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He was sitting on a barstool at the kitchen island, paperwork scattered in front of him.
“Hey—”
“Do you care to explain to me how my record is sealed?” he asked not taking his gaze from the papers in front of him.
“What?” I asked, taken aback.
We locked eyes.
“I haven’t tried to look for a job, I haven’t had any need or desire to be told I’m a convicted felon and can’t do jack shit with my life. According to Jacob I need to ask you why I got out of prison four years earlier than I was supposed to. Patience has never been one of my goddamn virtues, especially when it comes to your bullshit lies. I pulled up my record and it’s been sealed. Now, are you going to tell me how the fuck that is possible? Or am I going to have to lose the bit of patience I do have left when it comes to you and make you fucking tell me.”
“Dylan, I’ve been trying—”
“You haven’t been trying shit. You want to know how I know? Because I still don’t know the fucking truth!” he roared, making me jump.
“Are you for real? I spent six years trying to talk to you. Trying to see you. Trying to explain. Six fucking years!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.
He was over to me in three strides, knocking the stool over. He was in my face before I even saw him coming.
“Do I look like I want to be yelled at? Do I seem like I want to be fucked with? If you really want to start throwing out numbers, Bree, how about we start with the number ten! Ten years I waited for you! Ten years I was left on my goddamn knees with your back turned to me! Ten years of hell! For what? For nothing! For your fucking lies! Ten years you lied to me! Kept me away from my daughter!” he yelled in my face.
“That’s not—”
“Oh, that number’s not good enough for you? How about sixteen, huh? That number better? Sixteen years I’ve been away from my kid!”
I shook my head not knowing what to say to make it better. To make him see reason.
“Still not good enough? How about six then?” he rasped so close to my face that I could physically feel his hate toward me.
My eyes widened, my heart beating profusely with what he was about to say. I didn’t think I would be able to live through it.
I stepped back, and he stepped forward.
“Six years I stayed locked up behind bars!”
Another step.
“Six more years away from my daughter.”
Another step.
“Six years away from my family and friends.”
Two more steps.
My back hit the wall, and I instinctively placed my hands on his chest. My left palm right over his heart and it was the first time that I ever felt it beating as fast as mine.
He leaned in close to my lips and spoke with conviction,
“Six years rotting in prison for you, for a crime I didn’t commit.”
32
Dylan
“I never asked you to do that,” she murmured.
“You didn’t have to. When you took the gun out of my holster and shot Jeremy straight in the fuckin’ head you made the decision for me.”
