A nice long update for my favorite people. Pay attention, I feel like there is stuff happening here that may be missed because of the HOT ending! Rated m you know how I do. Wink wink.
Chapter 10
Erica sighs as Dylan fumbles the lyric he's trying to write. Lowering her mic, she locks worried eyes with David. They've been at this for the last two hours. For the last two hours Dylan's had his head in the goddamn clouds. Frazzled as hell when he'd thundered into the basement recording studio, pissed as fuck about Jasper Jones cornering Brenda outside of therapy.
Erica gets it. She's pissed too. Pissed at this whole goddamn situation Marshall's gotten them into. Because as much as Erica hates to admit it—Dylan fucking sucks. He's giving writing his best shot, but he isn't anywhere near where he used to be.
"Shit," Dylan swears, pushing out from the desk frustrated. Steve sighs, hell, he thought Dylan was nearly there. Since Brenda's been home, Dylan's gone from walking around in a drunken stupor every day to looking like he'll conquer the world for Brenda.
"Let's pick it up again," Steve says, Erica and David begin again but Steve just looks at Dylan.
He scoots back into the desk, looking awkward and unhappy holding the pen to his journal. Steve knows it's probably the first time he's touched a pen to paper in the last year. While Valerie was cleaning the house for Brenda's arrival, she found his journal buried in the garage and then gently re-homed it in the baby's room. Two things lost, confined to one sad, lonely place.
"Sorry, guys," Dylan says, scrubbing a hand down his face. "My head isn't in this."
David stills his fingers on the piano. "You're trying too hard man."
"I know." Dylan gets up and starts pacing around the studio. "I gotta write one song. How hard can it fucking be?"
"Apparently pretty goddamn hard because they have like two lines to sing," Steve mutters.
Dylan tosses Steve a dry look. David shakes his head, ignoring Steve.
"We don't have do this, Dylan." David leans back against the wall.
"Yeah we do." Dylan breathes. "I just wish I could get out of my head. All I can thank about is Brenda."
"You sure you don't want to do Brenda's Song?" David holds up a hand as Dylan snaps open his mouth. "Not because it'll make Marshall happy, but maybe it'll get your head back into it. It's your heart, isn't it?"
Dylan's face softens. "Yeah. I don't know." His eyes drift upward to the living room, where Brenda naps on the couch. "I'll think about it."
Steve crosses his arms. He's gonna have to be the one to knock some sense into his friend. "She's fine, Dylan. She's sleeping."
It isn't Jasper or the music that's got Dylan riled up. It's Brenda. "What's really going on?"
"I think she remembered something today."
David blinks. "That was fast."
Steve arches a brow. "In therapy?"
Erica stands silent listening.
Dylan's mouth twists and he stares down at the journal in his hands. "No. When we were driving back—after Jasper. Losing My Religion came on the radio. That song came on and Brenda just…"
His hand grips the journal. Tight. White-knuckled. "She knew something, but I don't know what."
"R.E.M?" Steve says, confused.
"Losing My Religion is one of our songs. Going way back, Sophomore year back."
Dylan leans back against the chair. "Bren asked me, point-blank, why we went on the trip." David exhales. "Oh, man."
Steve nods in Dylan's direction. "What'd you tell her?"
"I told her the truth." Dylan grimaces. "Some of it. I told her she was in a car accident. That I wanted us to get away, for her to heal."
"How'd she take it?"
"She was confused, but fine." Disgust lines Dylan's face. Disgusted at himself. "She was more worried about me. Asking if I was okay and—" Sorrow briefly flits across his eyes, they all know he's still blaming himself for Brenda running that damn stop sign.
"I couldn't tell her about the baby. It wasn't the right time."
"You did the right thing," Erica says. "You're going slow. Like the doctor said."
"I don't know," Dylan says in a somber voice. "I just don't know."
"What about writing about Brenda coming back. About…bringing you back to life?" Erica adds hopeful.
Dylan's eyebrows raise, he clears his throat and sets his jaw. A look of determination crosses his face as he shifts toward the desk and starts writing. Twenty minutes must pass.
"Ok try this." Dylan hands the journal over to David and Erica as they lean close reading. Erica smiles. She bumps David's hip to move him out of the way as she begins a slow beautiful beginning on the piano. She sets the journal down and begins to sing.
How can you see into my eyes, like open doors
Leading you down into my core
Where I've become so numb
Without a soul
My spirit's sleeping somewhere cold
Until you find it there and lead it back home
Dylan bites his lip taking the journal back, he's been so busy making sure Brenda's been okay that he hasn't let out his feelings, his heart, his truth.
"What about this chorus." He hands the journal back to Erica. David takes over the piano, Erica grabs an electric guitar. They start the song again. Erica and David sing the chorus together.
Wake me up inside (save me)
Call my name and save me from the dark (wake me up)
Bid my blood to run (I can't wake up)
Before I come undone (save me)
Save me from the nothing I've become
Broad grins have overtaken both Erica and David's faces. That's a damn good start.
"I think Dylan's back. You got that sappy lover down pat." David smiles.
"I think Dylan's had it down since seventh grade." Steve chuckles.
Dylan laughs out loud. God, he feels fucking great. He didn't think he had it in him anymore. But this—being here—writing for his sister and best friend—Brenda being back—feels right.
It's what he needed. The soul of the lyrics, the connection with his family, the feel of his journal in his hands. He hasn't felt this good in a long time. He was worried he might never get it back.
So were they—he saw it clear as day. Worry on David and Erica's faces. Waiting on him, thinking he was going off the deep end, when all he needed to do was pick himself up…and write. After they play the song through. They move to hang out on the porch. David quietly strumming a guitar, Erica humming and singing quietly. Dylan stoops to dig a beer from the cooler.
