Page 47 of The Key Holder

As River left, the cabin settled into an uneasy quiet.

“Ready for some breakfast?” I asked.

“I’m not hungry,” Dylan said. “I think I’m going to go for a walk.”

“Oh”—I knew I had fucked up—“okay.”

Without a backwards glance, Dylan was out the door, and I was alone.

The impulse to go after him had been strong, an aching need to fix what I might have broken. Hours ticked by, each one falling like a domino, pushing me to abandon the cabin and search for him. But if I left, I reasoned, I might miss his return.

I had opened the door countless times only to falter on the porch, over and over. A few hours into the cycle of indecisiveness, I finally thought about calling him. The ringtone of an unknown pop song echoing from upstairs was a punch to the gut, confirming my worst fears.

He had taken nothing with him, and I was left with nothing but silence and regret.

It was almost dark when I heard the footsteps. My heart leapt into my throat.

“Dylan?!” I ran to the door.

Framed against the fading light, he looked utterly ravaged. His shorts were dirty, streaked with dirt and mud. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and his face...his face was a tear-streaked mess, eyes red and swollen, a clear track of pale skin cut through the grime on his cheek. He looked like he'd been through hell.

He didn't speak, just stumbled into the kitchen, his shoulders slumped. Almost defeated, he sank into the closest chair, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders shook with silent sobs.

I knelt beside him, hesitating for a moment before gently placing a hand on his trembling back. "Please talk to me, Dylan."

He shook his head, unable to speak, his sobs wracking his slender frame. I didn't push. My mind raced, trying to figure out what he needed.

Food.

He must be starving…and cold.

Mac and cheese would be quick. I filled a pot with water and put it on the stove, then filled a glass with some milk from the fridge. By the time I offered it to him, his sobs had lessened to quiet sniffles and he accepted the glass with a quiet “Thank you.”

After seeing his tear-stained face again, so close, a fresh wave of guilt washed over me. I cleared my throat, forcing myself to speak the words that had been nagging at me since River left. "Dylan, I…I need to apologize."

He looked up, surprised. "For what?"

"Earlier," I said, taking the seat next to him, and clasped my hands on the table. "With River. My reaction, the things I said. I was…out of line. I was jealous. I was possessive. I wasn’t being fair to you. I should never have acted like that." I squeezed one hand with the other, looking back up at him. "I'm truly sorry."

He studied my face for a moment, his expression neutral, before a faint smile touched his lips. "It's okay," he said softly, reaching out for my hand, which I let him take. “I was overwhelmed with feelings. I shouldn’t have run off either. I’m sorry to have worried you. I just…it’s just I’ve been throwing myself at you lately, trying to see if you felt the same way and nothing. Then this big bearded man shows interest in me and then that’s when your brain wakes up!”

Wait…what?

“You’ve been throwing yourself at me?”

“Uh, yeah.” He threw his hands in the air. “I figured my ass grinding against your hard cock this morning was pretty clear.” His expression said it all.

How could I have been so dense?

The water boiled over, hissing as it hit the burner.

“Shit!” I forgot I had even turned the stove on.

Before I could dump the macaroni in the pot, Dylan’s chair scraped the floor.

“I’m gonna take a shower. I’ll be back down in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” I nodded, watching as he headed upstairs.