The Love Series Complete Box Set (188 page)

“He killed himself.” Raw and harsh, the words spill across the table, taking on some kind of amorphous shape, like a puddle of milk. This mess, however, doesn’t seem like it has been so easy to clean up. Dylan takes my stunned silence as a cue to carry on and explain more.

The story of their love is both inspiring and devastating. It’s one of finding out who you are by allowing yourself happiness in someone else, only to have that person, and, in turn, everything that made your life worth living, taken from you. Forming the words and speaking them aloud, I can see the pain in Dylan’s eyes, hear it is his words as if simply saying them is like chewing on thorns.

Recounting both the happy and sad times, Dylan weaves a mesmerizing story—I have to actively remind myself that it’s his life and not some movie, or a plot of a book. Though, hearing about both Reid and Shane’s father, I’d like to think he was fictional. Sadly, the world is filled with plenty of evil to completely validate his horrid existence.

“In the end,” his words cut through my stunned silence, “I pushed him away and never got to say goodbye.” Dylan stands, walks over to the sink, and for some odd reason, starts washing the dishes, as if they’re cleanliness is of paramount importance.

The plate slips from his hand, breaking into pieces; holding onto the memories outweighs the need to hold onto a dish.

“Dyl, I . . .” stammering, as I walk over to him, I’m not really sure where I’m going with my own train of thought.

He holds his hand up to stop whatever words he thinks I might say. “Don’t. You don’t need to tell me it’s not my fault, or Shane needed help, or his father pushed him too far.” His attitude sets an icy chill in the room. His defenses are up, like a frozen wall in the tundra. The cool glare of his eyes tells me there’s no way I’m getting through. I only wish I had known what the hell I said to freeze everything.

I grab a dishtowel from the counter and wrap it around his hand. “You’re bleeding.” The explanation isn’t necessary, but it allows me to at least step closer to him, to try to pull him to my side and wrap an arm around him. Shoving away from me, we stand at opposite ends of the counter.

Holding my hands up in a plea of surrender, I sigh, resigning myself to the fact that I’m fighting a losing battle. “I know you don’t need to hear those things; you’re smart enough to know them on your own, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel your pain, help you talk some of it out.”

“I’m fine,” he dismisses, turning away from me as he does.

“Clearly,” I snap back at him. Not wanting this to get any worse, I know my best option is to leave. He needs some space and it’s obvious anything I say will be twisted and misunderstood.

“You think you can make this all better?” Dylan’s sarcastic words bounce off my back as I walk into the living room to get ready to leave. Slowly, I turn back to face him. “You bring over a movie and I tell you one part of my life and you’re magically going to fix everything?” he snarls. Reigning in my frustration, I lean against the doorframe and let him finish what he has to say. “This is why I’m no good at this.” His hand waves between us, our would-be relationship clearly the “this” to which he is referring.

“Why’s that, Dylan? Huh? Enlighten me, please. Because I was under the impression, especially based on
before
that we were doing
this
really well, actually.” I mirror his motion just to emphasize the point.

“All of your getting-to-know-me shit that’s what I can’t do. That’s why I’m no good. I’m still a screwed up mess over it all. No matter how much I tell myself all the things you want to tell me, I can’t get over it. I can’t get over him.” His shoulders sag under the weight of his words.

“Who says you have to get over him? Why? Is there some law I’m not aware of saying that you can’t hold a place in your life for someone who once meant something to you?”

“Everything,” he clarifies. “He meant everything to me.”

I stalk over to him, stand mutely with my face near inches from his. “I understand that. But if you ask me, that’s a shitty excuse for not having to move on, for not having to live your life. I’m not going to pretend to know your pain—hell, even losing my parents is a different kind of loss, but I don’t think Shane would want you to sit around and wallow in a lifeless existence. Don’t you think he’d want you to live?”

Seething anger roils off him in waves, intensifying the tension. “Don’t fucking tell me what Shane would want.”

Sighing, I give up. “You don’t want to be with me simply because I want to be here for you and listen to you, fine. Have it your way. I just think you’re using his death as an excuse not to live.”

“That’s not . . .” His attempt at recovery is just too little, too late.

“No. Look. I know my fair share about having to start over, about having to heal. You don’t want to let me help you with that, or at least get to know you a little better, then I’m not going to waste my time making you realize those things.”

This time, when I turn my back to him, he lets me go.

Chapter Twenty Two

June 9, 2015

Appointment number three and I have to say, it’s not getting much easier. Though, I’m pretty sure the weekend with Conner is screwing with my nerves, easily complicating this whole situation.

“Dylan,” Dr. Baker calls, stepping into the waiting room. “It’s good to see you.” She extends her arm to the side, allowing me to walk past her and into the office.

Rather than the usual small talk, she gets straight to her pre-planned agenda. “Today I’d like to talk about what happened after Shane died. I think some of your problems may stem from that time.”

Blindsided by her suggestion, it takes me a minute to recover and digest her idea. “Tell me what happened after you found out about his death.”

“Suicide, you mean.” The sarcastic cynicism of my clarification doesn’t go unnoticed on her end.

She nods, “Okay, then. Tell me what happened after his suicide.” Nothing in her tone reacts to the nastiness in mine, making me feel all the more foolish for snapping at her.

Like a dog with its tail between its legs, I apologize. “Sorry.” She nods again, cool and collected, waiting for me to answer her.

