23. Wicked

23

Wicked

A Safe Place For Her To Land

I've thought of about a hundred and twelve different ways I'd like to kill Dane Andrews.

Gruesome, deranged, messy ways I'd rip him limb from limb and watch him bleed, the kind of things only a man my sister writes about in her books would be capable of.

I guess that depraved kind of creative darkness is a family trait.

I've hated that man since Darby first spoke of him when we were kids. I hated him when Leo told me all the things he'd done to keep her away. I hated him when I saw him in my business with his hand around Dahlia's arm. I've hated him every time she has spoken of him.

But until I walked into her office yesterday and saw those tears streaming down her face, watched her body shake with sobs and tremble with fear, I'd never dreamed about killing someone. I'd kill him, though. I'd kill him for how broken he has made her.

I'd kill him without a second thought.

Then spend the rest of my life trying to put her back together.

If all I get out of life is a chance to do the latter, I'll take it happily, but fuck. I'd like to kill him.

Those are the thoughts that plague me as I pull up to the curb outside the boardwalk businesses and park my car. They follow me to the front of the empty suite beside Heathen's, still in the thick of refurbishment.

Pushing open the door, the space is littered with boxes, paint, and tarps. They've been making great headway on the opening of Honeysuckle Florals, Darby's flower shop, and are on track to open early in the new year. I add two more boxes to the pile in the middle of the main room, full of photo prints from up and down the California coast.

Leo bought them off a friend of ours, a landscape photographer who owns a gallery in Venice Beach. We've got several of his canvases hung up around Heathen's, and Darby wanted some for herself too.

"Honeysuckle!" I call, knowing Darby's supposed to be here.

"In here!" she responds from somewhere toward the back of the building.

I maneuver around the boxes and equipment until I reach the small office in the corner. It's a complete one-eighty from the rest of the building: walls painted a soft yellow, with a bright, multi-colored rug and matching throw pillows on the cream-colored couch to one side. There's a desk on the other end of the room, bookshelves and filing cabinets set up behind it. Potted plants line the windowsill that looks out to the pier beyond the boardwalk.

"Damn." I let out a low whistle, turning slowly as I take in the space. "It looks great in here, Darbs."

"Thank you," she says from behind her desk, where she appears to be organizing some paperwork. "It's too early to get started on the shop itself, since we're not finished painting, but I figured I could put my office together. I was itching for something to do."

"You're doing great." Hitching my thumb behind me, I add, "I left those canvases you bought from Carter in a box in the main room. Do you want them somewhere else?"

"No, we can leave them there for now." She lifts her head, smiling at me. "Thanks for going all the way up there, by the way. I know it's a far drive."

"It was no problem." The garage is always slow just before the holidays, so I had a free day earlier this week. I was happy to take the trip out to Santa Monica. "I owed them a visit anyway."

She nods, sinking down into her desk chair. I fall back onto the couch behind me and sprawl out.

"So, I wanted to ask you something."

"Yeah?" Darby asks, not looking at me as she continues sorting through her files.

"About your parents."

She pauses, hands stilling on her desk as she slowly raises her eyes to me.

"Dahlia had a call with your dad yesterday, and it sounds like he wrecked her pretty bad. I…" I run a hand through my hair, suddenly nervous. I don't know that Dahlia would want me talking about this behind her back, but I'm at a fucking loss. "I just want to help her, and I don't know what to do."

Darby sighs. "I don't either. Sometimes, it's hard for even me to talk to her about it, like she thinks it's something she has to battle on her own."

"Why does she feel that way?" I ponder.

"I don't know," Darby breathes defeatedly. "When you spoke to her, did she mention anything about my mom? Or has she only talked to my dad?"

"She only mentioned your dad. I don't think she's had contact with your mother at all."

"That's what I thought." Darby chews her lip. "My mom has been reaching out to me, and I want to talk to Dahlia about it, but I'm afraid to bring it up."

"Why?" I ask.

She looks at me, sadness in her eyes. "Because she thinks our parents love me more."

She thinks your parents don't love her at all.

"I'm afraid it would hurt her feelings if she knew my mom was trying to make an effort with me and not with her."

"Don't take this the wrong way, Darby," I say. "But is your mother trying to make an effort with you? Or is it your dad using her as a means to an end?"

"No, you're right." Her tone is sad, and it breaks my heart that either of them has to go through something like this. I couldn't imagine being unable to trust my parents. "I don't know either. I've always had a soft spot for my mom, though. She has one for me too, so I guess there might be part of me holding out hope that she's really trying."

