"It's Luke, and he's my Dylan." - Shannen Doherty (March 2019)
Dedicating this chapter to DylanLovesBrenda because I cannot stop reading DLB's many incredible works (presently on chapter 54 of A Long Time Coming.)
xx
Slipping into her sweater and a pair of flats sitting by the dresser without stopping to check if they were weather appropriate, she ran down the stairs and flung open the door.
He caught her before she flew over the stoop.
"Watch it," he smiled, "wouldn't want to spend my first night back in this enchanting city in the hospital now, would we?"
"What are you doing here?" she screamed, latching her arms around his neck.
Dylan placed both hands on her waist.
"Not waiting nine years to see you or two years to follow you, that's for sure." He pulled her in against his chest.
"It wouldn't have been half that long. I'm coming in the summer."
"Which is still far too much time to be separated from one's best friend." His eyes closed at their touch. He gripped her lower back, aligning his forehead with the crook of her neck.
"So you hop a plane barely a week later?" she laughed.
"Well, I thought I heard something, but the person I think I heard it from was pretty out of it and might not remember, so I figured the best course of action was to book a flight and feel it out."
"Oh?" she squinted against the blazing winter sun, "and what would that be?"
"Later." He lifted her up until she stood taller than he. "Just going to hang out with my favorite girl for now."
"I see. I'm your favorite?"
"By far," he spun her around, "but do me a favor and don't tell Mads. She can get incredibly possessive, especially when other women catch the attention of her GD."
"Your secret is safe with me," she threw her head back into the crisp air, "though we could turn it into a contest on which of us Maddie loves more."
"In the question of who Madeline Sanders loves more," he set her to her feet without removing his hold, "rest assured that it would be the woman with the whole of Europe at her fingertips."
"The Queen?" She swiped the sunglasses clipped to his shirt.
"You know, now that you mention it," he snatched his glasses, "I do believe Her Royal Highness Laverne Brenaldi of the Casa Walsh in the villaggio di Peach Pitta is from Queens." He slid the sunglasses over her eyes.
"Very stylin." He kissed her temple.
Tilting her head to show off her chic factor, she picked up his duffle and moved it to her shoulder.
"It's no Casa Walsh," she glanced at the knocker of her colorful terraced home, "but if Signor McKay would like to step inside, I'm sure Her Majesty would find that perfectly acceptable."
"Signor McKay would be most honored." He bowed dramatically and entered her home, whistling theatrically.
"Nice setup you've got here, Bren."
"So your version of needing to talk is not through calling, texting or even writing. You just show up and then call." She wagged her finger at him teasingly.
"I had to take care of some things in Baja. We went to this tiny little village farther down the border - shittiest cell service ever, Bren, I swear. Wifi sucked ass. If it were up to Mads, I would've found a way to show up at your place before you did." He latched his arms around her waist. "She was extremely upset with us for, quote, 'letting Auntie Bren soar away' - although I personally beg to differ; it isn't like we could just lock you up, even if that was tempting - and said a panda should never be separated from her family. Zuckerman explained pandas are actually solitary animals, Madster got more upset, Sanders told her she shouldn't compare grown women to pandas, she pointed out that you were wearing that black and white ensemble when we took you to Casa Walsh and Kel told her you wore the same colors to the spring dance - which, I mean, you did; Kel even admitted you wore it better. I could've told her that." His eyes bore into hers in blatant evocation which synced with her own.
"That was a bloody awful dress," she laughed, remembering hers and Kelly's indignation over resembling the Bobbsey twins in a dress her older self would immediately bypass on the rack.
"Looked great off of you," he smirked. "But it was black and white like a panda, so I guess Mads has a point."
Unsure how to accept being compared to a panda, but touched at her Maddie's reaction with a strong side of guilt for unintentionally hurting her treasured sapphire, she rested her hands on his shoulders.
"I used to have a stuffed panda, but I don't recall ever being referred to as one."
"I know," he said quietly, twisting the hem of her sweater. "I gave you that panda."
"That's right, you did." She awkwardly cleared her throat, looking around her home. "Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea, pop?"
"Soda," he reminded her. "I'll take some water."
"Water it is. I'll get myself some pop," she replied, purely to push what she considered the correct terminology as a child of the Midwest.
A whimper came from his lips when she removed herself from his hold. He followed her to the kitchen, sitting backwards on a chair.
