More Than Enough
Page 16
I told you I loved you too—more than everything and anyone in the history of forever.
And I meant it, Jeremy.
More than anything.
Eleven
Dylan
I haven’t slept. Not since I left her house two days ago.
I can’t fucking focus on the stupid engine in front of me. Maybe because all my focus is on the pathetic music streaming from her house. I wonder how long it’s been going on and why everyone else lets her get away with it. I chuck the screwdriver on the workbench and grasp my right shoulder with my left hand, then I begin to do the stupid exercises the doc instructed me to do. Move it in slow circles until the pain becomes too much.
The pain is already too much.
Dave: No one’s told me to fuck off in three days. I miss you, you giant ogre of a man.
With a halfhearted smile, I respond:
Dylan: Duck off, asshole. Better?
Dylan: *Fuck.
Dave: You’re the worst.
Dylan: Notwgat your mom said last beige.
Dave: What?
Dylan: *Norway
Dylan: *Not.
Dylan: *What.
Dave: What?!?!
Dylan: *Night.
Dave: Good night, bro.
Dylan: No.
Dave: No?
Dylan: Your mom’s far.
Dylan: *Gay.
Dylan: *FAT.
Dylan: FUCK.
Dave: What are you typing with? A potato?
Dylan: Duck you.
“Hey, Dylan?” Sydney says, her head poking through the garage door. She’s wearing one of Eric’s shirts and nothing else. “Do you have a second?” I don’t know why it bothers me that she’s standing there—a girl I barely know—in the only bit of personal space I own.
I shut my eyes and nod, giving up on my so-called physical therapy for the moment.
She steps inside, one bare leg after the other and I look away because she’s not mine to look at. “Sorry,” she says, walking over to me. “I probably should have put some clothes on but I was in a rush.”
“It’s fine,” I tell her, picking up the screwdriver again. I grip it in my right hand and squeeze a few times, feeling the dull ache filter down my arm. “Did you need something?”
She stands close to me and leans against the bench. Then she opens her mouth, shuts it, and then does it again. “I feel kind of strange now,” she says, pulling her top down a little. “I just didn’t know what else to do.”
There’s a desperation in her voice that’s enough to make me look away from my hand and up at her. “What’s up?”
“Do you… I mean, do you have nightmares… about—” She shakes her head. “Never mind.”
She starts to leave but I stop her. “About what?”
She looks at the door and then back to me. “Eric—he’s been having these nightmares, I guess. He tosses and turns and kicks in his sleep. I don’t know what to do. He says he’s fine afterward, but he doesn’t get back to sleep, he just holds me. I don’t know if I should ask him about it or just let him be and I just thought because you and he… I mean, you’ve both been there and you’re his brother so if anyone knows—”
“I don’t know,” I interrupt. Truth is, I have no idea what he’d want.
Her gaze drops. “Oh.”
“It’s not like Eric and I are close, you know?” I say, trying to justify my response. “So I can’t really tell you much about him.”
“But you’ve been there, right?” She shakes her head again. “I’m sorry. This is probably inappropriate and bad for you to think about.”
“It’s fine.”
“I just worry about him. Whatever’s making him wake up in a pool of sweat can’t be good.”
“You worry about him?” I ask incredulously.
She tilts her head, her brow bunched in confusion. “Of course I do,” she replies, as if I’m the dumbest person in the world. She rolls her eyes. “Dylan, your brother and I are really good at faking our feelings. I mean, look at us. We’ve known each other a couple weeks and we’ve spent practically every second together. We could be out having sex with different people every night but we choose to have sex with each other.” She laughs a little when I scrunch my face in disgust. “A little too much information?”
“A little.”
“I don’t know,” she sings, a slight smile pulling on her lips. “He says I keep him sane and he makes me happy, so why not? Yolo, right?”
“What the hell is a Yolo?”
She eyes me sideways. “You Only Live Once. How long were you deployed?”
I can’t help but laugh. “I’ve always been out of touch, I guess.”
“So no advice?”
