Chapter 16

Mallowater, TX, 2008

When Sloan arrived at the restaurant, Dylan was already at a table waiting for her. He stood as she approached. He wore an untucked white button-down shirt with a skinny black tie and dark blue jeans. As soon as they made eye contact, he looked at his shoes, shoving his hands into his pockets. He always seemed so unsure.

The restaurant was low-lit, with vibrant paintings covering the walls, like small windows to faraway places. Sloan hoped she wasn't underdressed; she was never sure what to wear on dates, or what to wear to certain restaurants. She'd started in jeans and a lace cami top before deciding it looked too much like lingerie and changing into a white shirt and black cropped vest.

Dylan moved around the table to pull out her chair. "Is it still okay to do this?"

"Okay with me." Sloan sat in the seat and pulled it forward to the table.

"You look amazing," Dylan said.

"Thanks." Sloan watched him walk back to his seat. "Same to you."

"We match," Dylan noted, lowering himself into his chair.

Sloan tugged at her vest. "I couldn't find anything to wear, and I realized that ninety-nine percent of my wardrobe is black. Guess I'm more prepared for funerals than dates."

"Well, you've got to be more prepared than me. I don't want to confess how long it's been since my last first date, but it would be measured in years, not months."

Sloan unrolled her silverware from the cloth napkin. "I'll take your years and see you a decade."

Dylan cocked his head. "No way."

"I met my ex-husband in 1998. So that was my last first date. We were married from 2000 till . . . well, two weeks ago."

Dylan tugged at his collar. "Two weeks. Wow. Is this maybe too soon?"

"No, not at all," Sloan said, even though she wasn't sure it was true. "We've been separated for a while." She took a sip of her water. "But I actually don't think you're supposed to talk about your exes within five minutes of a first date."

Dylan's grin was lopsided. Like the two sides of his face couldn't agree on a particular expression. "I don't think you're supposed to date someone you bonded with over shared stories of trauma either, but here we are."

"Here we are," Sloan repeated, raising her water glass in a mock toast.

As if on cue, a server arrived with the wine list. Sloan looked at Dylan to decide, but he pushed the menu toward her. "You pick."

She ordered red wine, then opened her menu. "So, what are you ordering ?"

"The Sicily Special looks good."

"It does. But it seems like too much food."

"We can share it," Dylan said. "I mean, not like Lady and the Tramp share it, but two plates share it."

"Perfect."

"If you want your own, that's okay. I'm not trying to be a cheapskate or anything."

Sloan smiled. "We're teachers. Of course, we have to be cheapskates."

The server returned with the wine and showed Sloan the label and cork before pouring her a taste. She swirled it, sniffed, then drank. If she'd learned anything from her decade with Liam Bevan, it was wine etiquette. The wine was rich, with notes of black cherry, vanilla, and clove.

After nodding her approval, the server filled the rest of her glass and turned toward Dylan's.

"None for me." Dylan put his hand over the glass. "Just a Dr. Pepper, please."

"You don't drink?" Sloan asked after the server had left.

"I'm an addict. I've been clean for years, but I'll always be an addict. I doubt wine would be an appetizer for heroin, but I don't like the feeling of not being in control."

"Of course, you don't. I should have known," Sloan said, sinking further into her chair.

Dylan reached across the table and touched her hand. "Drinking in front of me doesn't bother me. Really."

His touch caused Sloan to forget the wine, to forget her embarrassment. Dylan pulled his hand back quickly and opened his menu again, even though they'd already decided what to order.

"That looked like quite the process, though," Dylan said. "The wine."

"Oh, gosh." Sloan covered her face with her hands. "Wine tasting was my ex's hobby, so I picked up on some etiquette. You must think I'm so pretentious."

"It was interesting." Dylan nodded at the server as he set a Dr. Pepper in front of him, on the way to another table. "Really, it is. I'd ask you to explain it to me, but it sounds like it was your ex's hobby, not yours."

"Yeah. Let's add that to our list of things not to talk about on a first date."

