How the Light Gets In (Cracks Duet #2)(3)

Oh, Yvonne, for someone so tuned in you are completely oblivious sometimes.

She went. I turned and headed for the drinks cabinet. God knew this occasion called for one.

“What will you have?” I asked as I picked up bottles and pretended to read the labels.

“Whiskey is good,” Dylan replied, and I nodded, still not facing him.

I poured his drink, plus one for myself, then turned to hand it over. His eyes travelled up my body as I approached. “The years have been good to you, Ev. You look incredible.”

I arched a brow. “I look like I just stepped out of bed.”

His voice went husky. “Like I said—”

“What are you even doing here?” I kept quiet so my aunt couldn’t hear.

He frowned. “Yvonne invited me.”

“You didn’t have to say yes.”

He gave me an oh, come on look. “Nobody can say no to your aunt, Ev. You know that.”

He was right. Yvonne’s friendly demeanour was impossible to resist, just like mine had been once upon a time. Now I was a world-weary grump with a perennial dark cloud over my head. In fact, a lot of the world-weariness was Dylan’s doing. Wait, no, that was the old me. I was taking my positive mojo back, the one I had when I was a girl.

“No, not many people can say no to Yvonne,” I agreed and went to take a seat on the armchair. I folded my legs up under me, the ones Dylan’s eyes kept wandering back to, and sipped my drink.

Yikes, whiskey was not a good idea first thing in the morning. Or afternoon.

I set it down and eyed Dylan in his designer suit. It was a far cry from the jeans and work shirts he used to wear at St Mary’s. But I guess he was a big-shot business tycoon now. He had to look the part.

“You achieved everything you always wanted,” I said.

He took a sip and lifted a shoulder. “You could say that.”

“Such modesty. If your eighteen-year-old self could see you now he’d be jumping for joy.”

Dylan shifted his position on the sofa, his stare intense as he asked, “You think so?”

My breath caught. It wasn’t so much the question, but how he said it. How he looked at me while he was saying it. A simmering heat worked its way up my body.

“The chicken is looking scrumdiddlyumtious,” Yvonne announced, interrupting the moment.

I looked away from Dylan, frazzled by how strongly I reacted to him. We were only making casual chit-chat, and yet, his eyes alone laid me bare. I needed to get out of there. Standing, I made my way toward my bedroom.

“Can you, um, put a plate in the oven for me? I’m not feeling so well.”

Yvonne frowned in concern. “Oh no, do you think it’s the flu? I heard it’s going around.”

“I’m not sure. Maybe. It was good seeing you, Dylan, but I should really go. I don’t want you to catch anything.” My words were rushed.

Dylan stood, about to say something, but I left before he could. I shut myself away in my room, but I was far too restless to get back into bed. A run felt like a good idea, so I changed into a hoodie and some tracksuit pants. I wasn’t normally one for exercise, but I needed to do something to expel this pent-up tension.

“Oh, Ev,” said Yvonne when I re-emerged. “Are you feeling better?”

“No, but I’m gonna go for a run. See if it clears my head,” I replied and glanced at Dylan very briefly. He wore a stern frown that said he knew my game. I was avoiding spending any more time with him, but what did he expect when he just showed up out of the blue like this? At least give a girl some warning.

Once I was out of the building, I felt like I could breathe again. My mind raced through memories, while my body raced through the streets of Brooklyn. I really did love it here. I never truly understood Yvonne’s lifelong fascination with the city until I stepped off the plane and hopped in a yellow taxi. I adored the frenetic energy, the anonymity, the chance to be whomever I wanted, do whatever I wanted.

I paused for breath when I got as far as the Brooklyn Bridge and gazed at Manhattan’s skyline. I leaned back against a railing and took a swig from my water bottle.

I can only see my dreams clearly when I look through you first.

A phantom voice echoed in my head, one from another lifetime. Dylan always said romantic things to me, stuff you’d never expect from a teenage boy. It was one of the reasons I fell for him so hard. He was an old soul, and so intelligent. He spoke in ways that set my seventeen-year-old heart aflutter.

“Hey, you got the time?” another jogger asked as he passed me by.

I pulled out my phone to check the screen. “Almost two.”

“Thanks,” he replied and kept going.

It was a welcome interruption, since it cut me off from wandering too deep into memories. All that would achieve was nostalgia, and nostalgia was a dangerous game when the person at the centre of it suddenly reappeared in your life.

I jogged to the apartment, figuring Dylan had to be gone by now. It had been over an hour since I left. When I walked inside, Yvonne was in the kitchen cleaning up.

“That was incredibly rude of you, Evelyn,” she said, not making eye contact. It was something she did when she was really pissed. Her voice went all stern, but she never looked you in the eye.

“Yvonne, I haven’t seen Dylan in a really long time, and the way things ended between us . . .” I ran a hand over my mussed ponytail. “How did you expect me to react?”