Page 34 of See You in Your Dreams

Dylan laughs, the warm sound buzzing through my chest. “Dream on! If I can keep up with Patrick after how much time he spends playing these, you don’t have a prayer.”

Turns out Dylan’s right. He trounces me soundly at each game we try. Thank God I’m not all that competitive or I probably would have rage-quit half an hour in. As it is, I bow out after a few rounds and opt for watching him battle his way through an old action game.

I catch myself sneaking glimpses at him as he plays, studying the intense concentration in his hazel eyes and the cute way he nibbles on his bottom lip while focusing.None of that,Ichide, forcing my gaze back to the television screen.Dylan’s not Harvey. I won’t let him be.

I’m on the edge of my seat, watching with bated breath as Dylan attempts a particularly difficult boss fight, when I hear a door slam elsewhere in the house.

Beside me, Dylan instantly goes rigid. “Shit,” he breathes, soft enough I probably wasn’t supposed to hear. He glances at me, pasting on a strained smile. “I guess we’ve been going longer than I thought. I’ve gotta call it here so I can start dinner.”

Grisly sound effects announce the death of his character on-screen. Dylan doesn’t even seem to notice. I rise with a slight frown. “All right…” I say, wondering at the strength of his reaction. Does he not want his family to meet me? “I’ll get out of your hair, then.”

I half-expect Dylan to offer further explanation, but he just gives an absent nod, clearly distracted. I follow him past the kitchen toward the front door until he suddenly jerks to a halt. Peering past him, I see a taller, more muscular version of Dylan barring the way.

“Have you been sitting on your ass this whole time?” the guy sneers, glaring at Dylan with open disgust. “When you stopped wasting all your time at that useless job, I thought that meant you’d at least carry more of your weight around here. Guess I was wrong.”

Tommy, I presume.Dylan’s dislike of his brother suddenly makes a lot more sense.

I narrow my eyes, but before I can hop to Dylan’s defense, Dylan says, “Sorry, I lost track of time. I’ll start on dinner in a sec. Just let me show Ash out first.”

Tommy’s eyes widen slightly when they alight on me. He must not have noticed me until now. His surprise doesn’t last long, however. Soon enough, he’s fixed me with the same sneer he had Dylan.

“Ash, huh? You must be that spoiled rich kid everyone’s talking about. Come to slum it up with the rest of us?”

My words catch in my throat.What the hell?I guess the gossip surrounding me extends beyond the halls of Banton High.

“I’m here to hang out with Dylan,” I reply coolly, striving to stay calm.

We stare at each other for a long, drawn-out beat.

Then, Tommy snorts and shakes his head, breaking our linked gazes. “If you’re willingly spending time with my little brother, you mustreallybe desperate.”

Protective anger sears through me. I ball my hands into fists at my sides. “Leave him alone!”

Tommy’s cruel grin possesses none of Dylan’s warmth. “Or what? You going to fight me?” He cracks his knuckles menacingly. “I’d like to see you try.”

I go to move forward, stopping when Dylan inserts himself between us, raising his hands. “Come on, Tommy, let it go. Please. Ash didn’t mean anything by it.”

The hell I didn’t!Still, I’ve never been much of a fighter, and the near panic in Dylan’s voice douses most of my anger. “Sorry,” I mutter, unable to bring myself to look directly at Tommy and see the smugness I’m certain will be there.

Tommy shoves Dylan aside and takes a step toward me. For a moment, I think he’s about to clobber me anyway, apology or not, and I ready myself to dodge a punch.

The punch never comes. “You’re not worth the effort,” Tommy huffs. He turns, vanishing into the kitchen.

A relieved breath escapes my lips as the coiled tension begins to bleed out of me. Dylan hurries forward, and I follow him without a word.

We’re almost at the front door when Tommy calls out behind us, “Next time you invite one of your gay friends over, at least find time to do your chores in between sucking dick.”

I roll my eyes at the low-effort insult and glance at Dylan, expecting to see him shrugging it off just as easily. My gut wrenches when I spy his clenched jaw and the way his hand trembles as he grasps the doorknob. Tommy’s dig must’ve gotten deep under his skin.

We step out onto the narrow front porch. Dylan shuts the door behind us and leans against it, closing his eyes on a long exhale. “Sorry about my brother.”

I shrug, nudging his shoulder. “It’s not your fault your brother’s a douche. To be honest, I kinda expected as much with how you talk about him—or rather, how youavoidtalking about him.”

Dylan nods glumly, no trace of his usual good humor. “He wasn’t always this bad. I mean, we’ve never been like best friends or anything, but we still did stuff together sometimes. He got a lot worse after my dad split.”

I fight the impulse to pull him close. That’s a line I don’t dare cross. Still, I can at least listen. “What happened?”

Dylan hesitates, his expression torn, and I mentally kick myself.Good going, dumbass.I’d meant to offer him an outlet, not dredge up buried hurts.