"Right. So, we've got exes, our ex's hobbies, and heroin addiction." He held up three fingers. "Did I miss anything?"

Sloan raised her glass to take a sip. "I don't think so, but the night is young."

As she drank, she thought about her newly recovered memory from the gas station. She thought about Reid Hunt, the man who had written her father, confessing to kidnapping Ridge. She decided to mentally add both of those to their "no talk" list, at least for the night. This was not the time to bring back memories of the worst time in Dylan's life.

Dylan picked up his Dr. Pepper and reached across the table to clink it against her wine glass. "Better yet, here's to talking about whatever the hell we want to."

An hour and a half later and well past dessert, Sloan's throat was scratchy from talking, and her cheeks hurt from smiling. She tried to calm herself. She'd ridden the clouds home after her first date with Liam and look how that had turned out. Men were liars. But even though blind optimism went against her nature, she couldn't help but hope Dylan was different. Her thoughts were interrupted by her phone vibrating from inside her purse.

"If you need to answer that, it's fine."

"Let me make sure it's not Mom. She was asleep when I left, but you never know." Sloan rummaged around in her purse. By the time she found her phone, she saw the missed call was from Brad. He had to be calling with information about her request to meet with Eddie. She sent him a text. Sorry, can't talk. What did you find out?

"Everything okay?" Dylan asked.

"Yeah, sorry. What were we talking about?"

"That tree where your dad carved your names. I was asking if it's still there."

"Probably. I haven't been to that area in forever. I spent a lot of time there during high school." Sloan's throat tightened.

"Because of your mom?"

"Yeah. When she was in her manic state, she wouldn't sleep, and if she didn't sleep, nobody did. So, I'd take my tent and sleeping bag to the creek. Then I'd wake up, get ready in a gas station bathroom, or . . ."

Gas station bathroom. Sloan's eyes wandered past Dylan to the jars of decorative oils, dried noodles, and hot peppers lining the wall behind him. She remembered again the night at the By and Buy. What were we running from? Who were we waiting for?

"Sloan?" Dylan leaned forward. "You okay?"

Sloan shook her head, clearing the cobwebs out of her mind. "Sorry, but yeah, a gas station, or sometimes Noah's house if his parents were already at work."

Dylan slid his chair closer to the table. "Forgive me for asking, but Crow's Nest Creek, that's where Ridge disappeared, right?"

Sloan smoothed the napkin in her lap. "Yes."

"How were you able to go back?" Dylan asked.

"Not sure," Sloan answered. "I avoided it awhile but then realized I didn't want to stay away forever. Ridge loved it there."

"You're very brave." Dylan rubbed the back of his neck. "I try to steer clear myself."

"Was that where Eddie picked you up the night you went for drugs?"

Dylan shook his head. "It's where he brought me. That Halloween when I was a kid."

Sloan's stomach turned. "How are you still a decent human being after all you survived?"

"God." A flicker of a smile passed Dylan's lips. "Well, God and music. Both can save you."

"Is that when you started playing guitar?"

"Yeah. It became an outlet for me. Music is a miracle, really. The way it heals. Even the saddest songs can bring some sort of twisted comfort. People always say music is a way to escape their pain, but for me, it's always been a way to face the pain."

Sloan thought of her Keith Whitley tape. "Yeah, I actually know what you mean. What kind of music do you like?"

As Dylan shared his musical favorites, Sloan glanced at her phone. Brad had responded. No luck with Eddie's lawyer. Plan B time. You mentioned money. How much did you have in mind? I'll help.

Sloan figured it would come to this. She fought the urge to text Brad back with an amount. She was already being rude to Dylan.

"I listened to music when Eddie had me, too," Dylan continued. "It was a song that made me decide to get clean. The Man in The Mirror. I'd heard it before. What '80s kid hadn't? One morning, I needed a fix, but I couldn't find a spoon or lighter. I caught my reflection in the dirty mirror that hung in the attic. I didn't recognize myself." Dylan lowered his eyes back to the tablecloth. "I remembered Dad. Remembered home. Right then, the song came on." Dylan drummed his fingers on the table to the beat of the Michael Jackson hit. "This sounds simplified and cheesy, but the lyrics spoke to me. They kinda saved my life."

