TYLER

 

Dean finishes up his call with Trevor and fills me in on the details. We can expect a visit from our friendly neighborhood police officer any minute. Even though Landon ended up home and safe, they still have to file a report.

“Can’t that wait until morning?” I ask.

Down the hall, a door slams, reverberating around the apartment. Brenna pounds on the door and screams at Landon to let her in.

I let out a sigh and rub the back of my neck. “We’re all exhausted. And the last thing we need is to add a cop to this mix.”

“You’re making a big deal out of this,” Landon screams back through the door. “It’s been a long day. I’m tired, and I just want to go to sleep!”

“I always thought I would want kids someday, but now I’m rethinking that idea,” Dean says with a shake of his head.

An image of Brenna, round with our baby, flashes in my mind. Kids have never been on my radar, but suddenly, the idea doesn’t sound crazy. A primal, masculine urge washes over me and wells in my chest. I want this. I want the late nights and colic. I want the teething and scraped knees. I even want the slammed doors and yelling.

All of it with Brenna and with Dean by my side. He’s been my partner during so many of our big life changes. I can’t imagine doing this without him.

“What are you grinning about?” Dean asks. “Are you having a stroke? Cause that would just make this night complete.”

I can’t hold back my laugh. Even with all this mess we still have to sort out, I’m fucking happier than I’ve ever been.

“Why don’t you use your lawyer magic and deal with the cops when they get here?” I say, slapping him on the shoulder as I pass. “I’m going to try to de-escalate the situation in the back before Brenna strangles Landon.”

At the back of the apartment, Brenna is pressed up against the door trying to yell over the blaring music on the other side. I lay a hand on her back, letting her know I’m here to help. But she turns, her cheeks stained red with anger, and shoots me a look that gives me pause. There’s a fire in those gorgeous blue eyes, and she directs it all my way. Maybe getting between her and Landon isn’t the best idea.

Thankfully, whatever malicious act she is contemplating is dismissed, and she runs into my arms.

“I don’t know what to do,” she says, burying her face in my chest.

“Did he say why he left like that?” I ask. “I thought he’d been looking forward to this trip.”

She shrugs and lets out a long sigh. “He won’t talk to me.”

I check out the lock on his door. It’s a pretty standard interior lock. All I need is a paperclip, and I would be able to find out myself.

“Hey, baby, why don’t you wait with Dean? The police are on their way, and they’ll need to talk to you. I’ll talk to Landon.”

Brenna drops her head back to my chest and sniffs. It breaks my heart to see her so defeated.

“Don’t worry. Dean will handle everything.” I cup her chin and force her to look up at me. “Trust us. We love you. Anything you need; we’re here for you. Even helping you deal with a moody teenage boy. I used to be one of those. Remember?”

Her lips twitch into a half-smile, and she nods. “Thank you,” she says.

I kiss the top of her head and step away. “I’ve got this,” I say with more confidence than I feel.

After searching the home office for a paperclip—I can’t believe it was that hard to find one—I manage to pop the lock. Upon opening the door, I’m engulfed in a sea of electro-trance club music that sounds like the same three notes on repeat. Landon is on his bed texting on his phone and hasn’t even noticed I’ve broken in. I use that to my advantage and cross the room to turn of the headache-inducing music.

Silence washes over the room and Landon shoots up from his bed. “What are you doing?”

“We need to talk,” I say and sit in a chair across from the bed.

“This has nothing to do with you. I don’t understand why you are even here,” he says, throwing some serious shade my way.

I let the comment go and cross my arms. “Your sister is important to me,” I say. “But she wasn’t the only one worried about you. We’re friends. It would kill me to see something happen to you.”

He at least had the decency to look a little guilty.

“There was nothing to worry about. I know how to get myself from one place to another,” he insists.  “When mom and dad were alive, I used to go places by myself all the time, and no one cared. Just this summer, I flew to Chicago and back by myself to go to a concert. I’m not a little kid.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I knew his parents were gone a lot, but I had no idea how bad it had gotten. If those self-centered bastards were still alive, I’d kick the shit out of them.

