Page 22 of Bake the Town Red

Of course, I am. Otherwise, there’s no explaining the deadly error I’ve committed. Why I’m in here, in Sweet DeNights, holding her. Kissing her.

Instead of saving her, I’m putting her life at risk.

Then again, I’ve always done what Dahlia wanted. Like being here, even though she hasn’t asked me to for the past four years.

I felt her. Ifeelher.

Same as I have in the past.

“Smells great,” I lied to my grandma, yawning after a long day at work.

Truth was, nothing smelled great at the time. Nothing in my life had been great, period.

Two days had gone by since Dahlia killed her uncle. Two days since her brother, Ian, fled the apartment. I hadn’t heard from him since. Hadn’t been able to think of anything buther.

Little savage. On that fatal day, that kid was brave. Incredibly so. Covered in blood and more beautiful than any creature I’d ever seen, she managed to rearrange her thoughts. Handed Ian warm clothes. Begged me to hold off on calling the police.

She had her priorities straight.

And I had to go to work the day after. And the day after that. Had to stay around my grandma in the evenings to make sure she took her prescription. That she had everything she needed.

I didn’t resent my responsibilities. I could never. Writing code for a gaming company was what I dreamt of doing. Caring for the woman who helped raise me had been an honor.

What annoyed me was something else entirely.

Being away from Dahlia bothered me. The girl who’d been sitting across her dead uncle’s body for the past day and a half. Constant concern nagged at me. Ate at my sanity.

When I knocked at her door yesterday, she’d yelled she was fine. Barked at me to leave her alone. I’d let her have her space.

Until tonight. Once I saw Grams was doing okay, like I do now, I’d resolved to use the key Ian gave me and go inside their apartment.

“I made her favorite chicken soup.” Grams beamed at me. “Dahlia’s. For her.”

I rushed to my grandma before she started ambling to the kitchen with her walker. Pulled a thick, wool cardigan over her pale blue gown. She didn’t chide me or tell me to stop fussing. I wanted to help her and she let me.

“How are you?”

“I’m great.” She patted my hand. “The soup is for the sweet girl,” she repeats. “I don’t know if she’s been eating down there. You have to visit her. I couldn’t.”

“Grams, I’m here. With you.” My denial sounded futile even to my own ears. “I’ll go soon.”

I didn’t want to fuck Dahlia. Didn’t want to kiss Dahlia. Nothing remotely like that back then. But goddammit, someone had to look after her. There was no one else. I’d have heard Ian coming from her apartment if he were there. He wasn’t.

She had no one.

The pang of guilt hurt me harder than before.

“No.” My grandma’s refusal was firm. Resolute. “Leave me one bowl here, take the pot down, and feed her. Then figure out what to do with the damned corpse, because it’s starting to reek. Having one of the neighbors call the cops won’t end well for her. You have to help her, Tyler.”

She was right. Two days should’ve been enough for Ian to escape far, far away. He could’ve made it to California by then.

I tried explaining it to Dahlia last night, through the door. She wouldn’t have it. She’d actually growled at me, “Give Ian more time.”

I was done giving him more time. Done leaving her there by herself.

“I will.”

“Good boy.” The soft skin of my grandma’s hand around my cheek soothed my tormented soul.

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