Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
* * *
My plan didn’t work at first, but that was to be expected. Miley sought Dylan out as soon as possible and Dylan had free pussy under the same roof as him, so of course he was going to take advantage of that, the same way he’d taken advantage of me.
But it only took a month for him to get tired of that too. That was the thing with Dylan. He got bored very easily, and I suppose he and I were alike in that way. Isn’t it so strange that the people we damn near hate are exactly like us?
Spring had rolled around and Roland’s arm was getting better. Still weak, but better. He conditioned in the home gym with a trainer and sometimes with Dylan, and they bonded even more, became even closer, and a couple weeks after that, Dylan started caddying for Roland on the practice turf again, preparing him for his first game back after his accident, which would be the first day of summer.
In between that time, Miley tried ridiculously hard to get Dylan’s attention, to no avail. She’d walk around in skimpy clothing, laugh loudly, and drop things on the floor while he was around just to bend over in front of him. None of it worked.
“Why doesn’t he want me?” Miley asked one night. We were in my new shed. Roland bought it for me without question when I’d asked him, I suppose to work his way to my good side again. It worked. We had sex the night it arrived and for the first time in a long time he didn’t complain. His therapy wasn’t just healing him physically, but mentally as well.
“I don’t know,” I said, sliding books onto the bookshelf. “Sex is only good for so long. Eventually people get bored, Miley.”
“Yeah, but I mean . . . why doesn’t he want more from me?”
I avoided her eyes, picking up the next stack of books. “I don’t know.”
“Do you think Roland finds it weird that we’re sleeping together? You know, since in a way we’re all kinda related.”
“Technically, you’re not related to him, and neither am I.” I slid a few more books onto the shelf. “I don’t think Roland cares. Probably because he knows Dylan isn’t taking it seriously.”
“Dylan said that about us?” I remember her tone coming across as shocked and a little angry.
Once again, the guilt was gnawing at me, but I couldn’t stop. I was toxic that way. Always wanting to be better. Always ready to dampen someone else’s mood so that I felt higher on my pedestal. I don’t know why I was this way. I wanted to be better—do better—but I had no idea where to start then. In this moment, I realized I really needed mental help, but that didn’t stop me from carrying on the conversation.
“I’ve heard Roland say it,” I murmured.
Miley was quiet for a while—so quiet I had to look back. And when I did, she was staring down at the floor with tears on her cheeks.
I sighed, placing the books down on my desk and walking over to sit with her. “Look, Miley . . . maybe he just needs to get to know the real you.”
“Yeah, but how? If he’s telling Roland that it’s not serious then obviously it isn’t, so there’s no point.”
“Wait a minute.” I looked her over, from her eyes to her chin, then back up again. “Are you really falling in love with him?” I asked, and my heart froze when I saw another tear skid down her cheek.
She nodded and sobbed and the center of my chest felt cracked open. I had to rethink everything in that moment. I could be selfish, but not selfish to the point that it wrecked my sister like this. Not again. And if Dylan hadn’t moved out yet, he was never going to. It was up to me to get him out now. Not Miley. I’d clearly used her enough.
I brought my sister in for a hug, feeling her tears drip on my shoulder. “You deserve better than him, Miley. So much better.” And she deserved better than me too—a sister who put her through such hurt, even whilst knowing she’d fall deeper, and for what? To annoy Dylan? To make him start an argument with me? It’d been nearly three months now and he hadn’t done any of that yet, which proved he never would.
All of this, I realized, had been for nothing.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
I didn’t know what else to do other than let things go with Dylan. He wasn’t leaving. Miley was realizing he was no good and I was working on building her confidence back up so she didn’t spiral, by putting her focus on other things like work and shopping; and, frankly, I was sick of playing this stupid game with him.