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Chapter Fourteen

Sarah

Apparently, it’s not only guilt that comes with the bright light of day, but a hangover. I’ve heard that some people don’t remember clearly the things that they do when they’re drunk.

Very sadly for me, I have a clear recollection of everything that happened last night.

I’m staying in the guest bedroom at Allison’s cottage in town.

It’s an adorable place, one that she’s renting from Colt’s mom – her stepmother, I’ve discovered – at a reduced rate, at least I think that’s what she said when we stumbled inside out of Gentry’s truck.

She was more than a little tipsy herself.

I roll out of bed, and put the floral cover back in place, before stumbling out into the kitchen area. The cake is sitting at the center of the table, half demolished. I have a vague memory of us, drunk, eating that while we both complained about men .

Her complaints are largely about Colt. And it occurs to me that her hatred of Colt feels just sharp enough to be something a lot more problematic.

Yes, he’s her stepbrother, and that would be pretty messed up.

But I’m not judging. I’m so messed up. If I’m right, though, she’s very good at hiding her feelings.

Maybe even from herself. Even if everything last night hadn’t been so bad, being certain about that makes me also certain that Colt is not the one for me to do my experimenting on.

But that isn’t my biggest problem.

The door across the hall opens, and Allison comes out, blinking furiously like a mole that’s been pulled unceremoniously from its burrow.

“Morning,” she says, sounding muffled.

My head pulses. “Oh. Good morning.”

“Last night was kind of crazy,” she says.

“Yeah.”

We don’t speak as she makes coffee, and we both sit down and sip it quietly.

“Did anyone text Dallas?”

“Yeah. Gentry let him know where you were.”

“Good,” I say, because as mad at him as I am, I don’t want him to actually worry about me. I sigh heavily. “I’m going to have to get back home. But I don’t have a car.”

“I can take you,” Allison says.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t mind. But I do need to… maybe take a shower first.”

“Fair.”

While she does that, I sit there and stare at the wall, my thoughts tripping over themselves. I was ridiculous and overreacted last night, but he did too. I shouldn’t have thrown anything at him, though .

I’ve actually never been overprotected.

Not by anyone but myself.

So even though Dallas was ridiculous, I should have been a little bit… I don’t know. More grateful? Grateful that somebody finally cares what happens to me at all?

That thought makes me growl. What an obnoxious situation to find myself in.

Allison emerges a few minutes later, and we load up into the truck. I put my hand on my forehead.

“Is he always that jealous?” she asks.

I huff a laugh. “He wasn’t jealous . He’s overprotective of me. That’s it.”

“I’m not an expert, but it looked like jealousy.”

Jealousy. Like maybe he wishes he were dancing with me, not Colt. Like maybe he wants to touch me…

Just thinking about it makes me breathless. But where would it even go? We’re so dysfunctional. I don’t even know what sex would be like for me. What if we have sex and I hate it? Or he kisses me and I punch him in the face?

What if my rabid raccoon self scratches his eyes out and feasts on them while I growl in the corner?

Worse, what if I love it and I get obsessed with him and I can’t get enough of him? What if I send myself back to the hell that is longing for Dallas Dodge without ever being able to really have him? But this time with sex involved. This time with him in my life, but not…

What do I want?

I have too many questions, and no answers to any of them.

So it’s best to just not think about this at all. And certainly not act on it.

“Trust me,” I say. “It’s not. And even if it were, he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

I wouldn’t do anything about it.” I clutch my seatbelt.

The edges of it dig into my hands. “We’re in kind of a weird codependent relationship.

I’m not sure what the answer to that is.

I’m not sure what we can do to be healthier or better or…

but I don’t want to lose him. So, I need to apologize for everything that happened last night.

Because I really should be more grateful for him.

He’s the only family I have, and I let my temper get the best of me. ”

A decade apart didn’t change how we relate to each other.

We were a mess then, we’re a mess now. We don’t know how to be without each other, and we’re territorial, but we don’t know what to do with each other either.

Sure, when we were kids, we didn’t fight.

I’ve never fought with Dallas before. But there was always this sharp-edged intensity.

“I’m really not an expert on this kind of thing,” Allison says.

“Well, nobody is, because Dallas and I aren’t an established normal thing.”

“He’s not your only friend,” Allison says. “I’m your friend.”

