Chapter 12
Brandon watches as Brenda pulls a tray of charred-black cookies from the oven. Fanning smoke away from her face, she curses violently under her breath. As she transfers the tray to the counter, she moves too fast. The cookies slide off the slick tray to the floor. Another curse. Brandon chuckles. Tensing, Brenda glances over her shoulder to see Brandon lounging in the kitchen doorway, his eyes aglow with laughter.
"Man, if that isn't a culinary bummer I don't know what is."
She fixes him with a wry look. "If you're gonna stare, smart-ass, come help me clean up." Together, they kneel. Brandon collects cookies, stacking them in his hand. He side-eyes Brenda.
"Don't worry. You never could bake worth a damn even before." Brenda bristles in frustration. Her face scrunches up as she searches her memory bank.
"Dylan said I was a good cook."
"You are. Cook. Not baker, you always bought sweets and wrapped them up like they were homemade." Brenda busts out a gut-splitting laugh that has her holding her ribs. She plops on the floor beside Brandon, resting her back against the cabinets.
Brandon watches her face, the crinkle of her eyes, the way her shoulders relax and fall. God, that laugh takes him back. That laugh also fills him with relief. For the last week, Brenda's been walking on eggshells. Though she's put up a brave front, everyone can see it's taken a toll on her.
Worrying about Marchette, worrying about her memory. Brandon wants to tell her to relax but knows Brenda's never taken kindly to orders. Plus he'd be lying if the whole thing didn't stress him the hell out.
Marchette was dangerous. He saw first hand what he was capable of. He was there when Toni lay dead in Dylan's arms, bullets meant for his friend…his brother.
She puffs a lock of hair from her face, her eyes keeping watch on Brandon.
"Quick. Tell me something I could do. Something I was good at." She sounds resigned, desperate for insight into herself.
"Swearing." She swats his arm.
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
She tilts her head back and rubs her brow. "I just…I have to meet all these people today and I don't even know who the hell I am."
Brandon thinks on it, "You clean when your upset. You can make anyone laugh, especially me, more surprisingly Dylan, you're the only one that can lighten him up. You try to fight anyone who crosses your family or friends. You like margaritas. You love Alanis Morissette." He raises an eyebrow. "You bought Jagged Little Pill in 1995 and played the CD on repeat until it practically broke. There. Does that help you?"
"No."
"That's because all that shit isn't you. It's in you, Bren. Everything you've been doing since you've been back is you. It doesn't matter if you like beer or wine."
"That's what my therapist says." She kicks his shoe with her bare foot, but she's smiling, "Thanks, Freud."
With a grunt, Brandon stands and dumps the cookies into the sink. He reaches down to grip Brenda's hands and pull her to her feet.
"Look. You're at a party." He gives her a pointed look. "Your party. Try to have fun."
At the clatter of the screen door, his eyes brush to Valerie, who's carrying a stack of white pastry boxes.
"Let Val handle it dessert." Brenda laughs at the vision of Valerie struggling to balance the tower of boxes in her arms.
"You're going overboard, Val," Brenda says, moving to help her set the boxes on the table.
Valerie scoffs. "Who doesn't like sweets? Why does it smell like burnt ass in here?"
Brenda and Brandon laugh but don't say anything.
Her critical gaze sweeps over Brenda. Her lips purse. "Is that what you're wearing?"
Brenda glances down at her tank top and cut-off shorts and bare feet.
"What about a dress?" Valerie offers. Brandon hides a smirk. Brenda wears her fuck-that face.
In the most exasperated voice, he says, "It isn't some debutante ball, Val."
"I'm not in the mood, Bran," she fires back.
"Brenda looks fine," Dylan says, coming around the corner, chairs stacked under his arms. "More than fine."
He smiles at Brenda and she perks up, instantly looking a thousand times lighter.
"No fighting. In fact, the only person allowed to start fights today is Bren."
Brenda props her hands on her hips, a smile playing on her lips. "Slaps or sucker punches?"
"I'll let you decide, baby."
Brenda laughs. "Special treatment."
Dylan gives her a warm look. "Damn right."
Brandon groans. His sister and Dylan are even crazier about each other than when they first met. It's exhausting is what it is.
"Outside," Valerie commands, switching into party planner mode. She marches Dylan down the porch steps, where they start setting up chairs in the field beside the house.
Brenda goes to the window. Her hands flutter to her stomach. "I'm nervous," she says, and Brandon knows she's not talking about meeting people at the party.
His heart gives a tug. Her expression—forlorn and lost. He feels for her. Twin radar back in full force.
Brandon moves to stand beside her, looping an arm around her shoulder. "It'll be fine."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
Whiskey and champagne. Sweet tea and ice-cold beer, Steve's mucho marvelous mango margaritas. Lawn chairs and lanterns. The house is decked out beyond belief thanks to Valerie, Erica and Dylan. Music blasts from the stereo system installed around the house. The late afternoon is warm, the hot sun blazing like a fever.
Steve tumbles beer into a Yeti cooler; Valerie follows the caterer around, barking orders and swatting at mosquitoes.
Brenda, standing at the front of the house, smiles at the lovely mess of it all. It's like a bona fide country hoedown right before her eyes. According to Steve, they used to have Sunday dinners every week, and more get togethers than humanly needed. LA, London, New York friends visiting and staying with them. Every holiday, all Brenda's doing and always held at the house.
Her gaze drifts to the horizon. Brenda wonders where the policemen have staked out. She knows it's crazy to have a party with all this madness, but normality is the only thing keeping her sane. Though the police are still looking for Marchette, Brenda can't help but hope. Maybe he gave up. Maybe he got hit by a bus.
Dylan and herself had had a long conversation about Toni and his past with Marchette. It was a tragic and sad story.