“I know that you’re not a little kid, but something could have happened. The driver could have been in an accident. Your plane could have been rerouted due to weather. Hell, you could have slipped on some ice and cracked your skull open,” I tell him, trying to break through the attitude. “Your sister loves you and was worried sick.”

“Brenna doesn’t even know me,” he says flatly. “I already told her, she doesn’t need to worry about me.”

It looks like attachment issues run in the family. Just like Brenna, Landon is stubborn and independent to a fault. But he needs to realize that he’s not in this alone anymore. There are people in his life that care about him.

Knowing exactly how that conversation would likely go, I decide to come at it from a different angle.

“I thought you wanted to go on this trip. Why did you hop a plane and come home?” I ask.

Landon glances down at his phone, out the window, takes a real interest in the hardwood floors—basically, he looks everywhere, but at me. I wait. I’m sure he’s going to give me another bullshit answer when he surprises me.

“I didn’t want to go,” he starts, “But there was this girl…”

Of course. Almost every young man has a tale of misadventure that starts out with “there was this girl.” I sit back and wait for more, because I know there’s a lot more to this story.

“Wendy March,” he says with a mix of longing and bitterness. “She goes to my school and is in the band. When she found out I play the guitar, she asked me to join the jazz ensemble. Their last guitar player broke his arm, and they had this contest coming up. I didn’t want to join the band, but she said that if I joined, we could hang out more.”

I wish Dean was here because I’m not ready to give the old birds and bees talk. I know that Landon is old enough to know the basics, but there are things you just can’t learn from the internet—like how to spot a girl who’s trying to manipulate you. The poor kid didn’t have a chance.

“So you joined the band to spend more time with this girl? How’d that work out?”

“We’ve been dating ever since,” he says, smugly.

“You’ve been dating?” I ask, sensing a but coming on.

“Yeah. We meet up online and play Xbox. Sometimes we go to the movies. She was my girlfriend.” He shoots me a “Duh” look, and I immediately feel better.

Landon goes back to studying his phone, and the silence between us stretched out. I don’t want to push him too hard, but I know there’s still more to this story.

“So what happened with this girl that made you want to come home?” I ask.

He tosses the phone back to the bed, and I catch a glimpse of a young brunette girl with glasses. “Or at least, she was my girlfriend. She kissed Jonathan Brooks in the back of the bus. When I confronted her, she broke up with me. She said I was smothering her—whatever that means. I was only in that stupid band because of her. There was no way I was going to stay for the rest of the week.”

My heart aches for him. That first sting of heartbreak is always the hardest. I know what he did was stupid and reckless, but I kind of want to cut the kid a break.

“I don’t blame you for wanting to leave, but you still shouldn’t have disappeared like that. Your sister was sick with worry. You could have just called one of us. We would have made arrangements to get you home.”

“We?” he asks, scrunching his face. “Why are you here again? You and Dean? I thought he was dating Brenna, but then we’ve been having dinner with you lately. Are you dating Brenna now?”

This is not a conversation I’m prepared to have. I flick my eyes to the door, willing Brenna to come back. We haven’t talked about who we’re going to tell or what exactly we’re going to say.

So instead, I try to sidestep the issue with a classic subject change. “I’m sorry about Wendy. Girls at your age are still trying to figure things out. I know it feels like the end of the world, but give it a few years. There will be other girls. You’ll have plenty of opportunity to date as you get older. And trust me, it does get better.”

“Are you giving dating advice to my twelve-year-old brother?” Brenna asks from the hall.

Figures. I could have used her a few seconds earlier. “It’s practical advice,” I say.

Brenna, obviously still pissed, crosses her arms over her chest. “Your dating clinic is going to have to wait. The police are here, and they need to speak with Landon.”