Page 97 of Even in the Dark

“Can we talk, Scarr?” Carter asks, sidestepping Dylan like he isn’t practically breathing down his neck. Like it’s just the two of us now, and like that whole incident on the dock never happened. Like there might not be a dozen or a hundred or thousands of copies of that video floating around out there for anyone to see.

“No, Carter, we can’t talk,” I say at the same time as Dylan says, “Fuckingleave.”

I glance around. There’s a huge crowd gathered now. This is a level of confrontation that wouldn’t usually garner more than a few curious looks at one of these bonfire parties. But this confrontation involves Dylan Braun. And not only has he finally made an appearance at a social event, he’s about to follow it up with just the kind of spectacle everyone’s been anticipating fromhim since he showed up in Sandy Haven. And people want a front-row seat for that level of drama.

Which is why I need to get him out of here.Now.

Carter turns to Dylan. “Bro. You’ve got a broken arm.” He laughs. “I’m not going to fight you… So, back off.”

Dylan does the opposite, advancing towards him again instead, nostrils flared. Jaw clenched. “Not gonna ask again. Turn the fuck around.And leave.”

Carter looks more baffled than intimidated. He turns to me. “Can you tell this psycho to chill out?”

And that does it. He just flipped Dylan’s switch.

Faster than I have time to react, Dylan pulls back his arm and clocks Carter in the jaw with his left hand.

I hear the hollow thud of bone against bone. The pained“ungh!”that escapes Carter’s mouth from somewhere deep in his chest. His eyes go from stunned to pissed in less time than it takes to digest what happened.

He rubs at his jaw. “What thefuck,man?” He turns to me. “Who the hell is this guy?”

“He’s the freakin’ Maytag Kid!” some idiot from the crowd calls out.

Carter’s eyes widen, and he whips back to face Dylan. “You’re the guy that serial killer kidnapped?”

I go right up to Dylan, so close I can feel his breath against the part of my forehead just beneath the edge of my navy knitted tuque. “You’re five seconds from turning my issues into a public spectacle,” I hiss. “And about to turn yours into one, too. Giving everyone exactly what they want from you. So please…" I lean in closer. “Let’s go.”

His eyes flicker from rage to confusion. To guilt. He nods curtly. “Fine.”

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Yo! Maytag Kid! You want another go at me?” Carter calls behind me. “I’ll use my left hand. Fair fight.”

Crap.No.

Dylan’s whole body tenses. Nostrils flare. He eases me out of the way with his cast, advancing on Carter. I rush in front of him and he’s forced to take a step back because I get right up in his face again.

“Ignore him… He’s an idiot,” I plead. “Come on.Let’s leave.”

Dylan’s eyes flash to mine. They’re that same deep green they were the night he trashed his bedroom and put his fist through the wall. Twice. “If we leave, we’re letting him win,” he spits, his anger spilling into his eyes now, and the ice-cold bite of his words.

I’m pretty sure this showdown just jumped to being about a lot more than me and Carter. I think Eli Sampson has muscled his way into the situation now, too.

“And you’re about to let Eli win, if you keep acting like this,” I retort, struggling not to raise my voice. I’m so frustrated with him right now. With the turn this whole situation has taken. That it even happened in the first place. “I don’t care about Carter. But I give a shit about you, and I don’t want you acting like this.”

“You good, man?” Silas’ voice comes from my side. He’s addressing Dylan, inserting himself next to me, turning his back on Carter so he’s blocking him from Dylan’s line of vision. Over his shoulder, I notice Xavier and a couple of other guys approaching Carter and exchanging words.

“Who the hell are you?” Dylan asks, his sea-green eyes cooly assessing Silas.

“Friend of Scarlett’s,” Silas says. Which is a sweet overstatement under the circumstances.

I peek another glance over Silas’ shoulder. Xavier and those other guys are walking with Carter and his two friends towardsthe steps that lead off the beach to the street. Then, just to their left, I spot Seb jogging down the slope from the Shack. He goes right over to the guys by the steps, looking seriously pissed. He says something to Carter. Carter responds, looking annoyed—but he and the other two guys he came with turn and head up the steps, throwing out a few choice parting words I can’t make out.

I blow out a shaky breath. Dylan turns, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. He steps away and starts pacing the stretch of sand just to our left.

“Thank you,” I tell Silas softly.

“Didn’t do anything,” Silas says. But he did. And he would have done more, I think, if things had escalated. He would have backed Dylan. Backedme.

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