Page 87 of Dirty Dylan: Dirty Dusters

Nothing.No response. It’s the middle of the afternoon in New York. He must be around. He hasn’t messaged me for almost twenty-four hours. What the fuck is going on?

Because something sure as hell is. That much is obvious.

Tears of self-pity run down my cheeks, and I wipe them away with the back of my hand, cursing my weakness as I do.

I’m struggling. At having to reveal the truth about Finian to Sarah. At finding out my pop wasn’t my biological father. At all the shit going down in Nevada. And then, to top it all off, I have Ma and Da Duster gunning for me.

I’m sitting on the old cream sofa. The house is perfectly silent. Totally still. Duke’s been and gone. He didn’t stay. He knows when he’s not welcome. He and Darla called around to take Fin out for the day. He’s proving a handful now I’m reaching the final stages of my pregnancy, so I welcome any respite I can get. My father-in-law looked like he’d aged ten years since announcing the breaking news of my paternity.

As for Ace? Me and him are barely on speaking terms. He’s kept a secret. A life-changing one. And who knows how long for. He knows that sort of shit doesn’t fly with me.

He knows who my real pop is. I don’t. And I don’t want to know. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But every time he looks at me, I feel like he’s comparing me to him. That he’s searching for physical and other similarities.

Are there any? Does he see him? Speak to him?

Well, screw him. Screw them both.

This pregnancy has floored me emotionally. I know I’m surrounded by people who care. I know they all want to help. That they’re all willing to listen. But it’s Dyl who’s been there. Dyl who’s been my replacement confidant. My sounding board.

And now I’m reduced to getting a message once maybe twice a day because he’s no longer alone.

Whereas me?

I’ve never felt more alone in my goddamn life.

It's history repeating. I’ll keep right on staring at the screen on my phone, waiting for a message. They’ll continue to get fewer until they eventually stop. Then what will I do? He’s my only link.

My only way of knowing howhe’sgetting on.

I sniff before taking the call, wiping the remaining tears from my cheeks. A pity party for one won’t solve shit. I know that better than most, but it doesn’t stop me from throwing those useless fuckers on a daily basis.

“Jessie.”

“Jaine, I’ve gone and done something really stupid,” she whines.

I laugh and sniff at the same time.

“Is everything okay, partner?” Even though her own life’s a shitshow, she’s more worried about me.

“It’s just hormones,” I lie as I bite back tears. “Anyway, what the fuck have you done now?”

“I had desk sex.”

“Please tell me you didn’t, Jessie.” I close my eyes and exhale loudly.

“I did. With Dirty Dylan.”

“So, we’ve gone from delectable to despicable, and now we’ve reached dirty?”

I run my hand down my face in frustration, but then I know only too well how difficult it is letting these Irishmen go once they’ve infected your blood.

“Well, it’s kind of a progressive thing. You know? Tomorrow it could be something else. Provided it starts with a D, that is.”

“Alliteration.”

“Bless you.”

“You’re hilarious.” I can’t help but chuckle.

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