“I’m sorry,” I said after several minutes of silence.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered. Finally, she raised her head to look me in the eyes. Her mascara wasn’t waterproof. It slid down her cheeks like partially dry paint dripping down a wall. Her hazel eyes were red from crying. She pushed her messy dark blond hair away from her face. “Please help me understand.”
The truth was I couldn’t, because I didn’t even understand why Eddie did what he did. “I don’t know how—”
“How can you not know?” she shouted. Sobs erupted in her chest. “You know. God, Cami, you know how I love him. How could you think—”
“It wasn’t like—” I started, but she wasn’t about to let me finish.
“Obviously,” Miranda snorted. She let the tears run down her cheeks.
I swallowed hard, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Dylan was still in the car. He wasn’t. He leaned against the passenger door with his arms crossed, watching his own personal reality show.
“Miranda, I really wasn’t thinking. That’s the truth. I... I was upset about something, somebody else. So I started drinking. He was there and asked me to go for a walk, so we went down the shore.” I cleared my dry throat. “I had too much to drink in a short time. He tried to kiss me and—”
“That’s your excuse? You drank too much?” Miranda stood and shook her head. “But you weren’t drunk enough to forget any of it happened.”
“No,” I whispered. “There’s no excuse for what he did. He forced—”
“Do you even regret it?” Her mouth quivered.
“Every minute.” I put my hand on her shoulder, but she shoved it off. “I’m sorry, Miranda. I hate myself—”
She nodded. “That makes two of us.”
As much as I expected that, it still hit me in the chest like a hammer. Miranda stepped around me and strode up to Dylan’s car. I knew what was going to happen, and I prayed Dylan didn’t go along with it. He pushed off the car and stood in front of her. She threw her arms around him, pulling his head to hers. He didn’t resist. Miranda kissed him like she was going to strip his clothes off right then and there.
And there was nothing I could do. As much as I wanted to rip her off him, slap both of them, Miranda was just trying to make me feel as shitty as I made her feel. It was childish and petty. And I didn’t deserve it.
Miranda pulled away. Dylan leaned down and kissed her again, gently.
I turned away, opening the front door and escaping inside before the sobs took over.
I took a shower and let myself grieve. There was no way Miranda and I would ever repair our friendship. Not after that. She wasn’t going to listen to me. She didn’t want to know the truth. I had to accept that. I towel dried my hair and braided it quickly. My short terrycloth blue shorts and plain white tank were more for comfort than fashion.
When I came out of my bedroom, Dylan sat on the couch. I wanted to throw him out after that little display. My chest ached. My eyes burned from the tears. I just wanted to wallow on the couch with popcorn and replays of The Voice.
“Thought you were going to use the Jacuzzi tub at my place,” he said as he flipped through a hunting magazine.
“I wasn’t sure if three would be a crowd,” I snapped, totally unreasonably, but he acted as if nothing had just happened when part of my world just imploded. My lips pressed into a firm line. Dylan’s’ gazed drifted down to my bare legs. “You and Miranda were getting pretty chummy out there, I thought you might just take her back to your place.”
Dylan laughed, and I hated him for it. “Your friend’s a good kisser but not really my type.”
That pissed me off even more. “I thought your type was anything breathing.”
“If that was the case, I would’ve bagged you the first night you were at my house,” he snapped back. His eyebrows crushed together.
It was like a hand slapped me down to the floor.
“God, that’s not...” Dylan said in a soft voice. He rubbed his hand down his face. His gaze met mine. He stood and put his hands on my shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it came out.”
“What the hell did you mean?” I whispered, still too shocked to push his hands off me.
“Not that.”
I shoved him away from me. “You’re an asshole.”
“So I’ve been told.” He slipped his hands in his pockets. “Look, I kissed your friend because she needed it. She wanted revenge on you, on that dickhead who tried.... She needed an outlet. I’m not interested in her or anyone right now.”
Anyone right now. “So that makes your insult okay?”
He closed his eyes for a breath then opened them. “I have my reasons, Cam. None of them have anything to do with you.”
We stared at each other for several minutes before he turned away, rubbing the back of his neck. I wanted to throttle him. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to just make him see me. He wasn’t interested and I really freaking needed to let it all go. I needed to focus on the music.
“Let’s get going,” he said with dip of his head. “We can work on the song I want you to record.”
That was the kicker. I didn’t want to go with him after what he’d just said, but I needed the music. Even if Dylan was one-hundred percent asshole, he could help me. I could deal with him, use him to get what I wanted.
I just
