Relish.
Reina honestly expected him to believe it had been the damn relish bottle squirting out onto Brenda's shorts that forced Reina to hold onto her shoulder whilst the guy cleaned the condiment off of Brenda's denim fabric and her bare thigh.
Bullshit.
Bull. Fucking. Shit.
Reina had seen his chance and he had seized it. Worst part was, he wasn't an obvious slimeball like Stuart Carson.
Worst part was, Emilio Reina was a decent guy.
Dylan was sick of his girl being drawn towards decent guys, ever since her mess of an engagement ended with Stuart.
He didn't understand why Reina and Monaghan couldn't be more like Carson.
He'd never wish Brenda into a terrible relationship, but how the fuck was he supposed to compete with guys like those?
Reina had been friendly, a little too friendly with Brenda as far as Dylan was concerned.
He'd sent Dylan's eyebrows jumping up to the clouds when Reina mentioned his recent job application to the Y.
Reina had applied for the swim coach job.
Fucking Emilio Reina, captain of the West Beverly swim team, would get that job. Reina would work with Brenda and Brandon. Dylan didn't stand a chance against the fucking Olympic hopeful, however long he himself had been swimming and surfing.
Was it too late to sign up for the swim team himself?
Fuck no.
He wasn't signing up for any fucking team, unless Brenda gained a sudden desire to become a cheerleader and the cheerleaders decided to cheer for the swim team.
Picturing Brenda in a tiny cheerleading skirt with pompoms slapping against her bouncing chest, Dylan almost considered buying Brenda a cheerleading outfit just for the hell of it.
He should have joined her in drama class.
He had zero desire to join any drama class, but if he had, maybe Brenda wouldn't have begun talking to Reina.
Had Reina been in the class last time, or was the universe continuing to fuck with him?
Maybe he had. Brenda hadn't told Dylan too much about her drama class then. In fact, he hadn't known much about her junior year summer at all. She hadn't felt the need to mention it when he returned from Hawaii, and he hadn't asked.
Manzano had been an actor, too. Monaghan was a fucking producer. Carson had an incredible way of absorbing whichever qualities were preferred by the girls he knew he desired.
What had Dylan been?
A writer. He'd been a writer. It was his goddamn play that had opened the doors to Manzano meeting Brenda.
Could he be a writer still? Draw Brenda in with his words, as she had drawn him in with hers?
Reina didn't know the language Dylan shared with his Brenda: the language of literature. Reina knew Shakespeare. Dylan knew Balzac.
And so did Brenda, for Balzac sat upon her shelves, its pages worn by her constant rereading.
A writer and an actress. Wasn't that the dream combination? Wasn't that what Brenda had always told him?
Dylan knew three languages. Reina knew two. Brenda, one day, would know seven.
Dylan longed to take his Bren to Mexico.
The majority of Reina's extended family lived in Mexico. Reina himself had been born there; in Taxco, if Dylan correctly remembered the third grade introductions.
Dylan could take Brenda to Paris.
But, if Reina kept making Brenda laugh like that, Dylan feared he'd be the one taking her to Paris.
"I get the feeling you don't like that guy much."
Dylan turned, startled. His back faced Brenda only for a moment to check on the intruder, then quickly swiveled him around to continue watching her.
She's laughing at the script, he told himself. Not Reina. It's the play. It's her character. Obviously she'd be spending time with Reina. He's her fucking theatre husband.
And cool it, man. You're not her husband. You can't start acting like her husband just because a fairy told you you should be him.
"Why do you say that?"
David tilted his head and pointed to the crushed soda can in Dylan's fist. "Maybe a subtle reason like that. If you ask me, that's a waste of a perfectly good Cherry Coke."
"You ever been with someone, Silver?" Dylan put down the can and wiped the sticky substance from his hand. "Okay if I call you Silver?"
"Sure," said David. "Does that make me one of the cool kids, if Dylan McKay's giving me a nickname?"
"Why do you keep saying it like that? My full name?"
"You don't know? Well, geeks like me, we often get ignored, right?"
"I wouldn't call you a geek," Dylan started.
"Dude, half the stuff I listen to, no one at school's ever heard of. By definition, that makes me a geek. But the other stuff I listen to; well, people like to talk. And you're their favorite subject."
"Ah." Dylan set his hands on his legs. "You've heard the rumors."
"Is it true you rammed your bike into Tom Cruise's car after he hit on your ex-girlfriend Janie?"
Dylan sputtered out his laughter. "Dang, that's a new one."
"So is it?"
"Between you and me, Silver?"
David nodded, leaning in conspiratorially.
"It wasn't my bike. It was a goat. And I wasn't dating Janie; I was hooking up with Nicole Kidman."
"Seriously?" David appeared as if his jaw would melt off of his face.
"Dead serious." Dylan gave a tiny nod of his head.
"You threw a goat at Tom Cruise's car because you were hooking up with his girlfriend? Woah, that takes serious guts."
"What's happening over here?" Dressed in the teal uniform of the beach club complete with a towel slung over his shoulder, Brandon rounded the corner.
"Brandon, you're best friends with a goat wrangler who hooked up with Nicole Kidman!" said David, in awe. "I bow down to you, sir."
"Dylan did what and hooked up with who?" asked Brandon.
Unable to hold it in any longer, Dylan doubled over in his laughter.
"Oh. You were kidding," said David, his face turning down into a scowl.
"You really think I could throw a goat, Silver?"
"It wouldn't be the craziest thing I've heard about you."
"Don't believe everything you hear." Dylan paused. "In fact, when it comes to me, believe nothing you hear from the West Bev rumor mill. And Janie wasn't a girlfriend. She was just a friend."