There was a little hum of sadness and jealousy her husband had married another before her but Dylan explained. They had not been all that close at the time. Brenda had been thriving in London and dating but she was never far from his mind. She admitted he couldn't even tell her himself he was getting married, the thought too difficult because deep down he still loved her and didn't ever want to hurt her. She couldn't be mad at that. Brenda had no recollection of that time, she wondered if she was hurt or depressed over it? She wondered if she had fallen in love with someone else too?
Dylan told her she sent him a telegram. Stating that she must be something for him to settle down, that even with an ocean between them…she would always love him. He also told her, when Toni was killed, the only person that could help him, that could take away his guilt for her death was her. All the roads led to her. She had got over that hum rather quickly after that when Dylan worshipped her body for hours that night.
The first people have arrived. A baby blue hybrid sedan eases its way down the drive. At the wheel, an older gentleman, bald. Beside him, a woman with light brown hair, a shadow of someone in the back seat.
Brenda hears the thump of Dylan's boots as he starts down the steps. He stands tall beside her, lacing his fingers with hers.
"Our parents." He points at the car with his beer. She looks up at him.
Turns her voice teasing. "The dreaded in-laws."
He laughs before his expression turns serious. "You sure you're okay with this?"
"Great," she says, with more bravado than she feels. She can't hide out here forever. Although it'd be tempting to take her hot-as-hell husband upstairs to bed and do very sweaty and inappropriate things with him.
Shaking off the image, Brenda squeezes his hand. "I'm ready."
Dylan's eyes flash with pride. Turning his body toward her, he pulls her tightly into his arms, molding her to him. "You amaze me, Bren," he says fiercely. "And I promise it's all gonna be alright."
His words have Brenda going molten. "I know it will." She stands on tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips.
Dylan slips an arm around her waist, his other hand cups her cheek to tangle in her hair. The slam of car doors, the crunch of sand and grit, pull her and Dylan apart.
Standing in front of Brenda are three teary-eyed parents.
"My god…Brenda." Jim breathes. All three looking at her with tears in their eyes.
"Hi dad," Jim's hand goes to his heart. The look when she meets someone always the same, like they're seeing a ghost.
Dylan says with a nod to them, "Mr. & Mrs. Walsh…Iris…welcome, how was your flight?"
"Long son but so worth it." Jim replies, his eyes on Brenda.
"Brenda honey." Cindy's eyes shiny, she steps forward to embrace Brenda. The hug is warm and familiar and Brenda lets herself sink into the calming touch. "Oh, Brenda, sweetheart. You look beautiful, I'm so happy you're okay." After what seems like a long emotional hug, Iris steps forward. Brenda holds out her hand, "Mrs. McKay, it's lovely to see you."
"Oh Brenda, you've never called me Mrs. McKay in your entire life, so don't you start now. Iris, okay?"
Brenda smiles. "Iris."
Iris moves in and surrounds Brenda in a crushing hug. "I knew you were alive." She whispers, "I knew he would find you." She leans away from her but holds Brenda tight by the shoulders, her soft eyes evaluating her. "There are no words for this. To see you again…" She turns her teary smile to her son. "Oh, Dylan. You have your precious girl back."
"Okay, Iris," a gruff voice interjects. "Let me hug my daughter." Jim steps up to pull Brenda into a crushing bear hug. His eyes openly teary as he takes her in. When she's released, Jim turns a wry eye toward Dylan.
"Your husband's been keeping you all to himself."
Dylan's lips tighten. "Im sorry, she just wasn't ready."
Cindy's smile is bright. "Completely understandable."
Jim grunts. Brenda presses a steady hand against Dylan's chest, telling him it's okay.
Dylan catches her hand up, kisses it, and then cups it against his heart.
"What am I? Chopped liver?"
The sound of Brandon's voice sends a rush of relief through Brenda as some of the attention is taken from her. Hearty hugs and handshakes are exchanged with their mom and dad.
Erica appears to greet both Walsh's and Iris. The energy turning more light.
Brandon presses a margarita into Brenda's hands, gives her a get-out-of-here glance.
Erica linking her arm through Brenda's. So quick, Brenda's beginning to think Erica and Brandon are working in unison.
"I'm stealing her away," Erica says, breaking Brenda and Dylan's touch.
As Brenda's pulled through the party, she waves at Marshall and David, who are filling up red Solo cups with beer.
She floats between people, between friends and family who all hug and kiss her happily. And she finds herself wishing she were as confident about herself as all these people who know her are.
Erica introduces her to a group of fellow actors from her old theatre group. Tawny, Eleanor and Kendall. "It's so good to see you Brenda," Tawny says, her lion's mane of golden hair swirling around her head.
"God we missed you," Kendall says dryly. She's drinking straight vodka, her arms all lean biceps and tattoos.
"We were like the three amigos, well with four," Eleanor smiles.
"Irrelevant detail," Brenda jokes, liking the camaraderie she already feels.
"Oh my god Brenda." She feels a tight hug almost startling her. "We thought you were dead. Oh my god." She breathes relieved.
The blonde pulls away with a watery smile, Brenda's face must reflect confusion because she adds, "I'm Donna silver…Martin." She shakes her head correcting herself, "Went back to my maiden name."
"Hey Donna." Erica smiles. They greet each other affectionately. "Brenda this is David's ex wife, they are still close. You went to high school with her. She still lives in Beverly Hills."
Brenda smiles, "Thanks for coming. High school huh. We're close?"
Donna nods, "Yes, I made your wedding dress when you got married. You helped me and David through a rough divorce. You helped me through a lot over the years. Yes we're close."
Brenda smiles but stays quiet not sure what to say.
From her spot across from Brenda, Eleanor breaks the awkward silence, "Do you think you'll come back to work soon?"
"Eleanor," Kendall chides.
