Color of Loneliness (26 page)

“It’s all right. You couldn’t have known.”

“I know. He just pisses me off. So anyway I told him that he’d better not threaten me like that again or I was going to pinch his itty bitty balls between my thumb and index finger – because that’s their actual size – and flick them off my finger like a booger.”

Myra gasps. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, yes, I did. Once I got done insulting his balls, I asked him why it was so important that he talks to you now after all this time. He started feeding me this big sob story about how he now realizes what a big mistake he made with Julia and that he has a lot of things to apologize to you about and that he still cares for you – he makes me sick – and that he feels like he has some unfinished business when it comes to you.”

“He doesn’t,” Myra shouts. “There is no unfinished business.”

“I know. I told him it’s too damn late and that he made his mistakes so he has to deal with them. I also told him he’s a dick and that you’re done with his sorry ass and that you’ve put everything behind you and moved on. Of course I meant that figuratively, not literally, but he doesn’t know that,” Susie says with a snicker. “Anyway, the little dick said okay and that he would accept it and move on too. I hate that asshat, but he actually seemed sincere. So maybe we’re done with him.”

Myra takes in a deep breath. “I hope so.”

“Yeah. I’m so done dealing with his stupid ass.”

“Me too.”

“Well, I’m getting ready to leave here to go get my gums jabbed. I’ll talk to you later tonight?”

“Okay,” Myra says.

As Myra hangs up the phone, she leans back on the bed thinking about what Susie said about Trent. She hopes he means what he says and will finally leave Susie alone. It’s been over a year now since everything happened…

Myra stares at Trent, her face completely puzzled. “Craig? You mean Craig at work? What are you talking about?”

“Don’t act all innocent. I’ve seen you two together. Other people in the office have noticed it too. There’s something going on, isn’t there?”

Myra stands up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I work with Craig just like everyone else in the office. He’s a flirt, but he flirts like that with everybody. There is absolutely nothing going on.”

Trent snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever you say.”

Myra’s chest aches. “You don’t believe me? We’re supposed to trust each other. How could you not believe what I’m saying? I’d never lie to you.”

“I’m done discussing this,” he says before he turns and stomps out of the bedroom.

Myra sighs as she scratches lightly at the stitches on the back of her head and sits up. She can’t think any more about Trent. Maybe he’ll finally stop with all of this nonsense.

She decides to try to get some writing done. While her laptop powers up, she stares at the window, wishing she could peek out to see what Dylan’s doing, but she knows it won’t do any good since she can hear them working on the roof above her.

After several hours of writing, she heads downstairs and grabs a bottle of water out of the fridge. Just as she takes a drink, she hears knocking on the door.

Her heart skips a beat before accelerating as she walks down the hallway. Opening the door, she scowls. “Hey, beautiful,” Ray says. “We might get some light snow tonight so we put a tarp on the exposed sections. But if you have any problems with it, just call me. Here’s my card.” Ray flips his business card at her between his index and middle finger, while flashing a grin.

Tucking the card in her back pocket, she casually asks, “Where’s Dylan?”

“He’s putting away some shit.”

Myra looks over his shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but she doesn’t see him anywhere.

Ray sighs. “I sure wish you’d go out with me…”

“Good night,” she says stiffly before she slams the door as hard as she can in his face. Time for her to be more assertive.

* * *

When Dylan gets inside his house, he takes off a boot and throws it as hard as he can across the room, hitting the wall, and causing a small chunk of the drywall to fall on the floor. He throws the other boot even harder. Dropping his coat on the floor, he tosses his tool belt on the couch. He did his damndest to keep his distance from Myra today. But out of sight does not mean out of mind. It seemed like the harder he tried to stay away from her, the more he thought about her.

Groaning, he closes his eyes and rubs his temples. He needs to go downstairs and beat the shit out of his punching bag.

“Fuck,” he mumbles as he takes off his socks and his flannel shirt and tosses them on the floor. His phone rings. He groans when he looks at the caller ID.

“Yeah,” he answers, rubbing his hand over his bare chest.

“Dylan. How are you?” his mother, Sherri, asks.

“Fine,” he says as he flops on the couch.

“Chad and Natalie were thrilled they got to see you. I would have come with them, but your dad and I went away for the weekend. You need to stop avoiding their calls. They love you. We all do. You don’t even understand how much.”

Dylan’s head falls back against the couch; he closes his eyes as he continues rubbing the center of his chest. “I know. I just have to deal with stuff in my own way.”

“Are you still coming for…?”

“Yeah,” he says quickly.

“Okay. I plan on doing a lot of cooking so make sure you come hungry. When can I come see you and clean up that house of yours? Natalie said it was a mess.”

He wishes his family would just mind their own fucking business. “I don’t know. I don’t care what it looks like.”

“It would probably make you feel better if you didn’t live so dirty.”

“Yeah, okay. Listen, I gotta go. I’ve got stuff I gotta do.”

“Okay. I love you. I’ll see you soon.”

“I love you, too,” he mumbles before he tosses his phone on the couch.

Dylan slips off his jeans and throws on some gym shorts. Heading into the basement, he puts on his boxing gloves and starts beating the shit out of his punching bag. He hits, kicks, and punches, each contact with the bag helping to loosen his nerves and ease his frustrations. He works the bag over until sweat drips from his body and his arms ache.

Dropping to the mat, he throws the gloves to the side and stretches, making sure to do the back exercises that Elaina gave him. On the way upstairs, he uses a towel to dry off the sweat.

Grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge, he stands at the window, staring out into the night sky as it begins lightly snowing. His phone rings again. Picking it up, he stares at the caller ID for a moment.

His heart begins to pound. He swallows hard. It rings two more times before he finally answers it.

“Yeah?”

“Dylan?”

“Yeah?”

