Side Trip(86)

He held her gaze for a moment longer, then abruptly turned around and strode toward the revolving door. He wouldn’t look back.

Don’t look back.

Don’t . . .

Look back.

Dylan stopped in his tracks.

No.

This was all wrong. This couldn’t be it. This shouldn’t be the end of them.

He swung around and jogged back to the car, dropping his gear on the sidewalk. “Joy!” He rushed to her.

She ran to him. “Dylan!”

He caught her up in his arms. “I can’t leave you believing this is it, that all I got with you was ten days. I need . . .”

Hope.

“. . . something.”

“What are you saying?” she asked, breathless.

“I want to make another deal.”

He grasped her face so that he could look directly in her eyes. He needed her to understand how serious he was about what he was about to say.

“Promise me something. Go and live your life. Don’t search for me and try not to think about me. But if life doesn’t work out as planned, be there.”

“Where?” she cried, clinging to his arms.

“At the diner where we met. Same day, same time, ten years from now. If we both show up, we’ll take it from there. But if one of us doesn’t, then the other needs to be all right with that and move on. Can you do that for me, Joy?”

She nodded vigorously.

“I promise I’ll do the same.”

“Yes. Yes!” she said, fresh tears flowing. She kissed him, and in her kiss, he felt it. Joy’s hope.

“Ten years, Joy,” he said, taking a step back.

“Ten years.”

He smiled and turned away. He strode back toward the door, picking up his stuff along the way. This time, he didn’t need to look back because there were possibilities in front of him.

There was Joy.





CHAPTER 30





AFTER


Dylan

Sunsets from the deck of Nobu Malibu can be among the most stunning along the SoCal coast. It was an intimate affair by industry standards, but Chase had booked the entire restaurant to celebrate his and Dakota’s marriage. They’d toasted their nuptials, eaten the most amazing Asian fusion meal Dylan had had in a long time, and cut the cake. But as the sickly happy couple mingles with their guests, he finds a somewhat quiet corner on the deck to nurse his envy and pour four fingers of Macallan into his gut.

He’s thrilled for Chase and Dakota, don’t get him wrong. But seeing how taken his cousin has been with Dakota makes him second-guess a belief he’s adamantly held on to for apparently no reason other than to make himself miserable. That a Westfield cannot work in the music industry and have a successful long-term relationship.

Dylan leans on the deck rail and tips back a mouthful of the malted liquor. It burns hot going down his throat like the bright orange orb dipping below the horizon. The father of the groom comes up beside him. He can smell Cal before he sees his uncle in his peripheral vision. The pungent aroma of his cigarettes is as fresh as it’s old, embedded in the fibers of his clothing. He saw Cal step out earlier for a smoke.

Cal sets his lowball beside Dylan’s and leans on the rail. He narrows his focus on a young woman jogging along the beach with her dog. Good ole Cal. He hasn’t changed. Always on the lookout for his next hookup.

And he never has to look far. He’s enjoyed enormous success with a solo career since Jack’s sudden passing. His contract with Sony expired and Westfield Records snatched him up. Cal’s first record under his and Chase’s label dropped last year and went platinum within eight months. Opportunities of the female sort drop into his lap all the time. Cal’s rough-around-the-edges voice and rugged Westfield looks haven’t slowed him or his career one bit. He just gets better and better looking.

“Think they’ll last?” Dylan asks.

“Chase and Dakota? I do. They’re the real deal.” He leans on an elbow, pivoting his body toward Dylan. “What about you and that girl?”

He frowns. “What girl?” He hasn’t been seeing anyone. Other than a red-carpet affair or record launch celebratory one-nighter, he hasn’t had a real date in an obscene number of moons.

“The one you wrote about on Joyride. She’s real, isn’t she?”

Memories rush through his mind at the mere thought of Joy, leaving him light-headed. He tips back another mouthful. Producing Joyride without reaching out to Joy first, then never following up with her afterward was a mistake. She would have known the songs were about her and their trip. And if she felt about him the way he still does about her, he’d hoped she would seek him out after she heard the album, especially after listening to the title track. But she didn’t. She probably believed he was capitalizing on what had been between them. After all, he’d told her he wasn’t going to sell the song. He didn’t, but she might have interpreted it that way, which was why his guilty conscience finally set him straight. He’d made a deal and he needed to honor it. Don’t search for her. Try not to think about her. Just live his life. And pray to whatever god you believe in that she’ll be there when time’s up.

For the most part, he hasn’t intentionally thought about her in a long while. Oh, she’ll pop into his head every so often, like when he hears a track from Joyride play on Sirius. But he doesn’t deliberately dwell on her and what could have been, not like he used to. And he hasn’t looked her up or stalked her profiles. He deleted his social media accounts and the apps from his phone to eliminate the temptation.