Brenda lifts a hand. "It's okay." She keeps her shrug lighthearted. "I hope to. One day."
Tawny leans in, her brown eyes wide. "And you don't remember anything?"
Stomach roiling, Brenda shakes her head. "Not really, little things here and there but no."
The women exchange looks, making Brenda feel as if she's always the last one to know. She chugs her margarita drinking it fast, wanting to blur the boundaries of the dizzying conversation. Wanting to feel like she belongs, even though she feels a million miles away from herself. Especially today. Of all days.
"And what about Dylan?" Eleanor wiggles her brows roguishly. Tawny, Kendall and Donna smirk.
Brenda looks up, unable to stop the bright smile that spreads across her face. "What about Dylan?"
Tawny claps her hands together, "I knew it! Look at that face!"
Eleanor's sigh is practically a swoon. "Oh, it's so perfect. Long-lost lovers getting reacquainted. I die."
Erica rolls her eyes at the dramatics, I mean in their defense they are literal drama queens.
Brenda laughs. Soon, the circle expands. They're joined by Valerie and Marshall's wife, Martha. Every five minutes, Brenda can't help glancing over her shoulder to make eye contact with Dylan, who's surrounded by Marshall and the boys.
When he meets her eyes, she can't stop the goopy smile that spreads across her face. She misses him. It's stupid, but she does. They're only feet from each other, and yet she can't bear to be apart. He's been her rock since this all happened. She doesn't know what she'd do without him. Needing a refill of her margarita, Brenda excuses herself from the girls and steps away to the bar. It's at the edge of the party, beneath a cool sycamore tree.
"Brenda?"
She glances over. A woman with blonde hair is approaching her. Brenda gives her a smile, and nervously, the blonde steps forward. "Hi, Brenda. I'm Kelly…Kelly Taylor."
Brenda's ears perk at the name. She recognizes it from her planner. Brandon's ex? The blonde is stunning. She's about Brenda's height maybe a little taller, not as petite as Brenda but thin and dressed fashionable. Blonde hair, blue eyes, that basic beauty that everyone wants to be.
"Hi." Brenda angles her head. "I'm sorry. You used to date my brother? Are we close friends?" She taps her temple. "As you've probably heard, I'm a little fuzzy in that department."
Kelly's smile is sympathetic. "Yes…Brandon and me…dated." She stops not continuing, her expression a little pained. "And we used to be close yes." Her blue eyes dart around the party before settling back on Brenda.
"We went to high school together, um kept in touch off and on over the years, when Brandon and I got back together we became close again. Dylan and I have known each other for many years. Kindergarten, along with Steve and Donna."
"You did?" Brenda says, slightly bewildered. "Dylan didn't tell me that."
"That's because him and I aren't close anymore." Kelly chuckles. "It wasn't exactly great between us. Or good. Everything we did wasn't good," she adds dryly.
Brenda frowns. "Are you talking about you and Dylan like together?"
"I'm sorry." Kelly shakes her head, violently, as if she's angry with herself. She extends a hand. "I'm not doing this right. I just wanted to see how you were coping with everything, if you were okay?"
Confusion washes over Brenda. Her stomach burbles with anger and anxiety. It's too much. Dozens of strange faces, their eyes all asking if she remembers, if her brain works.
Is that why they're all here? she thinks, suddenly feeling very small and very lost. They've come to gawk at the medical anomaly that is Brenda McKay?
Still, she draws herself up and crosses her arms, refusing to give this woman what she wants. "I'm not sure what you mean. Everything?"
Out of the corner of her eye, Brenda sees Steve making a break for them. Hustling over like a linebackers ready to intercept.
Then Valerie, Erica hot on her heels, Valerie's face red, Erica looks nervous, Valerie steps in. "She means to mind her own business is what." The glare she gives Kelly could rival a nuclear blast. "You need to go. Who invited you anyway?" she snaps, her words icy.
Kelly flushes and draws back.
Brenda shakes her head. "Val. It's fine." Though she's riled up, she's not angry enough to sic Valerie on the woman.
Valerie grabs her hand. "It's not fine, Bren. C'mon." As Valerie drags Brenda away, she mutters "stupid bitch" under her breath. Brenda is surprised by the obvious dislike Valerie has for Brandon's ex. Brandon and Valerie seem very close, had Val always disliked Kelly?
When they're out of earshot, Brenda asks, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. It's nothing, we don't like her." Brenda rubs her temple as silence falls over them. The smallest twinge of a migraine brews on the horizon.
"Are you alright?" Valerie looks at her concern marring her pretty face. "You look pale."
Brenda arches a brow. "Pale means tired, and because this is my party, I take that as a personal affront."
Valerie laughs, but it's more of a grimace. She steps close to Brenda, as close as she can get, and tucks a lock of hair behind Brenda's ear. "I know you're sick of all the love and obsessive worry, and you can get as bitchy as you want with us, but I hate to tell you, we will not be stopping anytime soon."
Brenda hugs her best friend, loving her. Loving what they have even though Brenda has only known her for a month. Valerie isn't easy, but it's easy with Valerie.
"I've met so many people I'm dizzy, Val." She gives Valerie a gracious smile. "I just need a minute by myself. Really. I'll be okay."
Ignoring Valerie's crestfallen face, Brenda sighs and walks fast for the back of the house. She should be having fun, but she isn't. If anything, the party's made her feel less confident, overwhelming her with so much she still doesn't remember. She hates standing around feeling helpless, waiting for the world to drop around her.
Today's supposed to be about her, her homecoming. She survived Marchette, she can survive this. At least that's what she keeps telling herself.
"You aren't serious?" Dylan asks Marshall. They're standing in the field, next to David's jeep. Marshall's just finished telling David about an intimate showcase he's arranged for next week to prep for their Bridgestone performance.