Across the field, the sun sinks into a lavender glow. On the other side of the screen door, a rustle of movement.
David's brows raise. "Hey, Bren. We wake you up?"
Dylan's heart tumbles when he sees Brenda stepping out onto the porch. She's barefoot, her hair mussed from sleep, pillow lines crisscrossing her cheek. She looks refreshed and happy. Goddamn beautiful.
"No, I've been up." Her eyes brush to Dylan. "Decided to come see what all the ruckus was about."
Erica arches a brow. "Well, what's the verdict?"
Bare feet padding soft, Brenda sidles across the porch. "You guys sound pretty good." She shrugs.
Her mouth kicks up in a teasing smile. "I'd toss you a dime."
Dylan laughs. Busting balls as only Brenda can do.
"Damn," David says, poking her in the side with a finger. "You cut deep, Bren."
Laughing, Brenda joins Dylan's side. She's smiling as she scopes out David's guitar, leaning across to plunk a string. She runs a finger along the curve of the guitar.
Brenda's utterly fascinated by the instrument, her face aglow with awe.
For a long minute, Dylan takes it all in. Everything he has on his front porch. And he's toppled by a sudden sense of urgency. Determination. To be the man his Tennessee family needs. The husband Brenda needs. And he wants to tell her that she's better than anything he deserves. That this chance means everything to him.
There's the swish of her thin cotton dress as Brenda sits down. She props her feet up on the cooler, sticks her hands between her knees and leans forward. Her gaze rises to his.
"Y'all aren't packing up, are you?" She says with a perfect southern accent. The gang smiles. Brenda was great at accents, it's a little bit of the old Brenda peaking through.
David's eyes flick to Dylan, then Erica, then back to Brenda.
"What do you have in mind?"
"Play me something, something Dylan wrote." Her eyes grow heavy-lidded as she stares Dylan down. The look she's giving him—stone-cold adoration. And her words ring out, straight to Dylan's heart. "Please."
Erica looks at David, "The new one?" She says with a shrug as David agrees. The acoustic version sounds a lot sadder…heavier.
Brenda shivers in delight as they raise their voices to sing the chorus. They sound beautiful.
The porch their stage, they sing about drowning, about being numb, about someone bringing her to life. She's captivated by them. The way they play with such ease, how in sync they are. Picking each other up, following each other's lead.
As they sing, Brenda can't help but stare at Dylan. He's beautiful. So in his element. A force of nature. The lyrics hauntingly beautiful. He's a changed man on this porch, relaxed.
Each day she spends on this ranch, with Dylan and their friends and family, she's convinced she's where she needs to be. Everyone has been so patient, standing by her as she acclimates to her new life. She's so grateful for their support.
The song ends on the low heartbreaking flow. Laughter and commotion as they all pound each other on the back.
Brenda claps, smiling right along with them. For a second, though, her happiness is sideswiped by sadness. She can't help but think about her own job as an actress and the training she can't remember. The applause, the magic, of being on stage. She doesn't have something like this anymore. A career. An escape. She had a life with Dylan, but she also had her life.
The squeak of the screen door calls Brenda back to the present. Brandon, his brow furrowed, steps onto the porch. "What're you doing?"
"Listening." She elbows her brother in the side. "So were you."
Minutes ago, she had seen Brandon hovering behind the screen door as they played, his face frozen in a kind of regretful awe.
Brandon sighs as if any enjoyment were beneath him. "Let's go back inside." Brandon tugs on Brenda's arm. "I found the photos of us when we celebrated our 8th birthday."
Brenda bugs her eyes at Steve, who dips his head to stifle a laugh. She can't look at another photo. Ever since she got back from therapy, Brandon's been following her around, fussing over her, wondering where she is, where she's going, if she needs help.
Her brother's sweet, but she can only take so much coddling before she feels like an escaped mental patient. While Brandon only wants to help, and while it's all interesting, it's not the present.
Brenda's gaze lands on Dylan. It's not her present.
This time Brandon protectively sets his arm around Brenda's shoulders. "We'll finish out the photos. Then make dinner."
Brenda shoots Erica an SOS signal. Help. Me. Please.
Erica raises a brow and instantly, a silent conversation passes between them. She gives a small nod, "I don't know about any of you, but I could use a drink."
"We got beers right here," Dylan says easily.
"Not me," David says. "I gotta get—"
"Yeah, yeah, home to Valerie, we know." Erica sticks her tongue out.
"I actually have to head home for a bit, video chat with Maddie, I forgot to bring my computer." Steve utters out an excuse. By the looks of it he may even be making it up.
Erica eyes Brandon. "What about you?"
He draws back, glancing around like he's searching for an emergency exit. "What about me?"
"A drink at Layla's?"
"With you?" Erica rolls her eyes.
"No, with Jack the Ripper. Yeah, with me."
Beside her, David's shoulders shake with silent laughter.
Brandon looks towards Brenda, then Dylan, like he's looking for an excuse.
Dylan cuts Erica an incredulous look. To understanding what's happening around him.
"You should go," Brenda says, looping her arm around Brandon's waist. In one smooth movement, she pulls her stunned brother in for a hug, tugging him out on the porch, then whirls him into Erica.
Before Brandon can protest, Erica drapes an arm around his shoulder, anchoring him to the spot. "Let's go, princess. We're drinkin' whiskey tonight."
"Princess? I think that's your nickname." Brandon stares at Erica, it's not a secret they aren't friendly, not at all like before.
"When did you become such a pussy?" Erica eggs him on.
"Ugh Fine."
