9. Wicked

9

Wicked

Sunrise After A Hurricane

"Hey. I grabbed a coffee from the gas station and refilled your tank on my way back."

Her voice startles me as I lift out of the hood to look at her. The to-go cup is extended toward me, a peace offering from giant blue eyes. Her freckles are showing in the morning sun because she's not wearing makeup.

She's pretty all the time, but I like her especially like this, since I know not everyone gets to see her this way. This is how she looks when she's rushed and stressed, and her appearance is the last thing on her mind.

This is how she looks when she calls me because she needs help. And I know she only called me because she didn't have anyone else, but I relish the feeling of being needed by someone like her, someone I know—even after only a few weeks—is stubbornly independent. I relish the feeling of seeing her freckles, because they feel like a secret.

"You didn't need to do that," I respond.

She shrugs. "My payment for your assistance."

I think of all the other ways I'd like her to repay me. I don't say that, though.

"I don't need payment."

"Well, here it is anyway."

Stubborn.

"Thank you." I smile as I take the coffee from her extended hand. "How'd you like driving the Jeep?"

She tries to hide the smile on her face. "It was actually kind of fun after I dropped Lou off at school. When I was younger, I had this dream of living in an old van for a few months, just driving up and down the West Coast and exploring; having the top down and the doors off felt like a few moments of how I imagined that life would look." She stops talking suddenly, biting her lip and looking down at her feet, as if she hadn't meant to say it.

I take a sip of the coffee she bought me and fight back a sputter when the taste hits my tongue.

She winces. "I just got it black. You look like the kind of man who doesn't like sugar in his coffee."

I force myself to swallow. "I love sugar in my coffee, actually. But yeah, no. This is good too." I reluctantly take another sip because I don't want her to think I'm not grateful.

Secretly, I'm jealous of whatever creamy colored, iced, whip-creamed concoction she's got in her hand.

I try not to let my face blanch as I drink, but I think she catches it anyway because she lets out a quiet laugh. "I'm so sorry." The light in her eyes, the brief moment of calm from her panicked morning, makes drinking this shit well worth it. "I have creamer in the house if you want to take a break and come inside."

I'm never going to turn down that offer. "That'd be great. Thanks."

I follow her up the steps and inside. We take a left, through the dining room, and into the kitchen. I'm used to finding the island in the middle of the space covered in blooming flowers that Darby picked from the garden out back, but today, it's centered with a huge, pink-frosting-covered cake.

"Someone's birthday I need to know about?" I ask.

"Nope." Dahlia opens the fridge and bends over while I try not to stare at her ass. "We just thought it'd be fun to make a pink cake. It's lemon with strawberry frosting."

Damn. That sounds good.

She stands straight with a bottle of vanilla coffee creamer in her hand. Shutting the fridge door with her foot, she slides the bottle across the counter to me. I pop the lid off my coffee cup and pour a generous amount inside.

"So, I think it's the spark plug. It's worn down quite a bit, which is odd for a car as new as yours. But the good news is that it's an easy fix. I can run down to the shop and grab you one and then come back and replace it. I'll go ahead and change your oil too." I wink at her. "Should be finished before you have to pick Lou up from school."

"Thank God," she says as she takes a sip of her coffee. "I appreciate all your help, really, but I cannot show up to that school in your Jeep again."

I laugh. "You don't take me as the type of woman who minds the stare of others."

"When it's bitchy parents, I do." She huffs. "A bunch of the other people dropping off their kids were giving me these horrible looks. They don't even know me, and I could tell they're already assuming I'm a terrible parent."

"They're glaring because you're younger and hotter than they are." I shrug. "And because they're wondering why you're driving my car."

She snorts into her coffee. "What? Are you some kind of local celebrity? Everyone knows the car Everett Ramos drives?"

"I mean, my brother is an actual celebrity, so yeah. People around here know our family. Plus, how many 1987, neon orange Jeep Wranglers do you see around town?"