"You better believe it," Marshall says. "Seven days, you'll be playin' the Station Inn."
"That's unbelievable Marshall, thank you." David smiles.
Steve appears, red-faced and panting. Erica's demeanor the same joins to.
Dylan frowns. "Where've you been?"
"You don't wanna know," Steve mutters. After side-eyeing his friend then his sister carefully, Dylan turns back to the conversation David and Marshall are continuing. Being bored with the conversation. Dylan turns to look for Brenda. Sipping his beer, he scans the crowd. He's been trying to keep Brenda in his sightline. Even though the house is surrounded by plainclothes detectives, Dylan doesn't trust the cops. They fucked it up once, they'll fuck it up again.
He frowns, worry needling him.
"What's wrong?" David asks noticing.
Dylan cranes his head. "I don't see my wife."
He pushes past Marshall, leaving them to find Brenda.
As he searches the crowd, voices swell around him, familiar friends and faces saying hello, but all Dylan can focus on is Brenda. She's not here. She's not anywhere. He curses himself for not keeping her close. His heart in his throat, he strides fast for the backyard. The roaring in Dylan's head stills when he sees her.
Brenda, looking lonely as hell, sits on the back porch. Her bare feet stretched out in the grass, a beer in her hand, she gazes out at the woods.
Dylan slows his pace. She doesn't even glance up as he approaches, she's so lost in thought. "I've been looking for you," he says softly.
Her gaze drifts upwards, then she chuckles.
As usual, Brenda's eagle eyes have him pegged. "You were ready to call in a search party." Dylan exhales. "Something like that."
"I didn't want to bother you." Her tone is easy. No hint of worry or upset.
"You could never be a bother. Marshall was talking my ear off as usual."
"What about?"
"Just an added gig for David and Erica. That's it." Brenda's smile is quivery. He evaluates her close. The soft sadness in her eyes. Dark circles. The hunch of her shoulders. Today's been hard for her. Too hard. The thought slams him in the gut. He should have done better by her. He should have been there for her, beside her.
"I'm sorry," he says. "It was too soon for a party. I should've known that."
Her eyes widen. "No, it's not."
At his doubtful stare, she pins him with a look. "I love it. I do. I love that you, Erica and Val did this for me." She gestures around her. "It's just . . . it's a lot. Fucking depressing, you know?"
A droll laugh tinged with a sob escapes her lips. "All these people telling me how happy they are I'm alive and I can't even put a name to the face. I mean, fuck. It's so fucking hard. Pretty ridiculous too."
Her bottom lip pushes out as she fights the urge to cry. Dylan kneels in front of her and cups her cheek. When he grazes a thumb across her cheekbone, Brenda closes her eyes at his touch. "Want to get out of here and go have some fun?"
Her eyes pop open. A playful smile curves her lips. "What do you have in mind?"
He hands her his beer. "Hang tight."
Dylan pounds up the steps to the back door and ducks into a small entryway. When he returns, Brenda's standing, smiling, beer clasped to her chest.
In his hands, he carries two fishing poles and a bucket of beers and bait.
Dylan tosses her a cavalier grin. "C'mon baby."
Brenda slips her hand in his. "Where are we going?"
"To our happy place."
Ten minutes later, they're standing on the dock of the river. Brenda looks around, ambling to the end of the dock. Her light eyes drift to the man-made beach, to the tire swing hanging over the muddy water, to the small shanty where their boat is stored.
Dylan baits a hook while Brenda strings a broken line. He watches her hands move. Deftly. Expertly.
He smirks and watches as she casts into the water, impressed.
"Like a pro, my girl from the land of ten thousands lakes." He cracks a beer, takes a long sip, then passes it to Brenda.
"I out fish you," she says, smug. "Every time."
Dylan eyes her quick. She's right. A hopeful breath's held in his chest as he asks, "You remember?"
"Nope." Brenda elbows him in the side and tosses him a flirty smile. "I just know, country boy." Dylan laughs. They sit side by side at the end of the dock, sharing a beer, dipping their toes into the water. Brenda lean sexy tight legs. Her hair rustles with the light afternoon wind. She's gorgeous in a white tank and cut-off shorts. She's put on weight in the last couple of weeks and looks healthy as hell. Damn sexy.
Dylan has to drag his eyes away from her before his mind runs away from him. The way he wants her should be criminal.
"It's so peaceful out here," Brenda murmurs. "I can't believe this was ours."
"Is. Is ours, Bren." Her smile falters, as does Dylan's heart.
"This entire day I've been thinking I'd conjure memories from what? From thin air? From the faces of people I don't even recognize? I don't know what's wrong with me. I keep feeling like everyone's in on a secret I don't know about, and that secret's my life."
Dylan's stomach bottoms out at the words. The dejection in her voice. He hates what this is doing to her. Hates that he's the one keeping the past that she's trying so damn hard to remember.
"Nothing's wrong with you, Bren."
"Face it, Dylan. My brain is broken."
Without warning, Brenda slaps her temple. "Work. Work. I just want it to work, Dylan."
Her voice turns pleading. "Why won't it work?"
Dylan pries her hand away from her head, keeping her wrist still. "Stop. Stop it," he says, his voice coming out rough.
He grabs Brenda to his chest, holding her tight so she can't hurt herself. She shakes against him. But she's not crying, her entire body livid with rage and fury. She leans back to look at him, her eyes shiny, her lips flat and white.
"What if I never remember anything?" She extends a hand. "How is all this fair to you? Everything we've shared is gone. Every memory between us. I can't remember our wedding, or our first kiss, or our first date. And you have to live with that." She lets out a disgusted growl. "I've been selfish only thinking of myself."
He chuckles. "Brenda, that's the last thing you are."
