Chapter 3

3

Dylan

The best thing about being an uncle is that you get to have all the fun without any of the responsibility. Take now, for example. I’m currently handing my four-year-old nephew two paper plates of whipped cream while we wait for his dad, my brother Eric, to return from the bathroom. Tanner, my nephew, hides under the table while Riley rolls her eyes at my shenanigans. Opposite me, Sydney, Eric’s wife, covers her smile behind a Christmas-themed paper napkin.

We’re currently sitting around a long table in my mother-in-law’s yard, but I have a full view of the back door of my dad’s house since the fence between Riley’s mom’s house and my dad’s—where Eric and his family live—no longer exists. It got to where it was falling to pieces, and after a morning spent taking it down, neither of them wanted to replace it. Now they have twice the yard and access to each other whenever they want.

Holly, my mother-in-law, has been hosting Christmas dinner since Riley and I got married, and when I say she goes all out, I mean it. She sets up a marquee tent with heaters to keep us warm and enough decorations to open her own store. Riley once told me that if her mom hadn’t gotten into the hair styling business, she likely would have been an event organizer. Which, honestly, made me feel kind of shitty for the way we handled our wedding, but hey, at least she got to help with Eric and Sydney’s big day.

“He’s coming,” I whisper to Tanner, who’s sitting silently under the table. The rest of us remain quiet as Eric makes his way over, and I grip the ropes hidden beneath the table nice and tight.

He looks around, then asks, “Where’s Tanner?”

I wait a moment for Eric to get comfortable in his seat, then I yank hard on the rope, connected to the back legs of his chair, and don’t bother stifling my chuckle as the chair tips. Eric falls backward, his hands going out in front of him, grasping nothing but air.

“Now?” Tanner asks.

“Now, buddy.”

Tanner gets out from under the table, slapping the whipped cream plates on his dad’s face before sitting square on his chest.

“Dammit, Dylan!” Eric yells while Sydney hands their son a hose.

“Here, baby,” she says. “Clean Daddy up.”

“Okay!” Tanner exclaims, aiming the hose right at Eric’s face, then squeezing the trigger.

I stand, just so I have a better view of Eric shifting his cream-covered face from side to side, sputtering water from his mouth while he attempts to grab the hose from his son. Tanner stops with the water, replaces it with the open bag of flour his mom gives him, then the eggs, then the glitter, because why not?

It’s not the most creative act of mayhem, but the kid’s four, and we all have to start somewhere, right? Besides, the dog shit I hid throughout Eric’s truck is the real mayhem.

“Dammit, Dylan!” Eric yells again, removing a cackling Tanner from his chest. Eric wipes his eyes first, then his mouth.

“You look like Edward from Twilight ,” Sydney giggles.

“If Edward was an unbaked cake,” Dad chuckles.

“You wait, D!” Eric threatens, getting to his feet.

I cross my arms, reply, “I’m ready.”

“And stop being such a bad influence on my son!” He’s trying to sound indignant, but I can hear the slight humor in his tone.

I shake my head. “No can do, big brother. He’s a?—”

“Don’t you dare say it!”

I deepen my voice, make it raspy. “Devil baby!”

Tanner matches my tone. “I’m a devil baby, Daddy.”

Eric shakes his head, starts toward his house again. “I’m getting in the shower, and I don’t know if I’m coming back!”

“Aww,” Dad calls after him. “Who’s the baby now?”

With a giggle, Sydney stands. “I should probably go check on him.”

“Did I do good?” Tanner asks, the biggest, goofiest smile lighting up his face as he glances around the table for approval.

“You did great, Tanner,” I answer, reaching across to high-five him.

He makes his way around the table, parks himself right on my wife’s lap. “Was that funny, Aunt Riley?” he asks her.

“So funny,” she says, palming his cheek. He leans into her touch, clearly smitten by her. It’s no surprise, really. He’s a Banks, and all the Banks men love Riley. “But your dad’s right,” Riley says now. “Your uncle is a bad influence, and you don’t always have to listen to him.”

I scoff.

Then Bill asks, “How do you even come up with this stuff?”

I shrug. “Years of experience.”

Bill is Riley’s mom’s boyfriend. They met a couple of years after Riley and I got married (when things didn’t work out with Logan’s dad), and he moved in with her a couple of years later. When he first appeared on the scene, Riley was excited. I was… suspicious. And maybe a little too overprotective. Besides, Holly isn’t just Riley’s mom; she’s mine, too. And fuck if I was going to let some random guy hurt her, or worse, break her damn heart.

So, a few months into their dating, I asked Bill to come on a hunting trip with me and my dad. I figured I’d play nice, then leave his ass in the middle of the woods, never to be seen again.

That was the plan.

Turns out, Bill’s a great guy. Even Dad thinks so. In fact, I’m pretty sure Bill spends more time hanging with my dad than he does with Holly. Which is fine, it seems, because Sydney spends a lot of time at Holly’s, especially since Tanner was born. Sydney claims there are far too many penises at her house, so she likes the reprieve, and Holly absolutely adores her (and Tanner). So, it’s a win-win-win for everyone.

As for me and Riley…don’t get me wrong; we love our family and love spending time with them, but we also love our little bubble we’ve created. She works the front desk at Mayhem Motors, and by “work”, I mean she gets off her phone or Kindle when the phone rings or a client enters the shop. She doesn’t even have to do that, and I’d still want her there. So… we live together, work together, and play together. Personally, I can’t get enough of her.

