Dragonfly Kisses (13 page)

“Oh? Don’t they have them in Chicago?”

She wrinkled her nose as the hostess led them to a small table by the rail. “They probably do, but not like here.” She grinned. “Here you need to wear a bib.”

“Nice,” he chuckled, envisioning the two of them wearing bibs and up to their elbows in clam juice.

“Guys in bibs are sexy,” she whispered, and his chuckle became a snort.

They gave their drink order, and Cassie requested a “Number One Clam-a-licious Bucket.” Without comment, the waitress handed them both paper bibs with a red and white checkerboard on them and left. A sudden ripple of awkwardness rose between them.

“So…” He unfolded his bib. It was enormous and tied around his neck. He would have been mortified, but everyone in the restaurant was wearing one. “How was Chicago?”

She didn’t answer immediately, taking the time to settle her napkin in her lap and smooth her bib—she looked adorable in it. “It was nice. But…”

He leaned forward. “But?”

“I missed you.” She fiddled with her silverware packet. “You didn’t call.”

He laughed, and her gaze snapped to his. “I did call. I called the number Bella gave me.” She tipped her head to the side, as though she didn’t quite understand. “It was a sex boutique.”

Cassie’s lips parted as realization dawned. “That bitch,” she said, but without heat. “I should have known. I should have checked the number.”

“Why would she give me the number to a sex boutique?” The question had been plaguing him for days.

Cassie made a face. She was cute with her lips pursed and her eyes crossed. “It’s her shop.”

“Bella has a sex shop?”

“Yup. But only because her parents don’t approve.”

Yeah. That seemed in keeping with the firebrand he’d met.

Cassie drummed her fingers on the table. “I’ll have to get her back for that. I really wanted to talk to you.”

“I really wanted to talk to you. Thank God I knew where you’d be tonight.”

“I’m glad you came,” she said somberly, but then her lips curved upward into an irreverent smile and he suspected she was thinking of their illicit tryst in an arts and crafts cupboard. He found himself grinning in response. Like a monkey. It had been glorious.

And he had come.

Most splendidly.

“Here.” She fished around in her purse until she found a piece of paper. She scribbled something on it and slipped it across the table.

“What’s this?” But he knew. He knew as soon as he glanced at it.

“My number. My real number. And…” She paused, blushed. “My address.”

The waitress brought some dark rye bread, and they each took a slice. He slathered his with butter and took a bite.

“I almost didn’t come tonight.” He hadn’t meant to say it aloud. It was supposed to be nothing more than a fleeting thought. But the words escaped.

Her brow wrinkled. “Why?”

His pulse thudded painfully. He didn’t want to talk about this. Never talked about this. But somehow, now, it didn’t hurt as much as it had. “It was the clinic… It was where…”

As though she understood, she covered his hand with hers. “Lila?”

“Yes.”

“She had Remlinger?”

“Yes.”

Cassie shook her head and stared out at the water. The moon had risen, creating a ribbon of light along the rippling waves. “Mark too.” She sighed. “It’s a nasty disease.”

“It is.” Odd, they had both lost someone to it.

“I’ve decided to back off on my concert schedule.”

The change in topic surprised him. He flicked a look at her. “Why?”

She shrugged. “I want to do more with my life.”

“Acclaimed concert cellist. Pretty impressive.”

She grunted. “But I could do so much more. For example, today, while I was playing my song, I thought of a way I could use my talent to really make a difference.”

“Your…song?” The way she’d said those words captured his attention.

Her smile was shy. “The last piece I played. I wrote it.”

Something swelled in his chest. “You wrote that? It was beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She dipped her head. He put his finger beneath her chin and tipped it up, leaned over the table and kissed her.

“Really beautiful. Do you write a lot?”

“I dabble.”

“You should write more.”

Her eyes lit up. “I was thinking…if I finished seven more pieces, I could put together a CD.”

“You could.” They would sell like hotcakes.

“And if I donated a portion to the Remlinger Research Foundation, well, maybe it could make a little bit of a difference. Don’t you think?”

“I do.”

He didn’t know why it hit him just then, the realization that he loved her. Maybe it was the hope in her expression. Maybe it was her smile or the ridiculous bib or just her soul shining through.

