Chapter 15

The heavy woodgrain door swings open and there stands Marshall Evans. A cigar in his hand, the radio playing low in the background of his office.

"Well," he drawls, ushering them inside his office, through the cloud of smoke wafting in the air. "To what do I owe this pleasant surprise? You boys want a drink?"

"No," Dylan bites out. "No, we don't want a drink, Marshall."

"You havin' doubts, son? Because let me dispel those right now." Pressing the button on his desk phone, Marshall calls up his assistant. "Barbara, send up a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue." He straightens up to face the group. "You're back. And after tomorrow night the entire world's gonna see it."

Dylan stares at the man who's handled Brenda's career from the beginning, then his own. He doesn't want to believe it. But if it's true…the thought curls Dylan's fists.

"I need something from you, Marshall," Dylan says. "I have questions."

"I got answers, son. You just ask 'em."

"I'm not your son." Dylan bites back. With his eyes fixed on Marshall's he continues, "Brenda," is all he can say.

"The little lady? What about her?" Settling into the cushy chair behind his desk, Marshall ashes his cigar. "How's she doing, by the way? She ready for the big night? She's gonna look good standing next to you on that carpet, Dylan. Just like old times."

"Asshole." An under-his-breath snarl from Steve, who's leaning back against the door, arms crossed, tense as a stone.

Beside Dylan, David's face is drawn tight and wary. He's ready to intervene should it come to blows. Because it could. Because Dylan isn't gonna dance around it. After getting an explanation from Brandon, he's getting clarity today. The bullshit stops now.

"The picture, Marshall," Dylan asks between gritted teeth. "The one Jasper Jones took of me and Kelly Taylor. Tell me it wasn't you. Tell me you didn't send it to Bren."

Marshall's face is a blank slate Dylan can't read.

That is, until he rocks back in his chair, sucks his teeth and calmly says, "So Jasper finally talked."

Dylan's world tips sideways. He stands there, numb, rocked by the betrayal. Stabbed in the fucking back by the last person he ever expected. The person he trusted with his wife, their money, his writing, his family.

"You mean someone finally figured it the fuck out," Steve snaps.

"Jesus, Marshall," David says, a look of horror on his face. "Do you have any idea what you did? Not only did you come between Dylan and Brenda, you came between my family too. Kelly is my sister, I've been too disgusted with her to even talk to her."

Dylan's hands curl into tight fists. "Tell me why."

It's not a question. It's a demand. A stone-cold threat that if Marshall won't talk, Dylan will make him talk.

"You left me with no choice, son. You were gonna pull the plug on me. My best clients leaving? I couldn't let that happen." Looking pleased with his plan, Marshall grins. "I had to show you I could handle anything. That I was invaluable. And I did, didn't I? You wanted the name of the person who sent Brenda that photo, and I got it."

"Because you set it the whole thing up," Steve snaps, pushing off the wall.

Fury bubbles in his blood, and Dylan takes a step toward Marshall. "Why Bren?"

"Because she was the only one who mattered. You didn't care if it was in the press. If it tanked both your careers. I knew if I found the person who sent her that photo, if I fixed it with her, I'd be golden. I'd be yours for life." He exhales, cavalierly kicks his feet up on the desk and shrugs. "Only that damn car accident got in the way and fucked everything up."

"Fucked everything up?" Dylan stalks across the room. "My son died that night." He knocks the cigar from Marshall's mouth. "Brenda could have died!"

"And I'm sorry for that. Truly, I am."

Steve snaps Marshall's chair upright, sending him to his feet.

His voice lethal, Dylan says, "My wife almost left me because of that photo."

This time Marshall's face changes. The calm he's worn so well all this time morphs to irritation. To anger. "Your wife was a pesky obstacle," Marshall shoots back, his jowls quivering. "She made me a lot of money, but she was going to take a break, I knew babies were next for you. She made that clear with half the projects I sent her way. And…you were always running to her, wouldn't tour without the other, she wouldn't take projects that interfered with your writing. She kept you off the market. Kept you so pussy whipped you couldn't see straight." He scoffs. "Freein' you up from Brenda, that would have been just a bonus. I would have made more money off you both if you were apart."

Dylan lunges for Marshall, but David is faster. Gripping Dylan by the shoulder, he says, "Don't go to fucking jail for that piece of shit. Think of Brenda."

That stills Dylan, barely. He itches to throw a punch. To beat the living shit out of the morally corrupt piece of shit they called an agent. The thought of Marshall arranging all this, of Brenda being collateral damage, has Dylan livid.

