Freedom (11 page)

“And you staying with a skinny cheerleader will give him better peace of mind than me?” Dylan shakes his head and walks slowly over to the couch.

“It will all work out,” I reply, hoping I’m convincing. I am beginning to worry about Robert’s intentions; either because Dylan is right that I am delusional about continuing to engage in contact with someone like Robert, or because there is something different about Robert that I can’t pinpoint.

“So you have a stash of these disposable phones to talk to your family, and you have a sleazoid determined to see you. There’s a whole lot of information you’re not telling me, Emma.”

“It’s part of my old life. Like you, I’m starting fresh.”

He sits down next to me and leans his forearms on his knees. “Were you involved in anything illicit yourself? Something you’re running from?” His tone is one of concern rather than anger.

“No,” I snap. “I told you. My family has been victimized; not in a violent way, but we’ve had to pay a small fortune into the crazy-ass system that the law doesn’t do anything about. They either look the other way, bust the small-time scavengers at the bottom, or they’re on the take, too. My family has done what it has to in order to survive, to keep our business afloat, to keep over a thousand people employed, and we don’t have blood on our hands, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I never thought your family did; I just had to ask. Carson told me he already knew about your situation when he hired you. He got enough info from Lauren and your dad. It’s good he knows, too. Carson is someone you want to have on your side.” Dylan clasps his hands then pauses, though I know there is more to his speech.

“Have I shocked you?” I ask softly. “Do you think less of me coming from this scummy life?”

“No, of course not. It sounds like you have a decent family, and that they happened to get strong-armed by the wrong people. I can’t blame you for that.”

“You blame Robert. He’s only three years older than me, and he didn’t have a choice in the matter, either. We both grew up with this as a part of our lives—it chose us.”

“Why are you apologizing for that guy? He’s an adult. If he’s involved in his family’s dirty dealings—”

“He isn’t. That’s why Robert went to law school. His parents are rich and they put all their kids in very good colleges and pushed education. I started dating Robert when I was on summer break from college. He was in law school at the time, and he talked about what kind of law he wanted to practice and his future didn’t involve
the family.
I do believe he came here to see me as a friend. I was one of the few people—aside from his college friends—that were part of the real world. Unlike his classmates, though, I knew what Robert had to deal with growing up. I think I’m one of his few connections to normalcy.”

“He’s certainly snowed you, baby.”

I like the endearment coming from Dylan, however I could do without the patronizing remark.

“If he’s legit and practicing law—how ironic by the way—then he can find normalcy someplace else, like with his interns or clients. I don’t give a shit how he pulls his life together except when he thinks it’s okay to come back into your life,” Dylan says, leaning back. He rests his arm across the back of the couch, barely touching my shoulders.

“I think he’s trying to do the right thing,” I add.

Dylan chuckles in disbelief. “Oh, man, you come from a colorful place, that’s for sure.”

“I guess my life sounds awfully nutty to people who grew up with typical families. Lauren never trusted Robert and was never friendly with him the whole time I dated him in college. She constantly tried to fix me up with nice guys at school. It’s hard for her to accept where I come from. She has such a nice, normal family. My family and I are trying really hard to detach ourselves completely from that life, Dylan.”

I inch closer to him, so we’re touching from my shoulder all the way down to our knees, then curl ever so slightly into him. He responds by lifting a thick lock of my hair and wrapping it around his hand. His gaze drifts from my hair to my eyes with a fascination that makes my heart do a little dance. Not any old dance—these are not feather light twirling ballerinas—I have heavy-duty, clog dancers pounding out their approval.

“I just got out of Crazyville, and I don’t want to go back there, but I will do anything to help you, Emma.”

I’ve had sweet promises from boyfriends before—including Robert—but none of them have ever seemed as authentic as Dylan’s funny yet touching declaration.

“Why would you put this kind of trouble on yourself? You barely know me, and I’m not a defenseless ninny.” I smile because I don’t know if I am making his intentions out to be more serious than they are.

“I like you a lot,” he says emphatically with an expression of complete seriousness. There is no beating around the bush about feelings and shielding himself from my strange past.