"Sounds like someone else we know," said Brandon. "Don't think I didn't notice how you're looking at them, D."
"I just don't know why Reina has to be around her so much. Don't they have class time to rehearse?"
"Jealousy is an interesting shade on you."
"I'm not jealous."
Brandon crooked an eyebrow.
"Really, I'm not. Bren isn't my girlfriend."
Yeah, because she's your wife.
No, she's not.
Yes, she is.
She's not.
She is. Itero confirmed it. Brenda was always supposed to be your wife.
You're changing too much. Maybe that'll also change.
Fuck. I didn't think of that. Should I not be talking to Silver right now? Does that ruin any chance of a reunion with Bren?
Now hang on, that doesn't make any goddamn sense.
Yeah, because thinking of Brenda as your wife on the word of a fairy makes a whole lot of fucking sense.
You better tune back in to Brandon before he realizes something's going on with you.
What would you say? Ah yeah, Bran, I'm from the future; except, not really, but also I am, but also I'm not, and goddamn, man, is it good to see you again.
"So you're telling me if Emilio Reina asked out my sister, you'd have no problem at all with it?" Brandon's voice dripped with skepticism.
"It's not my business. She's free to do whatever she wants and see whoever she wants."
No she fucking ain't.
Yes, she is. What's one little date with Reina really gonna do when Brenda's in love with you?
Maybe she just told you that to appease you.
Maybe you should cállate la boca.
"Let's ask the Little Guy here. David Silver, isn't it?"
Gobsmacked that Brandon had even acknowledged him, David nodded vigorously. "Yeah. David Silver."
"You're in Bren's drama class, right? Scott Scanlon's friend? Came over to the house a couple weeks back with Kelly? Always have a camera attached to your hand? I think you filmed my campaign video and then at my family's not-farewell party, or was that someone else?"
"No, that was me. And you're Brandon Walsh, the guy who lived in an igloo?"
"Lived in a - what?"
"Lived in an igloo. Aren't you from Minnesota? Don't Minnesotans live in igloos 'cause of all the snow?"
Brandon turned his bewilderment to Dylan, who mouthed, "Rumor mill."
"Oh yeah," said Brandon. "Bren and I learnt to fly fish 'cause it was the only meal we could eat."
"All you can eat in Minnesota is fish? Wow, you're missing out."
"Silver," said Dylan.
"Dangit," said David, "you're kidding, too, aren't you?"
"Half-kidding," said Brandon. "We Walshes can fly fish."
Why the hell is she still laughing?
What the fuck are they talking about over there?
I need a reason to interrupt. And no, telling Reina he's making a move on my wife is not a reason.
"Yeah. You're right. He's jealous."
Dylan angled his head to see David peering at him.
"Can you say that a little louder? Pretty sure everyone heard you, except Bren."
"Okay." David's voice increased in volume. "Dylan McKay is -"
"Silver!"
"Ah. Sarcasm. Got it. I'm learning." David glanced between the two. "So if Dylan McKay and Brandon Walsh are talking to me, does that make me cool?" The longing poured off of him in the rush of a waterfall.
"Why do you want to be cool, Silver?"
"Girls like guys who are cool," said David.
"By girls, do you mean Donna Martin?" asked Brandon.
"Crap, is it that obvious?"
"Just a little," said Dylan. "Maybe tone it down a tiny bit."
"Yeah, Donna might still think you like Kelly," said Brandon. "You did like Kelly, didn't you?"
"That's old news," said David. "I can't crush on my stepsister."
"Stepsister?"
"My dad's dating her mom, so we'll probably be siblings."
"Didn't they just start dating?"
"They did, but they're old. Their time is limited."
Now, wait a second, wasn't Jackie Taylor in her late thirties?
Dylan felt offended on behalf of himself and the gang he used to know.
"You wanna know how to be cool, Silver?"
David eagerly nodded.
"Never leave a friend behind," said Dylan. "That's how you can be cool."
"Well-said, D," said Brandon.
David appeared relieved. "Thank you."
"For what?" asked the older boys.
"I've wanted to join your gang ever since I saw all of you hanging out in the courtyard, and I thought I'd need to ditch Scott to get invited in since he's the complete opposite of cool."
"David, how long have you and Scott been friends?" asked Brandon.
"Since forever," said David. "Think we met in daycare."
"Then Silver, if you ever ditch Scanlon in the name of popularity, you'll never be accepted by us."
Dylan hoped his statement would prevent a repeat of David's anger at himself for his mistreatment of his old best friend in the days preceding Scott's death.
"And I doubt Donna would like you much, either," Dylan added.
"Roger that," said David. "Can I invite Scott into the courtyard spot?"
"It's just a spot in the courtyard," said Brandon, adding at the hopeful look on David's face, "but sure, I guess. 'Long as you both sit with us."
David's joy couldn't be more apparent if he tried.
Dylan's peripheral vision was overtaken by Brenda; or, rather, the absence of Brenda from the lounge chair where her tantalizing body had been stretched out for the last hour. Her highlighted script sat on the edge of the chair.
Reina was gone, too.
Dylan felt the car door into his gut, the tortilla chips clogging his throat.
How the fuck was he supposed to do this? Watch his Brenda with another guy? How had she handled watching him with Kelly?
He'd watched her once, with Stuart. That one had already served as a monster truck barreling over his heart, and that was when Brenda had made it painfully clear they no longer had a shot together.
It wasn't the same thing, he told himself. He still had plenty of shots with Brenda. He hadn't fucked it up, not yet. He just had to have patience.