"Why would she try for you and not Dahlia?" I ask. I don't mean for my tone to come out cold and rough, but it does.

"My mother is terrified of Dahlia."

That takes me by surprise.

"I think she always has been, but even more so after Lou was born," Darby continues. "Dahlia has always been so…so fearless. She always stood up for herself, refusing to cower beneath the influence of our father." She sighs. "But when Lou was born? She became unbelievably brave and strong, something our mother never was. Our mom used our dad as an excuse to check out and leave us to protect ourselves, and when Dahlia became a mother too… Well, our mom's weaknesses became glaringly apparent. She watched Dahlia protect and nurture, and love—all the things she had never done—and Mom knew she'd never be forgiven for it."

Darby shrugs, looking at me with sad eyes. "I was weak like her. I craved his acceptance, did whatever I could to please him, bit my tongue and hid my tears. I won't call my mom a victim, and I don't know if I'll ever forgive her either, but I understand her. We never had the strength my sister possesses."

"You're strong, Darby," I say.

She gives me a shallow nod. "But not like Dahlia."

No, not like Dahlia.

But perhaps if she hadn't lost the things she had, if she'd ended up in the same position at seventeen, she would've found that strength for her child too.

There is a longing on Darby's face that makes me wonder if she's thinking the same thing, so I don't voice that thought out loud. Instead, I ask her, "What can I do to help Dahlia?"

Darby gives me a soft smile. "Listen. Don't push. Be a safe place for her to land, because I don't think she's ever had one of those before. I think she trusts you, which is a foreign concept to her. So just…keep being that."

"I can do that," I say, even though I'd already planned on it.

"And don't tell her about my mom," she adds. "I'll tell her myself."

I nod. "Speaking of siblings, Leo is supposed to be around here somewhere, isn't he?"

"He's picking up dinner. We're eating down at the pier tonight after I'm finished here."

Well, fuck. I planned on breaking some not-so-great news to my brother while I was here. I figured why not have two shitty conversations back-to-back so I could get them over with. I hate the thought of ruining their date night, but I'd rather not hang onto the information.

"Alright, I'm going to try and catch him in—"

"Catch me where, brother?" he asks, appearing in the doorway with a paper bag in hand.

"Catch you before the two of you go have dinner." I bite my lip, rubbing the back of my neck. "I've got some news. But I, uh…" I glance between him and Darby. "I don't want to put a damper on your night."

"Wouldn't worry about it," he chimes, walking around Darby's desk and smacking a kiss against her cheek. "I'm about to eat pad thai on the beach, and then I'm going to go home and get laid. Hard to put a damper on that."

Darby snorts, but I see the blush she's hiding.

I blow out a resigned breath. "You talk to Elena lately?"

Leo cocks his head. "Not since last week. Why?"

"She called me earlier today." I sigh. Guess now is as good a time as any. "She's not coming home for Christmas."

All the playfulness present a moment ago immediately drops from his demeanor. "You're fucking kidding me."

I break eye contact, hating the look on his face. "No. I'm not." I rub the sudden tension from my jaw. "She claimed she was asked to do some holiday signing event in Brooklyn."

He scoffs. "You know that's bullshit."

"I know."

I hate the anger in his tone, though I understand it. I'm angry too. I'm more devastated than anything, but I'm not surprised, and that might be the worst part.

Leo rumbles frustratedly, "I'm getting tired of this, Everett. I know she was put through the ringer, but at what point do we stop making excuses? At what point do we start dishing out the tough love?"

"I'm pissed too," I agree. "But imagine if you were in her shoes. Imagine if Darby—"

"No." Leo snarls. "Look…" He sighs quietly. "All I'm saying is that I'm done with the bullshit and the lies, pretending she's okay when she's clearly not." He glances at Darby, who's quiet by his side, appearing to be in deep thought of her own. "I'm done with the grudges too. She can skip Christmas, but if Elena doesn't show up for my wedding?" Leo swallows roughly, eyes darting away from me as his next words leave his lips. "Then I'm done with her too. She can consider herself down a brother."

"Leo." I swallow the sudden heaviness in my throat, unable to say more.

He ignores me, leaning in to press a kiss against the top of his fiance's head. "I need some air. I'll meet you at our spot," is all he says to her before he stalks out of her office.

Darby watches him leave before turning back to me, sorrow in her eyes. "He didn't mean that. He's just upset. He was really excited to see her."

"I'm upset too."

She nods, giving me a sorry look. "I'm going to go check on him."

"I'll walk you out." I sigh.