Thanks a million for such a terrific response to the first chapter! The second came out much more quickly than I anticipated, so you get another chapter this week.
xx
He had hardly registered the amused face of the pockmarked Radio Shack employee who had watched a twenty-one year old leap between displays to figure out the best phone for purchase.
He hadn't so much as blinked when he forked over nearly a grand to pay for David's new phone.
He had barely spoken more than two words to his friends, all of whom had pelted him with questions.
They wanted to know what had happened to cause him to drop David's phone.
Dylan couldn't answer. If he answered, it would make it real. If he kept it to himself, it would remain a horrible nightmare.
He reasoned with himself. Maybe he had misheard. Maybe the phone had cut out the rest of Brenda's sentence.
Who is Dylan…fucking, he thought. Yeah. That's it. Bren asked who is Dylan fucking. Or maybe it was who is Dylan seeing. Who is Dylan kissing, snogging, flirting with. Could be who is Dylan to think he can just call and…nah, wasn't that long. Who is Dylan talking to? She could've thought I was talking to someone in the background. Who is Dylan to us? That would make plenty of sense. I mean, neither of the twins are too happy with me now, and who can blame them?
I fucked up. I fucked up, bad. And then I made an even bigger fuckup of everything.
Why the fuck did I tell Kelly that? Why? What the fuck was I thinking? One sitting across from me, the other dead? Maybe David's right. Maybe my brain is mush.
He attempted to calm his accusatory thoughts.
She didn't ask Who is Dylan. No. No way. I heard that wrong. I know I heard that wrong. There's absolutely no way that was even a little bit close to what she said.
Brandon continued to refuse his calls. Brenda's inbox remained full. Even Val had become unreachable.
Bobby Walsh had answered his phone, though his warning to leave Brenda alone did nothing to alleviate Dylan's concern.
Bobby's sister Lottie Walsh had said in no uncertain terms where Dylan could go and how he could get there.
They were the Walsh relatives Dylan had known best, the closest cousins in Brenda's large family tree. He and Brenda had hosted Simon Walsh's children their second Christmas together in London, and now both of those children were furious with him, too.
Add it to the list, Dylan thought.
If he'd angered Brenda's cousins, he didn't even want to try calling her parents.
Not on his own mobile, at least.
After what he had done to David's, none of the gang permitted Dylan to borrow theirs.
He denied Gina sex. Gina wanted to know more about Brenda. He didn't want to tell her. That was a private matter, something Gina hadn't earned access to and never would. Gina said if he felt like that after all they had been through, then perhaps a breakup was in order. He told her it didn't matter to him; she'd been making eyes at David, anyway.
Gina suggested he send her a postcard from Hell.
He told her he'd already been well acquainted with the place and been promoted to head watchman.
She told him when he was ready to apologize and make up with her, she would be waiting.
She'd stayed waiting, for Dylan didn't apologize.
He had no plans to apologize; not to Gina, at least.
He declined to speak with Kelly, who demanded to know why he had lied to her.
He grasped that Kelly had thrown his own words and implications back in his face. Somehow, they had seemed harsher coming from her.
But she hadn't been wrong. He had allowed Kelly to believe Brenda was nothing more than a forgotten girl from his past. Nothing more than someone he used to fuck, just another notch on his belt.
When she had always been - and he knew, would always be - so much more.
I took it too far, Dylan thought. I always take it too far. Why am I like this?
He opened his fridge, noting the six-packs that David hadn't bought.
He had partaken in those, with Kelly. Did she even think to say anything?
Brenda would have. Brenda would have ransacked his place until she had found and dumped every last bottle.
If Brandon knew Dylan had begun drinking again, Dylan wouldn't have a shot in hell at seeing Brenda.
Brenda herself wouldn't give him a chance to even talk to her if she sniffed the tiniest whiff of alcohol on his person.
If he hadn't drank during Battleship, would he have said anything he said to Kelly?
He needed to get sober for the twins, but, more importantly, he needed to get sober for himself.
Dylan yanked the offensive beer bottles out of the fridge and uncorked every bottle.
He watched the golden swirls of his beer of choice splash into the sink, draining down to the city's underground sewage.
It was only the first move in twelve steps he knew well, but there was a small satisfaction to be had in having made that initial step.
When David returned home and saw that their alcohol supply had dwindled, he grinned.
"Proud of you, man," said David. He tossed Dylan a thumbs-up, and went into his room.