Damn, he could use a shot.
Or some earplugs, after a ringing scream pervaded the space.
"Oh my God. Dylan? Dylan McKay?"
Dylan turned in the direction of the voice, surveying the girl in front of him.
In his other life, he would have fucked her, no question. Her long hair fell down her shoulders in a cascade of strawberry blonde, more blonde than strawberry. She was tall. Her slender, athletic figure somehow showed, despite her leather jacket.
"It's me," said the girl. "You know, from Mrs. Connors' pre-algebra class in eighth grade?"
"Stacey!" shouted another tall female from across the room. "Are you coming?"
"I'll catch you later!" said Stacey. "Ran into an old friend."
Stacey. Stacey. Dylan repeated the name in his head, scrolling through the chicks he remembered. Stacey.
Fuck.
Baja. The fight. Brenda angry, jealous. Stacey. He'd taken Stacey, the week before the gang had gone camping.
Stacey Jacobson.
From eighth grade.
A move on either blonde and Brenda will still be a Monaghan.
Strawberry blonde. That was blonde, wasn't it?
Panic tumbled over him, desperately trying to claw its way out. What would the universe consider a move? Talking? Was talking a move? He was a natural flirt. Talking could easily be seen as a move.
He sat ramrod straight, looking at Stacey without saying a word.
Wait, what if looking is a move?
He looked at anything but Stacey.
"Still surfing?" she asked, in an attempt at conversation.
"He's still surfing." Brandon held the tray of dishes beside his hip. "I'm Brandon Walsh." He wiped his hand, offering it out to Stacey with a smile that rivaled Dylan's.
"Stacey Jacobson," she said, looking Brandon over. "Dylan and I went to middle school together."
"He got in a surfing accident earlier this summer. Might've messed with his head."
"Oh." Stacey nodded sympathetically. "Sorry to hear that, Dylan."
Dylan returned her nod with one of his own, his lips clamped firmly shut.
You're being rude. Just say something. You could tell her hi. Hi isn't flirting.
What if I tell her hi and next thing I know, I'm back in my old life?
What if I tell her hi and tomorrow, I wake up to Erica turning on ET!'s exclusive about Bren birthing Monaghan's twins?
"Seriously?" Stacey huffed out.
"Don't mind him," said Brandon. "He's hung up over his ex."
Those twins are mine, goddammit. Monaghan doesn't get to live my life, with my wife.
He couldn't figure out which people Itero had spoken of who had allegedly fucked up his life, but if he ever stumbled upon them, Dylan had decided he would pull those people aside for a talk.
Just a talk.
Maybe.
"Must be some ex. Dylan and I talked all the time in pre-algebra. I got him into my great-uncle's films."
"I know films," said Brandon. "Which ones?"
"You Can't Take It With You. It Happened One Night. Mr. Deeds Goes -"
"To Town." Brandon stared at her, slack jawed. "You're the great-niece of Frank Capra?"
"Through marriage," said Stacey. "I take it you know him?"
"He was only the best director Hollywood ever had."
"Summer of singledom, huh, Bran?" smirked Dylan before he dashed across the room.
"Wow, I don't remember Dylan being so rude," he heard Stacey telling Brandon.
"Don't take it personally. He's probably just having a migraine. That wave hit him pretty hard."
"Then I hope his brain's okay. So, Brandon, what else are you into?"
"Well, I'm a big hockey fan."
"Can you believe Pittsburgh won? I thought for sure North Star had it in the bag."
"Hang on. You watch the Stanley Cup?"
"Watch? You could say that. My family attends, every year. We never miss a game."
"Tell me more."
Dylan briefly looked over his shoulder, seeing Stacey walking closely beside Brandon as he continued to do his work.
Did Stacey mention any of that before?
Like you'd know what Stacey had said.
But you always know what Brenda says.
Where the hell is she?
He nearly leapt twelve feet into the air when his vision was obstructed.
"Guess who?" said the voice, a harmony unto his soul. Its hands felt both cold and warm against his eyes.
"Doth my ears deceive, or dost the fair lady of the fairies stand behind thee?"
"Indeed. 'Tis I, the Queen of the Fairies, and you, good sir, are standing beneath the glittering ball of disco. There is a rule of the land that must be followed."
"And what, pray tell, is that rule?"
"Well, if one finds oneself underneath the silvery circle, one must dance with the one who pointeth it out."
"I don't think that's a rule, Bren." He pivoted and grabbed her waist.
"Fine, so I made it up."
"Obviously, but," one hand latched onto Brenda's wrist, twirling her out, "it's a fake rule we can still follow." Dylan glanced up at the disco ball hanging near the cabanas, then looked back at Brenda. "Assuming Reina doesn't mind."
"Why would Rei - Emilio mind?"
"He's been hanging around you a lot since the barbeque."
"We're just practicing, Dylan."
"Hey, you don't have to explain to a friend. You're perfectly within your right to see other people."
"I told you, this isn't about seeing other people."
"You're allowed to see other people."
"No, you're allowed to see other people. Like that girl who was talking to you." Her expression volleyed between curiosity and…was that annoyance?
Fuck yes, it was. Brenda was annoyed.
"Are you jealous?" A smile waltzed upon Dylan's lips. He folded his lips together, trying to prevent a telltale smirk.
"Jealous of what?" she asked.
Brenda Walsh had always been an abysmal liar, even as a theatre actress.
"You are." Dylan's smirk came out in full force. "You're totally jealous."
"Why would I be jealous of a super attractive girl talking to my ex?"
"Maybe because you don't want him to be your ex."