"So what's on the agenda for tonight?" He gulped down the offered glass and wiped the back of his hand against his lips. Reaching out for her hand, he clasped it in his.
"Well, I had planned on meeting the lads for drinks at the pub and then I usually stick around for Levi's sets, but we don't have to go." She used the hand not yet captured to pour Fentimans into a small glass.
"No," he traced their enclosed hands with his thumb, "we'll go."
"Okay, but I promise to not drink."
"Bren, we'll go and you'll drink. Just don't be offended if I keep my distance afterward."
"Really, Dyl, it's okay if I don't."
"Not on my account," he replied in earnest. "You have to stare temptation in the face to learn how to avoid it. Would it be wiser to stay in a dry environment? Yes, but our friends don't do dry, Brenda. What am I supposed to do, become antisocial and kick them out of my life? No, I go to the party, I see the keg and I grab a soda. That's what I do with our friends and these are your friends. If you don't go tonight and if you don't enjoy yourself when you're there, I'll be the culprit."
"If you're sure," she worried her lip.
"Go get ready." His tone was firm.
Shoppers littered the streets of London as they passed, desperate to prepare prematurely for the holiday season. Hand-in-hand, they strolled through the chaos, down the Southbank until the Globe and her favorite pub came into view.
"Brenda Walsh, as I live and breathe!"
She giggled and embraced the pub owner, smiling to the theatre goers whose heads swung in her direction.
"Missed ya, Howie. Dylan, this is Howie. Howie, this is my - Dylan."
"Dylan McKay." He shook Howard's coarse hand.
"Howard Longley, better known as Howie. Fair warning, McKay. We've had substantial trouble with Americans in this pub, but any friend of Brenda's is probably alright."
"You won't get any trouble from me," Dylan promised.
"In that case, welcome," Howard clapped his back. "Walsh, the usual?"
"Yes, thanks."
"Anything for you, Dyl Pickle?" he scrawled on a pad.
Dylan exchanged a flustered glance with Brenda. Her lips creased into a muted chuckle.
"Got any Fanta?"
"Do I have Fanta? Do I have Fanta?" Howard's twinkling eyes combed over the pub's occupants. "This gawby asks if I have any Fanta. 'Course I've got Fanta, lad. None of that weak American Fanta, either. This one's strictly German. One Fanta and one cask ale, coming right up."
"You're into cask ale, Bren?" Dylan's gaze swept over the pub as Howard cantered to the bar.
"Only twice, maybe three times a month," answered an interloper near her ear.
"Levi!" She stood to embrace her friend.
"Bren, glad you made it back," he said, one of his three piercings grazing over her cheek. "We've missed you around here."
"It's good to be home," she said fondly, "though it went a lot better than I expected."
"Looks like." Levi eyed the patient man at the table. "Did you find yourself a new boy toy when you were over there?"
Dylan raised one eyebrow, perfected over years of experience.
"Not quite," she said, "this is Dylan. He's an," she paused, "old friend."
"Well, if you aren't shagging him, someone must be because he's well fit."
"Levi!"
Dylan stood and extended a hand to meet Levi's, mischief tap dancing against his long lashes.
"Single as a slice of Kraft cheese," he surveyed Brenda, "for now."
"For now?" Levi asked, amused.
"Levi, did you want something?" she inquired with climbing frustration.
"Benji and I were hoping you would check out a new song before we play it tonight. Unless you're otherwise occupied," he winked at Dylan.
"We are not." She turned to the recipient of Levi's wink. "You've gotta hear this, Dyl. I gave a copy of their demos to David for his producer. They're just that good."
Levi led them to the back room of the pub, eyeing their intertwined hands with an interest too akin to Steve Sanders for her preference.
He settled in a folding chair on one side of the room alongside the keyboard table occupied by Benji, who waved as Dylan claimed the nearby futon and pulled Brenda down to sit with their legs touching.
Dylan bopped his head along to the rhythm, flying his fingers through the air across the fingerboard of an imaginary guitar.
"Dylan plays guitar," she explained to her two friends.
"Used to. Long time ago." Dylan's remark was thick with nostalgia.
"Mate, if you ever wanna jam, give us a ring, yeah?" Benji swiveled in his chair.
"Yeah." He projected an equanimous air. She easily saw through to the sheer excitement lying underneath.
"Looks like it's a winner. Let's go set up, love." Levi rolled Benji's chair over to the door, until the latter jumped out and departed with flair.
Harboring no intention to leave the futon, Dylan pivoted to face her. A hand flexed casually on his chin.