Marshall upended Brenda's—and everyone's—life for the last year, all for his own selfish ends. The only thing saving Dylan right now is Brenda. Because she knew about Marshall's plan, she had figured it out, and she believed Dylan. That's the reason she was so distracted before the trip. Because Kelly had come to her with what Marshall did, and that's what she planned to tell him in Pensacola. Whether or not Marshall meant to cause catastrophe, he set everything in motion. The car accident. The plane crash. Brenda being taken by Anthony Marchette.

"You did this to her," Dylan seethes. "Everything—this is on you."

"And what about Kelly…what did you do to my sister to have her throw away her relationship…her life for your game?" David seethes next to Dylan.

Marshall settles himself on the edge of his desk and smiles. "I've been with Brenda a long time, as her manager, her agent, you think I didn't know the past with the Kelly, Dylan and Brenda triangle. So consider my surprise when I found out that Kelly Taylor had a little drug problem back in the day, that wouldn't fend to lightly since her fiancé was thinking about politics, but even if Mr. Boy scout Walsh himself decided not to run, I had Erin for leverage."

David steps forward, "My sister Erin? What are you fucking talking about?"

"Oh you know…your sister, in college, posed for some pretty racy pictures back then, also got mixed up with a kid that filmed her having sex without her knowledge. Let's just say, Kelly would have done anything to keep her sister's reputation from taking the nose dive hers had. Kelly didn't care about her coke problem like she cares about her sister being the town slut like she was." David moves forward but this time Dylan pulls him back. Marshall takes a deep breath, "Believe me, I didn't come out so rosy in all of this. If I would have known Dylan would spend the last year pining for a dead girl, I would have considered other options."

A sharp inhale of breath from Steve.

David looks at Dylan, fury in his eyes, they let go of each other. David eyeing him like if Dylan doesn't do it, he will. It's all the permission Dylan needs.

"You motherfucker." He rushes Marshall. Dylan lands a solid punch square in the jaw. The sound of skin on bone reverberates throughout the office. Marshall goes falling to the floor, and Dylan follows. It takes both Steve and David to pull Dylan off Marshall.

Dylan stands, breathing heavily, flexing his hands, watching as Marshall staggers to his feet. David moves in and gives him one more punch to the face, that has Marshall gawking back against the table sending awards and glass to the ground.

"That's for fucking with my family you piece of shit." David seethes.

Their agent stands disheveled, bracing himself against the broken table. As he wipes blood from his lips, he turns an icy gaze to Dylan than to David.

"You've made a mistake, son."

"No, you've made a mistake," Dylan says in a low, dangerous voice. "Listen to me, Marshall, and listen good. Erica and David are going to play the Bridgestone tomorrow night. Only you aren't going to be there. You're a ghost. You take nothing from their performance. Not one damn cent."

"We have a contract," Marshall's sputtering now.

"Oh, I don't fucking think so," Steve interjects. "You had a contract. I'm their manager, not you. The texts from you to Jasper Jones seem to negate that, don't you think?"

"I don't think you want those released," David says with a casual shrug. "Might be pretty hard to get new clients. Especially when people find out what you did to your best client. The public loves Brenda and now that she is back, you'll be the most hated man in this business."

Marshall, having paled several shades, straightens his tie. "Careful who you cross, son. You'll regret this."

Marshall's words burn with a threat. Only Dylan doesn't have time to worry about that bullshit. "We're done, Marshall," he says with finality. His jaw flexes as he strides to the door, followed by Steve and David. Hand on the doorknob, Dylan glances over his shoulder and says, "You're fucking fired."

Brenda steps up to the dresser mirror only to blink at her strange reflection. Dark cat-eyes. Lavish false eyelashes that have her looking like some dolled-up debutante. It feels appropriate for the evening. Tonight's the big arena performance.

Earlier today, a team of makeup artists and hairdressers cornered her in their small bathroom to work their magic. An hour of hair and makeup had Brenda squirming. But now. Now, she's never felt so beautiful. Her ruby lips curve as she evaluates her tight black dress. With a sweetheart neckline and a thigh-high slit that'll make Dylan's eyes bug, it fits her like the most perfect glove.

As Brenda smooths out the fabric, her hand brushes against her flat stomach, then jerks away like she's been burned. Despair clenches so tight in Brenda's chest that she can barely breathe. Two days hasn't been enough time to process the news.

