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I sucked in a deep breath. “And … I'm happy you're still here.”
“Well, most of me anyway,” he grumbled bitterly before releasing a sigh of defeat and resignation. “Sorry. I don’t like talking about it.”
I had been born with my disability. There was never a transitional period, and to assume that his might have been over was foolish of me. I knew better than to guess what the timeline would be for something like that, and I swallowed my shame.
“You don't have to apologize for anything,” I replied softly.
“Yeah, well—”
The cell phone on the side table began to ring, and he cursed under his breath as he glanced at the screen. “I gotta answer this.”
“Okay.”
With another sigh, he jabbed his finger at the screen and thrust the phone to his ear. “Hi, Mom. What's up? Yeah, it was great. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yes, Mom, I'm fine.” He groaned and clapped his hand over his eyes. “Mom, I'm tired, okay? I'll … yes, I know. Yeah. Okay. I'll see you guys tomorrow. Good—no, Mom, I don't—fine, fine, you can do my laundry if my dirty socks make you happy. No, I'm not being a wiseass. Really, if they make you happy, I'm thrilled for you. Okay. O—God, Mom, good night. Yes, I love you too. Good night.”
I bit my tongue to keep the giggles at bay as he threw the phone down on the bed and shook his head.
“Fucking hell,” he grumbled, clearly agitated.
Then, he scrubbed a hand over his mouth and laughed. A genuine, wonderful laugh I had never heard before in all the years I'd spent infatuated with the surly artist I only knew through lyrics and on a stage.
“What's your mom like?” he asked, turning to me with tired eyes.
I considered the question and shrugged a shoulder. “A little overprotective maybe, but she's one of my best friends.”
“Hmm.” He nodded, directing his gaze at the ceiling, and continued, “Mine drives me insane. I love her to death, but, fuckin' hell, I'd like to go one night without her calling to ask if I'm okay.”
“She worries about you,” I observed, and then I thought,After everything that happened, who could blame her?
Dylan huffed loudly and shook his head. “Yeah, I know. She worries too damn much.”
“But to her, it's not enough,” I guessed.
He snorted before replying, “You got that right.”
It was funny how well you, as only a fan, might think to know someone when the extent of your knowledge was what they’d chosen to put forth to the world. But if you ever got the chance to know them personally, biblically, you'd learn you knew nothing at all.
You might find you hated them, and the god you worshipped was nothing more than the devil in a beautiful disguise.
Or you might learn you could love them, if given more than a one-night stand.
But as I settled my head on a shoulder I'd dreamed about a thousand times and closed my weary eyes, I knew better than to be greedy.
I just hoped he'd remember me while knowing I’d never ever forget him.
***
Knock, knock, knock!
“Tarryn?” I hissed through the hotel room door. “Are you—”
The door pulled open to reveal my bleary-eyed best friend, wearing nothing but a wrinkled bedsheet and the remnants of last night's eyeliner.
“Oh, so youareawake. Good.”
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” she asked, her voice hoarse.
“Actually, I don't,” I admitted dryly as I held up my phone to show off its blank screen. “It died at some point after I texted you.”