I can’t resist. I slowly trace the loopy scar on the soft fuzz of his scalp and run my finger down the razor stubble on his cheek. “I like you, too. But I thought you were against this going any farther. Does it stop here because you think I’ll drive you back to Crazyville?”

“I’m re-thinking this as we go along,” he replies with a grin.

He leans in to kiss me gently, his beautiful lips urging mine open, making me visibly weaken. My breath quickens and I feel a sense of urgency as a heat rises in me and pleads with me to get naked with Dylan. All sorts of images of his nakedness, those muscular arms and six-pack abs—or are they called eight-packs now? Who cares? All I know is that I want to be with him and not just groping on the couch, making out.

Dylan lowers me onto my back and our kissing amplifies, with tongues discovering new body parts as if I have never done this before. I spread my legs and he rolls himself between them, propping his weight on his elbows as he works over my neck and sensitive spots with his mouth. When I moan and yank his t-shirt up, he helps pull it over his head and flings it across the room. Then, after I arch and pull my shirt off, Dylan stares eagerly at my lace bra.

My hands rove across his chest and up to his neck before I pull him back down to me. We have finally gone over that safe point of exploration, and there is a hungry brutality to his kiss, which I return fully. I wrap my legs around him and arch up so I can feel his hard-on through his jeans, rubbing my center. I moan as he pulls down one cup of my bra and works his tongue over the hard nipple.

The couch is not wide enough to hold our rocking bodies, but I am not about to let this stop so we can move to a bed. I want his pants off, so I work my hand underneath his jeans and cup his erection through his briefs.

As I imagine his next moves and the highly anticipated, sweet, explosive orgasm I so desperately want with Dylan, my phone rings.

The Dad phone.

Dylan groans.

“No,” he growls in retaliation. “Goddammit. Can’t you let it ring?”

“No, then my father would worry and he’d keep calling until I answered.”

As I reach for the phone on the floor, Dylan rolls off me and stands up to adjust himself.

“Fuck,” he mumbles.

“Dad?” I answer as I watch Dylan walk into the kitchen. Seconds later, I hear the fridge door open and close, and then Dylan walks back into the living room holding a cold can of seltzer to his groin.

“The car again? The car is fine. It was taken care of… Dylan’s friend has a shop, and he replaced the tire and gave it a tune up… Dylan is Carson’s brother. I work with him… I know, I know… Okay. Bye.”

“Yeah, Dad,” Dylan mimics. “Dylan is Carson’s brother and I’m giving him some mighty big blue balls every half hour or so. Soon, he’ll be dead. Bye!”

I start giggling as he waddles over to me.

“You think it’s funny?” He grins devilishly. “Try this on for size.” Before I can move, he straddles me, pulls down my bra and places the cold can directly on my breast.

“Ah!” I try to jump up, but he has me pinned. He tosses the can on the couch, and cups my face with both hands and then gives me a gentle, loving kiss.

He stands up again, and I adjust my bra and hold my shirt over my chest as if I am suddenly bashful.

“I like you, Emma. It’s good your dad interrupted us. We’re like horny teenagers screwing around on the couch. I don’t want to rush into anything with you. Seriously, I’ve been there and done that. I think we need to take this slow. It’s going to be really difficult to manage that with you living under the same roof, though.”

“If this is too much for you, I’m sure Lauren will let me rent a room in their house. Jess’s house. Whatever.” I sound a little defensive.

“No. You’re staying here,” Dylan responds and holds out a hand to me. After I slip on my shirt and take his hand, he pulls me swiftly into an embrace. “Your hairdryer is already here, you might as well stay.”

I give him a playful slap on his chest and one of those big, Dylan-cutting-loose laughs makes an appearance, making me feel good all over.

“What are you afraid of, Dylan?” I ask in all seriousness, considering we have an obvious chemistry, and I am ready for more with him.

“You.”

Eleven

Dylan

Brian—my closest friend at Willow Haven—sits on the weight machine next to me. For five weeks we have gone to every group session together, we work out in the gym every day and take runs through the snowy woods several times a week. Anything to ward off the reapers as Brian calls our various mental issues.

