AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Hayley blasts me. “If you’d shut up and listen for just one second before you get your panties in a bunch, I can explain. So grab some wine or beer or whatever will chill you out, and I’ll tell you what we’ve been saying.”
“We? Shit. This should be good.”
“Eli. Enough,” my father chimes in. “You’re both acting like school children. Sit.”
As dinner begins, we’re all silent. I’m sitting directly across from Hayley like we’re in some super cage match main event. We eat slowly, savoring the time the food occupies our mouths so we can’t talk.
My father breaks the silence first. “Can we have a conversation about this? I know it’s not the way you assume it to be, Elijah.”
I end up picking at the last remnants on my plate while I speak. “How is it then?”
“Your sister returned from her study overnight and told us she’d seen you with a date up there. Hayley said she met her and liked her. She also said you looked happier than she’s seen you in a long time. To which I added you’d mentioned a young lady to me. Is it the same woman?”
“Yes, Dad. It’s the same one.”
My mother reaches for my hand. “I just want to know if what your father and sister say is true. Are you happy? I don’t need to know any other details than that if that’s what you want.”
Her petite fingers fold inside my much larger hand. To comfort her, I give them a gentle squeeze. “We met that last holiday weekend in the Hamptons. She splits her time, muchlike we do. She’s beautiful, intelligent, and yes, she does make me happy. We’re keeping it light and fun. This is how I need it to be for now. I hope you understand.”
“You’re a grown man, Elijah. Just don’t feel like you have to hide.”
“See, Eli. I’m not such a jerk, am I?” Hayley sneers.
“When I’m wrong I say I’m wrong. I’m sorry, Hayley, truly. And just so you have a name because you don’t have a face. Viper. I call her Viper.”
****
I got the phone call from Dylan as I was driving home from my parents’ confirming I should come sleep with her. She reiterated just sleeping several times. There’s that eight again shining bright. I’m glad she feels comfortable enough to show me when she’s off. Her eight, however, is better than my eight any day of the week and twice on Sunday.
She’s fresh from the shower when she answers the door in an oversized sweatshirt and not much else. Her hair is still damp and very wild as she folds into my arms. Dylan barely moves once I have hold of her. I work to get the door closed and locked behind us.
“Was it that bad or that good?”
Her voice mumbles against my chest, “Both.”
“All right. Bed for you.”
She nods and doesn’t fight. On the Dylan scale, her eight is sinking fast to a six. I need to hold her until she feels right again. Dylan wanders through her seating area and kitchen to shut off the few lights, and I notice she’s limping a bit. “Jesus, are you hurt?”
“I always hurt, Eli. That’s the name of the game.”
“You’re limping though.”
“My left calf is strained, and my toenail ripped badly on that same foot. I’ll live.”
“Not acceptable.” I run my hand down her back, scooping her up to cradle in my arms. “Ice pack. Where is it?”
“The freezer compartment in the mini fridge next to my bed. You don’t have to baby me.”
“There’s a difference between what you call babying and what I call caring for a downed wingman. Remember, Viper, I said don’t fight me.”
She slides inside my jacket for warmth as we walk into her darkened bedroom. The only glow we have is from rows of soft white twinkle lights that wind above her bed. The path trails down through sheers and near her mattress.
I tuck her down beneath the comforter and elevate her injured leg. After wrapping the ice pack in a light towel, I place it on the pillow under her. She hisses at the cold at first, but when the pain relief begins to set in, Dylan slowly relaxes. “Your joggers are hanging on the back of my bathroom door if you want to wear them to bed.”
“I know control is your thing, Viper. I’m fine with it except when I’m not. This would be one of those times. Rest. Heal. Sleep. You’ve taken care of yourself for so long, you don’t seem to trust anyone else to do it.”
She pulls the comforter up to her chin and turns slightly away; her hair falls to hide her eyes. She hides her physical pain. She hides her fear, which I understand. What is she hiding now?
