Page 37 of Wreckage of Us
“Everything is not fine, Becca,” Dylan raises his voice at me.
“It is,” I insist. “That woman who showed up here, she said it wasn’t her sending me those messages. She just thought I was with Oliver. And I also talked to Oliver about it. He’ll go talk to her,” I tell him, even though Oliver never said any such thing.
“Becca.” Long gone is Dylan’s soft side. He is done playing nice. “Shut the fuck up and listen to me.”
“Why though?” I know I’m acting like a petulant child, but he is stressing me out. This cannot be good for the baby, I press both hands to my belly in reminder.
“Because it is not that random Dr. Douche groupie you should be worried about,” he thunders over the noise in my head.
“What?” my head snaps back up. “Who’s Dr. Douche?”
“We think my father is still alive,” Dylan ignores my question and drops a small bomb on me. Although, I’m not sure what that would have anything to do with me. “And we think he’s been watching you.”
“Who?” I shake my head at him in confusion. It’s like I can’t process basic information all of a sudden. Pregnancy hormones really are a thing, I decide.
“My father, woman!” Dylan’s voice booms against the walls of my living room. “Are you listening to a fucking thing I’m saying?”
“I… Yes?” I haven’t been listening at all.
“He is dangerous, Bex,” Dylan grabs my hands and presses them against his chest. “I can’t have anything happen to you or the baby. Do you understand? Nod if you do,” he commands, and I do as he asks.
Another question nudges its way out, making me obsess over the information.
“Why do you care?”
“Why do I care?” he reels back but doesn’t respond.
“Yes. Why?”
“Because I love you,” he finally gives me the words I’ve been longing to hear. And had they come a day or so earlier, I would’ve been over the moon. Now, however, they just freeze my heart in my chest.
He is just lying to make me comply with his demands.
Fortunately for him, I am smart enough to understand that this is a serious situation, so I will take advantage and accept his protection. This will have to be my first sacrifice as a mother to my unborn baby, I decide.
“Did you hear what I just said?” he pulls me closer, his eyes dilated and full of hope.
“I did,” I nod, but refuse to say the words back. “I am really grateful for you sticking around to help me with this predicament.”
“Grateful?” he spits the word out like it’s an insult.
“I’ll get you a room ready, okay?” With that, I pull my hands away from his. He doesn’t want to let go but eventually does, and I walk away.
I turn around and go up the stairs until I get to my brother’s room. I knock rather forcefully, waiting impatiently for him to let me in.
“Becky,” his eyes full of worry stop me from lashing out at him. Damn it.
“Thank you for being such a good little brother, Colt,” I hug him instead, keeping my tears at bay. “Are you packing?” I ask when I notice the bag on his bed next to a stack of neatly folded clothes.
“Training,” he shrugs, then gets back to his task. “It’s making me feel so much better that you won’t be here alone,” he tells me.
“Yeah, I get it,” I lean against the doorjamb and watch. “How long will you be gone this time?”
I haven’t been paying attention to the schedule we got after he got signed, but I don’t remember so much traveling being involved.
“Five days,” he mumbles. “Give or take?”
Give or take?
