Page 41

Chapter Forty

Scarlett

" T his shit is insane." Dylan mumbles, loud enough that only I can hear. We're at Xave's place with a few other people, checking out the remote control car racetrack he and a couple of the estate's grounds crew built in a covered arena that was originally intended for indoor horse-riding lessons when Xave was a kid. Only he had no interest in horse-back riding. Or horses, even. So the arena was mostly left empty over the years, except for the few times it was used for parties. And now, apparently, it's become a space for Xave to build an expansive racetrack for the handful of souped up RC cars he bought for him and his brother.

"You mean, you've never hung out at a friend's private RC racetrack arena before?" I joke. Dylan responds with a sound that's a cross between a huff and a grunt. He's into it, though, despite himself. He's already joined in two races and I'm pretty sure he's waiting to play the winners of the last six races. A list of people which won't include me. I lost all three races I took part in. Almost totalled Xave's favorite car.

Someone who is on that list?

Caroline Heinz. Much to everyone's surprise. Turns out she's been hiding a mad talent for RC racing. And Seb couldn't be prouder. He's bounding around the arena whooping and cheering lines like, "That is how it's done, bitches!" and "Lightning McQueen is in the house ya'll!"

"Yeah, Lightning McQueen is in the house!" Finn parrots, jumping up and down beside Seb. Finn idolizes him almost as much as he idolizes his brother.

Seb picks him up and swings him onto his shoulders. "You're gonna want a good view to witness my girl leaving your bro in the dust, Finny Boy."

Finn squeals with laughter as Seb sets him on his shoulders, striding closer to the edge of the track. "Hey, Xave!" Finn calls to his brother. "Caroline is gonna leave you in the dust! She's Lightning McQueen!"

"Oh yeah?" Xave glances over at his brother, hands poised on the remote controller, ready to race. "We'll see about that." His tongue swipes along his top lip and he bites down lightly on it, then turns to Caroline. "You are going down. "

"We'll see," Caroline responds in her usual quiet voice. Only there's more power behind it than there used to be. A hint of playfulness she never would have used with any of these people a couple of months ago, before she became the center of Seb's world. She seems genuinely happy. And also—makes Xave eat his words, because she does end up leaving him in the dust. Dylan, too. He gets eliminated in the latest heat, or whatever you call a series of RC car races. He wanders back over to join me along the low wall bordering the edge of the arena, ignoring the way a couple of girls against the opposite wall track his movements, drinking him in like he's an expensive delicacy. There isn't that same tension in his body that used to accompany his awareness of the stares he draws wherever he goes. He settles on the ground beside me, leaning up against the rustic wood-panelling, one leg bent, the other leg kicked out in front of him.

We sit in silence for a while, watching the races play out a few feet away to the soundtrack of cheers and laughter and one of Xave's Australian surf rock playlists. Bands with names like Hockey Dad , and Goons of Doom , and The Babe Rainbow . No run-of-the-mill radio hits when Xave's on aux.

"I talked to Carter this morning," I finally say, because I've decided it's wrong not to tell him.

Dylan's head whips around. " What? "

"I agreed to a phone call… to find out why he keeps contacting me. So I could put the whole thing to rest."

"What the fuck?"

Okay, he seems way more pissed about this than I thought he'd be. It was a phone call. It doesn't even involve him.

"I wanted closure." Which is my prerogative.

"You had closure the other night at the bonfire." He shakes his head, eyes rolling skyward. "Why would you call that asshole? After what he did. That's… You just let him win. "

That one stings. But it also helps me understand a little more where he's coming from. Dylan's got this hang-up about how there are certain things you can do if a person wronged you, that means they won and you lose. It all links to everything with that guy who kidnapped him. He doesn't talk about it at lot. Barely at all, actually. But the few times he has alluded to it, there's this steel-hard sense of winning and losing that cloaks his perception of it all. Of not wanting to go forward in any way which would make Eli win one over on him. Any more than he already has.

"I didn't let him win, Dylan," I say softly. "There's nothing to win in this scenario. I wanted to find out why he was suddenly so keen to talk. And I wanted a chance to have my say."

"Okay," he scoffs. " So why was he suddenly so keen to talk?"

I summarize the call for him, careful to stay calm. Keep my voice even. Anything I can do to keep this conversation even-keeled. I'm already realizing it was a mistake to bring it up here. With a bunch of people just a few feet away. I thought it would help keep the conversation light and casual. Clearly, it didn't.

"You let him win," he repeats. And God, it's frustrating how hung up he is on the winning thing. But I really can't fault him for whatever way he perceives or copes or filters these situations, given the sort of wrongs he's been forced to grapple with. I just wish he wouldn't transfer that to my own situation. Only I can't be mad at him for that either. Still, none of it negates the fact that it's annoying. And makes it so much harder to discuss this sort of thing with him, when he views everything through such a warped lens.

I need to be patient. And I'm not a patient person. But for Dylan, I will try to be.

"I felt like he'd won before," I try explaining in his terms. "Now I feel less like that. So I think it was a good thing. I'm glad I got to say my piece and get Carter to see things from my perspective."

Dylan huffs and I can't help noticing the way his fingers are curled into fists; his physical reaction channelling his emotional one. "He doesn't deserve that chance."

"It wasn't a chance for him. It was a chance for me."

"You agreed to talk. He got what he wanted."

"What he wanted was for me to sign the form. I didn't sign it."

Dylan gets to his feet, his body tense, fists clenching and unclenching. "Whatever."

God . Everything is so black and white with him. It makes it really hard to discuss anything. To know how to get him to see shades of grey.

"Dylan." I'm on my feet now, too. "Wait… Can we please just—"

"I need to go." He jerks away from my hold on his jacket.

A quick glance confirms that people have noticed the confrontation and are starting to stare. Xave catches my gaze and lifts an eyebrow, inquiring if everything's okay. I give him a barely perceptible nod.

"Okay…" I say more softly, doing what I can to keep the conversation between just the two of us. "Let me get my jacket and hat. I'll come with you."

"I don't want you to come with me," he mumbles, already heading towards the opening in the low wooden wall.

"You leaving already, man?" Xave calls over to Dylan.

"Yeah," he answers, voice slick with contempt. "I'll see you later."

"Can I please come with you?" I hate how desperate my voice sounds. I won't ask again.

"No."

I stop in my tracks. Annoyed. No— angry. Sick of being so patient and bending my own reactions to accommodate his. Feeling so at a loss with how to handle his volatile emotions. "Fine, Dylan! Leave, then!" I call after him. His body tenses but he keeps striding down the stone walkway that winds through the grounds towards the ornate gated entranceway in the distance. "Walk away! Even though I told you everything when I didn't have to!"

He keeps walking.

"Just so you know, I didn't feel like I'd lost after that phone call! But I do now, after the way you're treating me! So, congratulations—you win!" I swallow a hiccup that bubbles up in my throat. "That's what's important, right? That's the measure for everything with you!"

He falters. Drags a hand through his messy waves. Then keeps walking.