Page 3 of The Version You Hide

I pick up the glass near my feet and drain it in about three gulps. “Fine,” I answer stiffly, turning my gaze on him. “How are you?”

“Nice deflection.” He nods once but his chestnut eyes don’t leave mine. There’s a warmth and sincerity in them I’m not entirely used to. He tilts his head to the side, then tries his question again. “I mean, really. How are you?”

I inhale a breath, hoping I appear calmer than I feel. “Kinda sick of people asking me how I am actually.”

I know my words come off rude, which is why the subtle smirk that pulls his lips up at the corners surprises me.

He nods again, his eyes glimmering under the glow of the festoon lights. “Fair enough.”

“How are you though? I mean. Really.” This time my tone is serious, and his chest rises subtly with a sharp intake of breath as he contemplates his answer.

Dylan had been the one to find Henley after the attack, something I’m sure will stay with him forever.

“I see what you did there. Yet another deflection,” he replies with a mischievous wink, his pointer finger tipped in my direction. I know he doesn’t owe me an answer when I didn’t give him one for the same question, but he gives me one anyway. “I’m okay most of the time. When I’m not seeing images of stab wounds and blood. I guess it all could have been a lot worse.”

I think he says something else, but I’m not listening anymore. His words have taken me somewhere far away to a place I don’t want to be. I’ve been trying so hard to leave the past behind, but all it takes is a phrase, the mention of a name or place, and I’m right back there.

I can vividly recall the pain inflicted by my ex-boyfriend, Ethan. The dull thud as his fist struck my cheekbone before he savagely pulled me from the foreshore on my early morning run. The way his hands clawed at my face to smother my screams, the air inside his van thick with the scent of marijuana.

“Shit.” Somehow a muttered curse word pulls me back into the moment. “I’m sorry.”

Dylan’s eyebrows are pinched in a frown as he brings a hand to his forehead, guiltily raking his fingers through his chestnut brown hair. I can tell he’s berating himself for the way his words have affected me.

“It’s fine.” I shake my head, as if doing so will rid my mind of the thoughts my screwed-up brain has just concocted. “Seriously.”

He looks uncertain. Like he isn’t sure if I really am as fine as I say I am. I worry he’s going to keep talking, to make a big deal of this. The last thing I need is to rehash the tragic events of the past, so I’m relieved when he says something completely unrelated.

“So, listen,” he begins, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Me? Why?” I can’t help my defensive tone. It’s how I’m wired, though I’m still thankful for the subject change.

“I heard you were interested in a job at the tavern.”

“Really? And where would you have heard that?” His assumption has piqued my curiosity, but mostly my distrust.

He isn’t wrong. I’d asked Henley months ago if he could put in a good word for me at Steve’s Tavern, the local pub where he works, but he hadn’t wanted to complicate things with Kristen at the time. I’ve been struggling to find work in Cliff Haven since my arrival almost five months ago now.

Kristen’s mum, Pamela had offered me a few shifts helping out at her veterinary clinic. Honestly, I’d probably get more enjoyment working with animals than I would people, but she was unable to offer me a position with regular hours so I’m yet to find something solid.

“Henley may have mentioned it to me,” Dylan answers. “And if the rumours I’ve been hearing circulating this wedding tonight are true, I’m going to need to find a replacement for him when he gets his business off the ground. The job’s yours if you want it.”

“You’re offering me a job? Just like that? No questions asked?”

And after I’ve been less than polite to him, though I’m not going to voice that argument. I squint at him in suspicion wondering what the catch is. There’s that distrust rearing its ugly head again.

“Well, yeah.” He shifts uncomfortably on the log seat, and I almost feel bad for my accusatory tone. “Come on. It’s not like you’re a complete stranger.”

“Right.”

Except that’s exactly what I am to him. If he thinks he’s learned anything about me from some silly little news article, he’s sorely mistaken. My life has been way more complicated than most people care to imagine.

“So, what do you think?” He splays his hands out, elbows resting on his knees as he awaits my response.

What do I think? I think hell yeah. I need that job more than anything right now. I could hug this guy and dance a jig right here on the spot I’m that ecstatic, but I’m not the type of girl to let my emotions show.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Okay,” he replies. “Let me know then.”

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