"I dunno what you're talking about."
Bren's lying her ass off. She wants me, and she knows it. Come on, baby. Just admit it. You have no idea how much time we've already wasted trying to deny who we are to each other, who we'll always be.
"Don't worry," Dylan said. "That moderately attractive girl is probably into your brother now. She's apparently a hockey fan."
"Moderately attractive?" Brenda scoffed. "I think she's a whole lot more than moderately attractive, Dyl. Blonde and redheaded? She's got the best of both worlds."
"Then it's too bad for her I'm in love with a hot brunette, who's getting hotter by the second the more jealous she becomes."
"Not jealous," said Brenda. "I was curious why you didn't say anything back to her, that's all."
Because I'm pretty goddamn sure a fairy would rip you away from me if I did.
"Didn't have anything to say."
"You don't need to prove something to me by not saying hi to someone who says it to you."
That's where you're wrong. I have so much to prove to you, Bren. You, and the universe.
She was dressed in sunshine yellow, the same shade she'd been wearing in her cover photo with Monaghan.
It had been snapped on Brenda's honeymoon, Brandon's comment had indicated. Somewhere tropical, probably.
He had wanted to take her somewhere tropical.
Brenda's eyes followed his. "Are you staring at my chest?" she asked bluntly.
"So what if I am?" asked Dylan, though his focus lay more with the color of her tank top and less on his favorite toys.
"I could stare at yours," she retorted.
He lifted both eyebrows. "Please do."
"You're making this breakup impossible."
"Am I, Bren? Or are you starting to second-guess your decision?"
She stared at him for so long in contemplative silence that his heart quivered in his chest.
"I've just never been in love before," she said quietly. "I didn't know it would feel like this."
"Like what?" he breathed out, stretching his hand out along her cheek.
"Terrifying."
"Terrified." He inhaled, the breath slicing through him as if someone had taken a chainsaw to his oxygen supply. "Of me?"
"No," she said, shaking her head. "Not of you."
"Then of what, babe?" His voice softened. He moved his other hand to graze along her other cheek.
"Of being so in love with you that I lose me."
She bit her lower lip, her eyes darting to the floor.
"Hey," he murmured, raising her chin to force her glassy eyes to meet his, "I'd never let that happen."
I'm losing me, Dylan, she had said.
What the hell are you talking about, Brenda? he had asked.
It just isn't working anymore.
What isn't working?
This. Us. I'm the only one fighting for us.
That's not true, Bren. I fight for us.
No, Dylan. You fight. That's what you do. You just fight. I don't know what happened on that mountain. But whatever happened, whatever you won't tell me, that took the man I love. I don't know this man, and I don't want to know this man. Fighting Ernesto isn't fighting for us. Fighting Ernesto is bruised ribs, a broken jaw, a fucking broken stage light. Dylan, I can't live like this. I can't wait around, worrying about the next time I'll have to pick you up from the cops.
What are you saying?
I'm saying that I found them. I found your stash. I'm saying that if you won't get help, then I'm done. I'll support you however you need, I'll skip dress rehearsals to go to your meetings with you. I want to help you, Dylan, but you have to want that help. Brenda had taken the paper bag and thrown it at him. You have to choose. It's me, or the drugs.
"It's you. It will forever be you."
"What?"
Dylan shook his head, realizing he had spoken aloud what he should have said then, if his damn demons hadn't obstructed his path and clamped his answer. "You aren't going to lose you if you love me, Bren."
"I just need to be sure of that, Dylan. Because right now, you're the only boyfriend I want at West Beverly, but…" she trailed off, looking uncertain.
"But what?" His heart mutated into a gong against his stomach. "But Reina?"
"Reina?" Puzzlement infiltrated her countenance.
"You like Reina, don't you?" He sighed, the weight of his sigh trampling his chest as feet did the greenery of a meadow. "Emilio, I mean."
"Yeah, I like him," she said. "He's great."
Dylan's lower organs twisted, coiling into a tiny knot which threatened to climb up his esophagus.
"And I like Scott," said Brenda. "He's really sweet. Dustin's cool. I'm starting to like David. I think David was trying too hard to be liked, because he's a nice guy when he's just himself."
"Oh." The tense muscles in his shoulders relaxed. "You're talking about as a friend."
"Do you think I'd go on and on about a guy I like to you, Dylan?"
"No, of course not, but -"
"Is the blonde redhead your friend?"
Caught off guard, he smiled. "No." His fingers automatically went to Brenda's hair. It was a reflex, the feel of her soft, thick hair grazing his fingers as he curled a tendril around her ear. "She's just some girl I knew in eighth grade."
"You could still ask her out."
He wondered if Brenda knew the way her eyes seethed at her own suggestion.
"I'd rather ask you out." His gaze slowly trailed over her figure. "Soon as you let me."
"We've done that."
"Really? Then I guess I remember it different."
"How do you remember it?"
A potted plant. The McKay temper. Anger at his father. Brenda's arms surrounding him, offering a comfort that Dylan had never before experienced. The taste of her lips. The yearning to taste them again, a yearning that had never ceased.
"Did we ever actually go on another date after I took you up to our Overlook, Bren? The spring dance doesn't count."
"Well, yeah, you took me to some great makeout spots."
"Bren, that's not what I mean."
Her forehead crinkled, "There was that one; I mean, you - no, I meant we - in that one place, or was it at -"
"I want to take you somewhere," Dylan cut her off. "Somewhere I know you'll love. Doesn't have to be a date. Could just be close best friends hanging out." He tilted his head, taking stock of her expression. His palms felt laden with moisture. "I could bring you on the bike."
