Color of Loneliness (29 page)

Trent barks out a non-humorous laugh. “Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?” He looks at Myra. “Who the hell is this joker?”

“He’s my friend,” she says.

Myra feels Dylan lean down next to her ear. “Do you want me to make him leave?” he asks in a low voice.

Trent crosses his arms stubbornly over his chest and cocks an eyebrow. “I’m not leaving.”

“Dylan, can I speak to you for a moment?” she asks in a calm voice, keeping her eyes on Trent.

A slow smug grin spreads on Trent’s face. She glares at him. “Stay here,” she hisses before she slams the door, leaving Trent on the front porch.

She turns towards Dylan, tugging on the sleeves of her sweater. “It’s okay. I’ll talk to him.”

“I can make him leave, if you want me to.”

She smiles softly at him. “I know. And thank you for offering. You’ve been so helpful to me lately. But this is something I have to do myself.”

He stares at her for a moment before he finally nods.

She clears her throat. “I know it’s rude to ask this, but could you stay until after he leaves? I…”

Dylan interrupts her. “Of course I’ll stay,” he says before he looks down at his watch. “I just need to make a phone call real quick.”

Myra looks down at the floor and chews on her thumbnail. Sabrina. He needs to call Sabrina. That thought makes Myra’s stomach clench.

“Where do you want me?” he asks.

She takes in a deep breath. “Could you just hang out in the kitchen? This won’t take long.”

He runs his hand over the back of his neck. “Okay. If you need me, just yell.”

Trying to convey her thankfulness through her eyes, she gives him a quick nod and watches the back of his tall frame as he walks towards the kitchen. Gathering as much resolve as she possibly can, she turns around and opens the door.

“You’ve got ten minutes,” she tells Trent.

He gives her a half-smile as he saunters through the door. “So this is Grampie’s house, huh?” he says as he looks around the room. “Pretty much how I pictured it.”

Myra sits on the edge of the couch, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “Ten minutes,” she reminds him.

Trent walks to the fireplace and picks up a photo and stares at it. “Myra…” he says before he pauses dramatically and sets the photo back down. He continues to stare at the pictures on the mantle, keeping his back to her. “Have you ever made a decision that you thought was right at the time but then you realized later that you made a mistake? A mistake that you regret immensely?” He slowly turns around.

Myra shakes her head. “It’s too late.”

He takes his coat off and lays it on the recliner. “Don’t you believe in forgiveness? I’ve come here to ask you to forgive me. I made a mistake; I know that now.” He makes his way to the couch and sits down beside her. She quickly stands and positions herself by the fireplace.

“Julia started planting these ideas in my head. About you and Craig. At first, I totally dismissed it. But then she’d drag me out in the hallway when Craig was at your desk and I’d see you laughing with him and I started to wonder. She eventually had me convinced there was something going on with you two.”

Myra chews on her thumbnail as she shakes her head at him.

“I was working all those late nights with her and, well, you know the story. I thought I was in love with her. She’s an incredibly beautiful woman. One of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. It made me feel good that someone that incredible looking could be attracted to me.”

Myra’s eyes narrow.

Trent’s eyes widen. “Oh, not that you’re not beautiful; you just have a different look.”

“Why are you telling me this now? You’ve been with her for over a year now, and you’re going to have a baby for God’s sake.”

Trent rests his ankle on his knee and leans back against the couch. “Did you know you were the first person that she told about the pregnancy?” he asks. Myra doesn’t answer and stares at the floor. “I didn’t find out until later. I can’t tell you how pissed off I was. She told me it was an accident. Of course, I knew that was a lie. She did it to trap me.”

Myra walks to the recliner and moves his jacket and sits down.

“We’d been having problems, constantly fighting. I told her that we needed to take a break, and right after that, she suddenly turned up pregnant. I couldn’t believe it.”

Myra intently studies her cuticles.

“I told her I’d stay with her during the pregnancy and be a father to the baby but that the relationship was over. But she wouldn’t accept it. She kept threatening me, even threatened an abortion if I didn’t stay with her. That was when I started to understand what type of person she was. We had a huge fight and she admitted that she’d lied about you and Craig. I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been. But I decided I had to stay with her for the safety of the baby, but that after the baby was born, I’d try to get full custody.”

Myra looks up from studying her nails. “And what does this have to do with me?”

“Let me finish,” he says. “Things started falling apart with us right around the time you came back from Grampie’s funeral. I tried to talk to you. I wanted to tell you I was going to break up with her when you got back, but I knew you were grieving so it just wasn’t the right time. Then, right after that, I found out she was pregnant and you disappeared.”

Myra stares into the cold fireplace, pondering his words.

“I begged Susie to tell me where you were, but she refused. Then last week, Julia had a miscarriage.”

Myra looks at him.

“I was devastated. That was my child she was carrying. But as horrible as it was – and this is hard for me to admit – I was
relieved. I felt free.

“She’s having a hard time dealing with losing the baby. She called in sick a few days but she refuses to tell anyone what happened so everyone still thinks she’s pregnant. I found an apartment so I’m moving out next weekend.”

Myra remains quiet. What does he expect her to say?

“Why did you move to Nyssa?” he asks.

Myra clears her throat and stares down at the floor. “Because I inherited this house so I figured I could save money on rent.”

“I want you to move back to Philly with me.”

Her mouth drops open. “What in the world would make you think that I’d ever take you back after what you did to me?”

“Everyone deserves forgiveness, and that’s what I’m asking for. I think I deserve a second chance. We had something special, and I know we can have that again.”

