Page 32 of Even in the Dark

Chapter Thirteen

Scarlett

Dylan swaggers down the driveway alongside his father, looking bored as always as I wait by the shrubs. But I know better now. He’s wearing a gray long-sleeved T-shirt, which conveniently covers whatever damage he inflicted on his forearm last night. And ever since I woke up, I’ve been trying to convince myself that it’s the right thing for me to not get involved. That Phil and Diane know he’s got issues, and they’ve got it covered. Dylan is their concern. Not mine.

Still, I know how long I lay awake, tossing and turning last night. I know what shade of green the eyes were that haunted my dreams. How sad they looked. I can tell myself all I want that Dylan’s shitty attitude lessens the guilt for feeling relief at knowing his suffering is Phil’s issue to deal with. But it just isn’t true. Iamconcerned, even if Dylan’s no-one to me. Idocare. And I can’t magically wish it to be untrue.

So, although I might not like Dylan Braun, apparently I like even less knowing he is hurting. I am determined to have morepatience with him. I definitely won’t let myself lose it on him again—say anything that might end up as a carved line across his flesh.

“Morning, Scarr!” Phil calls, pulling my attention, and I wave back. Day Three and he’s still escorting his seventeen-year-old son to the bus stop. The bus stop, in this case, being the hedge at the end of his semi-circular cobblestone driveway, and the bus being my red Mercedes coupe. This time, he stays by the walkway instead of coming to the end of the driveway, though. Baby steps, I guess.

Their front door suddenly swings open, and Kenz comes rushing out, blond hair flying around her face. Her brother’s mini-me. Only girlier. And fancier. And a thousand times smilier.

“Dylan! Wait!” She clamors down the driveway and slams into her brother’s leg, just as he’s about to duck into the passenger seat. “I have something for you!” She holds out her hand, revealing one of those small fridge number magnets in the center of her tiny hand. A blue number six.

Dylan straightens and glances down at her bizarre offering, the corners of his eyes down-turned in confusion.

“It’s my lucky number six!” Kenz beams up at him. “You can have it. So that you have a really good day today… and lots and lots of really good days after that, too. Infinity and beyond good days!”

He continues to stare down at the number, clearly unsure what to make of it.

“Wow, Kenz! That’s so sweet of you,” I enthuse loudly, because someone’s got to say something and acknowledge the kid’s kind gesture. I arch my eyebrows at Dylan behind her back, nudging him to respond.

He blinks. “Uh, yeah… Thanks.” He reaches for the magnet with a hand that is wrapped in white gauze, only the fingerssticking out, and the joints on those are bruised and swollen. My eyes go wide, but luckily he’s looking at his sister now, so he doesn’t notice.

I know that isn’t from the knife… So what the hell could he possibly have done to himself between then and this morning?

He takes the magnet from Kenz. It looks so tiny between his bruised thumb and finger.

Kenz giggles. “I bet it’s gonna make your day so so good.”

He nods. “For sure.”

His hair is down today, and he rakes his other hand through the choppy waves. I’m not usually into the long hair thing on guys, but I can’t deny that Dylan Braun’s got really good hair. Thick and golden blond and tousled. Parted messily off to one side yet still somehow perfectly windswept, when he hasn’t even been outside long enough for it to even be windswept. I think it’s the only reason I like the look on him: because it’s so ridiculously effortless.

“Kay, I gotta go finish my breakfast. Bye, Dylan!” Kenz hugs her brother’s legs. “Bye,Scarlett!” She waves at me, flashing a gap-toothed grin before skipping back up the driveway and into the house.

A few seconds later, Dylan lowers himself into the passenger seat while simultaneously slipping the magnet into his pocket. The same pocket he pulled that knife from last night.

The knife that’s probably there today, too.

As I peel out of the driveway and down Ocean Avenue, I can’t help stealing glances at his pocket, searching for an outline of the knife. I can’t get it off my mind, wondering if he carries it all the time, or just certain days. Or maybe just at night.

“You mind not eye-fucking my crotch while you’re driving?” he mumbles.

My breath hitches at the crass accusation, and my eyes snap back to the road. I’m not even sure I schooled my features beforehe had time to witness my mortification at the notion that he thought I wasogling his crotch.God. He has such a knack for throwing me off my game. I hate it. What makes it even harder is knowing that this time, I hold the power to throw him offhisgame. I could easily gain the upper hand in a heartbeat, just by uttering seven little words.

I saw what you did last night.

But of course, I don’t. Because my moral compass isn’t as dented as I’d assumed it was. And while I may have stooped low in the past in order to maintain that feeling of control, I’ve never stoopedthatlow. I go for humor instead.

“You realize you posed shirtless for giant billboards across the entire country, with your pants pretty much around your thighs, right?” I grin. “So, technically, thousands of women are ogling your crotch every day while they’re driving.”

I meant it as a lighthearted ribbing. A way to counteract his crass comment with humor. But I forgot Dylan doesn’t have a sense of humor. I haven’t seen him so much as crack a grin since I met him last week.

I wonder if he was different in his life back in California. If he smiled then, maybe. Talked more. I try to picture him hanging out amongst a group of rowdy guys, roughhousing, laughing with his head thrown back, high fiving someone or calling out to them… But I can’t. It’s a version of Dylan Braun that doesn’t compute. I can picture the wild, angry version of him easier than I can picture the laid back, content version. Which, in itself, is tragically sad.

“You want music?” I ask, leaning over Dylan’s long legs to retrieve a new lip gloss from the glove compartment. The car swerves and the vehicle behind me honks.

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