Erica whirls on her heel and stalks off down the porch steps, dragging Brandon behind her. Steve and David follow her at a slow, keep-their-distance pace.
Steve turns around to walk backward, giving Brenda an eyebrow wiggle and a salute. Brenda winks back.
She then flashes Erica a grateful smile. "Have fun," she calls out, striding to the porch railing. Her breath catches as she takes in the countryside. Rolling hills. Sweetgrass sways in the light breeze, the last sunset of May disappearing in a gorgeous orange glow.
Brenda's suddenly aware of Dylan beside her, slipping an arm around her waist. No hesitation, all confidence. With a content sigh, Brenda presses into his warmth, his strength.
"They're gonna eat each other alive," Brenda murmurs, watching as Erica peels her Bronco out of the driveway extra fast.
There's a smile in Dylan's voice. "One can only hope." He drops a kiss on top of her head.
"You hear that?"
"What?"
Brenda grins up at him. "Sweet silence."
Erica pulls up a stool at the bar, ignoring Brandon's exasperated sigh as he grudgingly sits beside her.
The darkening sky followed them inside Layla's. A dive bar, one of Dylan and Brenda favorites, is old classic Nashville on lower Broad. Lit by neon lights. Not trendy, staying true to that old honky tonk feel, always welcoming. Cold beer on tap. Darts on the wall. Waylon Jennings on the jukebox in between a good ol fashion country band playing on the stage.
The bartender, mustached and impatient, looks up from the tap. "What can I get y'all?"
Before Erica can order, Brandon says, "Is tap water all you have?" He eyes the faucet doubtfully.
Erica groans. A nice, normal person is all she wants tonight. The Brandon from the good old days. The same smart, boy-scout good doer. The Brandon who saved her life. The one who laughed with abandon and loved bad horror movies. He's grown colder since Brenda's accident.
"Two Johnnie Walkers, neat," Erica tells the waiting bartender. "Tap water is fine."
The bartender looks relieved and moves off. Brandon rolls his eyes, obvious in his expression that this is the last place he wants to be.
Erica swivels her seat to face her. "You know, I thought you left the high maintenance attitude back in Los Angeles."
"I'm from Minnesota remember?" Brandon raises his brows. "And what about you? All of a sudden you're all Nashville. I thought you wanted to move back to LA?"
"Nashville is LA," Erica volleys. "Just with mullets and rhinestones."
Brandon's got to hand it to her. He chuckles softly, "That'd be a good album name."
For that, he earns a smile. A glowering smile, but a smile nonetheless.
A long silence descends. The drinks are set down. The bartender gives Erica a sympathetic good-luck glance.
Brandon's sigh is long and loud. His fingers drum on the bar top, drilling the sound into Erica's skull. He's antsy. His mind back at the house. On his sister. On his sister and Dylan.
Brenda's gonna owe her. Big-time. She doesn't know how she became the keeper of Brandon. Although, she doesn't blame Brenda. She knows Steve and Brandon are cramping Brenda and Dylan's alone time. And after everything they've been through, finally making their way back to each other, Erica doesn't want anything to come between that. Especially now. Especially her and Brandon.
"So." Brandon's voice floats between them. He side-eyes Erica. "Brenda and Dylan. Do you think they're…?"
Chuckling, Erica sips her whiskey. She'd have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to have noticed the look on her brother's face as Brenda watched them play. The looks she was giving him, the pure lust in their eyes. Dylan's so full-tilt in love he can't see straight. They are for sure fucking.
"Oh, yeah. No doubt." Brandon scowls.
Erica slams her drink down, causing Brandon to look at her surprised. "For fucks sake. They're married, Brandon. What do you want from them? They've been apart for 9 months, sex is the first thing I'd want to do…and don't say it wouldn't be yours either."
When he says nothing, Erica nudges the whiskey toward him. Maybe it'll unclench that stick he's got up his ass.
Brandon makes a face at the smell. Erica rolls her eyes. "Quit pretending like you don't drink. Man up and take the shot."
Brandon, looking like he wants to stab Erica with an ice pick, snatches it up, then shoots it back like a pro.
He sputters a small cough, resting the back of his hand against his lips.
Smirking, Erica swirls a finger. "Doubles," she calls to the bartender.
Turning toward Brandon, she gives him a stern look. She isn't letting him blame her brother any longer.
"Let's get something straight. Here and now. Dylan never cheated on Brenda. End of story." When he says nothing, she hisses, "You're giving Dylan hell when he doesn't deserve it. He's been lost without her."
"We all have." Brandon pulls his whiskey close. His face expressionless, he stares into the empty glass.
Erica continues. "All the times we were on the road, or Brenda was on tour, if they were ever apart, which was almost never, he's never touched anybody else. Never even thought about it. Never even looked at another woman. You wanna talk whipped—that's Dylan." Brandon just sighs.
"My brother loves your sister, he always has, you know that's true."
It was true. Those two—were meant to be.
Brandon's blue eyes flick to her briefly. Sadness lines his face. Guilt too.
The bartender sloshes down the drinks. Erica leans in. "Besides, I'd kill him if he ever touched anyone else. Not like I'd have to, though. Bren's it for him. She's his fucking church, Bran, his religion."
Silence. Then—"I know," Brandon sighs, surprising Erica. "You're right. They're perfect for each other. It's annoying."
At the confession, he buries his face in his hands. He bows his head to the bar top and groans. Sitting back, Erica stares at him, confused as hell. "Then why? Why are you busting my brother's balls? You used to be best friends," she adds softly.
"I've been terrible." As if in penance, he shoots back his whiskey. Too fast. Instantly, he erupts into harsh, ragged coughs that have Erica wincing.