"My parents would never go for it."
She was tempted, he could tell. His cryptic tone had piqued her interest.
"It wouldn't be an overnight thing."
Not yet, anyway. Just wait 'til I get you back in - I mean, get you to Baja.
"Can I think it over? Or is it a one-time only kind of offer that you'll ask the blonde redhead if I say no?"
"You're really doing a terrific job convincing me you're not jealous."
"Do I have reason to be jealous?"
Dylan heard the tremor in his Bren's voice, the uncertainty that asking him for time would allow him time to replace her. He wished he could tell her that trying to replace her was futile, for he had attempted to do so many a time to no avail.
"I mean, it's none of my business what you do or who you do it with," Brenda continued, "but; well, not but, just - crap, I don't know what I'm trying to say."
If only you knew how long I've loved you. I meant what I said, Bren. I'll wait, however long it takes. It's gonna be different. We're gonna be different.
"I know exactly what you're trying to say. And no; you don't," Dylan firmly replied. "Do I?" he hesitantly added.
"No," she said. "Emilio's awesome and he'd probably be a great boyfriend to someone, but he's not - he's not -"
Dylan held out his hand. An emotion both foreign and familiar stirred within when Brenda lay her smaller hand out on his flat palm.
He laced their fingers together, an act that should have been commonplace and yet had been absent for so long between them that it continued to baffle Dylan that Brenda trusted him enough to allow him to hold her hand.
Or that she was close enough in both measurement and dynamic for him to touch whenever he wanted.
"He's not…?" Dylan queried, tracing his finger along Brenda's palm.
"He's not you."
Getting closer.
"And I want you."
Nearly there.
"But I'm still not sure."
Fuck, gonna take a bit more time to get there. But we will. I know we will. Bren is as good as mine.
She doesn't want your ass, Reina. She wants me.
"Can you give me the rest of the summer to figure this out?" Brenda pleaded.
"That's all you want?" Dylan asked. "You don't need the rest of the year? Beginning of junior year? Rest of high school?"
That thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, which he was sure was just the tip of the iceberg to what Brenda had felt when he had been given an ultimatum between her and Kelly and he had required time to think it over.
He had sometimes questioned in his later life why either of them would have wanted to be with someone who couldn't decide between two girls without being forced to do so.
Kelly never knew he would have chosen Brenda that night, if she had shown up to Jack's party.
"Anything like that?" he finished.
"No," said Brenda. "I don't need that much time, just a little time. I'm pretty sure I want us to start junior year together, but I need to be one hundred percent sure. Right now, I'm in love with my best friend. I can talk to you about anything, Dylan; well, almost anything. I hope it can always be like that, but I mean, it wasn't even a year ago that Bran and I thought our parents might divorce and I mean, they're old."
Okay, thirtysomethings are not old.
You're not a thirtysomething.
Aren't I, though?
They could be fortysomethings right now.
Fortysomething is still not old.
You're a teen. You think every adult is old.
To be fair, when Mads comes up to ask you what a Floppy disk is because she heard it mentioned in a TV show, hell yeah, man; you feel old.
"And they've been together since college. I didn't expect to fall in love this early. I'm still getting to know me."
"I won't pressure you, Bren. Swear I won't. I just miss you."
"I know." Her gaze landed on his lips. "I miss you, too." She raised her hand, moving her thumb to trace his upper lip that began his internal argument over whether to kiss that thumb. "I'm sorry." She dropped her hand beside her waist. "They're the same, but they - it's weird, I swear they're different." She shook herself out of her trance. "Maybe they just need to be kissed."
Do you know, baby? Can you sense it? Do you know I'm not sixteen?
"They do need to be kissed," he said. "Frequently, and by someone who knows them well."
"Someone like blonde redheads from eighth grade?"
She attempted indifference, which Brenda had never been able to successfully feign with him.
Nor could she lie, because he saw right through those.
"Blonde redheads from eighth grade aren't coming near these lips," he assured. "These lips aren't kissing anything that ain't part of you."
"I really don't think it's fair for me to be glad about that, but I'm still glad about it."
"Do me a favor, Bren? Let me decide if I think this isn't fair, okay?"
"Okay."
He moved to stand directly in front of her so that her face nearly touched his chest. "And when it comes to strawberry blondes, or any blondes, or redheads, brunettes, whatever hair color a chick has; I already know none of them can snatch my heart back from my stubborn brunette."
"Oh come on, not the stubborn thing again. Brandon's way more stubborn than I am."
"Being stubborn isn't a bad thing. Denying you are; that could be the bad thing. Stubborn girls get things done."
"You sound like Val. It's almost as if you've met her before."
Actually, I met and fucked her, literally a lifetime ago.
I'd be lying if I said she wasn't a great lay and that she doesn't know her shit, but she's not you, baby.
"Haven't, obviously," said Dylan. "But hope to. Sounds like she takes care of my girl."
"She'd claim she does, but let's be honest; I'm the one who takes care of Val."
Wasn't that the truth. Brenda Walsh took care of everyone. Even in London, when her mates there would try to take care of her, she had a difficult time accepting help from anyone.
She had been in a surfing accident of her own, shortly after her twenty-first. Nothing too brutal, a minor concussion and a fractured arm. Dylan had been unable to move, frozen to the spot with the fears of losing Brenda as he had lost Toni when he saw Brenda being pulled out of the water. He had kicked himself for getting them food instead of being in there with her, despite Brenda being the one to ask that he get food. He had kicked himself further for being the one to teach her how to surf, no matter how much she loved the concept.