I try to hold back a smile. I still feel all kinds of difficult about last night, but it’s amazing to hear somebody say that. That I’m her friend.

“Having said that,” she continues. “I get that he’s more than that.”

I take a sharp breath. “He’s… Dallas.”

I’m not sure how to explain it any better. I’m not sure that I can.

Tension and nerves tighten my stomach as soon as we pull up to the cabin. “Thank you,” I say. “For everything.”

“Of course.”

I trudge up the steps slowly and give Allison a wave right before knocking on the door. I haven’t been knocking, because I lived there once. But it feels weird to just walk in now.

It takes a couple of minutes, but the door opens, and I’m greeted by Dallas, who isn’t hung over, but is shirtless, wearing only a pair of blue jeans, his hair sticking up at odd angles, his jaw covered in stubble.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” he says, regarding me closely. He’s probably trying to figure out if I’m about to launch myself at him and tear his throat out with my teeth. Fair, honestly.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he says.

I’m shocked. Personally, I thought that I was going to have to grovel. Because I did throw something at him. Instead, he looks tired, unhappy, and he’s done the apologizing first.

“Oh, I…”

“I shouldn’t have said that to you. About consent. That was really fucked up. I don’t have any right to bring up things in your past and act like I’m trying to protect you. I… I’m trying to protect you. But I also got angry, and none of that is fair.”

“Can I come in?”

“Oh,” he says, pushing his fingers through his hair. “Sure.”

He steps away from the door, and I squeeze past him. My breath catches. He smells good. Like some kind of spicy soap, and him. His body is hard, sculpted, and I am far more fascinated by the shape of him, by the hard cut lines of muscle on his torso, than I should be.

“I made you that cake,” he says.

“You did.”

“I bought you that present. But you danced with him. ”

I blink slowly. “I… Yeah. He asked me to.”

“You don’t like being touched or anything. So, it never occurred to me to ask you to dance.”

If I’m not totally crazy, he’s upset I was paying attention to another man when he went to all that trouble for my party. When he says it like that , it makes me feel bad, actually. It doesn’t mean that he wasn’t out-of-pocket, he was, but I was too.

“Yeah, I know.” I look away. “But if you had asked me to dance, I would have danced with you.”

“Maybe next time I’ll ask.”

“I’m very sorry that I threw the present at your head.”

“You didn’t hit my head.”

“Regardless,” I say. “I was being a little bit over the top.”

“We both were,” he says.

We stand there and look at each other, and my heart throbs.

We’re both just so messed up.

He means more to me than anyone else in the entire world, and I almost ruined everything. And he pretty much did the same in return. Neither of us knows how to act. Neither knows what to do with big feelings and big moments.

And that’s with all this caring and between us.

No wonder I have so much trouble making friends. My rabid self takes over.

The wrong thing happens, and I just want to shove snarl and growl and froth at the mouth until everyone leaves me alone.

I want to protect myself.

What he said was messed up, and he knows why, but I didn’t have to react that way.

I know him. I’m willing to forgive him for it, so I also didn’t need to completely lose it last night.

We don’t really trust each other, because we don’t trust ourselves, I guess.

It’s exhausting. To live in this traumatized body that’s constantly vacillating between fight or flight.

It’s exhausting to be me sometimes, and that is a pretty whiny thought to have before ten AM the day after my birthday.

But here I am. Having it.

“Do you want the present?” he asks.

I blink. “What?”

“I have the present still. If you wanted.”

“Of course I want it,” I mutter.

Only a psycho wouldn’t want their birthday present, even after all that.

He nods and leaves the room. I wonder if he’s going to come back with a shirt on, as I sit there and examine the muscles on his back, the way they move as he retreats.

He returns, still bare-chested, holding that box.

It looks no worse for wear after what happened last night. It’s faring better than me, basically.

He reaches out and hands it to me. I swallow hard as I begin to work the ribbon through the loops. I slide it off slowly, then take the lid off. Inside is a wide, flat black velvet box.

I’ve never gotten anything in a box like this, and I’m not exactly sure what it is.

I lift it out, and open it up, and my breath catches.

It’s a necklace. Not just any necklace, but one from Sammy’s store.

White gold with rose gold woven in to make blossoms on the ornate chain.

I also know exactly how much it cost. It’s an original piece, made by hand, as everything she does is. One-of-a-kind.