Page 6 of Cowboy
It's a risky move. If Dylan caught me snooping through his phone, he'd be furious. But what choice do I have? He's in trouble. I can feel it. And if he won't let me help him directly, I'll have to find another way.
Decision made, I close my notebook and hide it under my mattress. Then I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I'm about to do.
I open my door quietly, peeking out into the hallway. I can hear the TV on in the living room. Good, Dylan's distracted.
Moving as silently as I can, I creep toward Dylan's room. His door is ajar, and I can see his jacket thrown over his desk chair. His phone is usually in his pocket... My heart pounding, I slip into his room and make a beeline for the jacket. I pat down the pockets, my fingers closing around the familiar shape of his phone. Got it.
Just as I'm about to pull it out, I hear footsteps approaching. Panic surges through me. I freeze, the phone still in my hand, hidden in the jacket pocket.
"Caoimhe?" Dylan's voice calls out. "You okay?"
I swallow hard, my mind racing for an excuse. "Yeah," I call back, trying to keep my voice steady. "Just... looking for that book you borrowed. The one for school?"
The footsteps pause outside the door. My heart pounds as I wait, frozen in place, Dylan's phone still clutched in my hand inside his jacket pocket. The silence stretches for what feels like an eternity.
Finally, Dylan's voice comes again, "Oh, right. I think it's on my desk somewhere. Want me to grab it for you?"
"No!" I say, too quickly. I take a breath, trying to calm myself. "No, it's okay. I can find it. Thanks."
There's another pause, and I hold my breath, praying he doesn't come in.
"Alright," he says finally. "Let me know if you need help."
I listen as his footsteps retreat back down the hall. Only when I hear the living room TV volume increase do I let out a shaky breath. That was too close.
Quickly, I pull out Dylan's phone. It's locked, of course, but I know his pass code. He's used the same one since he first got a phone, our parents' anniversary.
As soon as I unlock it, I start searching. Recent calls, text messages, anything that might give me a clue. Most of it seems normal—conversations with friends, reminders about homework. But then I notice something odd. There are several calls and texts from a number not saved in his contacts. They're all short, cryptic messages.
Unknown Number: Job tonight at midnight. Dunbeág Estate.
Unknown Number: Stay low. Stay out of trouble.
Unknown Number: Don’t say a word.
My blood runs cold as I read through them. What kind of job involves staying low and not saying a word? This isn't normal teenage stuff. This is something dangerous.
Just as I'm about to dig deeper, I hear Dylan's voice again, closer this time. "Caoimhe? Did you find the book?"
Panic surges through me. I quickly close the messages and lock the phone then shove it back into his jacket pocket. I grab a random book from his desk just as the door opens.
Dylan stands there, eyebrow raised. "Everything okay? You've been in here a while."
I hold up the book, forcing a smile. "Yeah, sorry. Got distracted looking at your stuff. You know how nosy I am."
He chuckles, but I can see the suspicion in his eyes. "Right. Well, dinner's almost ready. Auntie Trish actually cooked for once."
I nod, following him out of the room. My mind is reeling from what I've discovered. Dylan is involved in something serious, something potentially illegal. The thought makes my stomach churn.
As we sit down to dinner, I can barely focus on the conversation. My eyes keep darting to Dylan, seeing if I can uncover more. Whatever has gone on, it’s put him in danger. I can feel it. I just wish I knew a way to help him.
I push my food around my plate, my appetite gone. One thing's for certain: I can't let this go. Whatever trouble Dylan's in, I'm going to find a way to help him, whether he likes it or not. I just need to figure out how to do it without him catching on.
As Auntie Trish drones on about her day at work, I tune her out, my mind racing. Those text messages were clearly about some kind of job, but what kind of job requires secrecy and staying out of trouble? It has to be something illegal. The thought makes my stomach churn.
I glance at Dylan. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders are tense. He looks exhausted and on edge. Whatever he's involved in, it's taking a toll on him.
"Caoimhe? Are you listening?" Auntie Trish's sharp voice cuts through my thoughts.