For a moment, a rare moment, Dylan was proud of himself.
The owner of their longtime stomping grounds, Nat Bussichio, also expressed his pride in Dylan when Dylan asked Nat to attend AA with him.
Dylan came home from the first AA meeting he had attended in years to find that David had cleared the rest of the alcohol, with a note stuck to the fridge that told Dylan David would do his drinking in other locations.
As much as Dylan appreciated the support, he recognized that David had the right to drink in the man's own home.
Dylan resolved to find a place of his own.
He had a long way to go to fight through the mess he had put himself back in after his experience on K2.
Why had he ever agreed to summit that fucking mountain, labelled one of the most dangerous in the world?
Rather than dwell on K2, or its aftermath that had torpedoed his former relationship, Dylan threw himself into learning about Port Macquarie.
He learnt from his contacts that the twins weren't in any of the cities he had believed them to be in. If he figured out what had happened in Port Macquarie, perhaps he could figure out their precise location.
Brandon had set up a challenge, which Dylan had every intention in meeting.
Searching AskJeeves and the newly created Google yielded little results. Short of flying to New South Wales himself, Dylan determined to find another method.
"I heard you're looking for another filly. This one closer in age?"
He came in all aflutter, bold bright colors of his trademark Hawaiian shirt a stark contrast to the muted furniture. Sunglasses askew. Hair blown every which way, as if he had sprinted to California from wherever he'd been.
He probably had, thought Dylan.
"Brenda Walsh," Dylan answered. "Theatre actress in London. Her group went on tour in Australia last year."
"Got a thing for theatre?" asked Jay Jonesy, better known as Jonesy. "Didn't take ya for a patron of the fine arts, McKay."
"You'd be surprised," said Dylan.
The former FBI agent-turned-private-investigator plopped down on the sofa with a dramatic show and immediately crossed his legs upon the coffee table. "Another redhead?" asked Jonesy.
"Brunette," said Dylan shortly.
He owed Jonesy his life for helping to track down Dylan's sister when she had been abducted. Dylan would owe him even more if Jonesy had found Brenda.
But he didn't have to like the guy, or his unapologetically abrasive manner.
"I'm not in the habit of helping guys track down their crushes," said Jonesy. "Don't need the cops on my ass if the babes aren't interested."
Dylan glared. "She's my ex-girlfriend," he said.
He didn't like thinking of Brenda in that regard, not after everything.
He tried to console himself that an ex-girlfriend carried less of a painful meaning than an ex-wife, but that didn't help matters.
If Brenda had been his ex-wife, that would mean he had finally persuaded her to join him down the aisle. An ex-boyfriend could be left in her past. Could be easily replaced. Could be forgotten.
Bad word choice! he internally screamed.
"That's not much better," said Jonesy. "She coming after you for skipping out on your child support payments?"
"Look," Dylan seethed, "I'm trying to find her because her family won't tell me shit about where she is and I'm worried she's been gravely hurt or ill or something, okay? Did you find anything on Port Macquarie or not?"
"If her family don't want you to know where she is -"
"Her brother's pissed because Bren and I didn't exactly end on the best of terms; which, before you ask, is completely on me. If Brandon truly didn't want me to know anything like he claims, he wouldn't've mentioned Port Macquarie. He wants me to go to her, whether or not he's willing to admit it. He doesn't believe I will. He's lost all faith in me."
Funny. I've lost all faith in myself.
"Now what the fuck did you find out?" Dylan demanded.
"Cool your jets." Jonesy lifted one hand in surrender. "Managed to get a few of the local papers for you from the month in question." He withdrew a stack of documents from his rucksack.
Dylan picked up the papers and proceeded to devour the scanned news stories.
One in particular caught his eye, from the Wauchope Gazette that had been printed just before the new year.
FREIGHTCORP DENIES NEGLIGENCE IN BRUTAL RAIL ACCIDENT
December's rail accident in Port Macquarie saw 24 deaths, 73 injuries.
Dylan whipped the piece of paper up until it nearly decorated his nose in paper cuts.
Investigations continue in the December 10 rail accident that critically injured famed Australian-born Scots writer Odessa Callaghan and 72 others.
Reports by Transport Minister Carl Scully and the Labor government have pointed to negligence by FreightCorp. Affected locals have stated their belief that railroad cutbacks made in 1998 by the Carr government were responsible for the accident.
Port Macquarie. December. Rail accident.