She was pregnant. God, how she aches for a memory of her unborn baby. The sound of his heartbeat, the small flutters of his kicks, the feel of Dylan's hand fanned out on her swollen stomach.

She wishes Dylan had told her the truth. All this time, he's been dealing with his grief alone. They could have mourned together. She could have known about her past. Though she understands why he wanted to protect her. The pain on his face, the guilt, tore at her heart. But was there something else? Regret? More secrets?

Brenda shakes off her doubt and straightens her shoulders. No. He said that was all. He told her everything that mattered. A small rumble of thunder has her moving to the window. Dark clouds billow the sky. The scent of rain in the air. Down below, a limo idles, telling her she's late. Per usual. Giving herself one last look in the mirror, Brenda runs fingers through her hair, flat-ironed into old Hollywood vintage waves. She slips her cell phone into her beaded black clutch.

When she turns around, she finds Dylan standing there. Staring. His expression dazed, enchanted.

Brenda props a hand on her hip. "Well, say something. Can't leave me hanging. Don't crush a woman's ego." She jokes.

"Damn, baby." Dylan presses a hand against his heart. "You trying to kill me?"

Then, they're moving in sync, drawn to each other like magnets.

She smiles. "Hell, if you're a dead man walking, at least give me a kiss before you go."

Dylan lets out a breath, shaking his head as he brings her into his strong arms.

"That I can do."

Leaning down, Dylan palms the cradle of her skull and fuses his lips to hers. He kisses her breathless, kisses her until her knees are jelly and she's trembling. His lips trace the curve of her jaw, her collarbone to kiss her bare shoulder.

"You look gorgeous, Bren. Damn perfect." The look on his face nearly unhinges her. It's alight with pride. Love. Awe.

A lightning bolt of love hits Brenda and she stands on tiptoes to kiss him again. His scent makes her heady with lust. When she settles herself back on her feet, she grips Dylan's tie to straighten it. "You don't look too bad yourself."

Although Brenda's pretty sure that's the understatement of the century. Dylan's dressed to kill in a suit that looks made just for him. A bit of scruff on his face. Suave. Very handsome.

The hottest man she's ever seen. "Maybe we should stay here tonight," Dylan growls, burying his face in her silky hair. He slips a hand into the low back of her sleek dress, his calloused fingers dancing like velvet across her skin.

Letting loose a throaty gasp, Brenda rakes her hands through his brown hair, arcing her body up into him.

Brenda laughs, whispers against his lips. "If you get me out of this dress, I might not get it back on."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Dylan grins down at her, gliding his hand beneath her hair, bringing her in for another kiss. "Who needs the Bridgestone? It's not like it's my night."

It's true. She sees it in his eyes. He'd give up seeing his sister's and David's big night just to have her.

"You," Brenda murmurs. It takes all her strength to drag herself away from his kiss. "You need the Bridgestone, Dylan. It is your big night."

Concern flickers across Dylan's face. "You sure you feel up to this? The press? The concert? The after-party?"

She fixes him with a look of exasperation. "Tonight will be perfect. Erica and David will be perfect. And I absolutely cannot wait to stand by your side and be your wife."

His throat bobs. "I've been meaning to do this for a long time now. I got you something, Bren. If you'll have it."

She tilts her head, her long dark hair falling over her shoulder. "What is it?"

Pulling back from her, Dylan reaches into his jacket pocket and unveils a platinum band with rows of glittering diamonds.

Brenda's legs turn to jelly. Her hands fly to her mouth as Dylan gets down on one knee. He stares up at her, his face heavy with emotion as he reaches for her hand. "I'm a man in love with you, Brenda, asking if you'll have me. Again."

Brenda stands mute, motionless. Her eyes fill at the beauty of this moment, at the beauty of this man. This man who has never given up on her, who has stood by her side and been her road for longer than she can remember.

Smiling through her tears, Brenda falls to her knees in front of him. She clutches his hands to her breast and nods.

"Again, and again, and again." Dylan's face breaks out into a smile so bright it could charge the sun.

With trembling hands, he slips the ring onto Brenda's finger. She stares at it. It's so beautiful, feels so right it steals her breath away.

Then she looks up, into his eyes, and says steadily, "All the roads lead to us, Dylan. They always will."

Dylan's eyes water at the weight of her words. He gathers her hand in his, pressing it to his chest so she can feel who his heart beats for.

"This is yours," he says. "It's always been yours, Bren. No one else's."

A slow, delicious kiss and then Brenda's murmuring, "Okay, now we're really late."

