More Than Enough (More Than Series, Book 5) (46 page)

“So,” I respond.

“So,” she repeats.

I smirk. “What are you wearing?”

She smiles, then covers it quickly with her hand. “We can’t do this, Dylan.”

“Do what?” I ask, moving all four glasses out of my way and resting my elbows on the table. I lean forward, reaching for her hand.

She lets me take it. Just the tip of her fingers. Her nails are painted a bright blue. She’s never had painted nails before. Or maybe she did. Maybe I never noticed. I skim my thumb across the nail of her index finger, my mind lost, trying to remember.

“Dylan?”

“Yeah?”

She takes her hand away. “I feel like we should talk.”

“About?” I say through a sigh, sitting back in my chair and looking down at the table.

“About what’s happening. You. Me. Here. Now.”

“Whatever you feel, whatever you want to say. I’m right here.” I shrug. “Say it.”

“I’m mad at you,” she says quietly.

“I hurt you. You’re allowed to be mad. I know that. And I can see you’re afraid of me because of how I was. So is your mom. I get it.”

“That’s not—” She pauses to take a breath, her voice even softer when she adds, “That’s not why.”

“Then what?” I try to reach for her again, but she pulls back, hiding both her hands under the table.

“Dylan.” She pauses. Swallows. Then continues. “You could’ve died.”

“It was my job, Ry.”

“No. Not that. Do you know what it was like for me seeing you in that car, not being able to get you out?”

I choke on a breath, realization setting in. “Fuck, Riley. I—”

“I thought you were dead! I thought it was happening all over again and I thought I was losing you, too. And in a way, I did.” She looks up at me. “Right?”

I struggle to swallow. It’s all I can do. “Ry…”

“And then I find out you’d been drinking that day. Not just drinking, but that you were drunk?”

“I wasn’t—”

“How could you do that to me?”

I push my chair back and stand quickly, forgetting my broken leg.

“How could you get behind the wheel without a care for your life or mine and not think about me? How could you not think about me and how it would make me feel if I’d lost—” She breaks off on a sob, one that reaches the depths of my despair.

“Riley.” I limp around the table and over to her, watching her head fall into her hands, releasing her anger along with her tears.

I place my hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m mad at you, Dylan,” she says again, looking ahead. “I’m trying so hard not to be. But I am. I’m so mad at you.”

“I know.”

She stands up, pushing my hand off her shoulder. Then she looks up, her eyes the color of sadness.

I suck in a breath and hold it, a million emotions flooding me at once. “This was a mistake, Ry.” I reach for my crutches across the table, get them situated and turn away from her.

One step.

That’s as far as I get before her hands fist my shirt. “No, Dylan! You can’t just run away. You can’t run away from this. You can’t fucking ignore it!”

I cringe, my shoulders tensing with the loudness of her voice. She releases me, just so she can walk around me. Standing in front of me, her sadness gone, replaced with anger and strength, she lifts her chin. “I did that, Dylan! I ignored what was happening to you, and to us, and look where it got us. I hated it. I hated that distance you created when all I wanted to be was enough.”

“Riley—”

“And now you’re about to do it again. You’re about to push me away and—” She inhales deeply. “Why aren’t I enough, Dylan?”

I drop the crutches, drop the bullshit pretenses and hold her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. “Riley. I’m here because I need you. I’m here because you’re the
only
thing I need. You’re enough, babe. You’re
everything
!”

I don’t know how long we stand there, our breaths mingling, our eyes locked, our hearts beating, my hands on her face, hers circling my wrists before she narrows her eyes and lifts her chin with strength I’d once stolen from her. “Well?” she snaps.

“Well what?”

“Are you going to fucking kiss me because I have no problem throwing shit at you just because your leg’s in a cast!”

“Fuck, I love you!”

I dip my head, watching her eyes drift shut before
knock knock knock
.

Sydney and Eric
check in on me, so does Dad. For some reason, they refuse to leave. Meaning Riley and my moment in the kitchen is on pause. But that doesn’t stop the build up, physical and emotional, of the things we want. The things we need.

She sits next to me, my hand on her leg, her eyebrows pinched. “B9,” she says.

Dad grunts.

“Did I?” she squeals, her hands raised in victory.

Dad grunts again.

She points at him. “I sunk your battleship! Say it, Mal!” she says through a laugh.

“Yeah, Dad!” Eric chimes in, walking into the living room with sandwiches a foot high. “Say it!”

Another grunt. “Fine! You sunk my battleship.”

Riley leans into me, her mouth pressed against my arm to muffle her cackle.

Dad drops his head and covers his eyes, but beneath his hands his beard shifts, revealing his smile. “You got me good, Riley.”

Riley laughs harder.

The front door opens and Holly steps in, her eyes widening when she sees all of us taking up every space of her living room. Then she smiles. “Perfect. You’re all here.”

Eric does his best to tidy up the mess we’d made in her living room in the few hours she’d been gone but it doesn’t seem to matter because she walks through the living room and into the kitchen. “Let’s talk,” she says, her voice firm.

Riley grasps my hand, helping me to stand, and like disobedient children, we file into the kitchen in a single line, Dad included, and each take a seat at the kitchen table.

Holly stands.

Dad grunts.

Eric chokes on a piece of ham.

Sydney sighs.

Riley won’t let go of my hand under the table.

And me? Honestly? I’m fucking shitting myself.

“So,” Holly says, pacing the small amount of space between the table and the kitchen counter. “I’ve had some time to think about things and firstly, I just need you all to know that my decision to take Riley home with me was not at all to separate the two of you long term. Do you understand?”

I look at Dad.

“Dylan?” Holly snaps, and I jump in my seat. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

Eric attempts to stifle his laugh. I glare at him. Fuck, I’d love to see him in this situation.