Brian is twenty-nine and his life has been pretty fucked up until this point. From what he’s told me about his drug addiction since the age of thirteen, and his alcoholism on top of his sixteen-year battle with depression—including an attempted suicide at twenty-one—it’s a wonder he is alive.

“You’ve got to lift more than that, bro, if you want to improve your numbers,” Brian says, watching me bench press.

“I don’t want to get bigger than you and make you jealous.”

“Ah, I’m already jealous of you.” He smirks.

Brian is so easy-going and nice to everyone, the kind of guy you expect to be eternally content.

“How so?” I am waiting for the punch line.

“Dylan, you haven’t figured it out yet, have you?”

“What do you mean?” I sit up on the bench and wrap the towel around my neck.

Brian stops doing his ab crunches.

“You’re not bad off, kid. You’re going to do just fine when we leave here.”

“You can tell that by the way I bench?” I laugh.

Brian is a husky guy. Not tall, but thick with muscles. He rubs his towel down his sweaty face. Even on meds and with regular exercise, sometimes he looks panicked. Since he has been somewhat of a mentor to me in this place, it drums up some fairly severe insecurities when I see him like that.

“You’ll stay strong, and you’ll beat the reapers. I know you will. You’re not as fucked up as me.”

“You’re doing just as well as me, so we’ll both leave here and the reapers won’t follow us. Okay?” It’s not very convincing coming from me. I look up to Brian as a big brother, a temporary replacement for Carson while I am in rehab.

“I’ve done this before, and the statistics are not in my favor.”

“So be the outlier and don’t be a number,” I retort, a little angry. I can’t handle people in group falling apart. I definitely can’t handle Brian telling me he is going to slip up.

“I have so many fucking regrets,” he says, shaking his head.

“The drinking and drugs are in the past. You never have to do that again”.

“No, I’m talking about getting married and having a kid.”

“Bullshit. You love your wife. I hear you talking to her every day. And your son, too. He loves when you video chat with him. You look like a pretty happy family to me.”

“I do love them. That’s why I wish I’d never had a family. Katy is the best thing that ever happened to me. She’s also the worst thing because I worry about my responsibility to her. Then she gave me a beautiful son. The worst thing you can do to a family is put this kind of burden on them. I’ve never conquered my depression, and Katy has had to live with this hell since we were nineteen. I don’t see how it will change. I’ve been on every fucking med, and for the past ten years, I’ve talked to shrinks until there’s nothing left to say. They stare at me and then write me a script. Is that all there is? Prescriptions and talking? Do we ever conquer this? Because I feel like I’m that brainless, caged mouse running in circles on a wheel.”

“Maybe we don’t conquer all of it, but we manage it and get rid of the worst parts. We have to. You have to. Your wife and kid want you home, not here hanging out with me.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“So, you’ll conquer and manage. We have no choice,” I say, deciding I have to change his attitude.

“But do we ever get our freedom from this hell?”

I need Brian to be my cheerleader, not my patient, and he is freaking me out. I need him to be the proof that I can battle this disease and eventually have a normal family life.

***

“You’re living with her and you’re trying to keep it platonic?” Dr. Wang pauses his typing and squints at me.

“Am I screwing up?” I ask. “I really like Emma, but I don’t want this to go to crap. I don’t want to do what I did to Jess… I don’t want to get in deep and then find out I’m on another bender.”

Dr. Wang smiles at my term for going manic. “I’ve been seeing you for months and you’re doing well. There’s nothing wrong with being attracted to Emma and dating her, if that’s what you’re suggesting, although living and working together so soon may be a challenge. However, if it’s comfortable for both of you, it doesn’t mean you’re doing anything wrong. Although, you seemed to have rushed right in to living with her, the circumstances are unique. Dylan, no one—not even your brother—expects you to never have a relationship with a woman again. This choice of celibacy was yours. Did you plan on living like that forever?”

“I’m not sure. I suppose I thought I could pull it off and keep it together.”

“Do you really think it’s realistic?” Dr. Wang leans back in his chair and looks at me. “You’re young, you’re healthy, and for the most part, you’ve got your depression under control. You sound indecisive about it. Tell me about that.”