With a wild hoot, a nip of her shoulder, Dylan's standing.

Only Brenda remains kneeling. He stares down at her, confused. "Babe?"

A breathless laugh escapes Brenda's lips. "I can't get up. My dress—it's too tight."

Damn Valerie for talking her into this outfit. "How did I get down here, anyway?"

He smirks. "Sheer adrenaline to accept my ring duh."

With a roguish grin, Dylan reaches down and helps her stand. When she's settled, dress smoothed out, Dylan cleaves her toward him, kissing her ring finger, her cheeks, her tears. "You ready?"

For a long moment, Brenda stares at him as she takes it all in.

Dylan.

Her life.

If her memory never returns, she's fine with that. She knows what she has. She's finally where she needs to be.

Brenda smiles.

"Ready."

Dylan extends a hand to Brenda as he exits the limo first to a rampant flash of cameras. She slides out, a sunny smile on her face. No wincing at the cameras. No trace of apprehension. She's all cool confidence. Like she always was in the spotlight. Behind her, David, Valerie, Erica, Brandon and Steve follow.

Brenda stares up at Dylan, her expression half-amused, half-awed. Her eyes brush to the billboard above them where Erica and David's name's are spelled out in lights, then they swivel to the crowd of gawking spectators.

Leaning in close to Dylan, Brenda tugs on his arm and whispers, "They're staring, Dylan."

Steve dips his mouth close to Brenda's ear. "That's because you were dead," he says, and David adds, "She is risen."

They snicker. Brenda laughs, but Dylan glowers at them. "Knock it off, you assholes."

A camera flashes, catching him mid-scowl.

"C'mon, Dylan," Valerie says sweetly through gritted teeth. "Give 'em a smile. I am not getting a terrible photo in the tabloids, on the internet, in the paper. Just fucking smile.

After flashing a dazzling smile, well-practiced, Valerie yanks David after her, her skin tight emerald green dress hugging her ass like it was part of it.

As they walk down the red carpet, Dylan takes a deep breath, trying to keep a smile on his face. It's taking all he has not to overreact when anyone gets too close to his wife. He's well aware the security team he's hired hovers a few feet away in the wings. He's also aware Marchette's still out there.

At the next photo op, they stop. Pose. A reporter butts in. "That ring looks good on you, Brenda," she says. The crowd hushes, leans forward for her reply.

Dylan frowns. Brenda only smiles. The band on her finger sparkles in the lights of the flashbulbs.

"It does look good on me," Brenda replies.

She stares up at Dylan, her glittery eyes heavy-lidded. "And so does he," she adds smoothly. Dylan lets out a laugh. Cameras flash. Brenda gives him a flirty smile, one laced with the knowledge that Dylan's all hers.

As they move down the red carpet, Dylan tucks Brenda a little tighter to his side. Holding her close is all he can do. Because they're staring. Everyone's staring. At Brenda.

At that dress that nearly brought him to his knees. Her beauty's had him in a daze since they left the house. Dylan can't take his eyes off her. And it's clear no one else can either. She's a goddess walking. A goddess he longs to take home and dethrone pretty damn quick.

"Hey, over here, beautiful!" a photographer yells.

"C'mon, smile pretty for the camera, Brenda!" another calls out.

"You look incredible Brenda, we missed you at these things." A woman smiles from under her camera.

Dylan wishes he could freeze-frame this moment. His wife by his side again, on a red carpet, stunning, smiling, her hand in his. He never liked this part of her job but seeing her now, like this, in this spotlight. Her face of confidence and familiarity, her ease in the public eye shines bright. He makes a promise to himself, if she gets back into acting, no when she gets back into acting. He'll never bitch about it again. Brenda was meant for these bright lights, she was right, he does look good on her.

The crowd gasps as the first raindrop hits. Photographers clamber for cover. A reporter ducks under an umbrella. Valerie cusses and takes off for the nearest exit. Steve swears and glances down at his expensive Prada dress shoes.

Brenda tips her head back and laughs. A beautiful, joyous sound that damn near shatters him. Then she loops one arm through Brandon's, the other through Dylan's, and tugs them down the red carpet toward the arena.

Backstage, Brenda spies the glitter of the microphones, a hushed audience and dim lights as Erica and David ready their next song. As she sidles through stagehands and producers, she's moved, jostled, greeted with reverence.

Brenda looks for Marshall but doesn't find him; instead, she's kissed by Brandon on the cheek as he arms her shoulder, pulling her into his side. She looks up at her brother. He's staring, staring at Erica with awe in his eyes. With a look she hasn't seen from her brother since meeting him. She smirks, interesting.

