Page 6 of Wilder Love
“Where’ve you been?”Dylan licked the peanut butter off the steak knife he had used to make his sandwich. His dark hair stuck up all over, an imprint from the nubby sofa fabric on his left cheek.
“I went to the beach. It’s amazing. You’re going to love it.”
He threw the knife into the sink, the metal blade clattering against the stainless steel and leaned against the speckled brown countertop.
“You went without me?” He sounded hurt and angry, his usual tone these days. I missed the Dylan who used to laugh so hard tears sprang to his eyes. But that boy was long gone.
“The ocean is still there. It’s not going anywhere.”
He scowled and took a bite of his sandwich. I cleaned off the knife he used and made my own sandwich, leaning against the counter next to Dylan to eat it. Except for the beige walls, everything was brown—the cupboards, the linoleum floor, the countertops, the refrigerator. It smelled like bleach and the lemony scent of cleaning products. This apartment was cleaner and nicer than the dumps we usually lived in. It was also more expensive. That worried me.
“What’s it like?” he asked, finishing off the last bite of his sandwich. In a better mood now that he had some food in him. He chugged milk straight from the carton and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“It’s beautiful. Even better than the photos.”
His dark brows raised in surprise. Usually, I felt the opposite. Photos were better than real life. But this time the photos didn’t do the ocean justice. Photos have limitations. They couldn’t capture the sound of the surf. The scent of the sea air. The power and the vastness of the ocean.
“Wanna go check it out?”
He nodded and graced me with a rare smile. His smiles were heartbreakingly beautiful, but the smile slipped off his face so quickly that I was left wondering if I had imagined it.
I shoulder-bumped him. “What’s wrong?” I asked because I cared. I cared so fucking much. We used to be so attuned to each other, almost reading each other’s thoughts. There was a time that we could communicate without words. Our secret twin language, Mom called it. But lately, he’d been slipping away from me. Putting up an invisible barrier. And it killed me that we didn’t talk like we used to.
He pushed off from the counter and faced me, his arms crossed over his bare chest. He’d gotten bigger over the past few months—leaner and meaner, with broader shoulders, and defined muscles.
“I don’t want to leave.” His gray-blue gaze met mine. Dylan had storms in his eyes, like there was something always brewing just beneath the surface. “I’m staying here. I’m not moving again.”
He clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes on me as if daring me to dispute his words or point out that it was never up to us. I nodded in agreement like it was within our power to make that kind of decision. “Sure.”
“I mean it,” he gritted out, his voice low and angry, his body coiled with tension as if I’d just told him he couldn’t.
“I know you mean it. I’m on your team.” I held his gaze, reminding him that we were in this together. His shoulders relaxed, and he rubbed his hand over his face.
For all that we’ve been through and for all the times that Dylan could be moody and broody and shut me out, our bond was still strong. Sometimes, I needed to remind myself of that. If we didn’t have each other, where would that leave us?
“Let’s get out of here.”
I finished my sandwich and followed Dylan into the living room. He pulled on a ratty gray T-shirt with a ripped collar and stuffed his feet into his high-tops. Skateboard under his arm, he strode to the door, desperate to get out of this apartment and see his new town. The one he’d chosen by marking the map with a purple Sharpie while we were driving, headed west from Little Rock.
“You wanna go clear across the country?” Mom had asked, laughing. She had been in a good mood. She was always happy when we were on the move. You could always tell when she was getting ready to leave. Mom got restless, complaining about the people or her bartending job or the nosy neighbors. She’d get that glimmer in her eye, like she was imagining far-off places where everything that glittered was gold. She used to have the power to make us believe that the next town would be like Disney World, only better. We’d stopped believing her around the same time we stopped believing in Santa Claus. But she acted like she didn’t notice our lack of enthusiasm. Maybe she didn’t.
Dylan had pointed to the map. “I circled the name of the town. That means we have to go there. Those are the rules.”
Mom raised her brows. “Since when do you play by the rules?”
“Since today.” He crossed his arms over his chest and set his jaw, waiting for Mom to agree.
“Well, okay then. Costa del Rey here we come. We’ll just make a pit stop in Vegas.”
I groaned but Dylan was too excited to let it dampen his spirits. We spent four nights in Vegas. Dylan and I watched TV in the motel room and ate food from the vending machines. He scored a six-pack of PBR and a dime bag of weed from a group of guys throwing a bachelor party and came back to our room drunk and glassy-eyed. We didn’t see Mom until the fifth day when she turned up at six in the morning, with raccoon eyes, in a skin-tight black sequined dress and six-inch heels.
“Look who’s a big winner.” She pulled a wad of hundreds out of her bra and fanned them under our noses. “We’re gonna celebrate in style. But first we need to get outta here.”
I didn’t ask why. I didn’t want to know. I suspected that she hadn’t won the cash at the craps table or slot machines. But I didn’t question it and neither did Dylan. When it came to Mom, there were some things we’d rather not hear about. We saw enough to draw our own conclusions. So, we hit the road, laying rubber as she peeled out of the parking lot of the shitty roadside Vegas motel, the manager running after us, waving his arms in the air and shouting obscenities. Mom left him in her dust without a backward glance. She blasted the music and sang along to rock ballads and heavy metal.
We took the scenic route to California. She drove us through the desert, on roads where we didn’t see another car for miles. Skinny-dipped in a lake under the light of a moon while me and Dylan sat with our backs leaning against the pine trees and watched from the corner of our eye to make sure she didn’t drown. She splurged on surf and turf for three and a bottle of champagne for one before I pocketed the rest of the cash. If I hadn’t, she would have blown six months of rent money on a shopping spree for random shit we didn’t need that would inevitably end up at the pawn shop.
Before Dylan and I went to the beach, I checked on Mom. She was still asleep, the blinds drawn, the room plunged in darkness. The scent of stale cigarette smoke hung in the air. She stirred, and cracked her eyes open, trying to bring me into focus.
