Chapter 31

31

Meyra couldn't stop worrying. She'd sent him a text, to ask if he was okay. He hadn't replied until hours later. A simple " My family is safe now."

That was it.

It reminded her of how fragile and precarious life really could be.

They could have lost Charlotte back then. They could have lost Dixie and Miranda when they had been attacked. Or lost Dusty multiple times over the past year or so. Or Marin when she had been shot back then. Or Dylan and Devaney when that monster was holding them hostage in the dining room.

Anything could happen to anyone. At any time.

Didn't that mean life was just too precious to waste being afraid of things? That was something she was going to remember. Life was just too short to be afraid.

She wasn't afraid of Brandt Barratt. At least not physically. It was more that she was nervous about what he represented. What he wanted from her. Especially if she believed him when he said he was serious. About wanting forever.

With her.

Change scared her. She understood that.

Did it mean something that she was lying there, worried about him? She almost hurt because she knew he had to be hurting right now, too. Did that mean they were connected in some way?

Maybe it did.

Her alarm beeped. It was four-thirty. She had the morning shift in the dining room. She was going to work, then at a decent hour, she was going to check on him.

When she walked in, Dylan was setting out the frozen desserts to thaw. "Dylan, why are you up so early?"

Dylan had been going to work until midnight, then come in at ten.

"Filling in. For Charlotte. She got an early flight so couldn't work this morning. I'll sleep later," Dylan said, shrugging. "I know she's worried and scared."

"She is. She and her friends are really close after what happened to her before."

"Yeah, I read about what's happened in Finley Creek over the last few years. That really, really sucked. Quade sat at the desk with us for a few hours, too. We just talked. He was a bit freaked. He really likes his aunt. And he and Charlotte are friends. He calmed her down a little." Dylan had the desserts lined up perfectly now. She was one of those people who did everything very neatly. And quickly. Dylan was really good at the things she did do. Meyra just thought people looked at Dylan and thought she wasn't good at things. Maybe because Dylan was really small—probably not even five feet tall—and just looked like a pixie and everything and a lot younger than she really was. They prejudged her. Underestimated her or something.

Well, just like Meyra had seen them do that same thing to Marin a lot of the time. Marin was very beautiful. And she dressed like she was a weird flower child or something. Like Dylan dressed in funny, funky clothing all the time, with wild and goofy accessories. And Dylan's hair was funny. Grandma had said even Dylan's hair vibrated with life. Grandma had said that like it was a good thing. Meyra half understood that.

Dylan was special.

Meyra hadn't missed that.

Sometimes she didn't think Dylan saw that, though. Like maybe Dylan underestimated herself sometimes, too.

"You look tired," she told Dylan. Dylan must have been up all night. Well, Meyra had, too. She just had been in her bed worrying.

"I'll sleep later. Don't worry about me. I'm tough." Dylan grinned, around a yawn, after she said it. Dylan didn't look tough to Meyra. Not at all. "I'll sleep this afternoon. It will be one way to avoid my father's daily ‘you-will-finish-school-or-else' phone call today."

"He's right, though. You should graduate." Dylan only had eight more classes to go. In business administration. She could probably go on for an MBA. She was definitely smart enough. But Dylan had told her bluntly—she didn't want to. She had never wanted to major in business in the first place. But Dylan's dad had pushed her to. Saying he wouldn't pay for her school or her sisters', if Dylan didn't do exactly what he wanted. Dylan would do anything for her three younger sisters, everyone could see that. Meyra's dad had gone through the roof when he'd learned that. He and Uncle Arthur had gotten into a shouting match in the lobby because of it—and Dylan had ended up crying in the garden. Meyra had found her there.

Everything was all confused and upside down for Dylan right now.

"You don't sleep, though, do you?"

Dylan stopped, the bin of rolled silverware in her hands now. "What do you mean?"

Meyra knew she was right. "You aren't sleeping very well, are you?"

Marin had done that, too. After she was shot with Brandt back then. Meyra's sister would have massive nightmares at night. Before she'd started counseling and everything. From the trauma.

"Maybe…not as much as I should be," Dylan finally admitted. "I just…can't sleep. Nothing feels right here , Mey. It just doesn't."

She sat the silverware down, and it rattled. "I'm not even sure who I am here right now. I still feel like Dylan Brown inside. I don't even know who Dylan Geraldine Talley is supposed to be."

"You are you. And we love you just the way you are." Sometimes, she thought Dylan needed to hear that. Dylan seemed really insecure at times.

Meyra thought it was probably her uncle's fault. After everything he'd done to Dylan and the younger girls. They'd said things before that concerned Meyra. He'd kept them away from almost everybody, for years. And then he'd make them move, sometimes in the middle of the night, and leave everything they owned behind. Meyra couldn't imagine how difficult that would be for them. It definitely wasn't very fair.

And the things her uncle said to Dylan sometimes, when he didn't think Meyra was listening were kind of bad. He was really trying to make Dylan feel horrible for not going back to school. Making her feel bad for not doing exactly what he said. He was telling her she had to take care of her sisters, and not to upset her mother, and things like that.

Miranda said it was emotional manipulation.

Miranda was still in town right now, talking to the Weatherbys about their case. She'd heard Uncle Arthur and Dylan last time they'd argued, and Miranda had gotten really angry when Meyra had told her the other stuff she'd heard him say to Dylan.