"Maybe so, but…" She gives him a doubtful look. "Doesn't it make you sad? All our little moments…" Her eyes go shiny, her voice turns soft. "We lost so much."
Dylan's throat constricts. "It isn't easy," he admits, grazing a thumb against the delicate arch of her cheekbone. "It's hard as hell and I hate it. The thought of you not remembering our life together, it breaks my heart. Our connection was always powerful. No matter what happened between us, that connection never was broken. Our past even the hard parts, defined us, made us stronger. Our love unbreakable….yeah it makes me sad. But…" He gathers Brenda's hand in his. "I didn't lose you, Bren. That'd be my greatest pain."
A tear slips down her cheek. His hand trembles as he brushes it away. He leans close. "Besides, your brain is really, really beautiful, and I love it, and I love you, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. We've made it through some really difficult times, this is no different."
A small laugh escapes Brenda. She bumps her shoulder to his. "Why are you so good at this? Cheering me up?"
"Baby, I'll make you happy for the rest of your life if you let me."
"I will." She turns her body into his. Puts a hand over her heart and whispers, "I really will, Dylan."
Then, his lips are on hers, desperate for her touch, her taste. Brenda grabs at his shirt, a willowy gasp of air escaping her before she inhales his mouth. His hands knot in her hair as he hauls her against his chest. All of Brenda's warm curves pressed tight against him. The kiss is relentless, insistent. Finally, they withdraw, panting.
Heavy-lidded, breathless, Brenda stares at him. "I've been wanting to do that all day."
Dylan dips his head to nip the top of her shoulder. It's red from the sun and hot on his lips. He nuzzles his nose against her neck, feeling Brenda's arms wrapping around his waist. The curve of her hip, the caress of her gentle hands, is enough to send him into oblivion. Is enough to have him thanking God he can call her his.
"You're getting burned." His voice is a husky murmur.
"We could cool off?" She says innocently.
He grins. "What do you have in m—" Dylan's next word is cut off abruptly as Brenda shoves him into the river. She leaps to her feet, howling with laughter, and then jumps in after him. Dylan pops out of the water, sputtering, followed shortly by Brenda. All he can do is stare, watching the water roll down her porcelain skin as she laughs and laughs.
The most beautiful sound in the world. With a wild holler, he grabs Brenda up in his arms. She squeals in delight as his hands wrap around her slim waist to lift her in the air.
"You done me wrong, baby! Now you pay!" He tosses her high, watching as she splashes into the water.
When Brenda emerges, shooting up like a rocket, she gracefully flips herself onto her back to float. She tilts her face to the sun, to the sky. And then she screams. Joyfully. A release.
They swim and play and hold each other, Brenda's legs around Dylan's waist, they kiss and grope each other until the sun sinks below the horizon.
Until a small tendril of smoke gets Dylan's attention. Brenda's legs squeeze closer, as he goes in for a gentle kiss. "Let's get back. I gotta surprise for you."
Her eyebrows rise but she says nothing. Only lets Dylan carry her back onto the muddy bank. When he sets her down, she looks up at him. "Thank you," she says. "For being honest with me. For making me feel a million times better."
His gut twists. But he steels himself, watching as Brenda walks away, barefoot, dancing up the muddy bank to the grass. Tonight. He has to tell her everything tonight.
Brandon scans the crowd of people. There are more friends and family than he knows what to do with, and people he doesn't know at all.
At least Brenda and Dylan had the right idea to sneak away for a breather. He spotted the two of them climbing down the fenced path to the river hours earlier.
"Have you seen Bren?" Brandon glances over. It's Erica, holding a beer and wearing a frown.
"Relax." Brandon clinks the lip of his beer to hers. She grimaces as foam spills into the dirt. "She's fine. Dylan took her fishing."
Erica nods thoughtfully. "She was getting overwhelmed. All these people. It was too much." Her pretty face is crestfallen, her shoulders slumped.
"Nah. You guys put together a good party, Erica." He peeks at her from the corner of his eye, hoping to see a smile. While he likes to piss her off, he doesn't like seeing her sad. That depresses even him. "Fancier then the usual with Valerie in charge. But still good."
Erica shifts her weight, eyeing him with suspicion.
He laughs. A deep, rumbling sound that has Erica's stance relaxing. "What?"
"You're being nice."
"Yeah, well. Liquor does that. Besides, I'd say Brenda's welcome home party is a fine time to be nice."
Her face softens. "Definitely."
"Nice save there too." Brandon takes a swig of beer. "With Kelly."
She looks at him surprised, "You knew about that?"
Brandon shakes his head with a smirk, "Unfortunately. I noticed her the minute she stepped up to talk to Bren. You guys beat me to it but it would have probably been a scene if it was me that got there first."
Anger flashes in Erica's eyes. "Ugh. That dumb bitch. What was she even doing here anyway?"
"I have no idea." Brandon's tired, tired of the face, the name, tired of her period.
Erica thanks god that Dylan failed to notice Steve ushering out Kelly. She had said nothing as she left, gave no explanation for her entrance, just apologized and got in her car.
Erica looks over at Brandon, "You still love her?"
Brandon shakes his head, "No…that ship has sailed, crashed, sunk over and over. I did love her, for a long time, but…she's hurt my sister, me…to many times. I'm just ashamed it took me so long to accept it."
Erica stares at his face, he is really handsome, Brandon has aged well. Still hot, still has those bright crystal blue eyes. A warm feeling fans over her that is unfamiliar when it comes to Brandon. She sniffs quickly to shake whatever that feeling was away.
"There's too many people here." Erica says warily.
That gets Brandan's attention. He scans the crowd. Erica has a good point. The majority of guests are family, but the rest are from the industry, music and acting. Marshall's clients and powerful music business people.
