Page 113 of Even in the Dark

We sit in silence for a while, watching the races play out a few feet away to the soundtrack of cheers and laughter and one of Xave's Australian surf rock playlists. Bands with names likeHockey Dad, andGoons of Doom, andThe Babe Rainbow. No run-of-the-mill radio hits when Xave's on aux.

"I talked to Carter this morning," I finally say, because I've decided it's wrong not to tell him.

Dylan's head whips around. "What?"

"I agreed to a phone call… to find out why he keeps contacting me. So I could put the whole thing to rest."

"What thefuck?"

Okay, he seems way more pissed about this than I thought he'd be. It was a phone call. It doesn't even involve him.

"I wanted closure." Which is my prerogative.

"You had closure the other night at the bonfire." He shakes his head, eyes rolling skyward. "Why would you call that asshole? After what he did. That's…You just let him win."

That one stings. But it also helps me understand a little more where he's coming from. Dylan's got this hang-up about how there are certain things you can do if a person wronged you, that means they won and you lose. It all links to everything with that guy who kidnapped him. He doesn't talk about it at lot. Barely at all, actually. But the few times he has alluded to it, there's this steel-hard sense of winning and losing that cloaks his perception of it all. Of not wanting to go forward in any way which would make Eli win one over on him. Any more than he already has.

"I didn't let him win, Dylan," I say softly. "There's nothing towinin this scenario. I wanted to find out why he was suddenly so keen to talk. And I wanted a chance to have my say."

"Okay," he scoffs. " So why was he suddenly so keen to talk?"

I summarize the call for him, careful to stay calm. Keep my voice even. Anything I can do to keep this conversation even-keeled. I'm already realizing it was a mistake to bring it up here. With a bunch of people just a few feet away. I thought it would help keep the conversation light and casual. Clearly, it didn't.

"You let him win," he repeats. And God, it's frustrating how hung up he is on the winning thing. But I really can't fault him for whatever way he perceives or copes or filters these situations, given the sort of wrongs he's been forced to grapple with. I just wish he wouldn't transfer that to my own situation. Only I can't be mad at him forthateither. Still, none of it negates the fact that it's annoying. And makes it so much harder to discuss this sort of thing with him, when he views everything through such a warped lens.

I need to be patient. And I'm not a patient person. But for Dylan, I will try to be.

"I felt like he'd won before," I try explaining in his terms. "Now I feel less like that. So I think it was a good thing. I'm glad I got to say my piece and get Carter to see things from my perspective."

Dylan huffs and I can't help noticing the way his fingers are curled into fists; his physical reaction channelling his emotional one. "He doesn't deserve that chance."

"It wasn't a chance for him. It was a chance for me."

"You agreed to talk. He got what he wanted."

"What he wanted was for me to sign the form. I didn't sign it."

Dylan gets to his feet, his body tense, fists clenching and unclenching. "Whatever."

God. Everything is so black and white with him. It makes it really hard to discuss anything. To know how to get him to see shades of grey.

"Dylan." I'm on my feet now, too. "Wait… Can we please just—"

"I need to go." He jerks away from my hold on his jacket.

A quick glance confirms that people have noticed the confrontation and are starting to stare. Xave catches my gaze and lifts an eyebrow, inquiring if everything's okay. I give him a barely perceptible nod.

"Okay…" I say more softly, doing what I can to keep the conversation between just the two of us. "Let me get my jacket and hat. I'll come with you."

"I don't want you to come with me," he mumbles, already heading towards the opening in the low wooden wall.

"You leaving already, man?" Xave calls over to Dylan.

"Yeah," he answers, voice slick with contempt. "I'll see you later."

"Can I please come with you?" I hate how desperate my voice sounds. I won't ask again.

"No."

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