"So when do I get to meet your boyfriend?" His tone floundered in indifference. "Got a message for him from your brother."
"Well, I could point to someone random in the crowd and you'd never know the difference." Tired of the charade she'd maintained for two, bordering on three months too long, she confessed, "Or I could admit I don't have one."
He kept his eyes fixated on hers and inhaled slowly.
"Are you ready to tell me who you're in love with?" she asked with as much insouciance as she could muster, half expecting him to admit to a crush on one of their mutual friends.
"Would've thought you'd have that figured out by now."
"It's Val, isn't it?"
He doubled over, lost in a proper belly laugh.
"Donna's sister? That Gina person? No, wait, I know! It's the elusive Stacey."
"Are you just gonna keep naming people I've slept with and some chick I barely remember?" He slowly lifted his head, still laughing.
"Are you gonna tell me?"
He placed his hand on the side of his neck, tilted his head and delivered a stare that penetrated directly into her soul.
"Well, that depends."
"On?"
"On if you trust me again."
"I trust you," she said without hesitation.
"With your heart," he added on a shaky whisper, and she knew then that he did indeed overhear her conversation with Valerie on the pier.
"I trust you with my heart," she said confidently.
His shoulders relaxed as his stance lifted in perkiness.
"And we're friends, right?"
"Of course."
"Best friends?"
"The bestest."
"You missed me?"
"I did." She surprised herself at her easy response.
"You've talked to Steve?"
"Yes, last night."
"You'll help Don plan Kel's bachelorette?"
"If she wants me to." His launch into a random game of twenty questions threw her for a loop.
"Did you steal Brandon's shirt again?"
"Yes, but don't tell him."
"And do you love me?"
"I do."
His face exploded into the most beautiful schoolboy grin as her eyes widened.
"Wait, you tricked me!"
"Is it trickery if you're confirming what has already been said?" His dimples remained firmly intact. "You love me."
"I mean, I guess," she attempted to shrug off her unintended and, until that moment, unrealized confession.
He covered her hand in both of his, leaning his face directly in front of hers.
"Now the main question is, in which way do you love me? As an old friend? A former lover? A boy you knew in high school? Some kind of twisted brother?"
She smashed her lips onto his, silencing the stream of questions with a heavy round of reacquaintance that put to shame the cinematic liplocks which previously defined romance. Even with the years of distance between, a kiss such as theirs still made the movies jealous.
There wasn't a spark. There weren't fireworks. No, his journeying tongue instead allowed an entire volcano to explode against hers, streaming down her body and filling her with a dormant warmth only he could provide.
When they broke apart, his smile gleamed to a level of luminescence that indicated his lips were attempting to separate from his face and form a country of their own.
"Good," he pulled her onto his lap, "because that's the way I love you, too."
"You love me?"
"Infinitely more than you know. More than any writer has ever been able to adequately express. More than I've ever been able to love anyone and I mean anyone, Bren." His lips fell on their enclosed hands. "I've tried. Believe me, I've tried, so many times I've lost count. They say you never forget your first love, but you also don't sit around, hoping they call you. Whatever it is about you Walsh people and especially the Walsh daughter makes it damn near impossible to completely move on. Sure would've made my life a hell of a lot easier if I had. Finding someone to love me was never the problem. Finding someone who would ensure I could finally forget you, well, that was fucking unattainable."
He placed her hand over his heart, proving the rate at which it beat for her alone. She felt his steady rhythm increase in pace, using the rhapsody to calm her frazzled mind.
"And here I was thinking you'd fallen in love with Andrea," she managed through the hitch in her throat.
"Andrea?" His titter became boisterous. "What on earth made you think that?"
"Because she's the one who covered for you when Don almost let it slip."
"Zuckerman said I'm in love with the ocean and you decided it was code for my being in love with her? That's quite the overactive imagination you have, babe." He nudged her braid with his nose.
"Wouldn't be the first time our lives became a stage show." Her mind replayed the evening in the Peach Pit. "The ocean, horses, Mexico," she murmured in slow, careful breaths. "The ocean, horses, Mexico! Oh my God, I'm such an idiot."
"Took you long enough." His warm hands wandered over her denim legs in that comfortable, familiar and simultaneously heated way of yesteryear when they were just two kids in a parked car. "The Tres Amigos were dropping hints like crazy."
"How did they even know, Dylan? It's not like you to announce an unrequited love."