Cindy had come to stay with them for a couple of weeks. She had arrived somehow under the impression that Brenda had mono, which Dylan had realized had been due to Brenda's mate Nicola's phone call, for Nicola often misused mono as a way to say "mammoth" in a phrasing that was purely Nicola. Oh, it's mono, in Nicola speak, would've been oh, it's massive.
Nicola had been part of Brenda's wedding party, ET! had said. Valerie, no surprise, had played Maid of Honor, and accomplished her own ten seconds of fame when she said in an audio that the "ecstatic" couple were doing well and would not be taking interviews at that time.
He wondered if Nicola or Val had thought about him at all when they helped Brenda with her wedding plans.
He realized that thought wasn't fair, but it did cross his mind nevertheless.
Had Val forgiven him for everything he had done to Brenda or did she hate him, too?
"Do I need to keep taking care of you?" Brenda asked worriedly. "Dylan, I really think you should see someone about all this zoning out. It can't be good."
"It's nothing," said Dylan. "I'm just struck by how hot you are."
"Oh please." Brenda rolled her eyes.
"You better stop that eyerolling habit now, Bren. They'll get stuck in the future."
"And I suppose you know the future?"
I do, as a matter of fact. I say you're hot now; just wait until you see how fucking gorgeous you become.
You're a fucking sexy lady, Bren, and my God, are you a wildcat in bed.
Monaghan's bed.
Fuck, just don't think about that guy. He's irrelevant. Your Bren doesn't even know him anymore.
No, but she knew him then and that's never gonna change. I still lost her to him in that life.
You won't lose her in this one. You won't lose her to anyone in this one.
Fuck, I hope I'm right.
"I do, actually," said Dylan. "We could test it out. Your Magic 8-ball versus my psychic powers."
"I don't think I want to know my future," said Brenda. "Even if someone or something up there has it all mapped out, that doesn't mean we can't change it and make our own."
Oh, I've changed a shit ton of it, believe me.
"Bren, you're not the only one this is new to." He looked down at her lips, then up into her eyes. "I've never been in love before, either. I've never loved before. You're the first girl who's gotten me to feel like this and I don't care how old we are; I already know I want you to be my last. If I have to wait, I'll wait."
"There you guys are! We've been looking all over for you. Steve's trying to start a game of water polo in the pool, but we're short players. Bren, you in?"
Brenda severed their intense eye contact to glance at Donna, who looked rather cute in her purple one-piece.
Royal purple, Dylan thought. The color of Brenda's costume when he had stumbled upon her performance on his impromptu stop in London following Toni's murder. The color of the flowers planted in the window box across the street from the flat he had shared with Brenda. The color of the sheets in their hotel room during her tour in Madrid; not that they'd been too focused on the sheets after they had kicked them off of the bed in pursuit of each other.
The color of her face when she picked him up from the Met Police and insisted he thank goddamn Manzano for not pressing charges. At the time, Dylan had thought there'd be no charges to press if Manzano had kept his fucking hands off of Brenda like Dylan had warned him on numerous occasions.
It was a decade later, when he'd glimpsed an ad in a flight magazine detailing Brenda's newest role, that he'd felt any kind of remorse.
Ernesto Manzano had been standing there beside her, the fucking Erik to her Christine.
Manzano had remained a part of Brenda's life, whilst Dylan had been forced to witness the rise of his ex-lover's fame from afar.
The girl who had known him better than anyone became the woman who cared so little about him that she hadn't even permitted Dylan to become a Facebook acquaintance.
Had he become just a boy she once knew?
Or did her breath hitch, even for a moment, when his name had unexpectedly popped up in her friend requests?
Was he the man she had forgotten existed, or the man she couldn't forget however hard she tried? Did she dream of him, as he had dreamt of her, and wake up disappointed to find Monaghan in her bed instead?
Did Brenda ever wonder about him at all? Did she whimper his name in her sleep, as Kelly had claimed he did Brenda's? Did she look out at the sun fighting its way through Irish grey days and think of him, staring at a more luminous sun in smog-filled LA, tormented by the memories of basking in the elusive sun together atop their balcony overlooking Fitzrovia?
Dylan would never know what thoughts had darted across Brenda Monaghan's mind when she chose to decline his request.
What he did know was he would never allow them to return to that place again.
Brenda Walsh was his best friend, he was hers, and he wouldn't accept anything less.
"I'm in if Dylan's in." The teenaged Brenda waded through Dylan's rumination and hauled him back up to the surface before the kraken of regret could drown him in his future-past. "But I'm worried something's wrong with his head. He keeps getting this look, like he's in a lot of pain. I don't think it's his ribs. He seems so far away whenever it happens."
"It's nothing, Bren."
"That doesn't sound good, Dylan. I'm sure I can find a nurse around here. Or I could call Daddy."
"No need, Donna. It's all good. Besides, Bren's my nurse and she's a pretty dang great one."
He surveyed Donna. He didn't know how to act around her, the girl who had become something of a little sister to him over the years. Dylan had comforted her at her father's funeral. He'd stood near her as she had become a wife. He'd been the one to bring her to the hospital whilst she labored with her first child, when David had been stuck in DFW on music business and had just barely made it back to Beverly Hills in time.
But at sixteen, Dylan had known Donna Martin only as Brenda's friend.
One of Brenda's best friends, the main one being Kelly, though this Brenda seemed to have created a closer bond with Donna than with Kelly.
This Brenda, he decided, seemed to have become closer with Andrea than with Kelly.
Had his visit back in time somehow fucked with Brenda's and Kelly's relationship, the way he had always managed to fuck with that relationship in the future-past?
