Chapter 24

DYLAN

I know what she's trying to do. She thinks that if she keeps herself busy, she can avoid her mind wandering to the things she doesn't want to think about.

I know because I do it too.

And she's failing, like I also often do. I can tell by the way she carries herself, her posture stiff and poised, and by the way her jaw ticks. The most obvious sign though, is the frown that pulls her eyebrows down when she thinks no one is looking.

I'd driven her home this morning after she practically inhaled the stack of chocolate chip pancakes I'd set in front of her. It made me feel a little guilty for not waking her up when the pizza had arrived last night. She must have been starving.

After the serious conversation we'd had this morning about her past with her bastard ex, we'd filled the silence with talk of trivial things, like the crazy weather we've been having and

whether it would have been a good morning to go for a surf.

She hadn't mentioned anything else about her past, though what worries me is the fact that we also didn't touch on the life changing news she received yesterday. I had tried once and she had shut me down, using a game of fetch with Chance as an excuse to avoid the subject.

I insisted she didn't need to work this afternoon but in true Mackenzie style, she stubbornly refused to take the day off. I knew it would be pointless arguing with her, but now that she's here, greeting customers with fake smiles and forced cheeriness, I decide it's time to give her another opportunity to make a trip into Seabright Cove. If she won't talk about her mother, maybe she needs to talk to the next best thing.

"You really shouldn't have come to work today, Kenz," I tell her when she rounds the bar with a tray of empty glasses. "I could have had someone cover for you."

She slams the tray down, the glasses rattling with the force. "It's not like sitting at home would have helped my situation. You know that."

"Maybe not. But making a trip into a certain art studio might," I suggest.

She turns a hard stare on me. "I told you already. I'm not going there."

"For what it's worth, I really think you should. You need answers and you're not going to find them here." I still her with a hand on her arm as she tries to walk away from me. "I keep thinking about what you said yesterday. About not knowing where you came from."

"What about it?" she mutters, not meeting my eyes.

"You may not have had a chance to get to know your mum. And that sucks more than anything. But you can get to know her . Your grandmother. You can still find out where you came from."

"Dylan." She says my name like a warning, then she blows out a shaky breath and grits her teeth.

I hate that I've upset her, but I believe she needs to hear what I'm saying. "I'm sorry, but if this woman sought you out, she must want to get to know you."

"Why now? After all this time?" She throws her arms up in the air directing her frustration at me. "I've lived my entire life not even knowing she existed!"

"Maybe there's a reason for that. You have to at least hear her out."

"I don't owe her anything, Dylan."

"I'm not saying that you do. But maybe you owe it to yourself."

She shakes her head, moving to serve a customer at the end of the bar. She supplies him with a schooner of beer and a bowl of salted peanuts and then returns to me. Having to witness the sadness in her eyes is like a form of torture.

"I'm scared," she admits softly. "What if she tells me a whole bunch of stuff I don't want to hear. She knew my mother. Probably better than anyone else in the world."

I rest my hand on her upper arm, giving a sympathetic nod. I can't even begin to imagine what this is like for her. All I can do is show her that I'll be here when she needs me. "I could go with you. If you need support."

She seems to think this over for a few seconds, then letting out a sigh she leans into the bar. "No. It's something I need to do alone. But it's too late to go today anyway. It's almost two. By the time the bus gets there she probably would have left for the day."

I reach into my pocket and pull out my car keys, dangling them in the air between us. "You know how to drive, right?"

"Yeah," she shrugs.

"I mean, you can drive? Like, legally?" I smirk. "As in, you have a licence?"

She rolls her eyes at me again, the hint of a smile on her face. "Knowing my background that's a fair question, I suppose. Yes, Dylan. I have a driver's licence."

The smile falls from her face suddenly and I lower the keys, concerned by her change in demeanour. I hadn't wanted to offend her. It had been a stupid joke.

"Sorry," she says. "It's just that Ethan used to control my every move. He didn't want me to have a licence. It was the first thing I did when I got to Cliff Haven. That, and get an RSA to work in a bar. I had to rope Henley into giving me lessons."

"Look, I'm only going to say this once." My nostrils flare, my jaw clenching in anger. I feel my heart rate rising with every breath. "I don't like to talk shit about people, but your ex is a fucking dick. He deserves to rot in prison for the rest of his life. And not even God will be able to help him if he ever sets foot anywhere near either one of us."

She blinks back at me, obviously surprised by my blatant honesty. "Wow." Her lips curl up in a smile. "You're kinda hot when you get all macho."

My eyebrows shoot toward my forehead. "Kinda?"

"Kinda heaps."

I turn her hand over in mine, dropping the car keys into her palm. "Here. You'll get there a lot faster."

"You sure you trust me with your car?" Her blue eyes glisten as a smirk twists her lips. "I know she's your pride and joy and all."

I scoff at her attempt at humour, then with a shrug I say, "Hey, she's no Ferrari, but I do love her. Just come past the tavern and pick me up later."

I don't miss the glassiness in her gaze as she swallows, squeezing her fist tightly around the keys. "Thank you."

I pull her into my chest, my arms enveloping her. I'm getting used to the way her body stiffens at my touch, but she allows herself to relax into me a little faster this time and I take that as a victory.

I know it isn't personal. That it's not me she's reacting to. She isn't used to being held or allowing herself to confide in others.

Her free hand fists the fabric of my t-shirt as she withdraws from me, blinking away a tear.

"You've got this," I tell her, catching it with my thumb.

She nods and then releasing me from her grip, she turns and heads for the exit.