"Yeah, I guess." She bites the inside of her cheek. "I thought you were going to tell me it's because you've fucked a bunch of them."

"I wouldn't say a bunch ."

Her pink lips drop open, and I can't help the grin that spreads across my own mouth.

"Does that make you jealous, Wildflower?"

Her mouth clamps shut as she shakes her head. "Of course not. I mean…" She looks down at her hands. "I shouldn't be surprised, I guess."

"Dahlia," I say with enough conviction that she raises her head, eyes searing into mine. "What I did with you at Emilio's was not something I've ever done with anyone else before."

"Me either," she whispers.

"I know." I set my coffee on the kitchen counter and kick my hip against it, crossing my arms. "Plus, if it makes you feel better, since I know you're definitely jealous." She rolls her eyes at me. "Most people only go after me because they think it'll get them closer to Leo."

I don't say it because I'm hoping she'll pity me. I don't even know why I say it, honestly. I hate admitting that, admitting that I'm less desirable, often a tool used to gain access to my brother. To his fame. Money. Status. The hopes he'll catch another's eye the way they caught mine. I hate feeling that way about Leo, hate feeling that way about myself.

Something about Dahlia makes me feel safe, though. Maybe it's because I know she's one person who would never use me for that reason, even if I only know that because her sister is engaged to him.

I couldn't look at her as I said those words, but a moment passed in silence, and I found myself glancing up, desperate to read her face and what she thinks of me. Her brows are furrowed, jaw set tight, pouty lips turned downward. There is a quiet rage brewing in her eyes.

As if she was waiting for me to meet her gaze, she finally says, "That's disgusting, and I'm sorry you feel that way. That it happens to you." She shakes her head, taking another sip of her drink. "I can't believe a woman would even think that's a good idea. Sleeping with one brother thinking that it'd make the other want her? That's insane."

I let out a laugh at that. "Yeah…There isn't always logic in their actions, but honestly, it happens a lot more often with the men I date. They think if they get with me, they can befriend Leo, that Leo will offer them some kind of connection to his world."

A surprise look flashes across her face, but I can tell she quickly tries to settle it.

"You didn't know I was bisexual, did you?"

She gives a slight shake of her head.

"Is that an issue for you?" I ask casually. It's not the first time, and likely won't be the last either. I'm used to it, and I'm comfortable enough with myself now that it doesn't bother me anymore, though I can't pretend it wouldn't sting a little to hear it come from Dahlia.

"Of course not," she says. The sincerity in her voice tells me she's being honest, and some storm inside my chest immediately calms. "I just didn't know."

"I've been out for so long, and everyone in my life is so used to it, I guess I don't always think about the fact that new people won't automatically know."

She smiles to herself. "So, are you telling me I'm going to be running into not only other women you've fucked, but potentially some daddies too?"

"It shouldn't matter, right? Because you're not jealous." I smirk behind my coffee.

"Exactly."

Her eyes sparkle with mischief, and lightning electrifies the air between us as we smile at each other. Fuck. I want her to be jealous. I know it's messed up, and I don't know what it is about her that makes me feel this way, but I want to know she's bothered by the thought of me with anyone else. Then, I want to tell her she has nothing to worry about because if she said the word right now, I'd be on my knees for her and her alone.

But she told me we had to pretend nothing ever happened between us, and I want to understand why. I know it has something to do with Lou. I'm not sure what it is, or why she feels she needs to hide herself away, as if she thinks she can't choose her daughter and also herself at the same time. She deserves more than that.

My emotions must be written all over my face, because she clears her throat and stands straighter, those blue eyes flashing with guilt and something else I can't sense. "Um, okay. Well, how much do I owe you for that spark plug you're going to go get?"

I swallow all the words I want to say. "Don't worry about it."

"I'm not going to take free things from you, Everett."

"The spark plug costs far less than whatever you likely paid to fill my tank this morning."

She hums at that. "California gas prices are a crime."

"Exactly. So, if anything, I owe you."