She slides the tap water toward him. "I realize we aren't each other's favorite people, but you can talk to me. What's going on with you? Why're you acting like an asshole?"
No reprimand at the insult. His pained face goes slack. When he looks at Erica, she's surprised to see faint tears in his eyes. He shifts uncomfortably on the barstool. Uncomfortable with his own tears.
"Because I'm mad, Erica. I was so mad at Dylan. For everything, even though it didn't matter, even if it wasn't his fault. For kissing my girlfriend…a-fucking-gain. For coming in between us AGAIN. For taking my sister away when they got married to fucking Tennessee of all places. Not being there when she lost the baby. For that picture that ruined everything, it ruined my life too. I was going to marry her."
Erica swallows hard, listening. All this time she has spent disliking Brandon for the way he treated her brother, for the way he acted when Dylan refused to pronounce her dead. She hadn't really thought about how it was for him. How he lost Kelly and his twin.
"You know, she called me crying that night, Erica. Sobbing on the phone about Dylan and Kelly right before…" Brandon breaks off, shaking his head.
Erica's stomach dips, and she closes her eyes. She knows what comes next. The car accident. Brenda bleeding out in Steve's arms, him trying to keep her sister-in-law's blood in her body so he could save her life.
"Then the plane crash." Erica opens her eyes. Brandon shudders. "When Brenda disappeared, I couldn't handle it. I took my pain out on Dylan. I was always the sensible one, the strong one, and all I wanted to do was disappear too. He wouldn't declare her dead…and I—I was so mad. I was so mad at him for not giving me that."
An empty sadness enters his eyes. Endless. She waits for him to go on. "I know you don't understand, but I had to have a funeral for her. I had to say goodbye. It was like half of me died too. I couldn't live without some closure even though it didn't give me any."
Erica sighs, feeling like a grade-A asshole. She never even thought about Brandon having a different way to cope with Brenda's death. She was his twin, his other half. His lifeline. His best friend. Her protector. She should have seen it. Dylan shut down when Brenda died. Brandon shut down too and changed.
"I know Dylan didn't cheat," Brandon says. "I know Kelly kissed him. It was just easier to blame him, to pretend it was his fault, his doing, then to face the fact that Kelly didn't want me, that she was still in love with him, after everything we'd been through. It was easier to hate him than to think about Brenda being gone. Oh God," he moans, "I've been horrible."
The pleading look he gives Erica cracks open her heart. "If Bren knew what type of brother I've been. That I gave her a funeral. That I gave up. That I've been so cruel to Dylan." Brandon shakes his head, "She'll never forgive me. She'll think I'm awful."
He hangs his head. "You're not awful, Bran. Confusing as fuck, yes, but not awful."
Erica reaches out to squeeze his hand. "I get it. Brenda will get it. That was a hard time. For all of us."
Brandon looks at Erica, her eyes far away thinking, she fiddles with the end of her hair. A few strands of golden brown hair have fallen around her face, making her look softer, less ice bitch, sort of beautiful. Older, wiser.
Brandon hasn't seen her look this heartbroken and vulnerable. Not since the search for Brenda. He wants to tuck her hair behind her ear, to tell her everything's gonna be okay, that he's sorry for being so cold to her. And he's about to do just that when Erica opens her mouth.
"There's something you should know." He frowns, coming back to the present. Clearing the thoughts he was just having about Dylan's little sister. Fuck, he must be losing his mind.
She's biting her lip, which means whatever she's about to say can't be good.
"Spill it," he says. To the bartender: "Leave the bottle."
"Okay, but you can't be mad."
"Erica."
"Fine." She exhales sharply, gathering steam, strength. Then, in one long breath, she says: "Brenda called me before she and Dylan left for Florida. Pissed as hell. She said the photo was staged. That Dylan didn't do it. That she believed him."
Brandon's mouth drops. Erica's reveal is like a bucket of cold water to his face.
"Wait. You've been sitting on this?"
It's been Dylan's greatest pain. Agonizing over whether or not Brenda believed him. Thinking she was going to walk, to ask for a divorce. This news—it's what Dylan needs. It would clear up those weeks before the plane crash. Would calm his ass down when it came to his wife. His guilt.
Erica bristles. Her nostrils flare in warning. "It wasn't exactly like it was in the forefront of my mind, Brandon. My sister was dead too. I was grieving."
Her eyes turn downcast. "It came back to me after you got here, seeing the way you and Dylan have been towards each other."
"What else?" He asks knowing Erica is hiding more.
"She knew who had sent her the photo. It wasn't Jasper," Erica says, "He took it, but he didn't send it."
His eyes widen. "Someone hired him to take it."
"That's right."
"Fuck. Who?"
"She wouldn't tell me. All she said was she wasn't going to let anyone fuck with her husband. Family or not. She was going to handle it after the Pensacola trip…only she didn't get that far." Family. Family. Brandon's mind seizes on the word. It could be anyone they're close to. Fury snakes its way through Brandon's veins. His hands pull into fists and he notes Erica's have done the same. Someone they trust tried to ruin Dylan with that photo. And they very nearly did.
Erica's soft voice. "Who could it be, Brandon?"
"I don't know," he says grimly.
"And Brenda doesn't either, not with the memory loss."
"Are you going to tell Dylan?"
"Hell no. He'd go fucking ballistic." Erica gives a swift shake of her head. "Besides, he doesn't need another thing on his plate to deal with. He's got enough going on worrying about Bren." Brandon's gaze narrows, his expression a mixture of amusement and suspicion. Reporter mode.
"Let me guess? You're going to figure it out?"
"Damn right I am."
