Page 93 of Wilder Love
“I’m an ass yet you’re the one who has broken every single promise you’ve ever made to me. Fuck it, Sienna. I’m done.”
“Dylan!” Sienna screamed over the sound of wood splintering.
Remy and I exchanged a look, and I stood up, heading for the door. “I’ve got this.”
She was right on my heels as I jogged down the stairs and stopped in front of the open French doors, surveying the graveyard of broken planters and spilled earth. Two chaise lounge cushions floated in the pool, the wood frames capsized. A teak table was smashed against the pool tiles, one of the legs broken off. Shards of pottery crunched under my Vans and I stopped, holding up my hand to stop Remy from venturing any further in her bare feet.
“I’ll clean it—”
I wrapped my hands around hers and pulled her to her feet. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Shane?” I turned to look at Sienna as she walked toward us, her pale hair glowing in the pool lights. She wiped the tears off her face and forced a smile. “Hi. It’s good to see you. Sorry about all this. I just… Dylan and I were… we keep trying, you know?” Her thin shoulders sagged. “I messed up. Again.”
“It happens.”
She drew a shaky breath and nodded, her eyes darting to Remy. “Remy. I’m so sorry. I fucked up our friendship and…” Her shoulders shook, and she started crying, covering her face with her hands.
Remy pulled her into a hug and Sienna held on to Remy like she was her lifeline. Remy’s eyes met mine over Sienna’s shoulder as she stroked her hair and tried to comfort her. This scene looked so damn familiar.
“I’ll go talk to Dylan.”
Remy nodded, and I left her to take care of her friend. Following the scent of smoke and the cherry glow of a cigarette, I found Dylan at the far edge of his property. Sliding down against the glass fence onto the grass next to him, I eyed the cuts and bloody knuckles on the hand wrapped around the neck of a scotch bottle. He took a drag of his cigarette and tipped back his head, exhaling a plume of smoke into the night air.
“I bought this place for the view,” he said, jerking his chin toward the hilltop view of Costa del Rey spread out below us and beyond that the Pacific Ocean shimmering under a silver moon. He took a drag of his cigarette and passed me the bottle. I took a swig, feeling the burn and then another one before I handed it back to him. “My booze is more expensive. My clothes, my car, my fucking house…” He laughed humorlessly. “But I’m still white trash. I’m still the asshole who breaks shit and punches walls when I get angry.”
I leaned my head back and looked up at the stars reeling in the sky. I knew from experience that breaking shit and punching things—or people—didn’t solve anything. Neither did lashing out verbally and trying to make them hurt as much as you were hurting.
“Love hurts,” I said, rubbing my chest as if it would alleviate the tightness, the ache that never seemed to go away.
“Like a motherfucker.” He lifted the bottle to his lips and chugged. “I guess you’d know all about that. You still love my sister?”
I huffed out a laugh. This was the second real conversation I’d ever had with the guy and it was the second time he’d asked if I loved his sister. “What do you think?”
He side-eyed me then looked straight ahead and took a drag of his cigarette. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
We were quiet for a few minutes, lost in our own thoughts. Dylan stubbed out his cigarette on the grass and tossed it over the fence, and we passed the bottle back and forth in companionable silence.
“I’m sorry about your old man. He’s a good guy.”
I nodded to acknowledge I’d heard him. “I hear you’re his supplier.”
“I do what I can to help the cause,” Dylan said with a laugh. “He was smoking some bad shit.”
“When was this?”
“Before you came back.” I eyed him. “Jimmy never told me he was sick. Remy did.”
I rolled out my shoulders, trying to relax. These days I was so tense, so tightly wound, it was ridiculous. “You should stop by the house for dinner sometime. He’d like to see you.”
“You’d be cool with that?”
My brows raised in surprise. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He shrugged. “Not like you and I were ever friends.”
“I’ve never been your enemy.”
Dylan exhaled loudly, his gaze on the view. “I didn’t want Remy to get hurt. That’s what all that shit was about. She hates being left behind and I thought you’d… I didn’t think you’d stick around. Whenever you used to go away, she was scared you’d never come back.”
