Dream Chaser (Dream Team #2) - Kristen Ashley Page 0,20
her anymore.”
“Don’t worry about that, I got that covered.”
Right.
“And me being out means, when she fakes a headache or whatever-the-fuck game she decides to play to get her ‘me time,’ I’m not on call to look after the kids, get them to school, or anything else.”
“Again, I got that covered.”
“Oh yeah, Bri? Gonna lay off the Jack the night before so you can be certain you’re not still out-of-your-mind blotto the next morning so you can get them to school safe?”
The silence that came after that hung heavy in a way I assumed a massive thundercloud had formed over Denver stretching all the way between my pad and Brian’s place.
I’d never mentioned it.
Not once.
I should have, but outside encouraging him to Uber on the occasions he was too far gone to get behind the wheel or suggesting (strongly) he sleep on Mom’s or my couch, I hadn’t come close to broaching it.
And one could argue (and even I would argue it, after saying it, pissed as all hell), I shouldn’t have broached it when I was pissed as all hell.
But…seriously?
Me time?
He had it?
What the fuck?
Eventually, he spoke.
But when he did, I wished he didn’t.
“Fuck you, Ryn,” he said softly.
“We need to talk,” I said softly back.
“No, we absolutely do not.”
“I miss my brother,” I whispered. “You’re an amazing guy, Brian. Funny. Smart. Loyal. The best brother ever, and I’m sorry to say it, but it’s true, that’s when you’re not drinking. And I miss you.”
“I can’t even tell you how few fucks I give about that.”
I sucked in breath at the meanness of his words.
“You’re out, Ryn,” he declared. “More out than you were before.”
“If you take those kids away from me because Ang can’t grow up and face responsibility. And you’re in denial that you have a problem when you’ve already lost everything, it’s just that everyone around you is going through the motions to shield you from that fact because we love you, but the way we do that is enabling you. If you do that, you are going to shatter an already broken heart.”
“And I can’t tell you how few fucks I give about that either.”
After that, I heard the beeps to share he’d disconnected.
I lifted my knees up to my chest and dropped my forehead to them.
“Me time,” I whispered, started laughing softly, this right before the pain racked my body as I held back a sob.
It took a second, but I got the emotion under control.
I didn’t seem to be able to keep a handle on my life.
But I was hell on wheels with keeping my emotions locked down.
Once I succeeded in this endeavor, I lifted my head.
I’d had little sleep.
But it was time to find a kickboxing class.
* * *
I’d managed to avoid any more dramas between Brian’s call that morning and showing at Smithie’s that night.
So I was not all that thrilled to see Dorian standing outside the dancers’ dressing room, his eyes fixed on me.
I mean, really.
Somebody save me.
Dorian had that Michael B. Johnson thing going on.
I was no poet, but I imagined I could write entire sonnets just about his neck.
Forget it with that mouth. Those lips. Those strong, straight, white teeth.
That would be a Shakespearean soliloquy.
But his deep-set eyes. Both sharply astute and warmly gentle.
Yeesh.
I wouldn’t even get into his dimples.
I was surrounded by hotties.
And none of them were mine.
I tried for cocky casual, throwing out a “Yo,” when I got close and stopped.
“I see you’re still goin’ with that ‘it’s all good’ bullshit,” he remarked.
That’d be the sharply astute part of Dorian.
“What bullshit? Life’s free and breezy for me, Ian.”
“Yeah. That’s exactly what those blue shadows under your eyes are tellin’ me.”
I glared at him.
My glare deflected off him, pinged around the backstage hallway and bit me in the ass.
When he sensed my glare had successfully landed astray, he shared, “Smithie wants a word.”
Great.
“Are you telling tales out of school?” I asked.
“Sue me, I give a shit,” he replied. “But no. I figure if I don’t tell my uncle you got something screwin’ with your head or fuckin’ up your life, I got some modicum of chance you’ll lay that on me so I can either listen while you get it out or help you do something about it.”
Color me chastised.
But still.
“Stop being nice when I’m trying to be tough,” I retorted.
“Stop being tough when you’re among friends and you don’t gotta do that shit,” he shot back.