Brenda sighs in jubilation and sinks into a chair, raising a beer to her lips. She closes her eyes for a moment, relishing the quiet, her alone time with Dylan. In the distance come the soft whinnies of the horses. The slow dying of the sun into fiery sherbet skies. Dylan glances down at her, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners as he gives a small smile.
"Brandon's…being…well a lot huh?" His voice is a thin trail Brenda can't quite pin down. Like he's mustering up the words to be nice or the courage to say more.
"Yeah. But he's sweet. Overprotective. But sweet."
Dylan leans back against the railing, facing her. "He's just returning the favor."
"Oh?" At Brenda's raised brow, Dylan goes on to detail her and Brandon's history. Every memory presented to her on a platter. "You guys were the closest. You guys told each other everything. Later in high school, you guys kind drifted, then you moved to London. The distance didn't help reconnect you two. Then I moved to London and uh…we got back together. Brandon eventually got back together with Kelly, and the four of us all reconnected. You began talking to them every weekend. You and your brother must have exchanged thousands of emails. Then when um…Brandon and Kelly called off their wedding. He got a job in Washington and left LA. You were his rock during that time. He regretted calling off the wedding, he was depressed and lost for awhile. They eventually got back together. He's your best friend, your protector, I remember he promised he'd never drift away from you again. That the loved you and he was sorry for not putting you first."
Brenda's quiet, remembering what she had written in her date book, Kelly. Some kind of meeting with Kelly. That name keeps popping up in her memory.
"This Kelly? Are my brother and her together? I mean where is she? Why didn't she come with him?"
Dylan swallows hard, "No…they broke up, last year."
Brenda nods but stays quiet. "Hm that's too bad. Sounds like they had a long history."
Dylan nods, "Yeah…they did."
Silence falls between them, Dylan wants to tell Brenda the past but starting with Kelly is not where he wants to start, he changes the subject, not wanting to ruin the first alone time they've had since she's been back. "You want something to eat?" Dylan's smooth voice pulls her from her daydream brain.
"No," she says. She's content where she is. She pretends she doesn't see Dylan's worried gaze on the strange, sad thinness of her body and crosses arms over her midsection. "I don't. I just want to sit here and watch the sunset."
"Okay, baby." Dylan squeezes her shoulder as he moves across the porch. A simple action that tells her he's here, that anything she needs, he'll give.
Glancing down, Brenda traces the tattoo on her wrist. The memory licks like the flicker of a flame. An image of Brenda, in a hotel room, jumping off the bed into Dylan's arms. An image of Dylan's happy face, of him bringing his mouth to kiss her bandaged wrist. Their new tattoos.
But she holds it close. Quiet. She doesn't want to chance this memory. To get Dylan's hopes up. There's a rustling as Dylan kneels to pick up his beaten up journal. She likes that it's beat up. Old, well loved. It tells Brenda the best kind of story; it tells her exactly what kind of man Dylan is. Honest. Down-to-earth. Loyal.
Brenda sits forward in her chair, elbows on her knees, chin in her palms. "You don't have to do that. Put it away," she explains when he glances up, his handsome face angular and shadowed in the setting sun.
With a slow nod, Dylan rises and settles into the chair across from her. As he holds the journal he stiffens. His entire body tense. So different from earlier today when she secretly watched him write.
Did I do that? Brenda thinks suddenly, sadly. Did I take that away from you?
Her chest constricting, Brenda gestures to the journal. "Something about that makes you sad."
A shake of Dylan's head, then he flips through it. "I'm not sad, baby."
"You said you didn't write anymore. So why are you now?" Lifting his face, Dylan meets her searching gaze.
"Marshall got them a gig at the Bridgestone arena, he wants a new song from me."
Her eyes widen. "When?"
"Next month."
"That's amazing, Dylan."
"It is," he admits. "It's soon, though. I haven't written in so long, sometimes I wonder if I'll ever get back to how I was."
"From what I heard today, you're already halfway there."
"Now I don't know about that."
"What made you stop?" Brenda's aware she's holding her breath, waiting for Dylan to speak. He shakes his head. Tight lines of tension around his mouth. She rises, moving to his side, to kneel. She touches his arm. "Tell me. Please."
There's no judgment in her words. Only concern. Worry for this man who's been broken again and again. Brenda sees it. Hears it. What he's been going through. He's been hurting just as much as she has.
When Dylan glances up, his eyes are wet—a sight that wrenches her heart. "I didn't want to live without you."
The journal bobs in his hands as his voice breaks. Wounded. Despairing. "I couldn't."
Brenda slips her hand into his. Her touch gives him the strength to continue and he takes a breath. "After you—I was struggling, Bren. I got wasted every damn night you were gone. I did shit I'm not proud of. Cussing at everyone who tried to help me. I was ready to leave everything behind—this house, this life, my friends and family…writing. I was a man you wouldn't be proud of."
His hand tightens around hers and he looks up. "You are my entire world, Brenda. You are my life, and I didn't want mine if you couldn't have yours."
She searches Dylan's face under the flicker of the yellow porch light and sees the same stunning truth. He tried to end it. Just like she did.
"I understand," Brenda says. "I do, Dylan. Truly." She holds her eyes to his, refusing to let him look away, hoping he understands what she's trying to tell him.
He curses low, viciously, at hearing Brenda's words. At understanding that they've been traveling the same painful road for so long without each other.
"I'm so sorry, Bren. I cursed myself every goddamn day for not saving you. For taking you on that plane. For leaving you there. I didn't do enough to protect you. I failed you."
Despair drips into her soul. The thought of Dylan blaming himself all this time—she won't have it. He's been reassuring her ever since she's been home. It's her turn to help him.