"Unrequited, Bren?" he asked with an unconvinced tilt of his head.
"Requited," she said, voice soothing and firm, "though you're far too intelligent to believe it's always been this way."
He muttered incoherently and buried his face in her neck.
"Can't hear you."
He looked up with a dramatic, exaggerated sigh.
"They heard me telling Joni over the baby monitor."
"You told Joni Silver of your undying affection for me?" Merriment infiltrated her gaze.
"Ben said I had to tell someone," his voice came in a low mumble, "and it's not something I could easily confess to our loudmouth friends or the woman who clearly wished to remain in my past."
"Ben, your sponsor?"
"Yes." He smiled at her ability to remember the finer details of an ex's life. "I figured Joni would be the next best thing. I just didn't expect her parents or Andrea to walk into the kitchen at that very moment."
"When did this happen, Dylan?"
He tucked his lower lip in between his teeth and stroked a finger along her hairline.
"The week before our reunion."
She sat frozen, startled.
"Before our ten year high school reunion?"
"How many reunions have we had, Bren?"
Her mind drifted to the day she tore up the invitation and pushed it down to the bottom of the rubbish, never to be seen again. She considered Brandon's words, picturing Dylan burning a hole into the wood of a door in the hope of summoning her.
"I didn't want to go, even when we still thought there might be a chance you would. It was Don who made me come. She said," he put on his best Donna impression, "'Dyl, you were voted as most handsome in the senior poll and it is your duty to come to the reunion and show everyone how you have continued to live up to that superlative.'"
"I was so upset at that poll," she recalled, her tone apathetic. "Bran thought I'd get something, anything, but I didn't. It was like some kind of popularity contest, picked by people who'd known each other since kindergarten, unless your name was Steve Sanders, and that's when I understood that even with the group, even after dating the most handsome guy in school, I would never fit in."
"So you chose Minnesota." His eyes flicked to a space just above her head before zeroing back on her own.
"And you chose Europe."
"And had the worst trip of my life," he sighed into her covered chest.
"Which didn't seem so bad at the time," she reminded him and then hesitated. "You know, I never told anyone the real reason I left U of M, not even Bran. Darla and Dillon and their afternoon delights did have a lot to do with it, but -"
"Dillon?" He pulled back in amusement.
"Yeah. The wanker's name was Dillon." Her reply carried significantly less humor.
"That's fucking hilarious."
"Real uproarious," she said in a tone that screamed the opposite.
He pushed through her glare to clasp her hands. "So why did you leave?"
"The truth is, I was too Minnesotan for California and too Californian for Minnesota." She sighed. "The only place I ever really fit in was here."
He placed both palms on either side of her cheeks.
"I told Kel once that she was the most beautiful at West Bev and in all of Beverly Hills, mainly to stamp out her constant, audible insecurities, but Bren, your beauty transcends far beyond. It always has." He slid his forefinger across her chin. "You don't have a clue how many guys wanted you after I - after I gave you up, do you? Even some of the girls did. Miller just got to you first." She rested her hand on his chest, feeling it constrict in painful memory under her palm. "Besides, all those choices sucked. There wasn't exactly a category for Best Resemblance to a Classic Hollywood Film Star. You were never supposed to fit in. You already stood out the moment you first walked into those doors, the new beauty from up north that got everyone talking. Probably could've been friends with anyone, but you and your brother chose us." His tongue caressed his lower lip. "And for the record," he added, his long eyelashes fluttering, "you've always fit perfectly in my arms."
He caught her mid-laugh with a slower, gentler kiss, as if he were waking her from a deep sleep laden with a hundred years of dreams.
"So you went back to West Bev to show off your physique?" She lay her head by his neck, his arms locking her in place.
"No, I went because Donna ensured half of the evening's proceeds would go to a surf school for the underprivileged."
"You know, that kinda sounds like blackmail."
"Or something close to it."
She considered herself fortunate that Donna hadn't tried to sway her with a fundraiser for any Los Angeles theatrical nonprofits.
"I think she held out hope until the very last moment of the evening that you'd show up and wow us all."
"But I didn't," she said, her voice thoughtful.
"Yeah, you didn't," he affirmed, dropping to a lull, "but B did, attached to Kel like one of those magnet Valentine's bears we sent to my sister when that punk Justin broke up with her right before the VDay dance. Remember that?" She nodded, eyes misting, allowing a small laugh at the fury he still displayed over a young teenage breakup. "Brando and I got to talking about our favorite subject - you," he continued, eyes creasing in jovial affection. "Said you were over the moon with some English guy called Cracker. Was convinced you'd be heading to the altar soon."
