Page 10 of It's About Time
Dilynne slow-claps from her post far out of the way. “That’s it. Really get to work now.”
I still don’t respond. I’m too transfixed on causing the most damage I can as memories of my relationship flash through my mind—the night I saw her in Nashville after years of distance, the way she flirted with me, how eager she was to take me back to her apartment that night, and how she fell apart in my arms the next morning after she admitted regretting how awful she was in high school.
Her honesty surprised the hell out of me, and it was the catalyst for hours of conversation that I rarely had with a hookup. But that’s when I felt something shift in my chest—the feeling of being alone no longer as exciting as being able to laugh with someone and let out raw, unfiltered thoughts.
Fuck, what a load of shit.
“Fucking bitch,” I mutter as I take the next swing.
“You can say that again,” Dilynne says as she continues to watch me.
“I fucking hate her.”
“I hated her long before you ever started dating her, so welcome to the club.”
I shoot her a glare and throw a heavy swing of the hammer to the front windshield, shattering the glass and watching it spray across the ground and inside the car.
I don’t stop until my arms are heavy, my grip is slipping, and my lungs are burning.
I finally toss the sledgehammer to the side, plant my hands on my hips, and tip my head back, staring up at the cloudless sky as I catch my breath.
“Come on, Thorne.” Dilynne’s boots crunch on the gravel and shattered glass as she moves closer. “You’re done.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter, even as I stagger a step back.
“Yeah. You look great.”
She grabs my arm before I can argue further, steadying me as we head back to her car.
The next thing I know, Dilynne is pulling into my driveway.
“Home sweet home,” she sings while shifting her car in park.
Confused, I shift around in my seat. “Did I fall asleep?”
Dilynne snorts. “Uh, yeah. I barely got you to my car before you passed out. It was all the adrenaline wearing off. Happens to the best of us.”
I eye her over my shoulder. “Speaking from experience?”
She nods. “Yup. Trust me, smashing a car to bits after a breakup should be a prescription doctors and therapists write.”
I stare out the front windshield, struggling with what to say. This isn’t how Dilynne and I operate—having a relatively normal conversation, without the usual insults. But today? Today, the last person I would have expected showed up for me and actually made me feel a little better.
“Thank you,” I mumble, just loud enough for her to hear.
She gives me a curt nod but doesn’t meet my eyes. “My pleasure.”
A beat passes.
“Can we go back to hating each other now?”
She smirks, but again, doesn’t meet my gaze. “Absolutely.”
“Good.”
With that, I open the car door and step out, heading for my house. I can feel Dilynne’s eyes on me as I do, but when I glance back, she’s already backing out onto the street and pulling away.
It’s probably best we both pretend today didn’t happen. Dilynne Clark is a pain in my ass. My arch-nemesis. And it’s better to keep it that way—because the last thing I need is anything else to analyze when my head is this much of a mess.