Hovering by the curtain, she peers out onto the stage and smiles. David in front of his piano. Erica in a gorgeous red dress that compliments the red in her hair.

And then Dylan strides up to them. She doesn't even have to move her head to look at him, feeling him there. His warm hand wrapping around her small waist. Home.

The spotlight comes on. Getting a grip on the microphone, Erica smiles into the crowd, she praises her new hometown, salutes the city-that-is-holy: Nashville.

She lets out a hoot and a holler, and instantly, applause erupts, loud as rushing water.

David starts the first few chords of "Brenda's Song."

Jittery, unable to stand it, Brenda screams and throws a hand into the air. Glancing over his shoulder, not a beat broken, David throws her a wink. Erica blowing her a kiss. This one's for her.

It's midnight by the time they get to the after-party down on Broadway. Tootsie's is bright and buzzing with friends, family, musicians. They swarm Erica and David offering hearty congratulations, and making plans to get together, to tour.

The performance tonight knocked it out of the park. They all know that. Two encores and a standing ovation. You can't get much better than that.

Smiling, relaxed, feeling bright and buzzy, Dylan raises a beer to his lips and scours the crowd. Steve, in the front booth, knocks back a shot of tequila before handing one to Brenda. She shoots it back like a pro, while Valerie pulls David onto the dance floor and Erica tries to drag Brandon unwillingly.

As he makes a move for his friends and family, a flash of blonde hair catches his eyes. After a glance, making sure Brenda's safe with Steve, Dylan turns and walks deeper into the bar. He finds Kelly, on the back patio, taking shelter under the awning from the drizzling rain, alone.

"I'm surprised you're here," Dylan says.

Her body goes stiff. "Uh Dylan. Hi. Um it's David's big night…"

She pulls her drink to her chest, looking like she wants the earth to open and swallow her alive. "Look Kelly, I know you were in on the photo Jasper took. You played along so Marshall wouldn't ruin Erin's reputation."

Her eyes land on the ground. "Dylan—"

"But I also know that you tried to help Bren. Last year, you were the one who told her the truth about everything. You told her who sent that photo. She knew it was Marshall."

Lifting her eyes, Kelly makes a sour face. "I handled it all wrong. I was so desperate to protect my sister, I didn't want the mistakes she made to ruin her, I didn't want my old mistakes to ruin Brandon."

She shudders out a bitter laugh. "All I got for it was a lot of sleepless nights, and I lost the love of my life. Then the accident."

"You tried to make it right."

"Too late, though, right?" Kelly's blue eyes hold his, the sadness of the past, of what he and Brenda have been through passing over them.

Then they flick to Brenda, who's on the dance floor with Steve. "How's she doing? With her memory?"

He hesitates, "She still doesn't remember the photo, our past." He exhales. "But that's my own damn fault, because I haven't told her yet."

"You have nothing to be ashamed of. I'm the one who fucked up your life."

"You did." Dylan nods slow. He won't forget it, but he can forgive. "For a long time you did. But were not there anymore. Brenda and I are good. Erin is safe. She is your sister Kelly, I know all about that. I'd do anything for my sister too."

She throws him a grateful glance. "It won't change anything but . . . I'm sorry for the kiss. I'm sorry to you, and—" Kelly's eyes move across the room.

Dylan follows her gaze. Brenda's standing at the bar speaking to David, her face lively, a smile on her lips. "I'm sorry to her."

A chorus of laughter erupts. "Bren's pretty amazing," Kelly continues, ducking her head. "She was willing to hear me out on that phone call. She didn't owe me anything and she was still ready to give me the benefit of the doubt." Her lips turn down. "That's more than most people have done." Her eyes glaze over, tears fill them instantly. Dylan's head moves to the side to see Brandon staring at them. "You're lucky to have her still." She whispers.

"I am. I'm a lucky man," Dylan says softly, his eyes go back to Brenda.

When he looks back Brandon is there now, feeling the awkward energy he clutches Brandon's shoulder with a squeeze, "See you around Kelly." Dylan moves leaving them for a moment.

"Hey Brandon." Kelly says softly.

"Kel." He nods, "You look beautiful."

"Thanks. How are you?"

Brandon smiles, "Never better."

Kelly swallows hard, "Look Brandon…"

"I know why you did it. You could have came to me…but I understand why you did it. Kelly the past is the past and I appreciate you going to Brenda even risking the blackmail to tell her the truth. Dylan and her deserve a clean slate after everything they've been through."