Fuck. No. It couldn't be. She couldn't have.
Brenda couldn't have been included in the seventy-two. She couldn't.
"And here's a clipping from Jolly Old England," said Jonesy, waving an article about in the air.
Dylan snatched at the piece from the newspaper he had seen on the table every morning when he had lived with Brenda.
He had bought up every copy of its issue after Brenda's first lead role.
The Times.
Dylan scanned the print, and then reread it.
Members of London theatre troupe involved in Port Macquarie rail accident. 3 dead.
Three dead. Five hospitalized with minor injuries. Six critically injured.
H.E.R. Heraldic Entertainers of RADA.
Her troupe. Her tour.
Dylan swore his lungs had split in half, if he still had lungs to split.
He couldn't be too sure of it, for he believed he had stopped breathing.
She wasn't among the three. He could take comfort in that, although there was little comfort to be had when he saw who had been one of the three.
Mina Vreeland. Sister of Dawn. Close friend of Brenda's, and of Dylan's.
And the other two; fuck. He knew them both. He'd attended their fucking wedding, as Brenda's plus-one.
Had she been one of the five? Or - he squeezed his eyes shut to fight against the tears - one of the six?
He could talk. There must have been some breaths remaining, however much they seemed to have abated.
"She was in a fucking rail accident?" Dylan yelled out. "Brenda was in a fucking rail accident? Fucking hell, how far have I fallen that Brandon didn't want me to know my Brenda had been in a fucking rail accident?"
He didn't have the right to call her his. It had slipped from his mouth without prior thought.
One week before the accident, he had stood on a beach, telling Kelly how much he had missed her.
Telling her of the two years it had been since he had left London.
"I need to see her," said Dylan. "Please help me find her." He closed and unclosed his fists, pressing down on their pressure points to prevent himself from breaking down. "I have to see for myself that she's okay. If Bren never wants to see me again, that's something I'm just gonna have to deal with after all the shit I've said and done, but I still gotta see her. Man, you -" Dylan lost his fight and buried his head in his hands, "you've got no idea how much I need to see her."
"I'll see what I can do." Jonesy's tone softened to a point Dylan had never heard as he awkwardly pat Dylan's shoulder.
It had taken Jonesy way too damn long to find her, Dylan thought as he boarded the international flight at LAX.
It had been three weeks since his phone call. Three fucking weeks without knowing the extent of Brenda's injuries.
Three weeks of ignoring Gina, who had eventually given up and set her sights on David.
Three weeks of trying to avoid Kelly.
Three weeks of trying to get some kind of fucking response from Brandon.
"I can't promise Brandon isn't gonna be mad at you for this." Dylan turned to his seatmate.
"I'm not here for you," said Steve as he tightened the seat buckle over his lap. "I'm here for the twins. I'm still not over what you said about Bren."
"I fucked up," said Dylan. "You of all people know about fucking up."
"I do, and I remember how much I fucked up with Brenda myself. I'm always gonna remember that. If I ever have a kid, I hope they don't deal with half of what Bren did that year."
"You're thinking of having kids?" asked Dylan, slightly grateful for the distraction.
"I don't know," said Steve. "Maybe. Eventually. I got used to having Zach around. Miss the little guy. And Frankie's alright. What about you?"
"I'm not sure I deserve kids," said Dylan.
"I think you do," said Steve. "Unless you turn out like either of our fathers."
"I give you full permission to beat my ass if I do."
"I'll gladly accept that. Feel free to reciprocate."
"Sanders, there's no chance of you turning out like your old man."
"I hope you're right."
"It's one of the few things I'm right about."
Dylan tilted his head towards the window and watched the plane taxi down the runway.
When the cabin pressure dropped, he closed his eyes and thought of Brenda.
And the half of a heart he had tied to his suitcase handle.
xx
The place held a serenity unlike what she had ever known.
She couldn't understand a single word when she had picked up the prescription and a handful of groceries.
She hadn't expected to run errands.
Hell, she hadn't expected to be in that place at all.
But when Brandon had texted, she had jumped on the first reasonable flight she could find out of New York.
Three and a half weeks in, she never wanted to leave.
She understood why they called it the happiest country on earth.
She flashed her most winning smile to a particularly attractive shopkeeper. She considered sticking around. Maybe flirt a little; nonverbal, unless he spoke English.
Not now, she scolded herself. Bren needs her tea.
