chest to chest. I can only feel her still; my vision hasn’t adjusted to the darker space yet.
Her breathing has picked up, along with her heart rate, keeping in time with my own.
I wrap my arms further around her, pulling her as close as I’m able.
Just being this close to her, touching her, sends blood rushing south, and no amount of listing states and their capitals is going to make this go away.
I’m sure she can feel it pressing into her, but she doesn’t pull away from me.
Instead, her arms come up around my neck and her fingers begin to play with hair at the nape of my neck.
I really need to get a haircut. I lean down, bringing my lips to hers.
Sparks are flying between us as she grips me harder, keeping me in place, nails slightly digging into my skin.
Gently, I push her down onto the fold-out so that I’m pressing her back into the mattress.
I cage her in with my hands on either side of her head and lean back in, even more hungry for her taste.
I move to the side of her neck, licking and sucking her sweet spot.
She tastes like fucking perfection. I palm her breasts over her shirt, and I can already feel how taut her nipples are as she moans into my mouth at the contact.
I want more, I crave more. I’m going to ask for more, but she pulls away and stops me.
“Wait. What are we doing?” she pants.
“What?” I ask. My brain is trying to function as most of the blood in my body currently sits in my hard cock. I roll off her and we sit up.
“What are we doing? Is this a hookup? Making out? Should we even be doing this?” She rambles off the questions before I have a chance to answer any of them.
I can tell her mind is running a million miles a minute, trying to compute what’s happening.
I take her hand, lacing our fingers, and kiss her knuckles in reassurance.
“This doesn’t need a label if you don’t want it to. Or we can label it a hookup or making out. We don’t have to do anything at all if you don’t want to. You’re in control here,” I reassure her. I lean back in for another kiss, but she stops me by placing a hand on my chest.
“I need to know what this is, Dean. If I’m just another grid girl or not,” she says, looking up through thick lashes, the concern clear on her face. Something tells me that someone hurt her by leading her on, and that’s why she needs this clarification.
The problem is, I don’t know what to tell her. I don’t do relationships. I only do hookups and one night stands. Every girl knows what she’s signing up for with me. Now, I’m questioning what I want.
Could I be the relationship type? For the first time, I’m considering it. I’ve never really been in one to know if I can.
I run my fingers through my hair and sigh. “You’re not another grid girl, but I can’t give you an answer. The only thing I can tell you is that I feel—drawn to you in a way I’ve never felt before.”
A beat passes before she speaks again. “I feel drawn to you, too. We need to figure this out before we go any further.” She stands and looks down at me still sitting on the couch.
“If that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do. Like I said, you’re in control, Regan. I’ll never do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
She bites her lip, her mind spinning, getting in the way. She wants more, but I won’t push her into something she’s not sure of. Until she tells me to, I’ll keep my hands to myself. But she’s holding something back. I can tell by the way she shifts on her feet.
“What aren’t you telling me, Regan?”
“Nothing,” she responds a bit too quickly. I give her a look. I know there is something getting in the way, but I don’t push. She’ll tell me when she’s ready.
“Goodnight, Dean,” she says, cutting off any more conversation, and pads to the bedroom and closes the door.
“Goodnight,” I whisper to no one.
The hospital chair I’m sitting in is hard, small, and my thighs press against the arm rests, making them throb as we wait. My head in my hands as tears drip down my face and onto the hospital floor.
The room is small, and smells like antiseptic and bleach. It fills my senses as I take in what we were told when we arrived here. Daniel is gone. I wasn’t there and this is all my fault. I’m the older brother, he’s my responsibility. I don’t hear us being called, my mom pulls me up with them.
We follow the nurse down a long, brightly lit hallway, my parents on either side of me to see him one last time.
She pushes through large metal doors and leads us to a sterile steel table.
The nurse pulls the sheet back and there he is.
No color to his skin, not breathing, no life left in him at all.
I had just talked to him hours before, and now…
nothing. I’ll never be able to talk to him again.
I lean over his body, taking his cold hand in my warm one. Hoping if I hold on long enough he will wake. Hoping that this isn’t real. But it is real. I’m here looking at my little brother’s lifeless body. The tears are still flowing from my eyes; they haven’t stopped since I got the news.
“I’m so sorry, Daniel. This is all my fault. I should have been there.”
It plays on repeat in my head. Even as my parents reassure me it’s not my fault. But it is my fault, I wasn’t there. There’s a weight in my chest, and I can't breathe. I fall to the tile floor, knees hitting the surface hard, and then…I wake up.
I shoot up into a sitting position and take in my surroundings. I’m not in my own space. I’m still in Regan’s RV on the pull-out couch. I wipe the sweat off my forehead and will my heart to slow.
The door down the hall creaks open, followed by the sound of footsteps padding closer to me, sitting down on the mattress next to me.
“Are you alright?” Regan asks. Her voice is so gentle and without judgement, just concern. I’m still breathing heavily when she takes my hand and strokes the back of it. I close my eyes and slow my breathing, her touch bringing me back into reality.
“I’m fine, just a bad dream. You can go back to bed.”
“I get them, too, sometimes,” she whispers as she cuddles under the covers with me. She tucks herself into my side, and her sweet vanilla scent brings me back from the hospital smell of my nightmare.
“You do?” I ask, pulling her in tightly, like she’s a life raft and I’ll float away if I let go.
“Yea. It’s usually memories of the day I last saw my mom in the hospital with my dad. How much I wished I could take her pain away, but keep her with us as the same time.”
A sniffle and a hand comes up to wipe her face from a tear that has escaped. I nod. I know the feeling. I wish there was more I could have done to prevent what had happened that day. Deep down, I know I couldn’t have known, but I was supposed to protect him.
“It’s my fault,” I finally say, filling the dark room.
“I should have been there, and I wasn’t.
I was too busy racing somewhere else that I didn’t even know what happened until the race was over.
By that time, it was too late. He invited me to that race, and I could have seen him that weekend, but I chose my own career over seeing my own damn brother. ”
In the darkness, Regan’s gaze is hot on my skin.
No pity, only understanding. She knows what this feels like.
To have someone you love torn from your heart, knowing that hole will never be filled again.
Daniel can never be replaced, and Regan’s mom can never be replaced.
I lost him and my parents all at the same time, albeit in different ways.
“You couldn’t have known. Even if you were there, you couldn’t have saved him.
Every time we strap in behind the wheel, there’s a risk.
Even with all the new safety features, there is so much risk with what we do,” she says.
I know she’s right. I can’t talk about this anymore.
I pull her in as tightly as I can, and we fall back asleep in each other’s arms.