Probably invited to schmooze Dylan. It figures. Dylan's always been the important one—both Erica and David knew it.
Dylan powered the band, with his name and Brenda's, he wrote most of the lyrics, so it makes sense Marshall would want to show him off, to tell the world they were back.
Even if it wasn't his own goddamn party to show off at. Although Brandon and Erica doubts Dylan even noticed the hangers-on. All afternoon he's only had eyes for Brenda.
"They'll clear out of here soon," he tells Erica.
A loud, clipped laugh has them both turning heads. Marshall, dressed full-on in a suit, is talking to David, Valerie and a producer.
Erica hears him utter the words practice and album and recording deal. She scowls. Fucking Marshall. He can't leave business alone for one goddamn day.
When Brandon turns to look at Erica, he finds her wearing a scowl.
"I don't like that guy," she says, her voice reeking with distaste.
Brandon smirks. "Does anyone? I never was sure of him, Brenda seemed to like him, she always said he worked hard as her agent. He always seemed out for the money to me, not Brenda's well being. Dylan didn't like him much, but that seemed to have changed. Why's he here anyway? I thought it was family only."
"I guess he's kind of family," Erica murmurs automatically.
Then a gasp comes from Erica. She grabs on to Brandon's arm, digging nails into his bicep.
She grips him so hard that Brandon bites out a curse. When he turns to ask her what the hell, she's staring at him with big, wide eyes.
"Brandon," she says. "Family."
He freezes, the beer bottle inches from his lips as realization dawns.
He looks at Erica, eyes wide, and says, "Holy shit. It was him Erica, he was the one that sent Brenda the picture."
Brenda slows to a stop when she and Dylan stride up to the house. The world's aglow in light and flame.
"My God. Dylan." A huge bonfire blazes in the field. The large party crowd's been pared to an intimate few. Only Valerie, David, Steve, Erica, Brandon, The Walsh's, Iris, and a few others remain behind. Drinks flowing, rocking chairs and s'mores kits are set out. The dewy night air is filled with the scent of cedar wood.
Brenda squeezes Dylan's hand. "Is this the ceremonial altar?"
Dylan laughs. "Oh, you didn't know? We're big on human sacrifice."
She smiles. "Sorry to say, I'm no sacrificial virgin."
His expression, his eyes, turn hungry and wanting at the teasing tone in her voice. But before Dylan can say he knows all about that, make a grab for her to haul her over his shoulder up to their bedroom, Brenda breaks their closeness and makes a slow lope to her friends and family. Restored after the river, her time spent with Dylan, Brenda can't wait to finish her party out right.
"Brenda, you're wet," Valerie's brows raise, "And I mean that in the best way possible. What exactly have you and Dylan been doing?"
The group that over hears chuckles. Even Jim and Cindy seem to be amused.
As Brenda responds with a guilty smile, Valerie takes Brenda's hand and tugs her forward, pulling her past Steve, who's heading toward Dylan to hand him a guitar.
Their voices follow Brenda as she's seated in a rocking chair.
"You wanna play, man?" David smiles strumming his own guitar.
"You know I don't play well." Dylan says shy. He uses it for tune and writing sometimes but he isn't a musician.
"It's tradition and besides, you blend in fine." Erica smiles as she moves to sit next to David.
Valerie drapes a blanket around her shoulders, "Girl your nips are showing, not that any of the guys probably mind, but I'm sure your brother and Jimbo want to gauge their eyes out."
Brenda laughs and nods a thank you.
Brenda eyes Dylan, Erica, and David huddled together, their instruments lit up in the flicker of the firelight.
She glances up at Valerie and smiles. "You didn't tell me I get a private performance."
Lowering herself beside Brenda, Valerie hands her a glass of champagne.
"You're gonna love it. You haven't been to one of our Nashville parties till they play." She winks at her, Valerie's eyes go back to David. Brenda sees pure adoration in them. It makes her smile.
Erica announces what song and they start off. Everyone quiets, packing in around the fire, leaning in close to hear them play. Then and there, the dewy night comes alive with music. The grass is their stage and they're in their element.
Even Dylan, though he laughs and tries to blend in looks happy, his melodic voice picking up speed as he switches over to a cover of an old Rolling Stones song. Erica and David shine though. The music is them, it's their thing.
But Brenda only has eyes for Dylan. He's so confident on his instrument even though he stumbles over cords. His hair tousled, his face passionate and earnest, his love for the people around him shines crystal clear as he sings out when everyone joins in and makes him laugh. So does his love for Brenda. Because he doesn't take his eyes off her as he plays.
He holds Brenda's face in his steady gaze, love and desire ringing out in his voice.
As Brenda glances around her circle of people, tears fill her eyes. It all feels so celestial. All of it.
The full moon hanging above. The glow of the bonfire. The pulse of love, of music in the air. Everything about this day feels absolutely perfect. That calms something in her. A breaking open of love a river wide. She has no answers for anything in her present. But she does have touchstones. Her family. Friends. Solid rocks she can lean on. She might not remember everything, but she has Dylan. She has this. A second chance at love. Marriage. Life.
Just then the air is peppered with claps and hoots and whistles. Brenda rouses from her thoughts. Dylan puts his hands up to signal silence.
Brenda's heart flips in her chest as he pins his eyes to hers. The insides of her stomach is a flutter of butterflies. Dylan's strong voice fills the night air. He glances at Brenda, giving her a heartfelt look, before he looks at everyone around the fire.
"I wanna say thank you all for being here. Some of you have travelled great lengths to welcome the most beautiful woman in the world home. And I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for being here to make this a celebration for my wife. Brenda…you are a gift to me, to your friends and family, and I thank you for letting me be in your life." His throat bobs. Tears glitter in his eyes, reflected by the firelight. He raises his beer and others follow suit.
