Color of Loneliness (21 page)

“That man brings out the worst in me. I absolutely hate what he did to you; therefore, I absolutely hate that prick.”

“I’m so glad I never brought him to Nyssa with me. We were together for two years, and he never once came here. I always had to go by myself because he always had something else going on.”

“That’s because he’s a selfish dumb dickhead.”

“As soon as he figures out I’m in Nyssa, it’ll only take him a matter of minutes to find me because this town is so small. I don’t ever want to see him again.”

“I know. Maybe his wittle bwain won’t figure it out.”

Myra’s lips curve up.

“I made sure to wipe my work computer clean of your emails and everything. I also put you under an anonymous name in my cell phone. It’s under Lasqueesha,” Susie says with a giggle.

“Huh?” Myra says as she hears Dylan’s truck pull into the driveway. “I have to go. Dylan’s back. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Wait. Just make sure you don’t sleepwalk tonight and try to shine his tools with your mouth, okay?” Susie says before busting out laughing.

“God,” Myra shouts as she rolls her eyes. “I’m hanging up on you,” she says before promptly closing her phone.

* * *

Dylan grabs Myra’s prescription and his book off the seat of his truck and slowly makes his way to her porch. When she opens the door, he gives her the filled prescription. “Thanks,” she mumbles as she steps back to let him in.

He nods. She stares at him for a minute before sighing and walking into the kitchen. He hears the rattling of paper as she takes the bottle from the bag.

“You’re in for a boring night,” she says as she walks back towards him from the kitchen. “I just wish you’d go home.”

“Get over it,” he mumbles.

She shakes her head. “Well, there’s the couch. Do you want to watch TV or something?”

“Nah, I brought a book.”

“Where are your clothes?”

He didn’t get any clothes because he normally just sleeps naked or in his boxers. “Uh… I’ll just sleep in my clothes,” he mumbles, annoyed that he can feel his cheeks turning pink.

She clears her throat. “Okay. I’m going to work on my computer. Want something to drink?”

He shakes his head.

Dylan takes off his coat and sits on the couch. Pulling out his iPod, he tucks his ear buds in, presses play and opens his book.

* * *

Myra curls her legs underneath her. She can see Dylan out of the corner of her eye as he opens his book. He must have his iPod turned up fairly loud because she can hear the sound of the bass thumping hard from where she sits.

Sighing, she opens her outline and tries not to think about him as she begins concentrating on her story and her characters. And before long, she starts typing.

* * *

Dylan repositions himself on the couch, trying to relieve some pressure on his aching back. He’s read the last sentence in his book about twenty times and wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what it said if his damn life depended on it. His phone in his pocket vibrates. Yanking it out and glancing at the caller ID, he huffs as he turns it off and shoves it back into his pocket.

He shifts his gaze back to Myra. Their eyes meet for just a second before she quickly looks back down at her computer. From his position, he has a fantastic view of her profile and can’t seem to stop watching her. He finds himself fascinated by her constantly changing facial expressions. He doesn’t know what the hell could be so exciting on that computer of hers. He’s seen her forehead scrunch up, watched her smirk, smile, look excited, chew on her bottom lip, bite her nails and even gaze at the fireplace as though her mind was a million miles away.

Snapping his book closed, he turns up his iPod even louder and leans back, closing his eyes. At least that way he can’t stare at her anymore.

The next thing he knows, a hand softly touches his shoulder. His body jerks as his eyes pop open. Looking up, he sees Myra standing over him. He yanks the ear buds out. “What?”

“Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you, but you’ve been asleep for a few hours. Are you hungry?”

Straightening in his seat and starting to wake up a bit, he inhales and smells something delicious. Stretching his arms over his head, he runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he grunts.

“It’s nothing fancy. Just some soup and sandwiches.”

As he starts to stand, he groans at the pain in his back. “I’ll be in there in a minute,” he tells her through gritted teeth. She stares at him for a moment before she nods and walks back to the kitchen.