"Do we?" A tear slips down her cheek. "Brandon…I lo…"

Brandon's lips purse tightly, he shakes his head stopping her, "No…we aren't the same. You were special to me Kel but I've moved on. I'm done with this. The back and forth. You went to Brenda and I appreciate that but you didn't come to me. And that is hard to forgive."

Kelly wipes her cheek quickly with a nod, "Well…can't blame a girl for trying, I couldn't face you. Not after everything." She smiles sadly. "You're happy?"

Brandon takes a deep breath, he glances inside to see Erica and Brenda dancing. Their smiles wide and electric. He can't help the warm feeling that floods over him, "I am. My sister is home and alive. Dylan and I are good again…finally and I'm seeing someone, it's new but…really good." His eyes find Erica's again, before turning back to face Kelly. She catches it and he doesn't miss the heartbreak in her eyes.

Kelly's lips quivers with a nod, "I'm glad." She shakes her head and smiles. "Yeah…David and I have had a tough year. When he called me, I jumped on a plane right away. It's definitely time to get our relationship back on track. Him and Erica were really something tonight, I'm so proud of them."

Brandon nods, a wide smile covering his handsome face, "They really were." His eyes find Erica's again. This time she winks at him, a blush moves over his face.

"Take care Brandon." Kelly says sadly.

When his head turns towards Kelly again, he sees her disappearing into the crowd.

He takes a deep breath, "Bye Kel." He whispers.

A sense of finality overcomes him. Of closure. He turns to reluctantly join Erica on the dance floor. She is glowing with happiness tonight. A happiness and electricity that's contagious. His new blossoming relationship, only they know about for now, but Brandon can't help but think it's the real thing. So real that he'll have to talk to his brother about it soon. Very very soon.

Steve and David have claimed the front booth by the window, giving them a grand view of Broadway. As Brenda goes to join them, she bypasses Dylan in the jam-packed crowd. He's surrounded by networking people taking book deals and publishing deals, so she squeezes his hand to let him know she's okay before slipping away. She should stop, make conversation, but she wants Dylan to be in his element. He deserves it. Brenda is a commodity of her own. She has been asked when she's going back to acting, praising her talent. She wants to keep this night about Erica, David and Dylan. There's a dreamy happiness in his eyes. A pride that he did it. He started writing again and he survived and he'll do it again and again.

Brenda sinks into the purple booth, right beside Steve, in time to hear him say to David, "You're shitting me. Man, there is no way in hell you outdrink me."

He flips a bottle cap into David's empty beer glass. Another into David's lap. "I put you under the table." He slams a hand on the table and crows, "Every. Damn. Time."

David grins. "Hey, all I'm saying is I seem to remember picking your ass out of a gutter on more than a few occasions." Steve scoffs.

"You just missed a very fierce debate," Valerie says to Brenda with mock-seriousness, the neon light behind her casting her in a pink halo. "Drinking prowess and who can handle it better. So far, score is Steve. Mr. Keg man himself."

"I don't know," Brenda teases. "Maybe you oughta get Dylan over here."

"Shit, Brenda," David smiles, his brows rising. "Those are fighting words."

Brenda bursts out with a laugh as a waitress appears, as if on cue, seeming to want to settle the debate by crowding their small table with beers and shots. Making a big show of it, David begins handing out drinks with playful enthusiasm.

Erica pulling Brandon to the table, out of breathe from dancing, "See that wasn't so bad city boy."

"Erica babe…I'm a terrible dancer and who you calling city? I can see your southern girl act from a mile away. You lived in LA and Hawaii, traveled the world…you've lived in Tennessee for a few years. Your just as city as me."

Erica smiles, "I love this town. It grew on me. I'm turning country…sue me."

Brandon wraps an arm around Erica with a shake of his head. "This one drives me to drink." He jokes as he reaches for a full beer.

Brenda smiles, and so does Steve, as Dylan's deep laughter can be heard clear across the bar getting their attention. He's happy. A feeling of contentment settles in her soul. At the good-natured ribbing, at being surrounded by family. Everyone's riding high on tonight—including her. She never wants this surreal night to end. Because that's what this is. Surreal as hell.

Around the table, the simultaneous chime of cell phones. They all exchange puzzled glances as they each pull out their phones. Brenda feels her phone vibrate in her clutch.

