Regan had told him.
Something in his face told me not to ask yet.
“I’m going home in a few days,” he said.
The words hit like cold water.
“Back to San Diego.”
I gripped the box tighter.
“It’s only been what?” he said, laughing under his breath like he hated himself. “Two weeks? Less? Long enough to lose my mind, apparently.”
“Dylan.”
“But you meant something to me, Destiny.”
The night went still.
He swallowed.
“You need to know that. I don’t want you thinking I stayed away because you were some girl I didn’t think about. Because that’s not true. I thought about you too much.”
My heart beat so hard I felt it in my ears.
“I’m too old for you,” he said. “I’m patched. I’ve got blood on my hands and stories I haven’t told you because if I do, you’ll look at me different. I’m not boyfriend material. Not the kind you deserve. And your father would probably skin me alive before he ever let me date you anyway.”
“Probably,” I whispered.
His mouth twitched.
“But this?” He gestured softly between us. “Us? It’s not going to happen. Not now. Maybe not ever.”
Pain moved through me fast and hot.
“Don’t say that.”
“Beautiful—”
“Don’t ever say that.”
He closed his eyes.
“You’re young,” he said, as if forcing the words out hurt. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Nothing but blank pages. I’m not going to dirty them up.”
I stepped closer.
“Maybe I want you to.”
His eyes snapped open.
“Would you stop?” he hissed softly, glancing toward the distant fire. “I’m trying to be serious here.”
“I am serious.”
“No, you’re eighteen and hurt and wearing diamonds and looking at me like you don’t understand what that does to a man with bad judgment.”
I lifted my chin. “You keep telling me what I am.”