At first confused, her eyes softened in a carefree smile.
"Do you mean Graham?"
"That's what I said, Bren. Graham Cracker."
She shook her head, folding herself into him.
"And suddenly, I was nineteen years old again, standing with B in your parents' backyard, listening to Grandma Walsh announce your nightmare engagement to Stewie, hearing my own pounding heart threaten to detach from my chest. That's when I realized I'd walked away from the most magnificent thing in my life, twice, I was dying to have it back and it was too little, too late," his voice warbled. His lips smacked against her hair. "So I decided that as long as you were alive, as long as you were happy, if ginger snaps made you happy, then that would have to be good enough. Used to think happiness was overrated, but for you, it was my only wish - next to having you, of course."
"Would you have made a move if I did come that night?" She sought the answer in his eyes.
"Probably not," he admitted, "not after what happened in our - your flat. I would've wanted to, though."
"But you still fell for me again."
"Kinda hard not to when you're babysitting Joni Silver and her mom has an article plastered on the fridge detailing this mega shining star your ex has become - as I always told you you would, by the way."
"Which is why you avoided Donna's house this summer," she realized.
"One article was bad enough, Bren. These ones were covering her fridge, after I'd already gone through years of acknowledging and reluctantly accepting that you'd never speak to me again."
"Until Andrea forgot to tell you I'd be at Vandenberg," she whispered.
"And Steve forgot, as well."
"Did he know?" She cupped his chin with both of her hands.
"If he did, don't you think he would of run to tell you?"
"Good point," she hesitated, struggling with a peculiar combination of gratitude and frustration that Andrea kept his secret. "So all the performances you never missed, Pismo, Salinas, San Fran, being my friend was a ploy to get me back?"
"No." His voice held sincerity. "It was me deciding I'd rather have you as a friend than an enemy or someone who'd prefer to ignore my existence, that I'd find some way to get you to trust me with your heart again. If you fell back in love with me in the process, well, that would be a welcome perk. If you didn't, at least you'd still be in my life."
His fingers tangled through her hair, his other arm securing her waist.
"And if I did earn that trust back, if I then wanted any kind of chance with you, I needed to show you I could woo."
"Excuse me?" She leaned back, eyeing him strangely.
"'There's never been anyone in my life, including Dylan McKay, who knows how to - trying to find the right word - how to woo.' Did I give good woo, Bren?"
"I am going to kill him," she fumed, tightly closing her eyes.
"So who's the better woo-er? Me, the tax evader, saltines, cardio funk guy or the lameo who looked like the poorer Superman's twin?"
She ducked her head into his shoulder.
"He is dead. Dead, dead, dead. If he wants to marry Kel before he dies, he better run to that altar now."
He chuckled, caressing her back.
"If you must know," she slightly withdrew her face and turned it towards him, "none of them ever took me scuba diving."
"Me, then," he smirked and kissed along her neck.
"And none of them ever hurt me the way you did," she whispered. He tensed, his head beginning to lift, "but at the same time, none of them were able to win my heart back from the boy who never let it go."
Relieved, his lips continued to explore her collarbone.
"I loved Toni," he said quietly, resting his chin on her collarbone, "God, I loved her and I miss her every day, still think about what she'd be doing if she were alive. She was too sweet, too kind, too caring. She should've lived. But would we still be married if she had? I don't know, Bren. I have my doubts," he sucked in a jagged breath. "I've loved Kel, too, and I think a sliver of me always will in some way; she is one of my closest friends." He clasped his hand over her upper back. "I can be friends with her, I can be friends with Val - well, usually - and I can absolutely be friends with you, but I don't want to just be your friend." His voice shook. "I've only been in love with one woman for my entire life and I met her when I was a reckless kid in high school, going through the motions. She made me feel again, made me care. No matter what we've told ourselves or other people, she's never been just my friend."
"Cathy Dennis?" she teased, fingers brushing through his hair.
"Cathy Dennis?" he echoed, regarding her skeptically. "Bren, you think I only found Cathy at prom or when she became known in the US market?"
"On a first-name basis with Cathy Dennis, are we?" she wiggled her brows.
He captured her lips with his, more fervently than before.
"I see," she responded dreamily, caressing the back of his neck, "you mean the wannabe Brit, instead of the actual Brit."
