How the Light Gets In (Cracks Duet #2)(4)

“I thought you’d be pleased. All that was a long time ago, Ev.”

“Don’t you dare undermine what happened,” I said, voice tight. “You cannot even imagine—”

“Yes, I can. I was there with you, cried with you for endless nights.”

I held up a hand. “Look, I’m not doing this right now. I’ll talk to you later. Maybe then you’ll realise I’m right.”

I walked away from her and stalked into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me like a moody teen. The funny thing was, I’d never actually been a troublesome teenager. In fact, I was much easier to get along with then than I was now.

I procrastinated in my room all day: dicking around on Facebook, plucking my eyebrows, experimenting with nail polish. I didn’t want to face Yvonne. I hated fighting with her, but she just didn’t understand how seeing Dylan again affected me, how it tossed my heart in a blender and smushed it right up.

How it made me want things I had no business wanting.

No business at all.





Chapter 2





Later that night, I walked into FEST still feeling frazzled. Once tensions simmered down between Yvonne and me, I planned to quiz her on everything she spoke about with Dylan. It was foolish, but I had to know.

It took me a minute to stash my things in the locker room and then I was at the bar, taking endless drinks orders.

“You get up to much today?” Danni asked as she mixed a margarita.

I saw the love of my life for the first time in eight years.

“Nope, not much.”

“Yeah, me neither. I stayed in bed and watched a marathon of Jersey Shore.”

“A highly productive day, then,” I joked.

She grinned. “Oh, yah.”

“Can I get a pint of lager? Whatever’s best here,” came a voice and an unwelcome, pleasurable shudder ran through me. That voice. He could read the phonebook aloud, and I’d be a captive audience of one.

“Still drinking lager?” I asked. “Some things don’t change.” My outward demeanour was cucumber cool, while on the inside I was flustered, too hot, like I’d bitten down on a chili pepper.

“A lot of things don’t change,” Dylan said as he reached up to loosen his tie. Danni mistook him for just another customer, and went to serve someone else. I studied Dylan and again, wondered why he was here.

“So, Yvonne told you where I work,” I guessed as I pulled his pint. “You two must’ve had quite the cosy convo over lunch.”

“You missed a lovely meal,” Dylan replied.

“I was under the weather.”

“And you go jogging when you’re ill now? That’s new,” he went on, the left side of his mouth lifting in amusement. There was a charming lilt to his voice that drew a smile out of me.

“Yep. A good vigorous jog drives out all the pathogens,” I replied and handed him his drink. “Ten dollars, please.”

Dylan pulled out a flashy black credit card, and I took it without comment. “Runaway” by Kanye West came on and it was funny, because half of me wanted to run away from this whole encounter. The other half was glued to the spot, eyes wide and waiting for Dylan to reveal his intentions.

The lyrics were oddly reminiscent of our teenage years. Dylan had always been good at finding things wrong with the world. His true talent expressing what he didn’t like. Maybe I should’ve run away from him back then, that way I might never have caught his illness. He never would’ve taught me to be dissatisfied with my lot.

I handed him his card and a moment of quiet passed in the loud bar.

His eyes wandered to my top. “Did Yvonne pick the uniforms here? I’ll have to send her my thanks.”

I shook my head at him just as a customer asked me for a rum and Coke. “No, I think that was someone higher up,” I replied as I made the drink.

“Probably a man,” Dylan said.

“Probably,” I agreed. The uniform at FEST consisted of a black top with a sweetheart neckline, and tight black jeans. The male members of staff wore similarly black fitted shirts and jeans.

“So, do you ever talk to Conor and Amy these days?” I asked. They were Dylan’s two closest friends when we were growing up. I used to think of the three of them as a gaggle of misfits in a place where it was safer to be just another sheep in the herd.

“Amy’s living in London now. She’s married with kids, working in film. And Conor’s actually the COO of my company,” Dylan replied, and the news surprised me. I didn’t think he’d keep in touch with anyone from the old days. I knew I didn’t. I certainly didn’t think he’d make his old friend Chief Operating Officer of his business.

“Well, Amy always was obsessed with that little camcorder of hers. And Conor has a good head on his shoulders. To think he might’ve become a boring old accountant,” I said.

“Conor’s business sense is half the reason for Dylan’s success. He’s the strategies, I’m the ideas.”

“Right. And how are things over at Dylan HQ these days?” I asked.

That was the name of his perfume brand. I thought it was pretty savvy to name a women’s perfume after a man they’d probably drop their knickers for in a heartbeat. At the same time, it was pretentious as fuck. Well, it would be if I didn’t know Dylan so well. My guess was the name choice was somebody else’s idea. Probably Conor’s.