"I love you, Bren. I always will. I know I'm not alone in thinking, thank god you're here. You're alive and okay. Welcome back baby. This ranch of ours…finally feels like home again."
Around her, hushed sniffles. The clearing of throats. "Here Here."
"Thank you," Brenda whispers, but words aren't enough to convey the emotion she's feeling. Her heart's so big, Brenda feels as if she will burst. Love. It's love.
Brenda catches Dylan's handsome profile out of the corner of her eye and smiles soft.
She loves him.
Tonight.
She'll tell him tonight.
Two hours later, the last of the guests have gone and the bonfire's stopped raging. Brenda, lounging in a rocking chair, watches as Dylan says goodbye to David and Valerie. The air is scented with fire. Moonlight skitters across the slowly swaying sweetgrass.
Brenda runs a nail up along the side of her temple. All evening, she's tried to ignore the hammering in her temple. Not a migraine. Not now. Not when the night's been so perfect.
At the sound of Dylan's foot steps, Brenda quickly pulls her hand away from her temple before he can see and worry.
"The thing to do now," she says, "is sleep here."
He chuckles. "Outside?"
"Yep." She smiles. "You can be my pillow."
"You want a drink? Wine?"
"Whiskey." The words are out of her mouth like habit. Dylan smiles.
"That's my girl," he says before coming up with a bottle of Maker's Mark. He pours them each a finger and settles into a chair across from Brenda. He shoots his whiskey back, drops his cup to the grass, pulls his guitar into his hands. Almost unconsciously, he strums a tune.
Brenda props her chin in her palm. "I didn't know you played. You're actually pretty good."
Looking hangdog, Dylan shakes his head. "I'm not so sure about that."
"I'm serious, why aren't you in the band too?"
Dylan laughs, "Oh…baby, I'm better behind the scenes. Better one on one." He winks at her.
Brenda blushes, he inclines his head. "What'd you think? About tonight?"
"I loved it. It was a perfect day. It really was." Brenda smiles slightly. "And I decided something."
"What's that?"
"I decided I need to stop obsessing over this memory thing. It'll come to me when it comes. And if it doesn't…I have you."
"You do. Always."
Overcome with emotion, he dips his head. Still picking his guitar, he clears his throat thickly. Brenda frowns at the tone in his voice. His earlier jovial mood's shifted. Quiet. Intense. Serious. "Listen. Bren, there's something we have to talk about. Something you need to know—"
Before he can go any further, Brenda cuts him off with a gasp. "That song…"
She presses a hand to her heart. Dylan stops. He tilts forward in his chair, alarmed.
"No, please. Keep going." He does.
And Dylan's eyes widen as Brenda sings along with him.
You're the only road I walk
No matter how crooked, how long
Till the ends of the earth I will go
A million miles I'll roam
Because whatever you do, wherever you go
You're the only one who sings me home.
Her heart wrenches to the point of pain. That song. It's the one she's been hearing in her mind. Her touchstone all those long, horrible months with Vince or whoever he was. Only it was more than a song.
It was Dylan. His fingers are still on the strings, awe and disbelief etched across his face.
"You remember."
"What is it?" Brenda asks, leaning forward as if entranced.
"It's your song," Dylan explains. "I wrote it for you right before the plane went down. I never could finish it…not when you…"
Grief chokes his words. Brenda's eyes brim with tears. To her it's a sign. She's where she needs to be. And Dylan. All the roads have always led to him.
He is hers.
Standing, she goes to Dylan. He sets the guitar aside and takes her on his lap. She frames his face with her hands, stares into his eyes.
"It was always with me," she says. "I didn't know what it was or where it was from, but I would sing it. It would get me through the days with Marchette. I don't know why. Maybe because it felt like hope or freedom." A tear slips down her cheek. "But now I know. All along it was you. You got me through when I wanted to give up. Your words, Dylan. You sang me home." Dylan, cradling Brenda in his arms, closes his eyes in anguish. Tries to find his voice.
"Bren…"
"No. I get to say something first." She leans in and brushes her lips against his. "I love you, Dylan McKay. You're my road. Always and forever."
A stricken sound escapes Dylan. At first Brenda thinks it's a sigh, then she realizes it's a sob. Tears fill his eyes, track down his cheeks. Brenda brushes them away with the pads of her thumbs, lets them fill her palms.
Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lets out a shaky shudder like her words have quenched his soul.
That's when Dylan laughs. The smile that lights up his face could power the entire country.
He cups Brenda's face in his palms and kisses her deep into her next life. That kiss shows Brenda her future. With Dylan. With a million possibilities stretched out before them.
He pulls back to look at her, love burning in the depths of his dark eyes. "I think I could die a happy man right now just hearing those words."
"Lucky for you, you don't have to."
"You're right. There're other things we gotta do first."
"Like what?"
"Like this." He stands, lifting Brenda in his arms. His dark eyes glow. "I'm taking you to bed."
I love you. Brenda's words send Dylan's body, his mind over the brink of love into straight-up white-hot want.
Inside the bedroom, between panted kisses, they fumble with belts, buttons, shirts.
Dylan kicks off his boots while simultaneously stripping off Brenda's thin tank top, her shorts. His wife—naked. Dylan takes in all her glory as she stands in front of him. Curves in all the right places. Sun-kissed skin, the taste of whiskey on her breath, her chocolate-dark hair tangled around his fingers.
Dylan's stomach, his dick, stirs with want. He has to have her. Hauling Brenda to his chest, hard enough to lift her off the ground, Dylan falls back on the bed.
With a breathy laugh, Brenda lowers herself on top of him. He groans as she presses her breasts against his chest. Groans as she pulses against him. She's already wet, slick with desire, marking her territory, across his stomach. Dylan loves it.