Next to her, Steve's breathing hitches. He's gone still as stone, his wide eyes on the phone in his hand.

"What is it?" Brenda asks, leaning into him.

A muscle jumps in his jaw. "Nothing." He sets his phone facedown on the table before she can see.

She frowns. "Bullshit."

Across from her, David swears, and then raises his face from the phone to the crowd, his eyes frantically seeking out Dylan.

"What the fuck?" Valerie says outright, her facade faltering as she stares at David's phone. Then her bewildered gaze slides to Steve.

"Don't." Steve's head snaps up. "I mean it, Val," he warns, and Brenda blinks. She's never heard his voice so cold. That's when she feels eyes on her. Slowly, Brenda turns her head to see a cluster of people leaning into each other, murmuring, the glow of cell phones lighting up their faces. A warm, embarrassed flush rushes over her. She recognizes the sorrowful eyes, the pitiful whispers, from her time in the hospital. There's something she doesn't know. Something's happened. Something's horribly wrong. Brenda, barely able to hear over the roaring in her ears, turns back to the table. "Give me your phone, Steve."

His throat bobs. In a barely audible voice, he says, "I can't." and puts a hand over his phone.

"Fine," she says, holding his remorseful gaze. Slipping out of the booth, out of arm's reach, she removes her phone from her clutch and unlocks it with one quick swipe.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, as if he can't bear to watch. "Bren…don't…"

Ignoring his plea, she glances down and frowns. It's a text from Marshall, which is strange, because they've barely spoken ten words since she's been back.

Marshall: I'm sorry you have to see this, honey. It's been going on too long to not tell you. And a link to the Nashville Star website.

She clicks the link.

At first, the image blurs in front of her eyes. Then, when she focuses, when she's really able to see, the photo nearly drives Brenda to her knees.

It's Dylan and Kelly Taylor, kissing. They're leaning up against each other like lovers. The headline screams: Brenda Walsh's husband, Dylan McKay and Kelly Taylor: Caught in Steamy Affair. The article talks about an affair between her husband and her brother's fiancé. The Walsh's backstabbed by the people they love most.

"Oh God," she whispers, raising a trembling hand to her mouth. "Oh my God."

For a moment, Brenda prays that it isn't true. But it's here, on the front page of the Nashville Star website. The evidence too real to deny. The world around her blurs as she stares at the photo. The way that Kelly's pulling him in, the way that Dylan's hand rests on the curve of her hip, has Brenda wanting to drown herself in the Cumberland.

Shock has Brenda's body physically responding to the photo. Acrid bile burns her throat, her stomach swirling with nausea. Unsteady on her feet, she braces herself on the wall, the pulse of her heart destroyed.

The rumble of Steve's soft voice breaks through her spinning mind. "Bren, sit down before you fall down."

He tries to take her elbow. She jerks like she's been burned. "Don't touch me."

She backs away from Steve, the sadness in his eyes unbearable.

Her eyes find Brandon's, pity and something else, knowledge. "Bren."

She pulls back roughly taking a step back, "It's why you broke up…you knew."

Brandon shakes his head, "Brenda."

Her only thought is to get away from the stares, from the whispers, from the exclamations of bafflement directed her way.

From Dylan, who's bulldozing through the throng of people. The frantic look on his face tells her he's seen the same thing she has. Disoriented and dizzy, Brenda whirls away from him. Elbowing her way out of the crowd, her train in her hands, she moves fast toward the neon EXIT sign.

As she slams out of the double back doors into the alley, the tears turn on like a flood. So does Brenda's memory. Finding the name Kelly scrawled on a notepad. Kelly coming up to her at the birthday party, trying to tell her something. Her and Dylan, not minutes ago, out on the patio. Alone.

And there's more.

More memories.

Déjà vu, a sense Brenda's experienced this before. The betrayal, the jealousy. Brenda in her hospital bed. After the car accident. Dylan's face, so guilty, so pleading. Begging for forgiveness. Because he—A sob escapes Brenda.

He lied. About their love.

Their life.

Their marriage.

All this time he's been telling her he loved her, that she's his only one, and he's been—oh God. The thought has fangs and it tears at her heart. She was an idiot. A fool to believe things could have been so real. That she had finally found the life she was meant to live. She gave him her heart—for a second time no…more it feels like more—and all he's given her has been betrayal and bullshit.

Was he even happy she was back? Was he only taking care of her because he felt guilty? And who else knew? Brandon? Steve? Valerie? Her fingers brush against her temple.

