Chapter 27

MACKENZIE

T he blank canvas stares back at me from the moment I open my eyes, the whiteness of it blinding. I've spent the past week wracking my brain for a subject to put on it, but after yesterday's meeting with Grace, or should I say Grandma – no, that feels weird – I don't even know if I'll attend the exhibition.

I roll over, not wanting to look at it, but then my sight falls on the crumpled up note on my bedside table that I'd carried around in my pocket all of yesterday afternoon. I still haven't been able to bring myself to read it, knowing that the words on that paper, whatever they may be, are bound to shift my world on its axis.

My phone rings, too loudly, as I snatch it up from the bedside table. My chest deflates with a heavy sigh. It's Dylan.

I know he means well but I'm not in the mood to talk.

Especially not at 7am. I ignore the call, slamming the phone down and pulling the covers up over my head. As I'd suspected, it rings again. As usual, Dylan is nothing if not persistent.

I swipe the answer key and hold the phone to the side of my face. "What's up."

"Hey," he says, in a voice that's too bubbly and bright for this hour. "You awake?"

"Obviously."

"Good." He isn't bothered by my sarcasm. "I was thinking you might like to take a little road trip with me. Meet some friends of mine."

Is he kidding? In what world does that sound like something I'd be interested in? "Don't you have to be at the boat in like, an hour or something?"

"You're still in bed, aren't you?" I can hear the smile in his voice.

"Didn't feel much like going out for my run today," I admit. "Why?"

"Go look out the window."

I unwillingly drag myself out of bed and peek through a crack in the blinds. It hasn't started raining yet, but there is lightning striking in the distance, the sky ahead a gloomy shade of grey.

"Shit," I say. "Oh, well. Dark and stormy matches my mood, I guess. I'm just gonna stay here for a while and maybe watch some tv."

"Not a chance," he says, his tone teasing. "Get dressed and I'll pick you up in half an hour."

"I can't," I argue.

"Why?"

"I have to work," I lie.

"Kenz, I'm your boss. I know your schedule. You're not due to start your shift until six. I'll have you back in plenty of time."

"I don't know, Dylan," I say. "I'm not exactly going to be good company. I'm not really up for meeting new friends."

I honestly couldn't think of anything worse at this point.

"Trust me," he replies. "These friends are different."

"No. I'm not going."

"Yes, you are."

I sigh again. "Why do you keep trying to help me?"

"Because." He pauses. "We aren't that different. You and I."

"Yeah, right," I scoff. "What the hell could we possibly have in common?"

My question is met with a short silence from the other end of the line and for a second I think I might have actually stumped him. But just when I think he isn't going to reply, he comes through with an answer that has me stumped.

"We're both trying to start afresh." His voice is raspier than usual. "And we're both running from things that have consumed us."

Never in my life has a combination of words left me so speechless. And never has anyone made me feel seen the way that Dylan does.

"I'll be there in half an hour," he says bluntly, as though he hasn't just sent my heartrate into overdrive with a mere sentence.

"No, you wo –" My words are cut off as he ends the call. "Aargh!"

I roll over, dropping the phone onto the mattress beside me as I let out a groan. Knowing Dylan, it won't even take him the full half hour to get here.

I brush my teeth and change into a t-shirt and jeans, pausing at the bedside table, where the crumpled note from yesterday lies. Loopy swirls of handwriting are visible but unreadable through the other side of the paper.

I reach down and shove it into my pocket. I don't even know why. Obviously, there is some part of me that wants to know what it says, but the larger part of me tells me to leave whatever its contents may be in the past.

I'm unable to shake the persistent frown from my face as I stumble out into the kitchen. Kristen looks up from her mug of coffee, her forehead scrunched at my expression. She has her iPad laying on the kitchen counter, an article on Spring weddings displayed on the screen. "What's wrong with you today? You get up on the wrong side of the bed?"

I smile sarcastically. "You know that's something only old people say, right?"

She shakes her head at me. "You forgot to do the dishes last night."

"Sorry," I mumble. "I forgot."

I didn't forget. I just didn't have the energy to do anything but crawl into bed last night. I didn't even eat dinner myself.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I lie.

There's no point going into the details right now. Dylan will be here any minute and, just like yesterday when he had asked me the very same question, I can't summon the momentum to discuss it.