I squirm in my seat, my palms sweaty.

Holly sighs. “Good. Now that that’s out of the way, we can discuss living arrangements.”

I stare blankly at her.

“You are to stay here, at least until your leg is out of the cast. Even though I’m sure Eric, Mal and Syd visited you often, I never liked the idea of you living in that house alone. If something happened…” She shudders. “So?”

I look at Dad again. I don’t know why I feel like he’s somehow going to save me.

“Dylan!” she snaps.

I jump.
Again.
“Yes, Ma’am.”

Eric chuckles. “D, you’re twenty-four and still need a babysitter.

Sydney slaps his chest.

Dad grunts.

Holly says, “Eric, you’re almost thirty, still live at home and still check the mail in nothing but your Spiderman underwear.”

*     *     *

It’s ridiculously hard
to imagine settling into a routine living in a house that’s not yours, with two women… especially considering I’ve spent the majority of the past year with twelve cursing men who piss and shit in the open.

I feel like I’ll be walking, or limping, or hobbling—whatever—on eggshells.

So I guess it’s kind of a good thing that Holly invites my family to stay for dinner and even a few epic rounds of Battleship. It’s a game Dad taught Eric and Eric taught me, and the only game Eric and I could really play together considering our age difference and his lack of imagination.

I’m assuming Battleship was played quite a bit while I was gone because a notebook that’d been used as a scorecard comes out and the games turn pretty serious. Even to the point where Eric goes over to their house and brings back a bright pink wooden contraption that sits between and around both boards—for extra secrecy, I guess. I’m not really sure what goes on for the four hours they play… but I do know one thing—our families are fucking crazy.

Riley stays by my side throughout all fifteen games, my hand on her leg and her side pressed against mine. We don’t speak, at least not to each other, and when midnight comes around and we all call it a night, I finally get what I’d been craving for since the moment she ordered me to kiss her in the middle of her kitchen.

“Good night, Dylan,” she says, lying in bed, resting her head on my shoulder and her arm on my chest. She leans up, kisses me once on the lips, and then smiles. “Batter up, rookie.”

“Batter up?”

“You gotta earn that home run.”

Two minutes later, she’s out like a light.

And a few minutes after that, so am I.

Dylan

“M
orning Dylan,” Holly
says from behind me. I drop the mug in my hand, coffee spilling, ceramic shattering on the floor.

“I’m sorry.”

I blink hard, the images slowly fading. “No, it’s my fault,” I mutter, turning to her.

She’s on the floor, a dish cloth in her hand as she picks up the pieces of the mug and starts wiping the blood off the floor. “Dylan?”

I can’t take my eyes off the blood.

She stands quickly, reaching for me and I step back, my ass hitting the counter.

“Dylan?”

There’s so much blood. “
I fucking failed, Dylan!
”

“Dylan!”

I gasp, choking on a breath as her hands find my shoulders, her face in my vision, her eyes like Riley’s—back when she loved me. Before she feared me.

“Hi.”

I drop my gaze. She can’t see me. Not like this.

“Are you okay?”

Another blink. “Yes Ma’am.”

“Why don’t you sit?” she says, guiding me to a seat at the kitchen table. I look at the clock, the sounds of the seconds ticking and our heavy breaths the only thing I can hear.

I sit down, focusing on the grains in the timber of the table as she moves behind me, preparing another coffee. I flinch when she places it in front of me, her hand on my shoulder. “Do you need me to lift your leg?” she asks, her voice calm, just like her eyes.

“No, Ma’am.”

She sits down next to me, cupping the mug in her hands. Smoke rises from the cup and my senses fill with the smell of gun powder. I blink hard again and rub my nose, doing what I can to fight the memories.

“I’m sorry for sneaking up on you like that.”

“It’s not…” I swallow loudly.

“Honey, can you please look at me?”

Slowly, I lift my gaze. She deserves that much.

Her hand reaches out again, soft and warm against my forearm. She glances at the hallway, and then at me, making sure Riley’s not up yet. I already know what Holly’s going to say. I can feel it. I can feel my life falling apart—feel Riley slipping out of my hands.

“I wanted to bring it up last night, but I didn’t think it was necessary to speak about it in front of your dad and Eric.”

I stare at her. Right into her eyes. And I can feel the calm start to take over. My breaths slow. My hands settle. “Okay.”

“One of the other conditions for staying with us is that you speak to someone, Dylan.”

I shake my head, my eyes leaving hers.

“Dylan? Please. I need you to look at me.”

With a calming breath, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Then I look up.

“It doesn’t have to involve anyone else, Dylan. Just you and me,” she says, nodding slowly. “Riley doesn’t need to know. Your dad, the military—they don’t need to either.” She uses the hand not on mine to wipe her eyes, her eyes filling with tears. “I need you to do this for me.” She pats her chest. “I’m a mother, sweetheart, and I worry about Riley.” She glances at the doorway again. “I need to make sure she’s safe.”

I ball my fists, my eyes shutting tight and my heart racing again. “I would never hurt her.”

“I know,” she says quickly, leaning toward me. “I know that. But I’ve read about PTS—”

“Stop!” My eyes snap open, focused on hers. I expect fear. I see calm.

“Okay, sweetheart.” She nods again. “Okay.”

I take a few breaths, my head tilting, completely confused by the way she’s looking at me. After a long moment of silence, I find my voice. “My friend Amanda…”

Holly smiles. “I know her.”

“She’s um… she’s a psychology major.”

“Okay,” she breathes out, nodding faster. “That works for me.”

Riley’s bedroom door opens. Holly drops her gaze and removes her hand from my arm. Then she sits back in her chair. “Ms. Hudson?”

She looks up at me.

“I’m not going to lose her. Not again. She means too much to me.”

*     *     *