After stretching his back out for a few minutes and slowly walking down the hall, he finds Myra has poured steaming hot soup in bowls and has also made some kind of chicken sandwich with crispy, grilled bread. His stomach rumbles loudly.

“Have a seat,” Myra says as she waves towards a chair. “I have iced tea or water. Sorry I don’t have more to offer.”

“Tea’s fine,” he says as he sits down. She sets a glass of tea in front of him and sits across from him, giving him a small smile before she picks up her sandwich and takes a small bite. Dylan digs into the soup, his eyeballs rolling back in his head at just how damn delicious it tastes. He also moans a little. They eat quietly.

After finishing off two more bowls of soup and eating every bite of his sandwich, he sits back in his chair and stares at Myra. “That was good,” he tells her. “Thanks.”

She smiles back at him. “You’re welcome.”

“How’s your head?” he asks.

“It’s fine. A little sore but I’m okay.”

“You shouldn’t have been up cooking. You need to rest.”

She shakes her head. “I’m good. Really.”

He doesn’t believe her but doesn’t feel like arguing. “It’s getting late. How about you go to bed, and I’ll clean the dishes. Is it okay if I sleep on the couch?”

“Oh no, I have two extra bedrooms upstairs…”

“I’d rather sleep on the couch.”

“But…”

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” His eyes narrow.

“Fine,” she says as she stands and pushes her chair back roughly. “I’ll get you a pillow and some blankets.”

She exits quickly and he stares at the dishes on the table, not really knowing what the hell to do with them. Myra doesn’t own a dishwasher. And he uses a dishwasher. Like once a month. He unbuttons the sleeves of his flannel shirt and rolls them up his forearms. Picking up the dishes off of the table, he sets them in the sink and just stares at them.

“How about I wash and you dry?” Myra asks from behind him.

He blows out a quick breath and nods in agreement. They quietly wash the few dishes quickly and put them away.

“Goodnight,” she says in a soft voice.

He clears his throat. “If you need anything, come get me, all right?”

She gives him a quick nod in response.

* * *

Myra stares at her reflection in the mirror hating the dark circles she sees under her eyes. She barely slept at all last night due to the fact that her head ached and a certain cranky, handsome asshole happened to be downstairs sleeping on her couch. She shakes her head at herself before walking into the bedroom to slip on some jeans and a sweatshirt.

Back downstairs, she sneaks a glance at him on the couch. His bent right arm rests on his forehead while his left arm lies on his naked stomach. The white t-shirt under his flannel shirt has ridden up. Averting her eyes quickly, she makes her way into the kitchen where she starts coffee and some pancakes.

Just as she plates the pancakes, he walks into the kitchen. His black eye looks darker – yellow splotches dot the edges of the bruise now, and his eyes are bloodshot, his face scruffy. He looks exhausted.

“Good morning,” she says.

He nods at her. “How do you feel?” he asks in a voice hoarse with sleep.

“Not bad. Coffee?”

“Yeah. Black.”

“I made pancakes,” she says as she hands him a plate full. “Butter and syrup are on the table.”

Dylan sits down with his plate as Myra brings over two cups of coffee.

Not speaking, they butter and syrup their pancakes. Dylan takes a bite. “Shit,” he moans as he closes his eyes.

Myra’s gaze darts to his face. “What’s wrong?”

“They just taste so fucking good,” he says as he licks the syrup off his fork.

“Oh,” Myra says, tilting her head to the side curiously. She props her head on her elbow and watches him.

He grimaces. “What?”

“Sorry,” she says with a shrug before averting her eyes. “No one’s ever liked my cooking so much.”

When he doesn’t answer, she looks back up at him. Dylan flashes a big smile at her before he crams another huge bite in his mouth. Her heart melts a little at the sight.

* * *

“I’m gonna head out,” Dylan says as he picks up his coat.

“Okay. Thanks for staying. You didn’t have to, and I really appreciate it.”

He nods. “I’ll see ya Monday.”

