Page 87 of The Version You Hide

“Kenz, I’m your boss. I know your schedule. You’re not due to start your shift until six. I’ll have you back in plenty of time.”

“I don’t know, Dylan,” I say. “I’m not exactly going to be good company. I’m not really up for meeting new friends.”

I honestly couldn’t think of anything worse at this point.

“Trust me,” he replies. “These friends are different.”

“No. I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are.”

I sigh again. “Why do you keep trying to help me?”

“Because.” He pauses. “We aren’t that different. You and I.”

“Yeah, right,” I scoff. “What the hell could we possibly have in common?”

My question is met with a short silence from the other end of the line and for a second I think I might have actually stumped him. But just when I think he isn’t going to reply, he comes through with an answer that has me stumped.

“We’re both trying to start afresh.” His voice is raspier than usual. “And we’re both running from things that have consumed us.”

Never in my life has a combination of words left me so speechless. And never has anyone made me feel seen the way that Dylan does.

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” he says bluntly, as though he hasn’t just sent my heartrate into overdrive with a mere sentence.

“No, you wo –” My words are cut off as he ends the call. “Aargh!”

I roll over, dropping the phone onto the mattress beside me as I let out a groan. Knowing Dylan, it won’t even take him the full half hour to get here.

I brush my teeth and change into a t-shirt and jeans, pausing at the bedside table, where the crumpled note from yesterday lies. Loopy swirls of handwriting are visible but unreadable through the other side of the paper.

I reach down and shove it into my pocket. I don’t even know why. Obviously, there is some part of me that wants to know what it says, but the larger part of me tells me to leave whatever its contents may be in the past.

I’m unable to shake the persistent frown from my face as I stumble out into the kitchen. Kristen looks up from her mug of coffee, her forehead scrunched at my expression. She has her iPad laying on the kitchen counter, an article on Spring weddings displayed on the screen. “What’s wrong with you today? You get up on the wrong side of the bed?”

I smile sarcastically. “You know that’s something only old people say, right?”

She shakes her head at me. “You forgot to do the dishes last night.”

“Sorry,” I mumble. “I forgot.”

I didn’t forget. I just didn’t have the energy to do anything but crawl into bed last night. I didn’t even eat dinner myself.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I lie.

There’s no point going into the details right now. Dylan will be here any minute and, just like yesterday when he had asked me the very same question, I can’t summon the momentum to discuss it.

I want to tell her. I will tell her. Once I have everything straightened out in my own head, and when she can focus on anything other than her job or her precious bridal magazines.

Okay. Maybe that was a low blow, but once again, I’ve found myself envious of her. I wish my biggest dilemma was finding the perfect wedding location and not the single piece of paper that feels as though it’s weighing my pocket down like an anchor.

Kristen’s mouth opens as though she wants to say more, but she’s interrupted by a knock at the front door. An unexpected surge of relief floods through me.

“That’s Dylan,” I announce, grabbing my hoodie from where it’s draped over one of the dining chairs. “I’ll be back later.”

“Okay.” Kristen’s expression transforms from dubious to optimistic. She likes it when I’m with Dylan. She trusts him. I guess I’m starting to trust him too. “I’m picking up Chinese takeout for dinner tonight.”

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