But he did. He loved her. Irrevocably.

The waitress arrived with their bucket-o-clams and dumped it onto the paper-covered table with a flourish. Clams, mini ears of corn, steamed potatoes, mussels and sausage slices spilled out, ringed in an aura of juices.

“Yum,” Cassie murmured, eyeing the bounty greedily. “This is going to be messy,” she said. “Dig in.”

And he did.

Watching Dylan devour their meal—suck clams from their shells, nibble his corncob and lick his fingers with glee—was a delight. Oh, it was a messy meal, but life was messy. And when it was messy, it was much more fun.

“I think every meal should be messy,” she said, and he grinned.

But he didn’t respond.

Because his mouth was full.

When they had finished, when they had consumed every tiny morsel of food on their table, they both leaned back and sighed, in tandem.

“That was magnificent,” she said. “Just what I wanted.”

“
You’re
magnificent.” He covered her hand with his, and she didn’t even care that it was sticky.

“No, you,” she said, but softly, shyly, because his intensity made her warm. They sat in silence for a moment, gazes tangling, holding sticky hands and simply reveling in each other’s company.

“The funniest thing happened tonight while you were playing,” he said, pulling back to wipe his hand on a warm napkin the waitress brought. Cassie followed suit.

“What?”

“A little girl gave this to me.” He pulled a folded napkin from his pocket. She took it and opened it and stared at the likeness of a dragonfly etched in crayon. “She said, ‘she wanted you to have this.’” Tears glistened in his eyes as he took the napkin back, carefully refolded it and tucked it away. “What do you think about that?”

Cassie licked her lips. Shrugged. Toyed with her water glass. “Well, in my experience, children are fairly intuitive. Especially children who are…” How could she say this? “Close to God?”

But he seemed to understand. He nodded. Looked down at the devastation they had wrought on their table. “I felt her there tonight.”

“Lila?”

“Yes. I felt her there while you were playing. Is that crazy?”

“It’s not crazy at all. Some believe the people we’ve lost are always with us. And she loved you, Dylan. As much as you loved her.”

He nodded and gazed out into the shadows. “Do you suppose she ever forgave me?”

Her heart pinged. “Forgave you? For what?”

His expression soured. “Remlinger is a genetic disease. She got the gene from me. I was the one who caused all her pain.”

“That’s not fair. You gave her life, Dylan. Hold on to that.” She could tell he wasn’t buying her argument. His guilt ran too deep. “Besides, I have a philosophy.”

She left the tidbit hanging there, until, as she knew it would, his curiosity got the best of him. “What’s your philosophy?”

She gestured to the table, to the jumbled remnants of their meal. “Life is messy. We can’t control it. We can’t not live it. Sometimes you’ve just got to tie on a bib and hope for the best.”

His laugh was rusty, but a laugh.

“Life
is
messy,” he said, his eyes warming again. She was happy to see the shadows ease.

But then, like a storm blowing in off the churning sea, they roiled in again. A look of horror crossed his features. Every muscle in his body tensed. His nostrils flared and his pupils constricted to tight points.

“Shit,” he said, a whisper through frozen lips.

“Dylan? What is it?”

“Shit.” He smacked his forehead. “Shit.”

“What?”

He stared at her with a desolation that pierced her soul. “I didn’t use a condom.”

She shook her head. He didn’t use a— Oh. In the storage closet. Oh. No. And she hadn’t thought to remind him. Hadn’t thought about it at all.

“It’s okay, Dylan—”

“No, Cassie. It’s not. You don’t get it. You don’t understand. I swore I would never take the chance again. Swore it.” He stood so quickly his chair tipped over. He raked his fingers through his hair. “Oh God. And with you… Everything you’ve been through… Your brother… Oh shit.” She could sense the panic swirling around him, taking him, swamping him. But didn’t know what to say. What to do.

“Dylan—”

“I’m sorry, Cassie. I have to go.”

And he left. Turned on his heel and walked away as though the demons of hell were nipping at his heels, leaving her alone on the pier with the relics of a meal that had started so sweetly and ended in disaster.