Dylan rubs his eyes as he walks towards his truck. He didn’t sleep much at all, and that uncomfortable couch of hers definitely didn’t do his back any favors. He decides to pick up her roofing materials tomorrow. He just wants to go home.

As soon as he steps in the door, he tosses his coat on the couch, kicks off his boots and starts to sit down when he hears a loud banging on the front door.

“Damn it,” he mumbles under his breath, groaning as he stands. Opening the door, his mouth drops open.

“Surprised to see me? You wouldn’t be if you bothered to answer your phone, you fucking asshole.”

Dylan just stands there, his mouth still gaping, unable to speak.

“I decided to pay a little visit to my asshat brother. Now come here and give me a hug, you motherfucker,” Chad says with a huge grin as he holds his arms out to Dylan.

Dylan shakes his head and comes to his senses. He smiles back and they hug as Chad pounds him hard on the back causing him to grimace. Chad steps back, holding onto Dylan’s arms to look at him. “You been ball busting some fuckers? That pretty boy face of yours is looking fucking nasty,” Chad says, but he doesn’t give him a chance to answer. “Now listen, prick. I gotta get all my fucking cussing in real quick-like before Nat gets out of the car, okay, ya old fuckwipe?” he says as he throws Dylan a big, toothy grin.

Dylan smiles back.

Chad glances behind him. “Look, I just gotta warn ya about some shit real fast-like, okay? We’re spending the fucking weekend with ya, and the bitch is pregnant again. So mean bitch alert, all right?” he says before lowering his voice. “Damn it, here she comes.”

Dylan frowns for a minute, trying to recall if he knew that Natalie was pregnant. He vaguely remembers his mom telling him something…

“Dylan. What happened to your face?” Natalie asks as she walks towards him.

He can feel his ears turning pink. “Nothing. You look beautiful,” he murmurs into her hair as he hugs her gently.

“Uncle Dylan! Uncle Dylan!” he hears several small voices squeal from behind her. He steps back and lets her go only to be tackled by his nephews, Jay and Jackson. Closing his eyes, he takes in a deep breath and hugs them tight to his chest. Then his gaze lands on Joseph, his youngest nephew, who stands shyly next to Natalie. A painful, uncomfortable tightness builds in his chest.

He clears his throat. “You guys are growing up too fast,” he says as he ruffles Jackson’s blond hair and smiles at Jay.

His gaze moves back to Joseph. “Hey, Joseph,” he says softly. Joseph holds his mom’s hand as he gives Dylan a quick wave with the other.

“Come in,” Dylan says, but then remembers what his house looks like. “Uh, sorry, it’s kind of a mess.”

“How can you live like this?” Natalie asks once she steps inside. “This is absolutely despicable.”

“Nat, leave him alone. He can live like a pig if he wants to,” Chad says as he winks at Dylan. “Oink, oink, oink,” he squeals at the boys who start giggling at their dad.

“This just isn’t right,” Natalie says with her lip curled into a snarl. “Doesn’t it bother you to live in this filth?”

Thankfully, the boys interrupt so Dylan doesn’t have to answer that question. “Mom, can we go outside? Please, please, please?” Jackson begs.

“Fine, but you have to stay in Dylan’s backyard. And watch out for Joseph, okay?”

The boys shout and screech at each other as they run towards Dylan’s back door.

Natalie glances around the room, her face scrunched up with disapproval. She walks over to one of his chairs and pinches a dirty T-shirt between her thumb and index finger, grabbing it from the top of the seat and dropping it on the floor with a hiss of disgust. “So where am I supposed to sit?”

“Oh,” Dylan mumbles as he grabs his coat, clothes, papers and a bunch of other shit off of the couch and dumps it on the floor. “There,” he says, nodding.

Natalie’s lip curls with displeasure but she sits anyway. Chad sits beside her and throws his arm across her shoulders, resting it on the back of the couch.

“Why have you been avoiding us?” Natalie asks. “We haven’t seen or heard from you in six months.
Six months
. We are your family. We’ve been worried to death about you. And you have three nephews that you barely even know. They need you. They need their uncle.”