Page 466 of Dark Love

“Dahl.”

Oh, that’s not a good Dahl. That’s a back away we’ve hit a serious topic. But isn’t that what this weekend is about? “I know you live a scary life. And I’m not asking you to share it all with me. Just why are you called Vex?” That shouldn’t be a big ask. It’s not like I asked his body count… either body count. Neither of which do I ever want to know.

“You really don’t want to know.”

Probably not. “Tell me anyway.”

“It’s not a pretty story.”

Vex needs something silly to break up the stress and worry. “Hold on one second.” I jump up and run out of the room.

Everything I need is right up in my bedroom and the kitchen. I dash back into the library, dropping a half dozen pillows on the floor.

“Dahl?”

“Be right back.” On my second trip, I pile an armload of quilts on top of the pillows. The last group of stuff I shove into a bag and dash back up the stairs.

“What are you doing?”

“Building us a tent.”

“A tent?”

“If you’re going to tell me scary stories, I need a tent and some s’mores. Would you tuck the quilts on the top shelf under some books so they don’t fall on our heads?” I start to spread out some quilts on the floor, shoving piles of books out of the way.

“This isn’t a cute story.”

I know that. The knot building in the pit of my stomach knows that. “Don’t worry, I brought s’mores too.”

“You’re a nut.”

“Scary stories need s’mores.”

“Is that one of your sweet treat rules?”

Absolutely. “Always.”

It doesn’t take us long to get the little tent built. With every second, my anxiety builds. What if I can’t handle this? What if he walks away? What if? I ruined my life worrying about what-ifs. Reality can be dealt with. What-ifs just destroy your soul. “Do you want a s’more? I don’t have a little torch, but it probably wouldn’t be smart to use one with all this flammable stuff around. They’re so cute though, aren’t they?”

“Only you would think a blow torch is cute. No, Dahl, I don’t want a s’more. Are you really sure you want to know this story?”

No. “Yes.” I shove a marshmallow in my mouth, knowing it won’t be enough sweet to balance out the horrible he’s about to share.

“My life wasn’t like yours.”

That’s the understatement of the century.

“I didn’t grow up in a house in the burbs with two parents and a white picket fence.”

“Our fence wasn’t white.”

“Huh?”

“Our fence wasn’t white. They get dirty too quickly. We had a green fence.”

Vex raises an eyebrow at me.

“Sorry, when I get nervous, I ramble.”

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