"No," she says firmly. "That wasn't your fault, Dylan. You can't blame yourself. I don't blame you."
"Christ, if you only remembered the grace you give me, you have always given me." He hangs his head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you were so alone for so long."
"But I'm not anymore. I'm alive and so are you." Her eyes search Dylan's pained face. The lump in her throat dissolves. Her heart a helium balloon. Deep inside of her she's uncoiling. Letting go. Taking her life into her own hands. Taking what she wants.
"We can't be afraid anymore. Let's live, Dylan. Let's live." Brenda presses herself up, takes Dylan's face in her hands, and crushes her lips onto his.
He reacts instantly, kissing her back with a fierce and furious want. He pulls her onto his lap. The journal hits the porch floor, making a thump that echoes into the darkened night.
"Your journal—" Brenda gasps between kisses.
"Fuck the journal," Dylan growls.
Brenda wraps her legs to straddle his waist. Not a thing, not even air, between her and him. Grabbing her hips, he pulls her deeper into him. Her dress rides high over her thighs. With a soft whimper, Brenda tilts her head back as Dylan kisses her neck, her pulse points, the hollow of her throat. When her head falls forward, she pins her eyes to Dylan.
He's panting. His pupils are dilated. Black and haunted and hungry and hangdog and in love. The most gorgeous sight Brenda's ever seen.
The strap of Brenda's dress has slipped down. Dylan dips his head to bury his face in the curve of her breast. He shakes as he inhales her scent. Then, his mouth moves to her nipple. He sucks at it, whipping it like cream, through the sheer fabric of her thin dress. The sensation is intense, rapturous, and her body arcs in his arms.
Holy shit. Brenda's on fire. Her body. Her body a ticking time bomb of want.
"Inside," Brenda gasps. She can barely get the words out. "Inside, Dylan. Please."
A ragged sound escaping him, Dylan rises, picking up Brenda like she's a feather in his arms. Twining her arms around his neck, she kisses him. Again. She can't get enough. Of him. On her lips.
They crash through the screen door and into the house, slamming back against the wall. Picture frames slap the floor. The screen door rattles like a tin can. Brenda breaks the kiss, gazing at him with heavy-lidded eyes.
"Think we can knock this farmhouse over?" she asks breathlessly.
"We're sure as hell gonna try," Dylan says, burying his face in her hair. Brenda grins and moves in for a kiss, her mouth brushing against the scruff of his cheek. She dips her head. Nips at his throat, his Adam's apple.
A guttural groan rips forth from Dylan. Hoisting Brenda higher in his arms, he takes the stairs two at a time. Brenda presses herself in closer, holding tight against him.
In the bedroom, Dylan sets Brenda gently on the end of the bed. Reverently, he kneels before her. Once again, his mouth finds hers. His hands find her too.
Hooking a finger through the loosened strap of her dress, he drags it down. Then, Dylan's warm hand is cupping her breast, filling his palm with her teardrop shape. His thumb brushes over her soft nipple, delicately until it forms a hard peak. His slow caress sends Brenda into euphoria. "Fuck baby," Dylan grits out, his eyes dark with desire. "Bren, you're perfect."
Then, sliding closer, Dylan dips his head between her breasts. Her nipples pucker under the heat of his exulted exhale. Taking her breast in his mouth, he sucks.
Brenda moans and arches into him, trying to absorb every single ounce of his touch. His lean, muscular hands, long fingers used to write beautiful words, gentle and calloused, run over her body like velvet.
A soft sigh escapes her lips. Brenda nearly goes limp, puddling onto the floor, but she holds on, digging her nails into Dylan's shoulder as she gives herself over to the sharp need stoking every single one of her desires. If Dylan's job is to drive her in-fucking-sane, well, tonight's the night. She's never felt this way before. For so long, she's been cut off from any sort of pleasure, of happiness.
Tonight Brenda wants to find that with Dylan. Hell, she's a goddamn married woman. She's got needs. Wants. She wants Dylan. Now.
Suddenly, brazen with desire, Brenda slips her hands down his broad shoulders to his chest, her fingers working frantically at the buttons on his shirt. She yanks it off, revealing a lean, toned body. Muscles like taut ropes, tan as the golden fields.
Then, dragging her eyes away from the vision that is her husband, she slides close and licks the side of his face. Her tongue scraping his grizzled cheek. He tastes like salt. Like sweat. And Brenda pulses in a soft spot down below.
Pulling back, Dylan grins, wide-eyed. Wondrous. His expression changed. In love to roguish lust.
"Bren…" Dylan's voice is husky. On his face is a question. A devastatingly hot one.
Without hesitation, Brenda nods. "Yes." Whatever he wants to give, she is his. She's all in. She wants him. This. Them. Her consent is like a starter's pistol. His dark eyes burn, wild.
Brenda gasps as Dylan suddenly grips her hips and tugs her into his body. Her thighs straddle his hips. Her eyes call him closer. Roughly, Dylan shoves Brenda's dress up over her hips, tearing off her panties.
Brenda laughs, surprised and yet delighted. The ferocity of his want, his burning touch, is nothing like she's ever known or she is remembering. Either one is glorious.
Then in a swift motion she is picked up and turned, Dylan lays her down on the bed, soft covers beneath her. His lean hands slide between her thighs, parting them gently. As if on instinct, Brenda props her feet on his broad shoulders. She glances up at him, his dark eyes glowing as he lowers himself in front of her.
I liked this, she thinks, thinking back to another life, but still the same body.
She still responds the same way she used to. Has the same needs. And under Dylan's strong hands, his long fingers, Brenda's being driven utterly crazy. His eyes tell her he knows every inch of her, knows what makes her tick, hum, scream.