Sloan shook her head. "Wow. That's incredible. I'd love to hear you play sometime." She raised her eyebrows. "I don't guess you know any Keith Whitley?"

Dylan brought his hand to his chest in mock offense. "You don't think I know any Keith Whitley? I love Keith Whitley. Easily my second favorite musical Keith."

Sloan cocked her head. "Second?"

"Well, yeah, behind Keith Urban. Obviously."

"No way. Urban is great, but Whitley is a legend."

"Excuse me?" Dylan flashed a grin. "If you want to talk about legendary, listen to Keith Urban's guitar solo in Stupid Boy ."

Sloan was about to suggest that he play it for her sometimes when her phone vibrated again. The vibration continued, indicating it was a phone call rather than a text. "I'm sorry." Sloan reached into her purse to silence the call.

"What about you?" Dylan asked. "What do you do for fun?"

Sloan laughed thinly. "Well, not much these days. I used to draw, but I haven't in forever. Now I mostly watch TV or read."

"What's your favorite book?" Dylan asked.

"Hmm, tough call. The Iliad maybe? I love Greek Mythology. I actually minored in it." She swirled her straw around her water glass. "I always squeeze a unit in for my fifth graders. I was offered a job teaching it full-time at a college last year, but I enjoy this age group too much."

"Me too," Dylan said. "It's a chance to really make a difference at a pivotal time in their lives."

"I agree." Sloan rested her forearms on the table. "I used to struggle in school. My sixth-grade teacher turned it all around for me. She really took an interest after my home life fell apart and started tutoring me after school. By the end of the year, I—"

Sloan stopped when her phone began vibrating again.

"I'm so sorry," she said, pulling it out of her purse this time. She was about to turn it off when she saw it wasn't Brad calling; it was Noah. Sloan rose from her seat. "I need to get this," she said without looking to see Dylan's reaction. She walked toward the exit and answered.

"Sloan? Where are you?" Noah sounded angry.

Her defenses rose. "On a date. Why?"

There was a brief pause before Noah spoke. "Oh. Well, I'm sorry to bother you, but I got a call about your mom. She's out at the creek. I realize she's there a lot, but it's pretty dark now. She's getting loud, walking on the water's edge like it's a tightrope."

Sloan brought her hand to her forehead. "She was asleep when I left. I'm about twenty minutes away. Can you bring her home?"

"I can't make her leave. It's not illegal to walk close to the water." Sloan didn't even recognize Noah's voice, cold as a tomb.

"I thought maybe you would go as a friend, not a cop, but obviously, that's asking too much. I'll handle it."

"Sloan, wait." Noah sighed. "Let me . . ."

"I said I'll handle it." Sloan ended the call before Noah said anything else.

Dylan stood as she came back to the table. "Something wrong?"

"My mom." Sloan grabbed her purse. "She's at the creek. I hate to cut this short, but I need to bring her home."

"Yeah, of course. I'll go with you."

"No, you don't need to do that." Sloan choked back tears. She was thirty-two years old, and her mother still had the power to ruin her night. "I'm just sorry I have to leave. I was having a great time."

"Then let's keep having a great time. I'll help you with your mom, and we can all watch a movie or something."

Sloan's eyes filled with tears. Both at Dylan's kindness and because of how little he understood about her mother. Caroline wasn't a mom you could sit and watch movies with. She wasn't normal.

Dylan pulled a few bills from his wallet and threw them on the table. "At least let me help you; then, I'll go home."

"Fine." Sloan turned away from Dylan, staring again at the vibrant paintings, now blurred by her tears. She wished she could jump into one and take Dylan with her to some faraway place, to a beautiful villa in Italy, but as long as her mom was alive, she'd never even get to leave Mallowater. She couldn't even leave home, apparently. "My mom ruins everything." She spat out the words through gritted teeth. "I guess if you're going to be in my life, you better get used to it."