He removed the clip and band that securely held her braid in place, undoing her hair so that it fell in waves across her shoulders.
"It's easy to stop loving someone. It's a lot harder - hopeless, really - to fall out of love with the girl who made all the classic tales of amore your reality, the brunette bombshell who taught you how to love." He pushed his teeth over his lip. "We've fucked it up more times than I like to admit and if she's willing to have me," he trapped her waist with his hands, "I swear I will make damn sure we get it right. No more third parties, no more betrayal, no more jealousy - okay, maybe a little jealousy, but not to the point of Jezebel accusations - and," he held up one hand in the manner of a witness vowing on a Bible before a jury, "I solemnly swear to cherish her until the clock's final chime."
"Dylan," taken aback, she whispered and leant into his chest, "are you absolutely sure you want to try this again?"
"I've never been more sure of anything, Brenda. It's all I've thought about since we watched your plane take off. There was no way I was gonna be separated from you after getting a reminder of life with you." He smiled cheekily. "A panda should never be separated from her mate."
"Okay, I bet it was adorable when Maddie said it, but you better never call me a panda again." She staked a warning flag with her eyes. He laughed, pressing a kiss to her hair. "We don't exactly have the best track record, Dyl," she murmured, eyes shifting to the floor.
"Because one of us always walks away," he implored, gently lifting her chin. "I'm not walking away this time. I'm not letting you walk away, either, and I sure as hell will not sit by as you break up with me a fourth time. Bren, if it were up to me, we would've never split - uno, dos or tres. If you're looking for an escape hatch, better find it now because we aren't turning back."
"You mean -"
"Yes. I want it all. If I'm going to try the marriage thing again, let it be with you. If you want kids, let them be mine. If you decide to show up to the West Bev twentieth, let it be on my arm. If you spend a weekend in Paris, let me carry you back to the hotel after we've both run ourselves ragged. Because, Brenda Analiese Walsh, I am so damn in love with you and I'm tired of wishing on candles."
Tears sprang to her eyes as she threw him down on the futon and soldered their lips.
His hands roamed over her back, flipping them over so that he lay on top.
"So," he pulled away slightly to bop his nose against hers, "does that mean that someday I'll come home to Mrs. Brenda McKay?"
"No." She tickled the back of his neck.
"No?" he asked, dismayed with a tinge of hurt.
"It means that someday, Mrs. Brenda McKay will come home to you."
"You know, I do like that better." A smile stretched across his face. His lips brushed along her eyelids.
"You do realize this means we fell into David's bracket, don't you?" She leaned her head down to shower his neck in her affection.
"That's right," he buried his hands in her hair, "the three to six month bracket, or close enough. Silver will never stop gloating."
"Do you care?" She ran her hands over his back.
"No," he whispered, nipping at her ear, "do you?"
"Not even a little bit," she smiled, "but we'll probably have to make him and Don the godparents of our first kid, if we have one."
"I can live with that," he dipped his face into her chest, nuzzling the suddenly constraining fabric, "provided you're the one who tells Steve."
"Willing to throw me to the wolves?" she clutched his back with a heavy sigh.
"Don't worry. I'll catch you before they rip your hood," he breathed, denim legs tangling with hers.
"You sure you don't just want me for my body?" her voice carried the carefree innocence of their youth.
"Your body," he said, kissing her neck, "your intellect," and he kissed her head, "your spirit," one to the area around her heart, "your independence," over to her hand, "your obstinance," on to her jaw, "your passion," and finished on her lips.
"And," he added, cupping the back of her head, "the fact that you are still the same girl who gave her heart to a boy who threw a potted plant."
She laughed and pressed her cheeks into his.
"What about me, Brenda? Am I your hunky piece of sexy meat?"
"It is some phenomenal sex," she allowed.
He narrowed his gaze.
"Dylan, with you it was never just about the sex. I want to hear your whispered poems of the ocean, listen to you talk about cleanup efforts in the bay, attend violin concerts, watch old films with you and quote them later, figure out how to really surf so we can do it together."
His mouth crashed back onto hers, searching out her tongue as a stranded man searches for a life raft.
"When do you go back to Beverly Hills?" she gasped, sliding her hands down his waist.
"Next week. I can fly out the following weekend, if you want."
She rolled them over and looked down into his elated eyes.
"We've tried living together twice, Dylan. It crashed and burned in both scenarios."
