Page 28 of Sunshine
As I brush my teeth and get ready for bed, I think about Daisy’s reaction to Wade’s phone call and compare it to how Dylan reacted last night. It was so similar—maybe too similar, which blows my theory that Dylan was jealous right out of the water. Was he being protective like Daisy? Was the way he raged about Wade more of the same heroics he performed when we were kids? It’s a reasonable assumption… Until I remember the heat in his eyes.
I return my toothbrush to its holder with more force than necessary, and then smack the switch to turn off the bathroom light. I have to stop this. I have to stop thinking in circles. Reading into every look and word and touch between us for the last week. The last six months. The last twenty-eight years.
Is this my future? How many more years can I waste searching for signs that aren’t there? Wondering what I missed when I was looking the other way?
I don’t know what Dylan was doing when he licked my burn the way he did, but I can guess what he was thinking afterward. Regret. I held his gaze, wishing he’d ask me to stay not because I can do better than Wade but because I belonged there with him. In that house. With his family. And that’s not what he said. Not even close.
But is that the part I’m fixated on twenty-four hours later? Of course not. It’s the memory of his tongue on my skin. The struggle to breathe. The out-of-body whirl of desire. And the hard, heartbreaking crash of coming down after the intoxicating high.
I never thought I’d feel the warmth of Dylan’s lips. And tonight, as I curl up in bed alone, I wish I never had.
Because all I want is more.
nine
Dylan
I lie in Izzy’sbed long after she’s fallen asleep, staring up at a ceiling that’s tinted hazy pink by her new night light.
“I thought a lamp might make you feel safer on your own, Little Bee,” I confess, then risk waking her with a brush of my fingertips across her forehead. “But it’s not enough, is it?”
I’m not fighting it. Not tonight. Not when she tried on her old cowboy boots this morning and they were tight in the toes, and it hit me like a wrecking ball how much she’s grown. And she’s only going to keep growing. Keep getting older. Keep throwing me the kind of looks that tell me I won’t always have superhero status just because I’m her dad. And one day, probably before I’m ready, she won’t want to hold my hand while she falls asleep.
Lulled by her steady breathing, I’ve got time I don’t usually have to think. Izzy starts her new school in ten days and, thanks in no small part to Poppy, she’s excited about it. A little nervous, sure, but looking forward to making new friends in a supportive environment. I don’t think she’d be so eager to transfer if it weren’t for Poppy.
I carefully extract my arm from underneath Izzy’s head and sneak out of her room. Once upon a time, I’d be starting my Friday night about now. Heading out for drinks with friends. Flirting with the prettiest girl at the bar. Hooking up with someone new every other week. I wasn’t young for very long—fatherhood didn’t give a fuck about the date on my birth certificate—but those days feel like a lifetime ago. And although I could never regret Izzy, there are times I’d give anything to experience a single hour of my old life. I miss having less to worry about and more time to chill. I miss the energy and passion I had for food and friends and working out. And fuck, I miss sex.
I’m not surprised to see Daisy stretched out on the couch in the living room downstairs, but I’m not expecting Finn sprawled across Dad’s old armchair and swiping through his phone. And I’m not prepared for the sinking disappointment that Poppy is gone. It’s been two days since I licked her wrist like a fucking puppy, and she’s barely spoken a dozen words to me since. The energy between us is awkward. She’s polite and professional. I’m frustrated not knowing what’s going on between her and Wade, and I’m constantly talking myself out of reaching out to touch her.
“Beer?” I ask Finn as I pass him on the way to the kitchen.
“Thanks,” he says without looking up as his thumbs fly across his screen.
“Daze?”
“Sure.”
I return with three open bottles, pass them around, then sink into the smaller sofa opposite Daisy. “What are we watching?”
Daisy turns off the television with a disgusted grimace. “Nothing. I’m too depressed.”
“What’s wrong?”
Finn glances up from his screen but doesn’t go so far as to put his phone away.
“What’swrong?” she echoes. “Look at us! It’s Friday night and we’re in our pajamas before ten o’clock.”
“These aren’t my pajamas,” Finn rumbles, glancing down at his white t-shirt and gray sweatpants.
Daisy lobs a cushion at his head. “If those aren’t your pajamas, they should be.”
Finn grunts as he stuffs the cushion behind his back, then returns to scrolling through his phone.
“In case you forgot,” I say, “there’s a little girl upstairs who needs her father here seven nights a week. A beer in front of the television is just a regular Friday night in the Davenport house, and it has been for six years now.”
“But it doesn’t have to be,” she replies. “Things are different now that Finn and I are back home. And you’ve got Poppy. You could go out if you wanted to. Have a little fun.”
My heart skips hard before it leaps clear into my throat. Did Poppy say something to Daisy about what happened between us in the kitchen? Is this my sister’s way of saying that if I’m interested in her best friend, I’ve got her blessing to go for it? And if sheiscool with it…am I?