And he's going to give it to her. The understanding has her slowly coming undone. She trusts this man like she's never trusted anyone.
Pulling her legs around him, Dylan buries his face between her legs. He inhales silk and slick wetness.
Brenda whimpers. Her hands clench the sheets. Her entire body lengthens, trembles, as Dylan works her over with his tongue. It slips and slides and teases her clit, both ravishing and relishing.
Brenda shakes on the bed. Every nerve in her body on red-hot alert. Ready to explode any second. One thing's for certain. Dylan knows what he's doing. He's all smooth moves and hot-as-hell confidence.
A wild moan escapes her lips. Brenda's eyes flutter and roll upward. Her hands release the sheet, moving to tightly grip Dylan's hair. He shudders under her touch, uttering an exclamation of fierce approval.
"Don't stop…" Brenda moans. "Please, Dylan, please don't…oh…yes fuck yes."
She feels the smile on his face as he picks up speed. One hand grips her hips, the other reaches up to tenderly to palm her quivering stomach.
Dylan circles his tongue. Soft, sensual strokes. Warmth rises in her body like the licking flames of a fire. Her toes curl. Her back arches, Brenda pressing herself deeper into him, as she begins that slow roller-coaster roll to the promised land. And then, she's there.
Her lips part and her eyes close as tremors rock her body. From her mouth comes a soft cry of ecstasy. She's shaking, riding each wave as it comes to her. Whimpering, finished, exhausted, Brenda goes liquid against the bed. She'd slide off too, simply collapse to the floor in a pulsing puddle, but Dylan scoops her up in his arms and settles her back against the pillows.
She lies limply in his muscular arms, her eyes semi-slitted as she gazes contentedly up at him. When Dylan leans in for a kiss, Brenda grins.
Wrapping an arm around his neck, she whispers in his ear, "It's about goddamn time you took me to bed, Dyl."
Dylan's cock throbs in his pants hearing her call him that old nickname. Damn, he wants his wife in the worst way. His lovesick horn dog brain can't even muddle through the events of tonight. One minute, he and Brenda had been baring all; the next thing he knew, she was on his lap, her lips pressed hot against his, her entire body melting into him with needy want.
He stares down at her, propped up against the pillows, half-clad in her thin cotton dress. Her skin dewy with sweat. Her chest rises and falls in hot, wild animal pants. Her eyes glitter like bright sun against the ocean. Her hair waterfalls down her shoulders, dark and glossy. Those lean legs that he loves crook at the knees, showcasing the luscious curve of her ass.
All Dylan can do is stare in awe, his eyes feasting on her near-naked body. He doesn't know what he's done to deserve this, but damn it, he's gonna enjoy it.
"Dylan," Brenda whispers. A shy flush coats her cheeks. "You're staring."
"Damn straight I am." Dylan shakes his head in disbelief. "Woman, you are gorgeous."
Brenda grins. Her body arcs toward him, magnetic-like. She looks feral, full of heat, of animalistic want.
"I think that dress needs to come off," Dylan says.
Brenda flashes a flirty grin. "I think you're right." Her words send a wrecking ball of want through him. He's doomed. That lovely, sultry grin of hers has him by the balls.
Shedding his pants, Dylan climbs onto the bed, watching as Brenda easily shimmies out of her dress. His breath catches at the sight of her naked form. Gorgeous. If he weren't so goddamn hot for her, he'd get down on his knees and worship at the altar of his wife. He wants this to be perfect. He'll go at her pace. Slow. Gentle. Though his dick is telling him otherwise. She lies back against the pillows, her hooded eyes tracking him. Waiting for him. Positioning himself beside her, Dylan slides a hand under Brenda's slim upper torso and cradles her close.
"Hi," she whispers.
"Hey, yourself." He kisses her silky lips. Then he dips his head to drag his breath over each pulse point of her body. Throat, wrists, temple. He takes his time. Savoring the rush of her blood. A reminder that Brenda is alive. On this earth. In his heart. His bed and his hands.
Dylan lets loose a guttural growl and deepens the kiss, drinking her in. Taking his time. Relearning the body of his wife, her wants and needs, her taste and her touch. Brenda murmurs her satisfaction, dragging her hands through his dark hair.
She breaks the kiss with a gasp. "Please, Dylan," Brenda pants. Her back arches, her breasts press against his chest. The heels of her feet knead against the bed. Her eyes desperate with fever. "I need you."
I need you. Fuck. The words could kill him. She looks him in the eyes, cups his cheek. "Make love to me."
"Are you sure?" Though he wants her in the worst way, he's content to just love her. Care for her. Wants nothing until she's ready.
"So sure." Her answer is a promise. Her beautiful eyes shine with tears. "I need you."
Letting out a guttural cry, Dylan roughly meets Brendas lips. This time, their touch sparks something—a reconnecting of the soul. A bolt of love rushes up their spines and between them. Trembling, Dylan positions himself to hover over her. Palms near the sides of her shoulders. She closes her eyes as he slides inside her velvet warmth. Her mouth parted in a perfect red O, she shudders out a moan.
Slowly, Dylan begins to rock. Brenda surges with him, her hips pressing against his, her slender hands slipping over his shoulders. Tears stream from the corners of her eyes.
Dylan dips his head, kissing away her tears, burying his face in her silky hair, lowering himself close, careful not to crush her, but close enough that their heartbeats sync, their bodies create wild, unbridled heat.
"Together baby," Dylan says. He's close, damn near ready to explode, but he isn't going without her. "Fuck…I missed you."
"Yes, yes," Brenda whispers, nodding. "Together."