I look down at the screwdriver in my hand, squeeze it once, and look back at her, thinking about what Eric would say if the roles were reversed. “Just keep letting him hold you when he needs to.”
She smiles again, her hand soft as she squeezes my arm. “That’s perfect advice, Dylan.” Then she gazes toward the garage window that faces Riley’s house. “Are you going to go over there and tell her to turn off that God-awful music again?”
“How do you—”
“I’m here every day, D. I’m not stupid. I see things.”
“Nah. Pretty sure she hates me.”
“Doubt it,” Sydney says, her smile still in place. “Maybe you guys are just like Eric and I—really good at faking it. Besides, you could be out seeing other people, but you choose to see each other.”
Riley
“Go away,” I mumble, my face smeared into a cushion. I can feel the dried drool on my cheek and smell the wine that must’ve spilled onto the floor while I was sleeping. Not passed out. I’ve lived through both enough times to know the difference. Last I remember, the bottle was half full. Great. I just wasted half my portion of alcohol for the day.
The knocking sounds again and I mumble another, “Go away,” a little louder than before but not by much.
Another knock.
“Jesus! Okay!” I take my time getting up, not because I’m drunk, but because I hope whoever the hell is knocking gives up by the time I get there.
My stomach drops to the floor when I open the door to Dylan standing there, his hands in the pockets of his sweats, his lips pressed tight while he looks down at me. Then he smiles and rocks on his heels. “You look beautiful, Riley.” I eye him sideways while I bring the bottle to my lips and take another dose of my painkiller.
He clears his throat before saying, “Look. I get it. You’re mad. You have every right to be. But I’m not going to stand here and act like what we did was wrong because at the time, we both wanted it, and you can’t deny that. Do I wish it’d gone down differently? Of course. Regardless of what you might think about me, I’ve never done anything like that before. With anyone. Ever.” He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “I have feelings for you, Riley. Feelings I can’t ignore. Sure, I would’ve liked for us to take our time and to get to know each other a little… maybe convince you to actually enjoy the time we spend together, like I do, instead of…” He shakes his head. “…whatever it is you feel when you’re with me.”
And I meant it, Jeremy.
More than anything.
Eleven
Dylan
I haven’t slept. Not since I left her house two days ago.
I can’t fucking focus on the stupid engine in front of me. Maybe because all my focus is on the pathetic music streaming from her house. I wonder how long it’s been going on and why everyone else lets her get away with it. I chuck the screwdriver on the workbench and grasp my right shoulder with my left hand, then I begin to do the stupid exercises the doc instructed me to do. Move it in slow circles until the pain becomes too much.
The pain is already too much.
Dave: No one’s told me to fuck off in three days. I miss you, you giant ogre of a man.
With a halfhearted smile, I respond:
Dylan: Duck off, asshole. Better?
Dylan: *Fuck.
Dave: You’re the worst.
Dylan: Notwgat your mom said last beige.
Dave: What?
Dylan: *Norway
Dylan: *Not.
Dylan: *What.
Dave: What?!?!
Dylan: *Night.
Dave: Good night, bro.
Dylan: No.
Dave: No?
Dylan: Your mom’s far.
Dylan: *Gay.
Dylan: *FAT.
Dylan: FUCK.
Dave: What are you typing with? A potato?
Dylan: Duck you.
“Hey, Dylan?” Sydney says, her head poking through the garage door. She’s wearing one of Eric’s shirts and nothing else. “Do you have a second?” I don’t know why it bothers me that she’s standing there—a girl I barely know—in the only bit of personal space I own.
I shut my eyes and nod, giving up on my so-called physical therapy for the moment.
She steps inside, one bare leg after the other and I look away because she’s not mine to look at. “Sorry,” she says, walking over to me. “I probably should have put some clothes on but I was in a rush.”
“It’s fine,” I tell her, picking up the screwdriver again. I grip it in my right hand and squeeze a few times, feeling the dull ache filter down my arm. “Did you need something?”
She stands close to me and leans against the bench. Then she opens her mouth, shuts it, and then does it again. “I feel kind of strange now,” she says, pulling her top down a little. “I just didn’t know what else to do.”