It was a land full of coffee drinkers, and Brenda insisted on tea. Strong brew. A dash of skimmed milk. One block of sugar. Stirred to perfection.
Or as perfect as Val could make it.
Tea seemed to be the only beverage that settled Brenda's temperamental stomach. On the days it especially acted up, she requested ginger.
Brandon had also started to learn how to prepare the tea, though he didn't care for tea himself.
Brenda said she preferred Val's version. Brenda thought Brandon's far too tepid. She had tried to make tea herself. The porcelain creamer had slipped through her fingers when she had jumped at the rumble of a passing cargo train. Milk had scattered upon the floor, leaving a trail from the oven to the fridge.
Brenda shed tears during her apology.
Val told her there was no need to cry and swiftly wiped up the spill.
Brandon had been told Brenda may become emotional over the smallest details. Val didn't think that would include milk.
On Brenda's good days, she still tossed out that fire that had immediately drawn Valerie to her when their respective sets of parents had placed them in the playpen at church to turn their attention to the stories of Abby Foster's and Cindy Beevis' glory days.
Brenda had thrown her stuffed giraffe out of the playpen, hitting Abby's back.
She'd had Val's back ever since.
Val was determined to have Brenda's.
On those good days, Brenda didn't care what she said or how she said it.
Those were the days Valerie hoped Brenda would have more of.
It agonized Val to see Brenda on the days she hid from trains.
Or cried over spilt milk.
Val picked up a brisk pace in the direction of the clinic where she was to meet Brandon after Brenda's appointment. Brenda had a lot of those. Appointments. Check-ups. Discussions with neurologists.
Grandmother Walsh, a woman beyond the means of most Walshes and Beevises, had paid for the finest specialist they could find.
Born in Italy to a Greek father and Norwegian mother, Doctor Alina Kailis had graduated the top of her class at the University of Turku. She boasted a head of thick curls shaded in the colors of a Californian sunset, which Brandon seemed drawn to every time Alina approached.
Val had called him out on it the first time she saw him drool over Alina. Brandon had vehemently denied any attraction.
Val would offer to officiate their wedding if Alina could use her neuroscience degree to help Brenda.
They would return to the US when Brenda was ready, though where they would go hadn't been decided.
Val said Buffalo. Brandon thought Washington might be too hectic of an atmosphere for Brenda, but he didn't want to leave her alone.
Brandon hadn't wanted to discuss the state Brenda had been in when he had flown to Australia. Val wanted to know, but for once, she decided to not pry.
Brandon would tell her when he was ready; if he ever was.
He had hardly left Brenda's side.
Jim and Cindy were waiting after Jim had unintentionally upset Brenda when her parents had visited the Kempsey hospital.
Val knew Jim often meant well, in concept.
His execution, however, was frequently awful.
The Walshes had done more for her than she had ever thought anyone would care to do.
She would stay with Brenda until Brenda asked her to leave.
Nearing the clinic, she stopped to gawp.
"Valerie Malone, in the flesh!"
A cheer. He was glad to see her.
She was delighted to see him.
"Steve Sanders." She grinned. "How the hell are ya?"
"Stoked to be here." Steve removed his sunglasses and lifted her high into the air until Val squealed to put her down. "Been too long, Malone."
"Hasn't been that long, Sanders," she pointed out.
"Any time apart from you is too long," he smoothly replied.
"Careful," she said. "I might tell Janet you're flirting."
"I flirt," he shrugged. "It's what I do."
"However did you find us?"
"Ah." Steve's stance shifted. "Yeah. About that. Don't get mad, okay?"
"Why would I be mad?"
Fucking dickwad.
Brandon's emotions would be mixed, but fury would take precedence over the rest.
"Val. How's it going?"
Nonchalant? After everything the fucker had done, he wanted to be nonchalant?
"What the fuck are you doing here, Dylan?" shouted Val.
"I ask the questions," said Dylan. "Question number one: were you and my dear former brother from another mother ever planning to tell me Brenda was in a fucking rail accident?"
"Oh, so now you care. Let me guess. You think Bren's a damsel, and you want to play hero."
"Brenda's never been a damsel," said Dylan. A tropical summer storm brewed in those brown eyes Val used to hope would focus on her even a quarter of how much they had focused on others. "Answer the fucking question, Val."
Three years since she had seen him.
He had the same demeanor the last time; the one that went beyond brooding, the one that screamed Dylan had lost everything and that he knew it, too.