He moves his hips firmly, thrusting gently, holding back from just pounding into her. He reminds himself to be gentle, like their first time, in weird way, this is their first time all over again. Brenda's pants come faster, she is getting closer. He picks up speed a little.
She pulses around him suddenly. Making him groan loudly. She's made of velvet, of fire, of holy water and ecstasy.
Dylan pumps quickly, driving himself further. Deeper, he's so far inside of her, their bodies are one.
Brenda, so slick from her own desire, has Dylan's mind overheating from the sensation. A shockwave of an explosion reels through his body. Dylan lets out a bellow of pleasure, his body tensing against hers as he cums so hard he sees stars.
Brenda gasps, nails digging into his shoulder blades. She writhes beneath his large frame, begging for more even as her body shudders with her own explosive end.
Breathing hard, Dylan sags forward. Covering Benda's body with his, careful not to crush her, as Brenda slowly opens her eyes.
Kissing her temple, Dylan rolls onto the pillows, tucking her protectively into his side.
Her head rests on his right shoulder. They lie there, sticky and blissed out, until Brenda breaks the silence with a chuckle.
Tilting her smiling face up to Dylan's, she says, "Hmm, I think that went quite well."
Laughing, he exhales into her tousled hair. "Fuck baby, it's been so long." He kisses her brow. Then grimaces. "That was embarrassingly fast. I'm sorry."
Brenda shakes her head, idly turning the wedding band on Dylan's finger. "No apologies. That was amazing."
His eyes cloud, noting her lack of a wedding ring. He needs to fix that. Soon.
Dylan brings her hand to his mouth. Presses a kiss to her wrist. To her heartbeat. To her tattoo. "I love you Bren," he whispers.
She smiles. "This." She lets out a dreamy little sigh and places a hand over Dylan's heart. "So far, this is my favorite memory ever."
Dylan meets Brenda's eyes and grins. "Mine too."
Her words are like a promise of the future. A promise of them. Of second chances, or third or whatever it was.
Dylan moves resting his head on her chest. Her arms automatically hug him to her.
Dylan's gonna hold tight to that. Tight to Brenda. And he's gonna make every minute count.
"Was it always like this?" Brenda whispers still amazed.
"Yeah…yeah it was." He responds with a kiss to her breast, before laying his cheek against it again. "Always."
"Dylan?"
"Hmmm?"
"Can we do it again?"
Dylan chuckles, his hot breath on her breast again. "You know…you said the same thing to me years ago…at the Spring Dance, our first first time."
Brenda closes her eyes, a flash of a black and white dress coming off. Dylan over her, kissing her, him whispering how much he loves her, asking if she's ok, if he's hurting her.
"Tell me if it hurts too much. Bren, I'll stop." His breath caught in his throat as he gently thrusts in and out of her, so slow.
"Don't stop." She moans back. The sting lessening, pleasure replacing it. "It feels good, faster."
Brenda's eyes opening, remembering a hotel room. Goofy grins on both their faces. A young Dylan, giddy and happy. A young Brenda glowing. Brenda tries to remember, did they do it twice? It's blank now.
"Did we…do it again?" Brenda asks.
Dylan's head rises to look at her, he smiles wide, "We did…the second time was thankfully longer." He shakes his head embarrassed. "I was sixteen and my recuperating timing was a hell of a lot faster."
Brenda reaches down, she grips his shaft in her hand, it's already starting to harden. Her brow raises, "Looks like you're still a little sixteen."
Dylan laughs and kisses her. "I feel sixteen."
This time Brenda takes charge, pushing him to his back as she straddles his hips. He smiles up at her, she moves over his rock hard member and eases down on it. She rocks slowly, goosebump spread over her entire body.
She leans down, "I remembered something." She breaths out, letting him in a little.
He stills, his eyes lock with hers, "What?" He whispers. His hand comes to the back of her neck, bringing her face to his, "What did you remember?"
"A black and white dress, a hotel room with flowers…the Bel-age?" Brenda closes her eyes, "Room 271, you being gentle and loving. Being happy. Loving you back. Making love. It was perfect."
Tears fill Dylan's eyes instantly, he sobs out. His hand leaving her neck to cover his eyes. His body wracks as he cries.
Brenda leans forward, taking his hand away from his face. "Dylan?" Her heart breaks seeing him break down. "Was that right?"
Dylan hugs her to him, burying his face in her hair as he nods. Brenda and himself still very much attached intimately. She leans away to look at him, his eyes wet, his face a cross between exuberance and shock. She smiles sadly at him. "Do you want to stop?"
He shakes his head, "No…I don't want to stop. I'm sorry." He closes his eyes, slightly embarrassed he reacted the way he had. "Come here." He whispers bringing his lips to hers again. This time the kiss is slow, a promise of love. Dylan's tears on Brenda's face. His tongue running sensually across hers. He begins to move from underneath her. Holding her face, kissing her gently as she starts to move against him too.
"You remembered." He breaths against her lips.
Brenda moans softly, "It was special…it felt really special."
Dylan's eyes lock on hers, his hand grips her neck softy, tears in his eyes as they move together, "It was special. Making love to you has always been special."
Brenda grins wide, before losing herself in his kiss again. It's feral and rough. She quickens her movements. She can't remember every time but something deep in her gut tells her he's telling the truth. They were special, their connection was special, their love making was always special. Brenda keeps it to herself for now, that love that warmth she felt back then, she feels it now. Dylan doesn't know that he's making her fall in love with him all over again.
Next up Brenda and Dylan get into a new normal. They get the house to themselves finally. And the suspenseful part of this story is slowly coming up now. Hold on tight, there is a trader in the mix with that photo, any guesses? People from the past coming in too. Hit review kids! We're probably about half way through. It's going to get good.