Holly clears her throat now, switching my attention from my wife and nephew to her. She’s watching Riley with that look in her eyes, and I know what she’s thinking before she says the words. “No pressure, but any plans for your own?—”

“Mom,” Riley cuts in.

I lean back in my chair, ready to take on the world.

Or just Holly.

Kind of the same.

“We already have three dogs,” I say, hoping to take the spotlight off Riley.

“Four,” Riley corrects.

“Four?” Dad asks, eyebrows drawn in confusion.

“Right,” I say, nodding. “Riley brought one home from the pound last night. She says it’s my Christmas present.”

Dad chuckles.

“I let you name him!” Riley defends.

“What’s his name?” Tanner asks.

“Carbo.”

“Short for carburetor,” explains Riley.

“So, wait,” Bill says. “You have Bacon, Cupcake, Wishes, and now… Carbo?”

“That’s what she gets for letting me name him,” I say, shrugging as I pretend to check my watch. “We should go. We have plans, and we’re going to be late.”

The goodbyes are fast, with a quick promise to come back tomorrow to raid Holly’s fridge for leftovers. Then we start the short walk home. I can tell from the moment we’re alone that Riley’s mood has dampened. It always does when anyone questions us about having kids, but it seems to be worse when it comes from Holly.

It’s not until we’re halfway home that either of us speaks. “We’re not going to be late,” Riley says, and I turn to her. Her cheeks are red, so is her nose, and her lips are darker than they should be. It wasn’t as cold out when we left home, and I forgot to remind her to bring a coat. I slow my steps until I’ve stopped completely, then strip out of mine.

“You don’t have to—” she starts, but I’m already wrapping it around her shoulders. I wait as she pushes her arms through the sleeves before taking my time to do up each button.

“I know we’re not going to be late,” I finally say once I’m done. “I just panicked, I guess.”

She nods, taking my arm and holding it to her chest as she resumes our slow pace.

I hesitate to ask, but I know I need to. “I take it you haven’t told your mom yet?”

Eyes downcast, Riley shakes her head. “I can’t. I don’t want to hurt her,” she says, her voice shaking with emotion.

I’m not exactly sure which part of our recent experiences she’s referring to or what will hurt Holly the most. Either way, I know she’s right. So, I don’t respond with words. Just actions. I stop in my tracks, forcing her to do the same. And then I just hold her.

“I’m so sorry, Dylan,” she cries.

I can barely get the words out through the knot in my throat. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

The moment we get home, I tell Riley, “I’m going to take the dogs for a quick walk, then we’ll leave.” It’s not that I want to get away from her specifically . I just need some time alone. As selfish as it is, I need to get lost in my own thoughts, my own feelings, and not have to worry about hers.

Just for a moment.

I leash all four dogs and exit through the garage.

I hope for silence in my mind, but the more I walk, the more painful the thoughts are that fire off inside me. It’s one thing for my wife to be hurting, but it’s so much worse when she carries the weight of my pain along with hers. She says she doesn’t want to talk about it, so I don’t know how she feels. But, someday soon, she’s going to fall apart. And I don’t know if I’ll be strong enough to piece her back together.

When I get back in the house, Riley’s sitting at the kitchen table, her eyes filled with liquid heartache as she stares at the bottle of wine in front of her. I’m quick to get to her—as quick as she is to wipe her tears, hide them from me.

I know my first response should be to check on her, but I check the bottle instead, inspect it closely. “It’s sealed,” she assures, and my shoulders drop with relief.

Given Riley’s history with alcohol, I make sure there isn’t even a single drop of it in the house. I have no idea where she got this from, and I don’t ask. Instead, I say, “Maybe we shouldn’t go tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Our friends are going to be drinking, and?—”

“I can control myself.” She waves a hand toward the bottle I’m still holding. “Obviously.”

I look from her dejected eyes to the bottle in my hand, then I empty it into the sink as I stare out the window. The dogs are all out in the yard, Bacon clearly the king of them all. I still remember the look on her face when she first showed him to me. She was working at the animal shelter at the time, and I’d been waiting in the car to pick her up. She was late, and so I went in to get her. She was sitting in front of Bacon’s cage, too upset to walk away from him. I barely looked at him the first time, too wrapped up in the news that I was about to be deployed. That I was about to leave her.

She never outright asked, but I knew she wanted to bring him home.

And I said yes, only because I knew she needed something else to focus on while I was gone. Something that wasn’t made up of the liquid currently filling our drains.

“Dylan?” Riley says, pulling me from my thoughts.

I drop the bottle into the sink and turn to her. “Yeah?”

She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. Her eyes give away everything she’s feeling. Sadness mainly, but also defeat and fear. Fear that she’s disappointed me somehow. It’s the last thing she should be feeling. The absolute last thing she needs right now.

I sit down beside her, grab the legs of her chair and spin her to me, scoot her in closer. Then I take her hands in mine, brush my thumb over the rings on her finger—rings that symbolize the life we wanted and the future we spent many nights speaking and dreaming about.

“Will you come with me tomorrow?” she asks.

“Yes.”

She cracks the faintest of smiles. “You don’t even know where.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll go anywhere with you.”

Gaze lowered, she says, “I think I should tell my mom.”

“Tell her what exactly?”

“The truth.”

I nod, release a shaky breath.

The truth is harsh and unforgiving.

The truth is painfully agonizing.

The truth is… we do want kids.

And we’ve had them.

Two pregnancies over the past two years, and neither one of them made it past eight weeks.

The first one devastated us.

The second almost destroyed us.

We can’t go through that pain again.

We wouldn’t be able to survive it.