"In high school and our early twenties, Bren. Besides," he smirked, "if we're gonna be married in the future, we really oughta learn how to live with each other."
"You do have a point," she conceded, hovering over to cover his mouth with hers.
"Especially before our six kids destroy the house."
She pulled away.
"Six kids? What makes you think I want six kids?"
"No reason," he stifled a smile, "would you rather have an expensive emerald amulet?"
"Why is the choice six kids or an expensive emerald amulet? Why can't it be rescuing a puppy or cat from the shelter?"
"You sure it would be the shelter, Bren? Isn't an animal testing lab more your style?" he gave a crooked smile.
She gasped and hit his shoulder. He pressed her closer with a bubbly laugh, leaning up to glue his mouth to hers.
"I was the lookout, thank you very much," she murmured against his lips.
"Some lookout. Couldn't even look out for yourself," he whispered, eyeing her with a seductive smolder.
"Hey!" she said and he kissed her again.
"There's just one thing, Bren."
"And what's that?" She trailed her tongue along his ear.
"Well, I got this kid in my life, you know? A nephew that's more like a son. I let everyone think he is, anyway. He's going to have a real dad pretty soon and I'm grateful for that, but I'm used to having him around and so I wondered if maybe, you might consider -"
"Having Sammy for the summers?" She spotted the caution and concern brewing in his dark eyes.
"And perhaps a few holidays." He bit the corner of his lower lip.
"It's okay with me if it's okay with Kel."
"You're the coolest girl in the world," he pressed his forehead against hers. "And if we'd been together when my sister showed up that day -"
"- everything could have gone a lot differently," she finished, her statement met with his slow nod.
"A hell of a lot differently," he breathed, his thumb circling her cheek.
"Hey, Walsh, the show's gonna start soon; are you coming?"
Brenda's head jerked towards the doorway and noticed Benji's poking in.
"We'll be out shortly, Benji."
He regarded the situation in front of him with mirth.
"I see," said Benji, "now that's quite the welcome."
"You're telling me," Dylan smiled, keeping his hands on her waist as he glanced over at the heavily accented musician.
"Shane and Katie are waiting for you outside," Benji smiled and slowly backed out from the doorway.
Dylan began to snarl.
"Now, hold on," she placed both hands on his forearms to calm him, "you've got to get over whatever this problem is with Shane. He's a big part of my life; you both are and if you want to be with me, you're just gonna have to accept that."
He looked at her and released a prolonged sigh.
"Fine, Brenda. I'll make nice. For you."
"Who knows, you might actually end up liking him."
"Dream on," he scoffed, but permitted her to lead him off the futon and walk him out the door regardless.
-x
Cheers for 100 reviews! Thank you to all of you who have brought the review count that high in such short a time. A continued thank you, too, for the overall readership. In celebration of one hundred, you get a sneak peek to the next chapter:
...
"And as much as I fucking loathed you, imagined your fatal tumble onto the tube tracks when I sat there in Finsbury, waiting for the carriage to Heathrow and wanting more than anything to turn back around to Crouch End, back to her, I want to thank you."
"Thank me?"
"For caring about her, for making sure she wasn't alone."
...
Kudos to silentlyreader especially for absolutely nailing a couple chapters back that Dylan would show up in London - which was the plan all along.
Crystal - Brandon is completely clueless when it comes to Stacey. He just knows Bren mentioned her at one point and then again in the last chapter (and Bren doesn't even remember her previous conversation with Bran about Stacey; she could've easily been wasted.) Thank you! I don't know where that idea came from, but since Stacey always ruins everything, it made sense to me. I'm delighted you enjoyed the added members to the Walsh clan. I, too, am curious about Lindsey and may delve into her more later. Family is an important element in my life and I always find myself expanding on family in stories. BnB had the best of both worlds - friends as family and close to their biological family.
Rest assured, Bren and Steve will stay friends and only friends! I love him too much to have both Dylan and Brandon kill him for hooking up with her ha. I do appreciate all those enjoying their friendship in here, as well as those who may have started wanting more. Either way, glad you're loving StB as much as I am. Still figuring out Steve's endgame. A couple people say Andrea; what do the rest of you think? Choices: Andrea Zuckerman, Clare Arnold, Marisa Callahan, Stay single & play the field, stay single & don't play the field, Other.
I don't have a clue when this story will end. The ideas just keep coming. May be a bit.
Until next weekend! Stay healthy and safe. x