"No offense, Dyl," her voice came out in a crisp air that battled the frigid air around them, "but Bren's life is really none of your fucking business."
"Mina died, Val. Did you know that?" Dylan's tone dramatically shifted. "Mina. Shane. Zahur."
"I heard." Val also took on a different tone. "I'm sorry, Dylan. I know how close they all were with you and Bren."
"It could've been Bren, Val. Do you and Brandon really hate me that much that you didn't bother to say anything?"
"I'd also like to know what I've done that kept you from telling me," said Steve.
"I haven't known that long," said Val. "Brandon took on most of it himself."
"Most of what?" asked Dylan.
"And we're back to none of your fucking business," she said.
"Brenda deserves the right to figure out if she wants to see me," said Dylan. "You and the Boy Scout don't get to decide for her."
"Why?" asked Val. "You want to give her the opportunity to choose between you and Brandon so she can ultimately choose herself?"
"I was angry. I handled it badly."
"I'd say so," Val snarked.
"Val, did Brenda lose her fucking memory?" Dylan came right out and asked.
Steve gaped at him.
"Bren lost her memory?" he asked.
"I'm not telling a damn thing," said Val.
"That wasn't a no," said Dylan.
If Val had punched Dylan in the face as she was tempted to do, he would have appeared less pained than he did in that moment.
"It's not like Brandon and I are trying to keep you from your wife," Val pointed out. "You made damn sure you wouldn't get that far when you walked out on her and headed straight for dear ole Kelly. She's your ex, Dylan. Your ex-girlfriend and honestly, she's better off staying that way. We don't have to tell you anything."
"I need to be here to support her," said Dylan.
"She's got support."
"Bren lost her memory?" Steve repeated, more fearfully. "She'll get it back as quickly as Kel did. Right?"
Valerie couldn't answer Steve without Dylan overhearing.
"Ask Brandon," she told Steve. "He might tell you. After he yells at you for bringing the traitor along."
"Now I'm a fucking traitor?" asked Dylan.
"You're something." Valerie adjusted the grocery bag that had begun to cause an ache in her arms. "Should I list off every adjective I think suits you? I bet I can come up with an A-Z. A is for Arrogant Assshole. B is for Beguiling and Bellicose. I just learned that word yesterday in one of - well, never mind."
She had read it in one of Brenda's novels. Valerie didn't like to read. Brenda did. Brenda loved novels, and when she asked Valerie to read her a passage, Val had obliged.
"C is for Cun - wait, there's children present." Val waited for the children to pass, but they had chosen to hang around. "Okay, for now C is for Cad. I'll get back to that. D is for Dicklyn, obviously. Dicklyn McKay. E is for -"
"Impressive diction," said Dylan drily. "You borrow Bren's thesaurus for that?"
"Brandon's taking care of her, just like he said."
"Taking care of her for what?" asked Steve before Dylan had the chance.
"Steve-o! Hey, man! What are you - oh."
Brandon took the bag from Val.
"I had wondered what was taking you so long," he said. Though he spoke to Valerie, his eyes were planted on another.
"Walsh," said Dylan.
"McKay," said Brandon. Steel coated a name once filled with warmth.
"Is Bren inside?"
"Why? You looking to be brought up on stalker charges?"
"Nice to see you, too, Minnesota."
"You shouldn't have come."
"You shouldn't have mentioned Port Macquarie, but you did."
The two men, former best friends who had once been saddened to see the other depart, held a staring contest that seemed to be figuring out which one could blow up the other with their minds.
"You didn't, however," said Dylan, "mention Bren being in a fucking rail accident. Or that she has fucking amnesia. Or that our friends fucking died."
Brandon looked at Val.
"I didn't tell them a thing," she said, holding up her hands.
"If Bren has amnesia," said Brandon, "and I'm not saying she does, but if she does, seeing you will only upset her and set her recovery back."
"Or maybe it will help," said Dylan.
"How, exactly, do you expect to help?"
"I -" Val could see Dylan's mind working overtime. "I could read to her," he said. "I could read her the novels she grew up with. The ones that she said reminded her of her own life. Maybe they'd trigger something."
"Not without me, you wouldn't," said Brandon.
"I don't need you acting the part of our chaperone."
The men stood toe-to-toe, glares deepening.
"He wouldn't be," said Val. "Bren gets upset any time Brandon isn't around."
She could feel her face contort in a cringe.
