Page 85 of Crazy for You
I giggled. “I know the feeling.”
She took inventory of the crumpled sheet and blanket as questions started to pile up.
“I’ll tell you everything later, but I have to get home. My aunt is here from California.”
She stifled another yawn. “For the funeral?”
I lifted a shoulder. “I guess.” That was the only explanation I could come up with other than money, as Colton pointed out.
She pursed her lips. “Is she here to take you back with her? I swear, she better not.”
“She travels a ton for her new job.”
“Maybe she was fired,” Georgia said.
“Not helping.” I huffed as I started for the door.
“Sorry.” She followed me out.
When Georgia and I approached the landing of the curved staircase, Mr. Dyson’s baritone voice boomed below.
“I told you not to throw any more parties. Did I not?” Mr. Dyson asked.
Georgia peered over the bannister. “I think they’re in the study.”
“Let’s go,” I said. “Colton is waiting for me.”
She didn’t move. “Um… We have to find another way out.”
“Why?”
“If Mr. Dyson sees me, he’ll know I’ve been drinking and he’ll call my parents.”
“The only thing I can tell is you had a wild night. Besides, he’s too busy chewing Grady’s ass.”
She smoothed her hands over her hair. “I’ll meet you outside.” She bounded down the stairs like someone was chasing her, but no sooner than she reached the bottom, Mr. Dyson came out with a mean expression on his face.
I held my breath as I climbed down one step at a time.
The air thickened as Mr. Dyson considered Georgia, then me. Fury jumped out of his blue eyes, and I knew he was about to say something fatherly. Instead, he tucked a hand into the pocket of his tan pants. “Skyler.” His soft tone belied the terse expression he wore. “Please accept my sincere condolences.”
Grady and Colton emerged from the study. Grady looked like he’d been through a hurricane, whipped around and battered. Or maybe it was bedhead.
“See, Dad?” Grady stood next to the elder Dyson. “We were trying to help Skyler take her mind off her dad.”
In part, he was telling the truth.
Colton’s long legs crossed the room in three easy strides until he had his hand on the handle of the front door.
I hurried toward Colton as I said, “Thank you, Mr. Dyson.”
“Oh, and Skyler,” Mr. Dyson said. “Please let me know when the funeral is. I would like to attend.”
“Yes, sir. I do need to get home.”
“Very well.” Mr. Dyson gripped his son’s shoulder. “Grady, in the kitchen, please.” Then he strode away.
The four of us let out a collective sigh.