She squeezes her eyes shut, faint with hurt and confusion, barely able to think over the roaring in her head. Oh God, this can't be happening.

But it is happening, because suddenly, Dylan's crashing through the back door, and Brenda's whirling around to face him. This time, to finally get the truth.

Panic. It was pure panic and Dylan had never moved so fast in his life. Uncaring about the eyes on him, the murmured whispers, he ripped after Brenda, who was moving fast for the back door to get away from him—because of him. She saw the photo. He saw Steve's face across the bar, dismay and horror all over his friend's face, and it was instant.

Dylan knew Brenda knew.

And then, Dylan's slamming out the back door, finally reaching Brenda, who stands staring at him across the alleyway. Tears glitter in her eyes, but her face is contorted by pain and hurt. Before he can speak, she says, "When were you going to tell me, Dylan?"

Hands up, out, he steps forward. "Brenda, I can explain—"

"You're having an affair."

"No, baby. Never." Brenda's face is so pale, she looks like she's about to faint. Dylan takes a step toward her so he can catch her if she falls.

"You are." Her voice shakes as she flashes the cell phone. He recoils at the text message, at the website link that leads directly to the crucifying photo of him and Kelly. A picture from the past sent again. When he sees who sent it direct to Brenda, who leaked it to the press, his fists clench. Marshall.

Payback for tearing up their contract. That son of a bitch. Dylan will destroy him. Anger wells in him, but Dylan pushes his own feelings aside. Right now, the most important thing is Brenda and what she believes.

Through no fault of her own, she can't remember, so of course she'd think the photo was bad. Of course she'd think it was exactly what it looked like.

"Bren, listen," Dylan says hoarsely. "It's not what you're thinking."

She jabs the phone at him. Her rage scorches. "It is! It's all right here, Dylan!"

"The picture's from last year. It's a long story, but I can explain everything."

"How can I believe anything you say anymore?" A sob escapes her. "You've kept everything from me. The baby, this. You don't love me. This isn't my life."

Her words are excruciating. "I do," Dylan chokes out. "I love you. Brenda I love you so fucking much."

"No, you don't, you don't." A tremor ripples through her body as she meets his gaze. "If you loved me, then this photo would never exist, would it? And it wouldn't be on the fucking home page of some trashy tabloid. I mean, my God, Dylan, everyone knows."

She tips her head up to the night sky, tears rolling down her pale face. "How could you do this to me?" Brenda's shaking. Her eyes crazed and haunted, she looks like a woman drained. She looks just like she had that day in the park. Same plea of how could he do this to her?

Dylan can't imagine what this is doing to her. The embarrassment he's caused her. Fuck, she gave him her trust and he shit all over it.

"Please listen to me," he pleads. "I'll give you anything you want, just hear me out."

"Don't bother. Your words are bullshit, Dylan!" She thrashes her dark head, then lasers her eyes on him. "You're a liar just like Vince was. You lie."

Dylan staggers back at her cutting words. The cruelest blow she could deliver. He deserves it. Deserves it all. She turns to run. It's panic that has him grabbing for her wrist. He holds her gently, desperate to make her understand, not to let her go again. "Brenda, please—" Her eyes wild, she wrenches away. Dylan holds her tighter.

"How long?" She screams, "Last year? Before I was missing? How long have you been fucking my brothers fiancé?"

Before Dylan can respond, her phone chirps in her hand, another text message from Marshall. His timing impeccable. A picture of a teenage Kelly and Dylan. A yearbook picture. Most beautiful and Most handsome. Heads pressed together, his arm comfortably around her shoulder. Another ping, Class of '93. A prom photo, Dylan and Kelly in a lip lock.

"Oh my god. What the fuck?" Brenda's voice in anguish, confusion. Teenagers? She doesn't understand, the shock, frustration overwhelming her. Anger gives her strength. She pulls herself out of his grip. Her wrist slips through his hands. Her hand going up, slapping his cheek hard. Dylan stunned, cheek bristling to the side from the force.

"You lying bastard." She spits then she bolts, throwing herself into the night. Into the pouring rain. Into the bustling streets of Broadway. He's on her heels, as fast as he can, but it's still not enough.

"Bren!" She's swallowed up by a crowd of people.

"Brenda!" Dylan shouts. He tries to fight his way through the throng of people, but to no avail.

Dylan's hand clutches his chest. The heartbreak, he feels it. It tears through his chest and makes him short of breath.

She's gone.

He's lost her.

Again.

*hides* Hit review! Working on the next one now.