Page 188 of I’m The Worst

“Left where?”

“Anywhere that would take him.” Miranda laughs without humor. “I tracked him for years through police reports and rumors. Prague. Berlin. Budapest. Eastern Europe mostly. Smuggling, mercenary work, contract violence. By the time I joined MI6, he was wanted in half the countries around us and using three different names.”

“MI6?”

She nods. “That’s how I found him again. Professionally, not personally.” Her expression hardens. “And by then Dylan was already gone.” She turns and locks her eyes on mine. “Dylan died in that house, AJ. Or maybe he died in the years after. I don’t know. But by the time I found him again, there was only Wolff left.”

I can’t speak.

I can barely think.

All I can see is Wolff at nine years old, dragging his siblings out of a burning house. Blaming himself for every horrible thing that happened to him.

Miranda wipes under one eye and exhales.

“Jake died three years ago.” The words jolt me back into the present. “In a car accident. He had a wife and a little boy. He spent years trying to get in touch with Dylan. Birthdays, holidays, anything he could use as an excuse. He wanted his son to know his uncle.” Her mouth twists. “Dylan never answered.”

The ache in my chest is almost unbearable. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I know he won’t answer if I call. And…he let you touch him. You probably don’t understand how strange that is. Dylan hasn’t let me hug him since he was a child. He barely let Jake near him either, and Jake was the person he loved most in this world. He doesn’t touch people.” Her throat works around a swallow. “But in Russia, I saw the way he looked at you. The way he kept reaching for you without even thinking about it.”

Heat rushes to my face, but it’s overshadowed almost immediately by the ache in my chest.

“He cares about you,” Miranda says softly. “Maybe in whatever broken way he knows how. But he does. I heard it in his voice when he called me, needing passports and papers to get you out of Russia. If he was willing to reach out to me—after all these years of silence—it means something. You mean something to him.”

My fingers pick at the loose threads on my sleeve.

“He won’t let me in, AJ. He won’t let any of us in. But we’re holding a memorial for Jake. On the anniversary of his death. Sarah and Casey are flying in. Jonas too. Jake’s wife is bringing their son.” Her eyes shine again. “I just want Dylan there. I want him to know that he still has a family. That he still has us.”

My throat burns. “And you want me to talk to him.”

She nods. “I know it’s unfair, and I know I have no right to ask this of you. But if there’s any chance that he’ll listen to someone, I think it might be you.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out a folded piece of paper and holds it out to me. “It’s the address and the date.”

I stare at it for a second before taking it.

“If you decide not to say anything, I’ll understand. I just… Seeing him in Russia with you…gave me hope.”

I look down at the paper in my hand.

Dylan.

The name punches my chest.

For the first time, I understand that Russia didn’t bind us together because he saved me. It bound us together because some part of him had already lived through the same kind of hell, and when he looked at me, he wasn’t seeing a stranger… He was staring into a mirror he never wanted to see again.

And maybe that’s why he can’t stay away.

Why I can’t.

Why this thing between us keeps clawing its way back, no matter how viciously he pushes me away, no matter how many times he leaves me aching and furious and humiliated enough to hate him. No matter how many people I throw at the empty space he leaves behind, trying to prove I can still want someone else.

It never matters.

There’s something hollowed out inside me—something ugly and wrong—and for some fucked-up reason, Wolff is the only person who fits inside it. Like whatever broke in him learned the exact shape of what broke in me, and now neither of us knows how to stop reaching for the other.

Two ruined pieces clicking into place in the worst possible way.

My eyes land on the stupid fucking wolf mask taped to the outside of my locker. I rip it off, crumpling the cheap silicone in my fist before shoving it into the back of the locker.