He cups the heavy swell of her breast, filling his palm with her sensuous weight. Her head falls back, exposing the gorgeous arc of her white throat. Instead of slipping herself onto him, Brenda slowly scoots herself down his body. She's moving backwards. He tries to grab her, to pull her back to him, but she escapes his grasp.
Dylan grits his teeth. "Damnit, Bren…"
"Not yet," Brenda whispers. She grins up at him. Lascivious. "Maybe you can help me remember what you liked?"
She settles herself between his legs. His cock stiffens as she looks up at him with big innocent eyes.
Damn, she's gonna turn him into a puddle. He loves her. Loves her strength, her vulnerability. How she can be shy or bold. Bossy or demure. The sexy dichotomy of this woman—his wife—is enough to make him go nuts.
When Brenda grasps him in her small hand, Dylan moans.
Her hands. They feel like fire. A good kind of fire. One he'd walk through every damn day for the rest of his life if it meant Brenda was on top of him. Brenda was beneath him. Brenda on her knees in front of him.
Any way his wife wants him—he's hers. But she doesn't take him in her mouth yet. She's content to tease him, to tempt him, until he's at the point of no return. But whatever Brenda wants.
This is for her as much as him.
"Tell me what you like, Dylan. Do you like this?" He shivers as Brenda runs her silky hair along his stomach. Leaning over him, Brenda brushes her breast across his face. Unable to help himself, Dylan catches a pink bud in his mouth. Her nipples instantly harden. Brenda lets out a giddy laugh and presses her breast deeper. He sucks harder. Her eyes roll back, and she nearly goes limp against him as he drags his tongue over her, tasting the sweetness of her skin.
With a little sigh, she pulls away and slips lower. Her nails dig into his thighs as she presses backwards once more.
"Brenda…," Dylan growls, his hand threading through her dark hair and gripping as hard as he dares.
Fuck, what is he doing? He needs to be telling her the truth, begging for her forgiveness, not letting Brenda beg for his cock. But he can't redirect his brain—both of them—to focus. Can't stop the shivers that go through his body at her touch, the untamed look in her eyes.
Finally, Brenda's mouth opens as she takes him in. Swallows him whole to the base. His grip tightens on her hair, holding her in place, guiding her as she moves. Not that he needs to. His wife knows what she's doing. Has always known.
A guttural bellow of pleasure escapes his lips. The way she works her tongue around his shaft, her hands stroking his balls, her fingers gentle, rough, and everything in between.
Dylan aches. Fuck. He's going to come.
"Baby…" His word is a warning.
Brenda pulls back. "No." Her word a command. Desire darkens her eyes. "I want you inside me."
He bites out a breath. "You drive a hard bargain."
"No." A sly smile on her face. "You do." As Brenda positions herself on top of him, her thighs wrapped tight around his waist, Dylan pushes into her. His entire body goes electric at her softness, her warmth.
Brenda arches her back, her head tilted back, her eyes closed. She rides him, rocking her hips. Her body undulates with his thrusts. Her small hands pressed against his chest. Dylan can feel the pulse in her palm, mingling with his heartbeat as their bodies rock together.
The needy whimper Brenda lets out has Dylan on his last nerve.
Only Brenda has the power to absolutely wreck him. He grabs her hips and thrusts. Hard. Unrelenting.
"Oh God, Dylan," Brenda cries out, her nails digging into the hard muscle of his chest. That's when her entire body clenches. The most gorgeous sight Dylan's ever seen—his wife in the throes of orgasm.
A pink flush spreads across her chest, her slender throat, as her small frame shudders from the release. Her body rigid, her nipples tightening. Lashes fluttering, Brenda's mouth moves around his name. A chant. A reverie. A primal promise that Dylan has given her everything she wanted. And he's right behind her. Now that Brenda's satisfied, he lets himself go. He spills into her with a mighty bellow, his dick pulsing over and over as he reaches that final, explosive climax. Chest heaving, he opens his eyes, raises his head. Brenda sways slightly. Then she falls forward, covering Dylan's throat, his chest with fervent kisses.
For a long moment, they lie there, Dylan still inside of her, chests heaving as they bask in each other's closeness.
Then he slips out and, cradling the back of Brenda's head, he gently rolls her over into the pillows.
She's frowning slightly, her expression dazed, her face pale. "Hey." Dylan cups her cheek. "You okay?"
Her mouth parts, her lips moving. "You wore me out."
He smiles, catching her kiss on his lips.
Brenda sighs. "I love you, Dylan." She closes her eyes. "So much."
His breath hitches. His heart grows heavy.
Love.
Brenda loves him.
She loves him again.
And what did he do? The entirety of the night comes back to him. The barbecue. The party. The words on his lips. What he had been planning to tell her before Brenda's confession of love had hijacked his own confession.
Guilt halos around him. What the hell was he doing?
Clearly, his wife. But he should have been telling her the truth.
Would she still feel the same way about him after learning about everything he's been keeping from her?
He glances up to see her watching him, her pretty brow furrowed. "I'll get you something to clean up with."
Dylan presses a kiss to her forehead and disappears before she can say another word.
Ok ok ok…Dylan damn you Dylan…but why am I not mad because then we wouldn't have had that sex scene. This past stuff secret is brewing, and the longer he waits the worse it's probably going to be. And Kelly GRRRR showing up like that. And let's not forget Brandon and Erica, not sure whats happening between them and their revelation. Marshall. Nobody guessed Marshall. But why? You'll find out. Brandon is on the case. Hit review my friends! Next up, Dylan tries to give himself a pep talk to finally tell her, only it doesn't go as planned, Brandon does some digging and meets with Jasper Jones for answers. Brenda has a flashback of a memory that involves Kelly. And Marchette has unfortunately not been hit by a bus…EEEK. Tell me how you're doing. Tell me everything.