Chapter Nine
The painin Dylan’s voice sucker-punched me. He believed he would’ve killed me that night. There was no more denying the fact that Dylan had done what he thought was best, even if I didn’t agree with hisdecision.
I slid my fingers between his. “Comeinside.”
He looked up at the sky and took a heavingbreath.
I wanted to soothe his pain the way we’d always soothed each other. “You better hurry up, though. We only have until nine tochat.”
He looked at the front door and then at me. “Why until nine? I thought you had the dayoff?”
“You have to finish my lawn for me. It’s the price of a conversation.” Iwinked.
He puffed out his chest. “Glad to be of service,ma’am.”
I felt the peering eyes of the neighbors on my back as Dylan followed me inside, especially Mrs. Welsh. Hopefully the sheriff wouldn’t return to arrest Dylan for breaking and entering or some other lamecharge.
I closed the front door behind us and wiped my feet on the mat. Dylan removed his army boots and set them neatly by the door. “Wow. You have changed. What happened to you tossing things and worrying about finding them later? I remember your room covered in clothes and books so much you couldn’t see what carpet youhad.”
He chuckled. “At least you know I’m housebroken now. I have all my shots,too.”
The sound of Zoey’s soft steps creaking in her room warned she’d be eavesdropping. “Let’s sit in the kitchen.” I glanced down the hall. “Hopefully no one will be able to listen in on usthere.”
Dylan stood to the side and held out his hand for me to enter first. He was always well mannered when it came to how he treated me. That hadn’t changed, and there wasn’t any room for improvementeither.
I started some much-needed coffee. “So, you’re here for threeweeks?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “That’s theplan.”
With the filter in place, I scooped several heaping spoonfuls of grounds into the white paper cone, pushed the filter back in, and hit the Start button. The welcome aroma of strong coffee reached my nose, making me feel like I could handle much more now. “You said you were going to see your father. I heard he was in the old folk’s home on TaylorStreet.”
“Yes.” Dylan removed two mugs from the cabinet and set them next to me. He remembered where they’d been kept. Apparently not much had changed in the last few years, exceptus.
“How’s he doing?” I watched the coffee drip into thepot.
“Liver disease, dementia, and stomach cancer. All expected based on his lifestyle of drinking, drugs, and smoking.” Dylan turned away, but I caught the emotion in hisvoice.
“I would’ve been there for you, helped you get clean.” I studied my unpolishednails.
“You couldn’t help me, not any more than I could help my father. Addiction is a disease only the victim cancure.”
“I guess the military worked foryou.”
His strong hands turned me to face him, their warmth radiating through my shirt into my shoulders. “No, my love for you is what got me clean. The military only taught mediscipline.”
We stood quiet for a moment, his gaze penetrating my defenses. I couldn’t argue with his words. Deep inside I knew they were true. I’d tried to help him, but he became better and better about hiding the alcohol from me. He’d done it, though. Despite his circumstances and negative influences, he’d beaten the disease. But I saw the pain still in his eyes when he spoke of hisfather.
“You know, it’s okay to want to see your father, to care abouthim.”
“I thought you said I’d be okay if I never saw him again. That separating from my father was the only way I’d ever behappy.”
I bowed my head, flashes of our argument that night he left pummeling my brain. “I believed that, but he’s your father and you’re obviously stronger now. I also said I never wanted to see my parents again, but sometimes I think about them. If one of them was dying, I think I would go and seethem.”
Dylan held out a cup, obviously in need of coffee as much as I was. I removed the pot and poured some dark, steaming liquid into his cup. “Youwould?”
“I think so. It’s hard to say since it isn’t a situation I’ve faced, but as awful as they both were, they’re still mykin.”
“You sound like a true southern girl.” He took a sip of his brew, looking over the rim at me. His dark brows perfectly framed his interesting eyes. I’d always gotten lost inthem.
