Page 52 of Playing the Backbeat

“Yeah, you’re right. Listening is for losers. Give me your brand of vengeance any day.”

We both laugh, settling into a comfortable sort of quiet with the storm still raging outside and the rain pattering on the windows.

“If it ever gets bad again—the stress—you know you can talk to me. I’m here,” I try to say simply, but it sounds more weighted than I meant for it to. His eyes drop to my lips before he turns back to the window. “And if the Bridge is really what you want, you should fight for it. Don’t give up just because your brain is telling you it’s hopeless.”

“Thank you, Dee.” He sounds sincere.

I trail my fingers down his shoulder to his hand, threading my fingers through his and squeezing softly. His eyes find mine, and he watches me so closely I have to remind myself to breathe.

“Thank you too,” I whisper.

His mouth drops open, but he doesn’t seem to know what to say, so I drop his hand and leave, walk to my bedroom, and close the door without another word.

I lie in bed, listening to the storm, watching the lightning flash across the ceiling. An ache takes hold of my stomach and I curl into myself, willing my muddled thoughts to quiet.

I wonder if Dylan is still sitting on the other side of the wall, watching along with me. Living side by side, but not together, like we always have. And I wonder why that suddenly feels wrong.

Chapter twenty-three

Dylan

“Move it fucker.” Dee honks the horn before she flips the bird at the car passing us on our right.

I shrug deeper into my chair than I thought possible, mouthing a pitifulsorryin the guy’s direction.

“Hey, I saw that. Don’t apologize on my behalf. He was acting like a bag of shit, smearing his stink all over the highway. You saw that. You literally just pointed out how inconsiderate he was being.”

“Yeah, well, people are crazy. You don’t need totellthem.”

“He needed to know.”

“I see we’re choosing violence today.”

“Every day,” she mumbles under her breath before turning up the radio so loud I can barely hear her screaming over the music, singing along—if you can call it that.

“Maybe we should switch. I can drive for a bit. Give you a break,” I yell over the music.

“I’m good,” she shouts back, changing lanes so suddenly I have to grip the handle above the door of Dee’s car. “We’re only about twenty minutes out.”

When Nana invited me to meet her family, I didn’t think Dee would actually let me come. I wanted to, but I had a sneaking suspicion she’d be against the idea. If her family is anything like mine, bringing someone home invites more questions.

But had I known I’d be entering a high-powered machine with a cutthroat, takes-no-shit warlord behind the wheel, I might have reconsidered. I press my right foot into the floor of the car, attempting to pump my imaginary brake as Dee tailgates the car ahead of us.

“Hey, uh…how would you feel about giving us a little more space between us and that car?” I say, my voice faltering when she takes her eyes off the road to look at me.

“Shit,” she whispers. “Sorry, am I making you anxious?” She immediately turns down her music, slows the car, and signals before changing lanes, moving out of the fast lane.

“Is it that obvious?”

“You’re pale, you look so tense, one small breeze could probably snap your pinkie finger off, and you’re about to rip that handle off the ceiling.” She lifts her chin to where I’ve still got a death grip on the handle above the passenger door.

“Sorry,” I mumble, dropping my hand to my thigh where I start to pick at the skin along the side of my thumb.

Dee’s quiet for a moment before she places her hand on mine, stopping the nervous habit.

“No, I’m sorry,” she says. “I can get carried away when someone pisses me off on the road. I’m cool now.”

I take a breath, trying to loosen my muscles. “So, who are we seeing today?”