“This is Myra. I’m so sorry to bother you, but one of the tarps blew off, and since it just started snowing, I thought I better call.”

“All right. I’ll be over in a few.”

Hanging up, Dylan grabs his jeans and flannel shirt off the floor, quickly getting dressed. He grabs a slice of cold pizza from the fridge and downs it. He sure as shit doesn’t want to go to Myra’s, but he figures he can just show up, fix the tarp, and leave and not even have to see her.

Pulling into her driveway, he frowns at the unfamiliar car sitting there. His eyes narrow as he wonders if she has a date. He sure as hell didn’t want her going out with shithead Ray, but now he doesn’t really like the idea of her going out with anyone. Lighting up a smoke, he walks to the back of his truck to get his ladder out. His body freezes when he hears yelling coming from the house.

He moves closer to a nearby window, thinking it might be the TV he hears. But he immediately runs for the porch when he hears Myra’s voice. The yelling gets louder and more intense as he approaches.

What he sees through Myra’s open front door makes his blood boil. He almost rips the damn screen door off its hinges to get inside. “Get your fucking hands off of her,” he yells. Just as he reaches Myra, a fist flies out at him. He ducks quickly; the fist merely grazes his cheekbone. Automatically, he reacts, lightning-fast, and smacks his fist hard into flesh and bone, causing a loud cracking noise to echo throughout the house.

CHAPTER 14

AQUAMARINE, WISTFULNESS

“Fuck. You duth boke my noth,” the pile of shit on the floor yells angrily, wiping his nose with the back of his hand and smearing blood across his face.

“Good, you piece of shit,” Dylan mutters.

Dylan’s adrenaline races as his heart pounds and his blood pumps furiously. He has to get some control over himself because he wants to launch himself at the fucker and beat him until he can’t stand up. But he has more important things to attend to.

He reaches out to Myra and gently touches her shoulders. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” he asks in a soft voice as he carefully looks her over for any injuries.

She stares at up him and rests her hands softly on his chest. He scowls when he feels a strange, fluttering sensation in his stomach. “No. I’m just glad you…” She can’t finish her sentence because Derek Marshall jumps onto Dylan’s back, slamming him from behind, and knocking Myra roughly to the floor.

Immediately, Dylan wrenches Derek’s arms from around his neck and knocks Derek off of him. Spinning around in a flash, he balls up his fist and plows it as hard as he can into Derek’s gut. Derek gasps and groans loudly as he doubles over in pain. Dylan turns his head towards Myra. His eyes capture hers for just a moment. He sees fear in her wide, dazed eyes, but thankfully she doesn’t appear to be injured.

Twisting his head back around so he can beat the shit out of Derek, a fist smashes against his mouth. Myra gasps and cries out as he stumbles backward. His eyes narrow as he licks his lower lip and tastes blood.

Regaining his balance, he lunges at Derek, shoving his shoulder into his chest and pushing as hard as he can. Derek lands with a thud on the floor. Dylan jumps on top of him raining blow after blow on Derek’s already bloodied face.

“Stop,” Myra shouts. “Please, Dylan, please stop.”

Her pleading voice snaps him out of his frenzy. Raising his fist one last time, he hits Derek squarely on the chin before pushing off of him in disgust. He stands up and his eyes never leaving Derek. “You okay?” he asks Myra between heavy pants.

“Yes,” she says in a shaky voice.

Dylan wipes Derek’s blood off of his hands onto his jeans. “Want me to call the cops? You wanna press charges?”

“No, no. It’s okay.”

Derek sits up, his face a bloody mess. Dylan stares at him through narrowed eyes. “If I ever see you put your fucking filthy hands on her again, I’ll put you six feet under and piss on your grave, got it?”

“Yeah,” Derek mutters as he gets up off of the floor onto unsteady feet.

Dylan stands in front of Myra protectively, glaring at Derek. “Get the fuck out. Now,” he yells.

Derek mumbles something unintelligible under his breath as he quickly clambers out the front door.

Dylan immediately turns to Myra. “You sure you don’t wanna call the cops? I think you should.” She shakes her head as he steps closer.

Staring down at her, his eyes search her face.

“You’re hurt, your lip,” she says softly as she stares up at him, her eyes focused intently on his mouth.

Reaching his hand up, he touches his bloody lip and shrugs. He drops his hand and looks back down into her eyes, feeling drawn to her somehow; like he wants to hold her in his arms or comfort her or some shit.

He clears his throat. He notices how pale and shaken up Myra looks. “Let’s sit,” he says as he walks toward the couch. “I want you to tell me exactly what happened.”

Myra sits down beside him, and stares at her clasped hands in her lap. “I heard someone knock, and I thought it was you,” she says as she looks shyly up at him before quickly looking back down at her hands. “He pushed his way in. I tried to get him to leave. He, he said some disgusting things and then grabbed me. He, he was trying to kiss me when you showed up.”

“That motherfucker,” Dylan breathes out in a low voice as he clenches his fists. “Isn’t that piece of shit married?”

She nods. “I asked him where Lucia was. He said they had an open marriage. And then something about how she was out with someone else tonight so he decided to come… here,” Myra says before she shivers.

“I think we should call the police.”

Myra shakes her head. “I’ve known Derek my whole life. I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

Dylan stares at her for a moment before he sighs and scoots closer. “Look, if he ever shows up again, you call me. I can be here in just a few minutes.”

Myra nods and gives him a small smile. “Thank you for what you did. I’m sorry you got hurt,” she says. She frowns when she looks down at his bloodied knuckles. “Do you want some ice?”

Dylan tries to hide them. “Nah, I’m good. You don’t have to thank me because I enjoyed kicking that fucker’s ass. You sure you’re okay?” he asks as he leans towards her.

“Yeah. I’m okay,” she says, giving him a small smile.