“You deserve it?” Myra lets out a dry laugh. “You cheated. It doesn’t matter what lies she fed you, you still cheated. You had a choice. I gave you everything and you just threw it away. You broke me…”

“I know I did, and I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you. We can make it work again.”

Myra shakes her head. “What you did to me, it changed me. I felt so worthless and humiliated. I felt like I had done something wrong. You don’t know how depressed I was…” She clears her throat, trying to keep the tears back. She won’t let him see one tear. “And then I had to watch the two of you every day at work. It hurt so much, but I was too frightened to do anything about it.”

“I understand. I know it was a bad situation, but we can work through this. Make it good again. Like it was before…”

Myra interrupts him, a look of surprise on her face. “You actually enjoyed having me there, didn’t you? You got to see me be miserable, pining away for you every day. That just fed your ego, didn’t it?”

“Of course not,” he scoffs.

Myra stands. “I want you to leave,” she says in a shaky voice. “I cannot believe you have the audacity to think for one second that I would ever take you back. I don’t ever want to see you again. Now get out of my house.”

She turns her head towards the kitchen and yells, “Dylan?”

* * *

Dylan hears Myra call his name just as he pulls his vibrating phone out of his pocket.

He called Elaina earlier to let her know that he couldn’t make it to his appointment; when she didn’t answer, he left her a message. He ignores her return call and tucks his phone quickly back into his jeans.

He didn’t want to eavesdrop on Myra’s conversation with that prick so he hung around outside of her back door, close enough to hear her if she needed him. And he also desperately needed a smoke, or three.

Dylan drops his cigarette on the concrete step, stomps it out and flicks it into the bushes with the toe of his boot. He walks swiftly towards the living room.

He frowns when he sees the pale, drawn look on Myra’s face. “It’s time for him to leave,” she says to him. He nods at her before turning his attention to the ex.

“You heard the lady. Get your ass outta here. Now.” He narrows his eyes and gives the dick his fiercest expression.

Her ex picks up his coat and slips it on. “I can’t believe you,” he says as he looks at Myra. “I came all this way and laid everything out for you. I poured my heart out to you. You’re just an unforgiving bitch, aren’t you?”

Dylan’s hands automatically turn into fists. Nobody talks to Myra like that.

He hears her gasp as he catapults himself forward with his fist raised, ready to beat some sense into the sorry prick. But before he can connect to the face of the cocky jackass, Myra slips in front of him, her body pressing up against his, her hands on his chest.

“Dylan, don’t,” she says. He looks down into her wide, pleading eyes and slowly lowers his fist. “He’s not worth it.”

Dylan takes in a slow, deep breath as he focuses his gaze on the ex. The fire in his veins rages. He stays alert, ready to strike at any moment if necessary. With his fists still clenched, he looks back down at Myra and nods. She turns around. “Go,” she says.

The ex mumbles angrily under his breath before he stomps out the front door and slams it loudly.

* * *

Myra’s shoulders sag as she looks down at the floor.

“You okay?” Dylan asks as he takes a step towards her.

She nods still keeping her gaze downcast. She digs her fingernails deep into her palms to try to keep herself from crying, but her lower lip trembles and even though she fights it, a tear sneaks out and slips down her cheek.

“Come here,” Dylan says in a soft voice before she feels strong, warm arms wrapped around her. He pulls her tight up against his body as she buries her face in the softness of his flannel shirt, resting her arms against his chest. She relaxes, the tension in her body escaping as the tears begin falling. Dylan’s hand softly strokes her hair. “It’s all right,” he murmurs in a soothing voice.

Eventually, her tears turn into soft hiccupping sobs. She takes in a shaky breath and smells Dylan’s smoky shirt and his musky scent. As she leans against him, she can feel the strength and hardness of his chest muscles hidden just beneath his shirt.

Slowly, she lifts her head off of his chest and looks up at him. He stares down at her with a dark, intense look in his eyes. He reaches his hand up and gently wipes the tears from underneath her eye with his thumb, his other arm still securely holding her close to him. His hand hovers on her cheek as his gaze dips to her mouth. Licking her lips, her mouth gapes open as she mimics him and stares at his lips. He has the most beautiful lips: red and full and pouty-looking. Her breathing increases when she sees his tongue sneak out and slowly wet them.

She wonders what they would feel like on hers. She imagines how good his stubble would feel rubbing lightly against her skin, making it feel tingly and alive. His fingertips lightly graze across her cheek. He leans down towards her, his eyes still focused on her lips. She feels intoxicated by him, drunk on him, she can’t breathe…

She gasps and her eyes widen when the name Sabrina pops into her head. Immediately, she pushes on his chest and backs out of his arms.

Wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her sweater, she tucks her hair behind her ears, keeping her eyes on the floor. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles.

Dylan clears his throat.

Uncomfortable silence hangs between them.

“Do you want me to stay here tonight in case he comes back?” Dylan asks. “I can sleep on the couch.”

Myra shakes her head. “No. That’s okay,” she says before sniffling and wiping her nose on her sleeve.

“You sure? I wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m sure. Thanks.”

“All right. I guess I’ll go.” He opens the front door and turns back, looking at her. “Um, back in the kitchen when we were talking earlier. How did you know that name?”

“You mentioned it the night you were drunk.”

Dylan gulps and his face turns pale. “I did what?”

“You called me – Sabrina – when you were here.”

Dylan grips the door, his knuckles turning white. “Damn it. What did I say about her?”

“Nothing. You looked like you were going to… kiss me and then you called me Sabrina before you passed out.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dylan mutters, running his free hand through his hair and tugging roughly on the ends.

“I gotta go,” he mumbles, not looking at her. “Call me if he shows up.”