She smiles. "I can't argue with that."

"So what made you into cars?"

"I mean, my dad has owned Ramos Automotive since before my sister and I were born. I grew up running around that place with a wrench in my hand. I think it's in my blood." I lean over the hood, plugging the new spark plug in. "But I wouldn't say it's like my dream, per se. I just couldn't stand the idea of my dad giving it up. Of course, there was no chance Elena was taking it over. Leo, either." I pull back and wipe my hands on the towel thrown over my shoulder. "I was a bit lost in my early twenties, so when the opportunity arose, I thought, why not? My siblings both did greater things. This was the least I could do."

"Serving your community and preserving your family's legacy was the least you could do? Seems like a lot to me," she says thoughtfully. "Something to be proud of."

My chest takes flight at that.

"In comparison to an international best-selling author and a world-renowned professional athlete, though?"

"Yes." Her eyes burn through me with such intensity, I can't question whether or not she really means that. "But I know what you mean. I'm the black sheep of my family too."

I tilt my head, leaning against the hood of her car. "Well, now you have to tell me more."

I know a little of her story, the things Darby has mentioned. I know Darby came to Pacific Shores that summer when she was seventeen because her parents were afraid of Darby finding out Dahlia was pregnant. I know Dahlia was a trouble-maker and a wild child in her parent's opinion. I also know that by the haunted look in her eyes, there are a lot of things she has never allowed to the surface, maybe even some things Darby doesn't know.

"When I was little and Darby was just a baby, I remember our mother being around a lot. We used to bake all the time. She taught us how to swim in the summer, took us sledding in the winter. My father was trying to build his business at the time, so he was gone often. It was just our mom and us." She twirls her car keys around her finger. "Then, when I was around the age of ten or so, things changed. It was suddenly all about appearances. I don't think it was my parents that changed, I think that it was me hitting the age where it started to become noticeable. What my value was supposed to be in our family unit. No longer a child, but now a prospect to further his success and status." She shudders at the memory. "We had to go to church every Sunday. We stopped baking, and my mother started controlling our sugar intake, telling us we needed to be pretty enough to catch the attention of nice boys.

"I remember questioning my school teacher one day. She was droning on about the responsibilities of women in society: God-fearing wives and mothers." I give her what I'm sure is a horrified expression, because she chuffs and adds, "I went to a private school. Anyway, I simply asked if the boys were being taught the same thing." She lets out an exasperated laugh. "She screamed at me in front of everyone. They called my parents and sent me home early for speaking out of turn . When my mother arrived at school to get me, I was crying. I was scared. I couldn't understand what I had done wrong to warrant such a harsh response." Her face turns to stone. "My father came home that night in a rage, telling me I was an embarrassment. He grabbed me so hard, it left bruises on my arms."

My vision goes red at the thought.

"From then on, I just…I rejected the idea of all of it. I wanted to cause as much noise as I could. I wanted to scream until they noticed I was the one hurting. I needed attention— needed support and love, and I needed to mean more to them than their reputations. I needed to mean more than status and success." She looks at me, pain in her blue eyes. "And I never did. It's like… I went to one end of the spectrum and Darby went to the other. She tried to make up for all the noise I caused by being quiet and timid and perfect until both of us were so fucked up, there was no way to fix it."

"I'm glad you both made it out of that environment." That's all I can say. There aren't words for the kind of hatred I have for men like her father, and I fear if I allow myself to say anything more, I'll end up disclosing just how much I want to kill him.

She nods. "Me too. I knew…I knew after I got pregnant—which was not a cry for help, just a genuine misuse of birth control—that they'd never be the parents I needed. That, even if I didn't, my child sure as hell would deserve more than they could ever give."

She shudders with something like pain and fear, so I give her the only thing I can offer to help settle the storms raging in her ocean eyes. "You both deserve better, and you're already giving her that."

Soft freckles dance across her nose as she smiles at me, resembling something like the sunrise after a hurricane.