Chapter Fourteen

Dylan stared at the bottle of whiskey on the table.

He considered drinking the whole thing, but he doubted it would be enough to silence the screaming of his soul.

How could he have done that? How could he have fucked Cassie without protection? Cassie? Of all people?

Remlinger ran in her family.

She could carry the gene as well.

If the two of them ever had a child together—and he ignored the little flare of inconvenient longing at the thought—the child would be twice as likely to contract the disease.

He couldn’t go through that again.

He couldn’t.

His cell phone rang, the annoying ringtone he had come to hate. He ignored it and spun the bottle around, contemplating the oblivion lying within those amber depths.

Maybe one drink.

Or maybe two.

He stood in a rush and headed for the kitchen, pulled a tumbler from the cupboard. The alcohol wouldn’t change anything. Would probably only make him feel worse, but the pain of his realization was far too sharp to bear.

He and Cassie couldn’t be together. Shouldn’t be together. Ever. Ever again.

The fact that he had lost his mind, had completely forgotten the most important vow of his life just for a chance to sink into her in a mindless frenzy was proof enough.

She was far too dangerous.

Because if he did it once, he could do it again. And again.

And sooner or later, his lust for her would bear fruit.

And he couldn’t go through that again.

At one time he had thought about getting a vasectomy, like Steven after his fifth child was born, but even after his brother had the procedure, Donna had gotten pregnant. And she’d been on the pill.

Nothing was certain when it came to birth control. Nothing but complete abstinence.

And when Cassie was around, abstinence was not an option.

Clearly, he had to keep his distance from her. The thought scraped over his nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard.

He reached for the bottle as his land line rang. He glared at it, contemplating simply taking it off the hook.

But whoever it was, was persistent. Probably family, because they were the only ones who had the number. So he snatched the receiver from the cradle. “Hello?”

“Dylan.”

His gut clenched. “Helen.” The last person he wanted to speak to right now was his ex-wife. Then again, he rarely wanted to speak to her.

“Why the fuck haven’t you returned my calls?” Yeah. Apparently it was time to pay the piper for ignoring her calls for two weeks.

He scrubbed his face with a palm. A sudden exhaustion swamped him. “What’s up, Helen?” He didn’t understand the bitterness in her voice. After their divorce she’d wasted no time launching into another marriage. Another life. Every time he spoke to her she made no secret about how deliriously happy she was with Daniel. He was glad. He was. She deserved to be happy.

“I thought you’d like to know.”

He blew out a sigh. “Know what?”

Silence crackled over the line. Her voice broke when she spoke again. “Sage has it.”

Dylan’s pulse stalled. His breath snagged painfully in his throat. “Has…what?” But he knew. Certainty crept into his soul.

“R-Remlinger. Sage has Remlinger.”

Dylan thudded into the chair as a sudden dizziness assailed him. “What?”

“We got the diagnosis about a month ago. She’s in treatment.”

Bile rose in his throat. Sage. An adorable little redhead with pigtails and a crooked smile. “God, Helen. I’m…I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah.” A sob. “I-I thought you should know. It wasn’t you. After all that. After everything I… It wasn’t you.”

Tears gathered in his eyes. Tears of sorrow, but also tears of release. It seemed wrong, this well of relief.

“Is there…anything I can do?”

She gulped. “No. Nothing. The doctors are…hopeful. Daniel and I, well, we thought you should know.”

“Thank you. Thank you for telling me.”

“Yeah. Well. I’m…sorry. You know. For the things I said to you.”

“It was a rough time.” He winced at his words. She was about to go through all that again. “Take care of yourself, Helen. And Sage.” What else could he say? What else could he possibly say?

“I will, Dylan,” she said, and severed the connection.

He wasn’t sure if the buzzing he heard was the dial tone or the hum of hope lifting his spirit. Or a flare of annoyance.

She’d let him believe it was his fault. It was all his fault.

For the past three years he’d lived his life with this shadow stalking him. Thinking he was damaged—that he carried a fatal gene—had framed every action, every decision, every thought. He’d separated himself from the world, lived in a tiny little box.

And now the box was gone.

Now there were no more barriers. He and Cassie could—