"Fuck."
"Val!" said Brandon.
"I'm sorry, Bran. It just came out!"
"Bren gets upset?" asked Dylan. "Why?"
"She regrets leaving California?" asked Steve in an attempt to crack the tension. "Got tired of the English rain? Misses taquitos? Missed me, obviously."
A jogger whirled by at that precise moment, knocking the bag askew in Brandon's hands.
The prescription toppled out and dribbled towards Dylan's sneakers.
He bent to pick it up, rolling the bottle of prenatal vitamins between his hands.
Valerie snatched the bottle back.
"Oh, those are mine," she said.
He turned an attentive eye on her. "You're pregnant?"
She nodded, and tapped her slim abdomen for effect.
"Twelve weeks."
His gaze dipped.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing," he said. "Not a thing."
"What?" she asked again.
"It's none of my business," he said.
"What?" she repeated for the third time. "You don't believe me unless I'm showing? Want me to lift up my shirt for proof? Would you like to feel up my boobs to check if they've grown?"
It amused her how flustered Dylan became.
"Uh, no, no," said Dylan. "That won't be necessary."
The boy may have been a thoughtless moron, but at least he knew where to draw the line.
"I beg to differ," said Steve. "Show us that curvy skin, sexy mama!"
Val realized just how much she'd missed Steve and his wild antics.
Dylan's hand rubbed against the nape of his neck.
He may have been the love of her longtime friend's and unofficially adoptive sister's life, but Valerie could still note how damn attractive Dylan appeared with his rumpled curls.
Too bad he'd allowed Kelly to hand him a pink dog collar and matching pink leash.
Again.
What was it about Kelly Taylor that made every man around her jump to her beck and call?
No matter how hard she had tried, Val could never get any of them to care for her as much as they had cared for Kelly.
With one exception.
David Silver.
So of course I had to go and fuck that up by sleeping with someone else the second David broke up with me, she thought. I took it too far. I always take it too far. Why am I like this?
Val was grateful that David had chosen to remain in contact, even if that contact remained respectful and as platonic as their relationship could ever be.
"Just, ah; any chance it's Silver's?" asked Dylan cautiously.
"None," said Val.
It was one thing for her to think about David, as she often did. Hearing his name arose in her a torrential ache she could never fill. She suspected he would be reuniting with Donna soon. They would probably marry. If she was lucky - or, rather, enormously unlucky - they would send her an invitation.
Did she have it in her to decline? She wanted David to be happy. Honestly, she did.
Why couldn't he have stayed happy with her?
Why couldn't she move past it? She'd been with plenty of men. She had gone on a few dates in Buffalo. She hadn't slept with any; her brush with HIV the previous spring remained fresh in her mind.
But she would. Val didn't have it in her to stay celibate.
She would have her next boyfriend tested before she slept with him.
If she could get fucking David Silver out of her head.
Why did he have to be the one who dominated her thoughts?
It certainly hadn't helped to have him visit, though she appreciated that he wanted to.
Val was used to being the person everyone chose to forget. The one they passed off as someone else's problem.
Including her own parents.
But David; David hadn't forgotten her.
"He'll be disappointed," said Dylan, to her astonishment.
"He will?" she asked.
Dylan nodded and spoke no further on the matter.
He told Valerie of the location of his hotel, provided her with his number and asked her to consider telling Brenda of his being in town.
"I've fucked up; I know that. I'll admit that," he said. "I know it's not gonna be easy from here on out for her to forgive me; if, if she knows I need to be forgiven. But…God, Val, we could've lost her. I - I could've lost her. And I…I wasn't there. All those times she's been there for me and - and when she - when she needed me to be there for her, I was on the whole other side of the fucking world. We - we were supposed to go together. I was supposed to go with them. I was supposed to be on that train."
Valerie decided Dylan didn't have as good of a poker face as he believed he did. She prepared to catch him, should his knees buckle.
Dylan composed himself and drew a quaking breath.
"Just think about it, Val. Please." Dylan paused to allow his request to sink in as he met the anger in Brandon's eyes with blazing defiance in his own. "I've got a fortune to burn through and nothing but time to stick around. Always wanted to see the sights. I'm not leaving without seeing her, but I'm not gonna push her before she's ready to see me, either. At least give Bren the chance to decide for herself," he added to Brandon. "You know where I am," he told Val before walking away.
She watched Dylan turn the corner, carrying an unsteady gait instead of his usual swagger.