I want to tell her. I will tell her. Once I have everything straightened out in my own head, and when she can focus on anything other than her job or her precious bridal magazines.

Okay. Maybe that was a low blow, but once again, I've found myself envious of her. I wish my biggest dilemma was finding the perfect wedding location and not the single piece of paper that feels as though it's weighing my pocket down like an anchor.

Kristen's mouth opens as though she wants to say more, but she's interrupted by a knock at the front door. An unexpected surge of relief floods through me.

"That's Dylan," I announce, grabbing my hoodie from where it's draped over one of the dining chairs. "I'll be back later."

"Okay." Kristen's expression transforms from dubious to optimistic. She likes it when I'm with Dylan. She trusts him. I guess I'm starting to trust him too. "I'm picking up Chinese takeout for dinner tonight."

"Don't worry about me. I'll be working tonight." I call back as I open the door.

Dylan greets me with a coffee in hand. "Morning," he says. "I got coffee."

"You don't drink coffee."

"No. But you do. There's mineral water in the car for me."

"Thanks," I say, wrapping my hands around the cup, ignoring the way my heart beats out of rhythm when his fingers graze mine. The air is humid when I step outside, the atmosphere charged with the static of the impending storm. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere awesome," he replies, ushering me to the front seat of the car. "You'll love it."

"I doubt that," I grumble.

He ignores my complaint as he rounds the car to the driver's door. The first thing I notice is that the window winder is fixed in place. "You repaired the winder?" I ask.

"Yeah," he answers. "That thing ain't going nowhere. I used the strongest superglue they had at Bill's Hardware."

I lean forward and attempt to wind it down. Just like the first time, it snaps off in my hand. "Uh oh."

"Are you kidding me?" Dylan says, slamming a hand on the steering wheel. "I'll be having a stern word with Bill about this. And I need to find some better repair videos on YouTube."

Despite my sombre mood, one side of my mouth twists upward in a smile.

"Oh, you like that, do you?" he asks.

I'm unable to contain a small laugh. "You have to admit, it's kind of funny."

"Well, hell." He snickers. "If it's going to make you smile, you can break the other ones too."

I grin, looking down at my lap. "How far do we have to travel to meet these friends of yours this time?"

"Just over an hour. But there's a pit stop about halfway where we can get some food."

"Thank God," I groan. "I'm starving."

Dylan glances over at me as we pull out onto the main road. "You get much sleep last night?"

"Is that your way of saying I look like shit?"

"You're always gorgeous, Kenz," he says, his eyes softening as they catch mine.

"I guess I am pretty tired," I say, ignoring his compliment.

I know he must want to ask me what happened yesterday at the studio with Grace, and I respect him for not pushing it.

"Have a nap. I can wake you when we get to the diner."

It doesn't sound like a bad idea. I had struggled to get to sleep last night, my head a whirlwind of thoughts. I'd finally drifted off around three this morning. "Okay."

I ball my hoodie up, shoving it against the passenger door to use as a pillow. Soon after, the monotonous hum of the engine has me falling into unconsciousness.

There are fingers in my hair, combing strands away from my face. My muscles clench, my first instinct to panic, but as my eyes flutter open, the little bobble-headed dog on the dashboard reminds me that I'm in Dylan's car.

And Dylan is safe.

That's what he tells me at least.

"We're here, Kenz," I hear him say. "Come on. I'm gonna buy you breakfast."

I pull myself upright. Through the rain-soaked windscreen I can make out the flashing neon sign on the roof of a roadside diner with a bright red door.

For a second it takes me back to that day with Henley in Coledale. I shudder at the memory of screeching tyres, of that blood-curdling scream I've heard in all my nightmares since. The scream that came from me. I shake the memory of that nightmare and turn to Dylan.

"Are you okay?" Concern paints his features, his espresso eyes warm and kind.

"Yeah," I say with a shrug. "Just hungry."

He doesn't look away, his gaze scouring mine and I know he can tell I'm wrestling with past demons, but he's patient.

So fucking patient with me.

He brushes my hair over my shoulder. "Talk to me."

A deep breath leaves my lungs. I haven't talked to anyone about this. I couldn't, but something about Dylan makes me feel as though I can. "This diner. It looks like the one Henley stopped at. The day Ethan was hit by the car."

