Page 15 of Playing the Backbeat

“Tell Deanna we say thank you,” Mom says. “I was getting worried you’d be sleeping on couches and we’d have to drag you home.”

Yeah, my parents offered for me to come home, which would make my commute ninety minutes. One way. Clearly, I was getting desperate if I was considering driving three hours to work every day.

“I can’t do that.” I shake my head. “You haven’t met her yet. Knowing she’s already won over my parents with this one favor would put me in her debt forever, and her already inflated ego would grow so big there wouldn’t be room for me in her two-bedroom apartment.”

“Dylan Brooks,” Mom shouts. “You better not give her this attitude or sheshouldkick you right back out.”

“Trust me, Mom. If anyone enjoys putting me in my place, it’s her. You don’t need to worry. In fact, you should probably be more worried about me.”

Dad laughs. “I like her already. We’ll let you get back to it, but call us once you’re settled.”

I reassure them that I’ll call tomorrow, and we say goodbye before hanging up. I let my phone hang heavy in my hand as my head drops back, eyes closing as I take a deep breath, remindingmyself totake one step at a timeandfocus only on the things within my control.

Dee’s boisterous laugh fills my head and I chuckle, knowing everything is about to spin wildlyoutof my control. Dee has always been the one wild card I’ve welcomed into my life. Once again, the unpredictability of my situation that would typically set my nerves on edge and cause anxiety to control my thoughts leaves me riddled with…anticipation.

I look around my apartment one more time before locking the door behind me—double, then triple-checking that it’s locked—then I leave it all behind, sights set on the next step.

***

“Hey, roomie,” Dee chirps, peering over the railing of the parking garage stairwell two floors above me. Her shining smile is on full display, dimples and all. “Should we start calling ourselves The Double D’s? Figured we should get our nicknames established fresh out of the gate.” When I don’t answer, she keeps going. “Two D’s for the price of one?”

Fuck, I can’t believe I’m doing this.

“Okay, how about Donald and Daphne? Dumb and Dumber? Dingleberry and Dung Beetle?”

Jesus. It’s clear she’s just getting warmed up.I pull a face.

“You’re right. Needs work. All in good time.” Her head disappears back over the railing, and she storms down the steps to meet me. Her short hair skirts around her shoulders, all loose waves. She blows a sharp breath to keep the strands out of her mouth, her face positively beaming.

“Welcome home.” She reaches out to grab the top box from the stack in my arms.

“Thanks,” I say, allowing her help as I follow her to the elevator, knowing if Dee wants to help, then she’s going to help. It’s not worth picking our first argument this early.

We’re not even in her apartment, after all.

Thankfully the complex has an attached garage with an elevator connected to the building. And a loading area in the back near another set of elevators. The moveshouldbe relatively easy.

“When do the guys arrive with the rest of your stuff?” Dee asks as she presses the button for the fifteenth floor, managing the box in her arms easily. She might be a foot shorter than me with a slender frame, but she’s strong.

“Aiden texted to say they’re about ten minutes out.”

“Great, I’ve got everything cleared out of the guest room except the bed, obviously, a dresser, and a desk. But you can do what you want to rearrange everything.”

She’s talking a mile a minute, and I can’t stop staring.

“But”—she turns to me, leveling me with a malicious stare so hot it could burn through steel—“if you even think of touching the thermostat, then you better come prepared for war.”

Struggling to keep my face neutral, I bite my lip before muttering a quick, “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Her eyes narrow, not quite trusting me. The elevator doors open and she’s hurrying down the hall. I follow after her, my earlier stress forgotten.

She turns to me abruptly, throwing the box on top of my stack again, then unlocking the door. I take a moment to balance the additional weight before following her into the space.

It’s just after four, and the sky is melting from blue to a blend of orange and pinks. Her living room is attached to her kitchen, divided by a long island with several bar stools seated underneath the countertop. Floor-to-ceiling windows highlight her view of downtown, and as I step closer and peer down, I cansee the bustle of people leaving work and heading to happy hour on the street below.

She has a large couch opposite the TV and two oversized chairs, one green and the other bright yellow. There are framed photos hanging on the walls, some of her with the girls and some with people I don’t recognize, presumably her family.

There are small pieces of Dee everywhere. Her stuff is stacked high on the yellow chair, maybe two jackets and a hoodie, topped with a purse and a larger bag. A bowl on the kitchen counter is overflowing with what looks like earbuds, chopsticks, and other random things. The space is clean, but lived in. Spacious, but very Dee.

“Had I known about your view, you wouldn’t have had to twist my arm to agree to this.”