Or had their friendship always been meant to deteriorate?
"I'm not sure Dylan can play or even wants to play. Sorry, Don. Maybe another time."
"Well, you could ask him," said Dylan.
"Might be hard on your ribs."
"Or could be fun."
"I thought you don't do competitive sports."
"Who's playing, Don?" Dylan paused. "Okay if I call you Don?"
"Uh, sure," said Donna. "Well, I'm playing, Steve's playing, Brandon just finished his shift and said he'll do it if Brenda does it and Steve said we need Brandon so I apparently have to force Bren to agree because basically Steve's into this one girl who was trying to get a game going so he offered to help and I think Brandon likes her, too -"
"Who's the girl?" asked Brenda.
"Oh, I don't know, some strawberry blonde who's apparently talking basketball with Steve and hockey with Brandon. If you can call Steve staring at her chest talking. I can't tell if he really likes her, or if he's just hoping to get a reaction out of Kel."
"I'm in," said Brenda, a determined glint in her eye stirring up her competitive streak that he loved. "Who else?"
"I'm gonna ask David, uh, Dustin Hendricks said he would and oh, Emilio, plus -"
"I'm in, too," said Dylan, without further persuasion.
"Is Kel playing?" asked Brenda.
"You know Kelly," said Donna. "She's mad at Steve but when isn't she; plus she just got her nails done and doesn't want to -"
"- break a nail," Brenda finished, before both girls giggled. "I don't blame her. I broke my nail last week just moving some of my books into Dylan's and it seriously hurt."
"You actually let Dylan have some of your books?" asked the surprised Donna.
"House," said Brenda. "He can house some of them. He can't have them. They're still mine."
"So it's like Dylan has joint custody of your books," said Donna with a knowing smile.
"I guess," said Brenda.
Her books had already mixed with Dylan's long before they even stepped foot in London, where their books had originally mixed for the first time.
Her books sat on his shelves, where he would make damn sure they remained.
You're going down, Reina.
Dylan zeroed in on Emilio Reina, who had the gall to flirt with his Brenda in front of him.
He itched to punch Steve, who had put Brenda on Reina's team simply because Steve thought it would be a riot to see the twins compete against each other.
Brandon had tried to convince Steve to place Dylan and Brenda on the same team, but Steve had said Brandon would need Dylan's help since Steve would be teaming up with Reina.
Dylan looked to Brandon, who nodded towards Brenda in a silent question of how Dylan was holding up.
Fucking terrible. How did Brenda handle seeing me with Kelly? I'm this close to beating Reina to a fucking pulp and all he's doing is talking to her.
You wouldn't really beat Reina to a pulp, would you? I thought the goal was to avoid the rap sheet this time.
It's an expression, okay?
Yeah, I think you should start using a different expression, even in your head.
Dylan gave a casual shrug to Brandon, though from the look on Brandon's face, he had already picked up on Dylan's true reaction.
No, Dylan was absolutely not alright.
"Hey McKay, homie, you ready or what?"
I'm not your homie, Hendricks. Don't think I don't see the way you're watching Reina and Bren, too.
You can't have her either, fucking wanker.
Remember when Bren taught you that word?
I do. Bet she taught it to Val. They probably go around calling me the wanker now like we did Bren's old neighbor.
A friend. Reina was a friend. Brenda had confirmed it herself. He had no reason whatsoever to be envious.
"What the hell, McKay?"
"Sorry," said Dylan. "Ball slipped."
He glanced over at Brandon stifling a laugh at Dylan slamming the ball into Emilio Reina's chest when the fucker's focus had been on Brenda.
Brenda looked at Dylan, a question in her eyes.
"Thought we were gonna play, not talk," he said, effortlessly catching the ball Steve tossed back.
"We're just talking about class," said Reina.
Sure they were. That's exactly why Reina's hand had been on Brenda's shoulder, because they were discussing hand placement for their fucking scene.
"Bite me."
They looked at him.
Fuck, I thought I said that in my head.
"Bite me…dust," said Dylan, in a horrendous Dublin accent he wouldn't try to pretend was decent. "We're gonna crush you."
"Oh, keep dreaming, babe," said Brenda.
Babe.
We're at babe.
Trekking up that mountain and we're gonna stand on top, my honey babe and I.
Bet she doesn't call you babe, Reina.
Bet her books will never sit on your shelves.
"I thought this was just gonna be a fun game," said Donna nervously.
"Donna, you have Steve Sanders and the Walsh twins playing," said Dustin. "You should know better. Walsh, can you ever play something without getting competitive?"
"Nope," said both twins.
"Well, I was asking Brandon, but yeah, that proves my point."
"Then I hope you're good at water polo, David," said Donna.
"I might be okay," said David. "Wish Scott wasn't at his uncle's. He's decent at this."
"He is?" she asked.
"Yeah. In day camp, Scott was always the better basketball player than me. Not NBA good or anything, or even high school basketball good, but decent."
"Oh great," Donna groaned.
"Don't worry," David said. "We've got McKay and Walsh on our team. Can I call you guys that?" he asked.
"Only if you help us win, Silver," said Brandon. "I'm not losing to Bren."
"Oh, I think you are, big bro. 'Cause my team's got Steve, Emilio, Dustin and - sorry, what's your name?" Brenda asked.
"Hot Chick Behind Me," said Steve.
"Stacey," said the girl with a laugh.
"Sanders, get your own girl," Dylan heard Brandon mutter under his breath.
"Yeah, so we're clearly gonna win," said Brenda.
"Oh, we'll see about that," said Brandon.
"Let's play ball!" hollered Steve.