Miranda had told Meyra she was going to tie a knot in Uncle Arthur's tail if he didn't quit it. That Dylan needed to know she wasn't alone. Everything was really confused in Dylan's life right now. Miranda said Dylan was struggling with belonging, more than the others, and knowing she had found "her safe place" was very important to Dylan.

Meyra just wanted to help.

"You should go. Call him, as soon as you can. Make sure he's okay," Dylan said abruptly.

Meyra paused for a moment as her cousin's words sank in. "I should. I want to be with him right now. He needs me. I wish I was with him."

"Then make it happen."

"What?"

"Go to him. You're twenty-five years old. Make it happen."

Make it happen. Go to him.

The words sank in, and she knew it was right.

Meyra was going to do just that.

Charlotte was throwing things in a bag when Meyra pushed her way into her cousin's suite. Charlotte looked sick. Worried. Meyra tightened the hold she had on her backpack. She didn't need much. She had stuffed three pairs of leggings and five different T-shirts, five pairs of underwear and socks and three bras, as well as her toiletries, into her bag. Just like she had the last time she had been to Finley Creek. When Charlotte had been the one that was shot, hurt.She didn't understand why this stuff kept happening.

"Mey? What are you doing? Shouldn't you be at the diner? It's almost five."

"I'm going with you," Meyra said the words without hesitation. "I need to be there with him."

Charlotte just stared at her for a moment. "Quade is driving me to the airport in fifteen minutes. Have you talked to Grandma? Or Darcey and Marin?"

Meyra nodded. She had surprised Darcey and Marin when she'd woken them both—Darcey had apparently missed what had been happening between her and Brandt—but Meyra had made it clear. She was twenty-five years old. If she wanted to go to Texas to be with him when he needed her, there really wasn't anything they could do to stop her. "I did. Marin told me she'd see the diner is covered, too. Dylan will run the dining room for me—she's really good at it. It's already figured out."

"You sure about this? I don't know what happened, what's going on now, or when—if—I'll be coming back up here anytime soon. You might have to fly back by yourself." Charlotte zipped her bag and slung it over her shoulder."You good with that?"

"He needs me," Meyra said. It was as simple as that. She remembered his face after he'd first learned his sister had been abducted last week.

Meyra would never forget it. Nor would she forget how she had felt when Marin had been shot, and every time Miranda had been hurt for her job. Or how she'd felt when Dusty had been missing, or when Charlotte had been hurt. They were her family. She knew how Brandt had to be feeling now. And she needed to be with him. "I'm going to him."

"Have you told your dad?"

Meyra shook her head. "I'm going to call him from the airport."

"Probably a smart move. You can stay with me. We'll grab you anything you need when we're down there. Let's roll."

Just like that, they were on their way.

Quade was waiting for them in the lobby, wearing a sweatshirt and a ball cap. It really didn't disguise who he was, though. Meyra didn't tell him that. She really liked him. He was a few years older than she was and really nice. He liked kids, too.For a famous movie star, he was really kind of normal and everything.

He took a step toward Charlotte when he saw them. He took her heaviest bag. "I've got my rental running, so it'll be warm. I checked; the storm is going to hold off. I'll get you to the airport. You ready?"

"Meyra is going with me." Charlotte looked at her. "Except...ticket? I still need to buy mine at the counter. I checked online, there are plenty of seats left."

"Me, too." Meyra pulled in a deep breath. She hated flying and always had. Since the time she'd flown from Spain back to America with her parents. After they'd first learned her mom was sick. She didn't really remember much about that flight, just Miranda crying and crying and holding their mom really tight. Marin, too.

But she was going to fly to get to Brandt. He needed her now. Her stomach clenched—Brandt needed her. She needed to get to him. It really was that simple.

"Have you heard anything?" Charlotte asked Quade.

All Meyra knew was what the news had said. She listened as Daisy told them goodbye and to be careful and to call when they got there.

"Just what's already been reported," Quade said. "I texted Cara. She replied back that they are still at the hospital now with Heather."

Heather had been hurt again this time, too. With Powell. Meyra didn't know anything but what the news stations had been reporting. And even those reports were really confusing.

"I'll call Mads on the plane. See what she can tell me."

The news had reported that someone with the Texas State Police had broken that drug case that had brought all those cops—including Charlotte's friend Gunnar and Quade's aunt Heather—to Masterson County. And that it had been bad.

Brandt's entire family had been in danger somehow.

They didn't know anything else.

Charlotte handled getting their tickets, and then they were on the plane, taking their seats.

Then Charlotte was looking at her. Like she did when she was going to ask a lot of really hard questions. Charlotte could be so difficult sometimes, but Meyra adored her cousin. "So...you and Brandt? For real?"

"We're still...in the early stages." She didn't know where exactly they were. Serious relationships, lifelong relationships like Ben and Dusty had, or her dad and Rhea—she didn't have a lot of experience with those. She'd wanted to talk to Miranda again, get her sister's opinion. She just hadn't had the time. "We haven't slept together yet, but I think we probably will soon. I want to be with him that way."

"For what it is worth, Brandt is one of the kindest, nicest, most beautiful-hearted—and beautiful bodded, let's be honest—men I have ever met. I don't think he would ever willingly or knowingly do anything to hurt a woman he is involved with." Charlotte stared at her for a long moment as an older businessman who looked vaguely familiar walked past them to his seat in the rear of the plane. "And that man has been hot for you almost from the moment he first met you. We all know that—except maybe you. And Uncle Gerald. Your dad seems to have blinders on."

Her words gave Meyra a lot to think about. But right now, she just wanted to get to him.