Simmering in my own frustration, I bounce my leg in nervousness—or avoidance. “There’s not much to say.” She shoots me a look of disbelief. “Fine.” I return the look. “When I went home, I tried to see Reid. I tried to get to the funeral, but I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t? How so?” Dr. Baker rests her elbows on the arms of the chair, settling back comfortably, as if she already knows it will be a long story.

The entire drive home, I kept repeating to myself that it couldn’t be real. Ignoring call after call from my mom and Reid, I knew that he was gone, but somehow by not talking to anyone right away, it made it less real.

The reality was just a delay of the inevitable. I pulled into my driveway, already feeling Shane’s absence. Mom stood in the doorway, arms hugging her waist as she watched me walk up to her.

“Mom,” I croaked, sadness thick in my throat. Tears streaked down her cheeks as she shook her head. “No, no . . . it can’t . . . please tell me he’s not . . .”

“Oh, baby.” Sobs overtook her body. She extended her arms and pulled me against her. “I’m so sorry, but he is.” She whispered her words against the top of my head.

“It’s all my fault,” I screamed, pushing away from her. “He’s dead because of me.”

Mom swiped at her cheeks, wiping away the tears. “It is
not
your fault. Not one bit, honey.”

The crippling realization of my new world—a one in which Shane no longer existed—weakened my legs, making standing impossible. I crashed to the step, the hard concrete scraping at my legs in the process. It was a welcomed pain, a physical bite I could deal with, vastly different from the emotional grief I couldn’t.

We sat there for a long time—though, to be honest, every minute felt like an eternity. She rubbed circles on my back and I cried on her shoulder. Even though she attempted to fill me in on the details of what she knew, I mostly blocked them out. They didn’t matter. He was gone and there was nothing I could do to change it.

“When is the funeral?” I asked, my voice a shaky mess.

She cradled my face, sweeping my hair out of my eyes. “Tomorrow morning.” She placed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Your father and I will go with you.” There was no point in challenging her. I’d need them by my side, anyway.

At night, I lay in my bed. Restlessness and gnawing pain made it impossible to sleep. The only thing that brought me any kind of comfort was the quiet lull of Shane’s voice on playing on an endless loop from my phone. I fell asleep with the phone against my ear, memories of Shane playing through my dreams.

When the phone rang, my heart lurched into my throat. Through blurry eyes, nearly swollen shut from crying, I somehow managed to make out Reid’s number. “What’s wrong? It’s two in the morning?” No greeting necessary.

“Whend’ya get back?” His drunken words slurred over the line.

I sat up in bed, scrubbed a hand over my face. “Where are you?”

“Doesn’t matter. Not home. That’s for sure.” There was music thumping wildly in the background.

“I’ll come pick you up. Tell me where you are.” I shrugged on a pair of jeans and put on a sweatshirt. As I grabbed my keys off the desk, I heard him mumble something incoherent.

“Reid. Tell me where you are.”

The sounds of whatever party he was at moved in waves through the phone line. “Why did this happen to him? Why Shane?” His words transformed into yelled curses. When his fit of anger had run its course, the sound of retching came across the line. The phone hit the ground.

“Reid, pick up the damn phone. Reid. Reid!” My yelling was pointless. Footsteps approached my door. My father tapped lightly, “Everything okay in there?” He peeked his head in, a worried and tired look plastered to his face.

“Yeah, Dad. Sorry. It’s Reid. He’s drunk somewhere and I was going to go pick him up before he got hurt or in trouble. Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s okay.” His face turned into one of concern. “Let me get changed. I’ll go with you.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

As he walked out of my room, Reid’s voice came back on the line. “I’m at Nick’s.”

I told him to stay there, that I’d be there in a few minutes to get him.

By the time my father and I arrived at Nick’s, the party had died down to a lull. A few kids were passed out on the lawn, one of whom was Reid. Luckily, as I scanned the cars in the driveway, I didn’t notice Reid’s. At least he was smart enough not to drive there.

Looping an arm under each of his, Dad and I hoisted Reid up from the lawn and managed to slide him into the back seat without too much trouble. It was a silent drive to Reid’s house. When we approached his house, the front porch light flickered on.

Dad pulled into the driveway and Reid’s mom approached the car. She leaned into the driver’s side door. “Thank you, Ben. I’ve been trying to get a hold of him all night.” Her voice was hushed and raspy; exhaustion hung on every word.

“It’s no problem.” Dad and I got out of the car and helped Reid up to the front porch. He’d sobered up enough to at least realize he was at his own home. Stumbling warily, he walked through the door and up the stairs, leaving me, Rebecca, and my dad in the driveway.

“Dad, can you give us a minute?” There were some things I needed to say to Rebecca and I didn’t need Dad to be worried about me. “I’ll walk home in a few minutes.”

Dad nodded, offered his sympathies once more, and then pulled away.

Rebecca and I sat on the front porch, saying nothing for the first few minutes, letting the black silence of the late night settle around us.

“He loved you.” Her voice wobbled and she held a hand to her chest. She twisted to face me, a sad, lost look shining in her eyes.

I stammered, “I . . . he . . . he told you?”

“There are some things a mother doesn’t have to be told, but yes, he did tell me. But, I knew long before he did.” A weak smile pulled at one side of her mouth.

“I’m so sorry.” My emotions took over; my guilt for not coming back for him roiled dangerously in my stomach. “I should have come back, not shut him out. I could have saved him.”

She shook her head. Tears fell in rivers down her face. “
I’m
the one who could have saved him, taken him away from here.”

We could’ve sat on that porch for hours, days actually, and traded blame over who could’ve helped him and how we could’ve saved him, but the raw, brutal reality was that we couldn’t.

He was gone and there was no going back.