There’s a desperation in her voice that’s enough to make me look away from my hand and up at her. “What’s up?”
“Do you… I mean, do you have nightmares… about—” She shakes her head. “Never mind.”
She starts to leave but I stop her. “About what?”
She looks at the door and then back to me. “Eric—he’s been having these nightmares, I guess. He tosses and turns and kicks in his sleep. I don’t know what to do. He says he’s fine afterward, but he doesn’t get back to sleep, he just holds me. I don’t know if I should ask him about it or just let him be and I just thought because you and he… I mean, you’ve both been there and you’re his brother so if anyone knows—”
“I don’t know,” I interrupt. Truth is, I have no idea what he’d want.
Her gaze drops. “Oh.”
“It’s not like Eric and I are close, you know?” I say, trying to justify my response. “So I can’t really tell you much about him.”
“But you’ve been there, right?” She shakes her head again. “I’m sorry. This is probably inappropriate and bad for you to think about.”
“It’s fine.”
“I just worry about him. Whatever’s making him wake up in a pool of sweat can’t be good.”
“You worry about him?” I ask incredulously.
She tilts her head, her brow bunched in confusion. “Of course I do,” she replies, as if I’m the dumbest person in the world. She rolls her eyes. “Dylan, your brother and I are really good at faking our feelings. I mean, look at us. We’ve known each other a couple weeks and we’ve spent practically every second together. We could be out having sex with different people every night but we choose to have sex with each other.” She laughs a little when I scrunch my face in disgust. “A little too much information?”
“A little.”
“I don’t know,” she sings, a slight smile pulling on her lips. “He says I keep him sane and he makes me happy, so why not? Yolo, right?”
“What the hell is a Yolo?”
She eyes me sideways. “You Only Live Once. How long were you deployed?”
I can’t help but laugh. “I’ve always been out of touch, I guess.”
“So no advice?”
I look down at the screwdriver in my hand, squeeze it once, and look back at her, thinking about what Eric would say if the roles were reversed. “Just keep letting him hold you when he needs to.”
She smiles again, her hand soft as she squeezes my arm. “That’s perfect advice, Dylan.” Then she gazes toward the garage window that faces Riley’s house. “Are you going to go over there and tell her to turn off that God-awful music again?”
“How do you—”
“I’m here every day, D. I’m not stupid. I see things.”
“Nah. Pretty sure she hates me.”
“Doubt it,” Sydney says, her smile still in place. “Maybe you guys are just like Eric and I—really good at faking it. Besides, you could be out seeing other people, but you choose to see each other.”
Riley
“Go away,” I mumble, my face smeared into a cushion. I can feel the dried drool on my cheek and smell the wine that must’ve spilled onto the floor while I was sleeping. Not passed out. I’ve lived through both enough times to know the difference. Last I remember, the bottle was half full. Great. I just wasted half my portion of alcohol for the day.
The knocking sounds again and I mumble another, “Go away,” a little louder than before but not by much.
Another knock.
“Jesus! Okay!” I take my time getting up, not because I’m drunk, but because I hope whoever the hell is knocking gives up by the time I get there.
My stomach drops to the floor when I open the door to Dylan standing there, his hands in the pockets of his sweats, his lips pressed tight while he looks down at me. Then he smiles and rocks on his heels. “You look beautiful, Riley.” I eye him sideways while I bring the bottle to my lips and take another dose of my painkiller.
He clears his throat before saying, “Look. I get it. You’re mad. You have every right to be. But I’m not going to stand here and act like what we did was wrong because at the time, we both wanted it, and you can’t deny that. Do I wish it’d gone down differently? Of course. Regardless of what you might think about me, I’ve never done anything like that before. With anyone. Ever.” He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “I have feelings for you, Riley. Feelings I can’t ignore. Sure, I would’ve liked for us to take our time and to get to know each other a little… maybe convince you to actually enjoy the time we spend together, like I do, instead of…” He shakes his head. “…whatever it is you feel when you’re with me.”
