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He shook his head. “I remember feeling sad—sad that you were hurt when you were supposed to be out having fun. Even if it was fleeting and alcohol-induced, it made me realize you were holding on to a lot of pain when it came to me—the same pain I was holding on to, even though more than a year had passed by then. But you know, alcohol has a way of bringing our deepest feelings to the surface.”
We stood in the middle of the restaurant, both of us in a daze. Feeling my emotions consume me, I cleared my throat and attempted to cut the tension. “Well, I’d like to forget about alabaster, if you don’t mind. And now that you’ve seen my tattoo, at least I can wear my hair in a ponytail.” I buttoned my jacket, ready to flee the desire pummeling me. “Anyway, we’d better get going.”
His eyes lingered on mine. “Yeah. We’d better.”
During the Uber ride back to my house, I kept noticing Dax stealing glances at me, looking like he wanted to say something. But he remained quiet. I looked down at his beautiful hands from time to time, wishing I could reach over and loop my fingers with his or bring his hand to my mouth to kiss it.
When the car stopped in front of my house, I said, “Thank you for a fun time.”
He did air quotes. “Fun in quotation marks?”
“Fun like a root canal.”
He bent his head back in laughter. “Oh…that was harsh.”
I giggled.
“I’m gonna stay in the car and not walk you to the door because I don’t want Chuck to see me and get the wrong idea.”
“He’s working. But it’s better if you don’t anyway.” Because I would give anything if you could come inside and fuck my brains out right now.
“Right.” He nodded. “Goodnight, Wren.”
“Goodnight, Moody.”
He smiled.
Even if we couldn’t be together, he would always be my Moody.
Dax
A week after my impromptu dinner with Wren in Kenmore Square, I sat at the dinner table across from Morgan. My phone chimed with a text.
Wren: Wanted to give you a heads up that Dylan asked me to attend the law firm’s anniversary party with him this Friday. I didn’t want you to be caught off guard. Not that you need a warning of my presence, but I felt weird not telling you ahead of time.
Morgan tilted her head. “Who’s that?”
Feeling guilty, I stuffed the phone in my pocket. “Wren, actually. She wanted to let me know Dylan invited her to the law firm party.”
“Oh, yes. He mentioned that.” She chewed. “Things seem to be going well between them.”
I stuffed my mouth with pasta and muttered, “Yeah.”
I was relieved that she didn’t ask why Wren felt the need to text me that news. Morgan trusted me and would never in a million years have guessed that I had a history with Rafe’s sister. The rest of our dinner was uneventful, though I was itching to respond to Wren. I didn’t want her to assume I was upset.
Morgan did eventually head back to her apartment, and sooner than she usually did since she had to be up for an early meeting.
After she left, I finally responded to Wren’s text.
Dax: Thanks for the heads up. I appreciate it. How are you?
Wren: I’m doing okay.
I debated leaving our text exchange at that. But I couldn’t.
Dax: You played “The Swan” in the last video.
Wren: I did.
Dax: You haven’t played it in a while. That’s my favorite.
Wren: I know. That’s why I played it.
My heart raced. What the fuck am I doing? Guilt consumed me. I’d been struggling lately. I hadn’t stopped watching Wren’s channel since relapsing. And I knew this was about more than liking her music. This was about staying connected with her in the only way I’d deemed appropriate. I’d convinced myself it was innocent. But it wasn’t, was it?
As I was pondering whether or not to text back, Rafe popped his head into my room. Rattled, I shoved the phone under my sheets. “What’s up?” I swallowed.
“Do you think I could skip school tomorrow?”
My eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“I was up all night studying yesterday. I’m still not prepared for my exam. If I can’t stay home tomorrow, I’ll be up all night again.”
A certain smell registered. I knew what it was, but I couldn’t understand why Rafe smelled like it.
“Are you wearing perfume?” I asked.
He blinked. “No. But I sprayed it in my room. It’s…Mom’s.”
“I know,” I whispered. “Where did you get it?”
“I was out with Wren once. I told her the woman in line in front of us smelled exactly how I remembered Mom smelling. She asked the woman what she was wearing, and the woman told her the name of the perfume.”
“Quelques Fleurs,” I whispered.
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“You bought it?”
“Wren bought it for me. It was part of the present she brought to the party. She gave me money and a bottle of that perfume.”