Steve asked the best place to get food and swore he would meet up with them later after he had slept off his jet lag.
Brandon heaved a sigh when Steve had left. "So that's why Groucho's here. Guilt. Of course. He feels guilty."
"You sure he isn't here because he realized he's still madly in love with Bren and learning how close he came to never being able to see her again has set up a whole fucking buffet to eat him up inside?" asked Valerie.
"Do I need to remind you what he told Kelly? How he skipped town without telling Bren? How many hours we stayed on with her in that phone call, listening to her cries when she found out he'd made a beeline for Kel?"
"No. You don't. I remember it well. What an asshole."
"Meanwhile, you're a better actress than we give you credit for," said Brandon. "So, who is the daddy?"
"You."
"In your dreams," he laughed.
"Hey, wouldn't be the first time I've lied about a pregnancy." Val issued a wicked grin. "At least this one's for a good cause. Although I still maintain that getting back at Kenny was an excellent cause."
"I don't know about that, but I appreciate it this time. Thank you."
"You know he's gonna find out sooner or later."
"I know. I want Bren to be feeling a little stronger when she has to deal with him. She's already going through so much."
"It's a right bind Dylan's gotten himself into."
"Yeah, he's soulmates with those binds. If you ask me, he's quite happy to stay in those binds."
"Kelly?" guessed Val.
"If Kel's back to thinking Dylan McKay is her soulmate, then who am I to come between the two people destined by the stars and probably God himself?"
"You couldn't be dripping more venom if you tried," she said. "If you're that upset about Dylan getting back together with Little Miss Perfect, then ask yourself why you decided to call off your wedding."
"It was a mutual decision," Brandon defended. "Kelly and I decided that -"
"You were more platonic than romantic and didn't swing from the chandeliers; whatever the fuck that means? You don't have to tell me that shit again. I lived in the same house as you two, remember? They weren't exactly paper-thin walls, but it's not like they were all that thick, either. Still, if you're sleeping with chicks you think of in a platonic sense, let me add myself to that line. I can do things you never knew existed."
"Point taken."
"Good, because I'd rather not keep talking about Kelly."
"Would you rather talk about what Dylan said about Davey?"
"Negative."
"You never told me how his visit went," said Brandon curiously.
"Short," said Val. "He mentioned he was flying to the city and asked if he could drop by. Brought Donna with him, so I'm sure you can expect a wedding invitation any day now."
"Val -"
"No. Let's put all fucked-up relationships on hold so we can focus on Bren. She needs to be our top priority right now."
"Deal," Brandon said. "Couldn't've said it better myself." He shook Valerie's hand. "Thanks for not being pissed about how little she remembers you."
"The important thing is Bren does remember me, even if it's just in pieces. That's more than I can say for Jim. Of course you had to be the only one she remembers in full."
"I don't think I would be handling it half as well as you if she didn't, especially after going through this with Kel."
After Brandon had dealt with Kelly's own amnesia, the Walsh parents had agreed that he would be the best suited to care for Brenda.
"Let's just hope Bren will be strong enough before I have to stick a pillow under my shirt," said Val.
"You two need to lay off the soap reruns," said Brandon.
"Not like there's been that much else to do 'til Bren's able to be more active. Now, come on." Valerie hooked her arm through her old friend's - and at times, much more than that. "Let's get our sister. I've got a sack of pastries calling our name."
"If Bren doesn't devour them all first," said Brandon, leading Valerie into the clinic where Brenda's appointment would soon be finishing.
Neither Brandon nor Val noticed the half-eaten pastry tumbling out of a little girl's hand as she gawked in the direction of where they had stood.
"Mama! Don't we know him?" asked the four-year-old tugging at her mother's blazer.
Rather than answer, the girl's mother wondered how in the world she had managed to enroll in medical school in the same Nordic town that held the Walsh twins and Valerie Malone.
Or if she could keep a secret of such magnitude from Dylan McKay.
-x
The idea for the Port Macquarie accident came from an article on the Glenbrook rail accident, which occurred in December 1999 and didn't suit the timeline.
Sources: Google + the websites for Elk + Elk, Mayo Clinic, Sydney Morning Herald, Western University, WSWS
Unless Itero Ch24 or Lethe Ch3 come out just as quickly, this is likely the last update before holiday travel. Therefore, have a Happy/Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, solstice, whatever you celebrate - or a nice day if you don't.