Reina had reached his maximum limit on touching Brenda.
If his hand brushed against Brenda's hand one more time in the supposed name of the game, Dylan was going to throw something besides the ball.
"Seriously?" asked Reina, dodging the ball flying towards his face. "I know that didn't just slip out of your hands, McKay."
"Maybe you should actually be paying attention to the ball then, Reina."
"I'm just helping Bren work on her technique."
Motherfucker did not just call her Bren.
"Bren's technique is perfectly fine."
Brenda frowned, looking between them. "Maybe I should sit this one out, Steve."
"No!" said Dylan and Emilio in unison, who then glared at each other.
"Can I be on Bren's team, instead?" asked Donna. "David really sucks at this game."
"I did warn you," said David.
"I want to be on Bren's team," said Dylan.
"I'm great where I am," said Reina.
"I want Donna to be on my team," said Brenda.
"Can I get Stacey on mine?" asked Brandon.
"Everyone, shut your traps," said Steve. "We're not changing teams halfway through the game and you're not sitting it out, Brenda. Jeez, it's like I'm playing with preschoolers."
Yeah, except Madeline in preschool had already begun to play better than her father.
Dylan watched Reina hand the ball to Brenda for her to throw. Reina's arm tucked around Brenda's waist. His dark brown eyes, so dark they were almost black, connected with Brenda's hazel that were presently more blue.
Then Reina's gaze dropped to examine Brenda's lips.
Don't even try it, Reina.
If you want to live, Reina, don't even try it.
McKay!
Again, it's a fucking expression!
Can you use expressions that don't threaten bodily harm?
Maybe.
Seeing his shot, Dylan went for it.
"Hey! That's a foul!" said Brenda, struggling against Dylan's hold whilst she folded herself around the ball.
Eyeing Reina, Dylan dropped his lips into Brenda's hair and kept them buried long enough for Reina to think Dylan was kissing that hair.
He couldn't, or he would taste the repugnant flavor of chlorine, but Reina wouldn't be able to tell.
"McKay, let go of my teammate," said Steve.
Never. I'll never let her go again.
"He means in the game, D," said Brandon, as if he could read Dylan's mind. "Let Bren go or we'll lose points."
"You've already lost points," said a gleeful Steve.
"Can I help free Brenda from Dylan?" asked Donna.
"You're my teammate, Don," said Dylan.
"Then stop trying to wreck the game for me!" she said.
"Dylan, I will make you let me go," said Brenda.
"Oh, yeah? And how do you think you'll accomplish that?"
Tilting her head up to look at him, Brenda rubbed the back of her body up Dylan's bare chest and then pushed out her bikini-covered bottom against his aching lower half, sheltered only by his swim trunks.
"That's…not fair," he groaned out in a whisper. His hands slackened.
"All's fair in love and water polo," said Brenda, squirreling away from him.
His entire team blamed him for their massive defeat. Dylan glowered over Reina's congratulatory affection with Brenda, and the way Dustin Hendricks held her hand a little too long when Dustin shook it.
Despite their attention on his girl, Dylan had found the silver lining.
He felt it, when Brenda's body had pressed against him.
Her upper half might have been uncertain; her lower half was not.
She wanted him.
She might very well need him.
Furthermore, as with vice versa, Brenda needed him badly.
He just hoped she wouldn't turn to another to fulfill those needs, which he fully anticipated she would do so that the universe could fuck with him a little bit more and teach him a lesson in the way he had once treated Brenda.
He fervently wished she wouldn't turn to Reina, even if any relationship between the two would just be a blip in Brenda's way back to what she truly wanted.
To be Dylan's Minnesotan girl.
As he was her Southern Californian boy.
And, someday, he'd father their English-accented children.
But someday was taking its long-ass time to arrive and Dylan didn't know how many girls he'd need to ignore in the meantime to avoid the perception that he had made a move on anyone other than his Brenda.
His Brenda, who gazed up at the sky exploding in all kinds of colors from the beach club's fireworks display which Steve currently sulked over after Henry's rejection of Steve's offer to help set up the pyrotechnics.
Fucking Reina stood nearby, talking to one of his friends whilst his gaze settled on Brenda.
Dylan hurried over to her side, bundling Brenda's back into his chest.
"Dyl? What are you doing?" asked Brenda.
"They're fireworks, Bren. You have to share them with somebody. It's in the beach club handbook."
"Sure it is." She smiled, oblivious to the heated look Dylan threw in Reina's direction that clearly indicated he could forget about trying to make Dylan's girl his.
Because Dylan wouldn't give up on reuniting with her.
Not then. Not in an hour, or a day. Not in a week, a month, a year, a decade or a few.
Not ever again.
When Madeline had turned seven, Steve had dragged the remaining members of the old gang to Disneyland with the excuse that Madeline had wanted to see the Wishes fireworks. He had laid the guilt trip on thick, labelling aunts, uncles and godparents with the title of horrible adults if they denied her the opportunity.
They all knew it was Steve who had wanted to see those fireworks, even before Mads had let it slip.
If Emilio Reina believed he could create his own fireworks with Brenda that would be more effulgent than Wishes, if Reina thought he could pry Brenda's heart from Dylan's clasped palms, then Dylan had only one response.
Ready.
Set.
Game on.
-x
honeysitdown: Thank you! Didn't have a clue David would learn about Val so early on until I started writing that scene and it just spilled out, but it will be interesting to see how it changes things for David (or if it does.)
As always, thanks a million for the readership, reviews, follows, favourites, alerts, discourse, plot ideas, etc. Stay healthy and safe out there. x