"Shit," he mutters. "I'm sorry. We can go somewhere else."

"No," I protest. "It's silly. This isn't that place. It's just how my mind works sometimes. For a second, I was back there, you know?"

"Yeah," he replies. "I can understand that."

"I want to go in. I do," I say earnestly.

"Are you sure?"

Nodding, I unclick my seatbelt. The door creaks as I thrust it open and step out into the rain. I stare up at the diner, then Dylan is beside me, placing my hoodie around my shoulders and guiding me out of the downpour.

The bad memories I've resurrected vanish as soon as we enter the small café, met with friendly faces and warmth.

"Dylan!" A short brunette middle-aged woman approaches us, holding out two menus. "I haven't seen your face around here for a while. How are you doing?"

"I've been good, Jackie," Dylan replies as he takes the menus from her hands. "How are you?"

"Same old. Nothing really changes around here," she says with a wave of her hand. "Although, last week we had a rockstar pass through with his entourage. They ordered thirty-five cheeseburgers. I can't remember his name. Brenda, what was that rockstar's name?"

"Emmett Jensen!" A tall, curvy blonde emerges from the kitchen wearing a bright pink apron. "He's so dreamy."

I can't help but giggle, having known EJ since I moved to Cliff Haven and experienced first-hand the effect he has on women.

"He sure is," Dylan jokes, shooting me a knowing look.

"Are you on your way to see Daisy and Cyrus again?" Jackie asks Dylan.

"Daisy and Cyrus?" I mouth to Dylan. Those are some seriously unusual names.

"We are." Dylan responds to Brenda and Jackie with a wink that lets me know they're in on some kind of inside joke or secret. "I'm going to introduce them to a new friend of mine. Ladies, this is Mackenzie."

"Hi, Mackenzie." Brenda greets me, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiles.

"So nice to meet you," Jackie says.

"Thanks. You too," I reply, self-consciously shoving my hands into my pockets.

"So, this is your first time meeting Daisy and Cyrus, huh? I'm sure you're in for a real treat!"

Dylan lets out a laugh at Jackie's comment.

"Have you met them too?" I ask the two women. Who the hell are these people I'm going to be meeting today?

"No," they both reply in unison.

"But we've heard a lot about them," Brenda adds.

"Let's get you both seated and some food in your bellies. The weather out there is hideous today," Jackie remarks as she leads us to a booth by the window.

When we're both seated comfortably, she shuffles off back to the kitchen and I find Dylan's eyes across the table.

"Daisy and Cyrus, huh?" I muse. "Dylan, are you taking me to meet some old folk in a nursing home?"

Another laugh bursts from him, his white teeth put on full display, those cute little wrinkles that crease the side of his eyes making an appearance. "No," he replies bluntly.

"Well, are they your grandparents or something?" I don't want to admit it, but I'm suddenly nervous about who I'm going to meet today.

"No," he says again. "They are somewhat more pleasant than my grandparents."

"You come here a lot. To this diner." I look around the space, suddenly feeling silly that we almost didn't come here because of those bad memories resurfacing. This diner is cosy, the staff friendly.

"Every time I visit Daisy and Cyrus," he says.

"You're not going to tell me anything about these people before I meet them, are you?"

"Nope," he replies.

I cross my arms, resting them on the table, a wave of curiosity washing over me. "Do these women know who you are?"

"They know I'm Dylan, yes." He leans back against the cushioned backing of the booth.

"Dylan from Cliff Haven?" I ask. "Or Dylan the billionaire?"

"Ex-billionaire," he corrects.

"Whatever."

"They know," he replies.

"Does anyone in Cliff Haven know that you're an ex-billionaire?" I ask, putting the emphasis on the ‘ex'.

"No. Only you," he replies, and as if to let me know he's done with the subject he asks, "What do you feel like eating?"

"Everything."

He lets out another chuckle at my response. "Okay then."

Dylan orders the pancake stack with a side of hash browns, and I order everything.

Well, technically, everything. I get the big breakfast with a couple of extra pancakes. We eat in comfortable silence, something I find myself unable to do with most people.

We argue when Dylan insists on getting the check, but he wins. Then we return to the car to continue on to our destination.