Page 147 of Dirty Dylan: Dirty Dusters

“Jesus Christ, Dyl. The whole time. The whole goddamn time!”

I drop to my knees, feeling so sick to my stomach that I heave. This cannot be happening. Why did they do this? I just don’t understand any of it.

“You lied to me all this time.” I wipe away the silent tears that have started to fall. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so let down.

“I’m sorry, Jaine.” His words are sincere, but it’s too little too late. No amount of apologies will ever make up for this blatant act of betrayal.

“Who else knew?”

“Jaine.”

“Who. Else. Fucking. Knew?”

There’s a pause. He doesn’t want to tell me, but he’s got no goddamn choice.

“Me, Paddy, Eoin, and Cill.”

I snort a forced laugh. “So, you all knew. Jesus Christ, you must have found it fucking hilarious discussing it in your Reservoir Dogs-style meetings.”

“Jaine, Paddy wasn’t coping. He turned to the drink. He was drowning himself in whiskey all day, every day. My baby brother was dying inside. It was the only way he could cope. It was the only way he could survive.”

“What about me?” I say quietly.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You don’t know what I mean.” I snort-laugh. “I mean what about the fact that I wasn’t coping either!”

“That’s why I thought it would be a good idea, Jaine. That you could have each other back sort of.”

“But I didn’t get him back, Dyl, did I? Because I didn’t fucking know it was him!”

“Jaine…”

I speak calmly. “All this time, I thought he didn’t care. That was why he never made contact. Not once. In almost two years. I mean I know I asked him not to, but I still thought.… I still hoped.” My voice breaks as a wave of self-pity washes over me. I breathe in and out before I continue. “In the end, it turns out he was messaging me every day like nothing had happened.”

“Well, not for the first month or so.”

“Oh, so that makes it all right, then!” I bite back.

I exhale slowly as I let every message exchange flash through my mind before it stops on one in particular.

“Jesus Christ, no. Please God, no.” My voice is a whisper as I slowly piece two and two together.

“Jaine?”

“It was me, wasn’t it?”

“What was you?” He knows. I can tell from his tone he knows exactly what’s coming next.

“What Jessie said. What you… whathesaid!”

“What do you mean? You’re talking in riddles.”

“Jessie told me she was your first. I didn’t ask. It came up in conversation.”

The implications if this is true. The impact it will have had on Jessie. The impact on Dylan himself.

“I’m the cliché blonde. That’s the reason everyone goes quiet whenever I bring her up. It was Irish all this time, and he was talking about me, wasn’t he?”

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