Chapter Seven
Dylan eyed the doors of each room as he passed. Some had charts in the plastic holders attached to the door, while others held only a single sheet of paper. He couldn’t help but wonder why. Pausing, he grabbed a paper from its slot on the door next to him. The information was standard: patient name, date of birth, diagnosis, medications, and physician, but it lacked any notes from the doctors. As a matter of fact, it was completely devoid of writing other than the nurse checks.
He grabbed another page from the door across the hall. It was Cody’s. Like the other paper, it was lacking any additional information. With a slow turn, Dylan looked back down the hall, his stomach dropping when he saw only a single sheet of paper in the tray attached to Presley’s door. Alarm bells sounded in his head as he dropped the paper back in the tray and continued down the hall. Something was definitely off.
Walking into the nurse's station, he found Milly standing with furrowed brows as she looked over a sheet of paper. “Everything okay?” he asked.
Milly gasped, her hand flying to her chest before she regained her composure. “Yes. I’m fine. I’m just a little confused by the changes on this list.”
Dylan leaned forward, realizing she was holding the same list he’d read to her earlier. “Is it wrong?”
Milly shook her head. “No, just altered. There are a few patients who’ve had their dosages increased. It happens, but it caught me off guard this time.”
Dylan relaxed his stance and leaned against the desk beside him. He wasn’t going to get a better opportunity than this to ask her questions. “What was different about this time?”
Milly let out a tired sigh and moved to the chair at the desk across from Dylan. Easing into the seat, she dropped the paper on the desk. “The changes are all for patients under Dr. Sanders’s care.”
Dylan raised a brow, his face a mask of calm even as his heart raced. That had been the name on Cody’s sheet. “Which patients?”
“Cody, Presley, Heather, and Adam. He’s a great doctor, but sometimes, I can’t help but wonder who he’s making things easier for.”
An unsettling feeling washed over Dylan. Was Dr. Sanders doing to Cody what he was doing to Presley? Was he pumping him full of medications he didn’t need? Dylan shook his head. Cody suffered from dissociative identity disorder. That was nothing like Presley. Or was it? Presley was on antipsychotic medication. Medication given to patients with schizophrenia. If Dr. Sanders was wrong about Presley, couldn’t he also be wrong about Cody? Dylan dragged his hands down his face. He’d met Cody as well as Maverick. Dr. Sanders wasn’t wrong about Cody. Did that mean he wasn’t wrong about Presley? Dylan pushed his hands into his hair and gritted his teeth. There were too many unanswered questions. Too many possibilities.
“Are you okay, Dr. Walker?”
Dylan’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I’m fine. Just trying to solve all the world’s problems at once. It’s a bit overwhelming.”
Milly gave him a sad smile. “That happens a lot to the young ones. Give it time, and you’ll feel as helpless as the rest of us.”
“I don’t want to feel helpless,” Dylan answered. “I know what helpless feels like. I don’t ever want to feel like that again.”
Milly gave him a puzzled look, and Dylan immediately realized his mistake. He’d said more than he meant to. He had to throw her off or risk ruining everything. “Someone close to me committed suicide. I missed every sign, or ignored them, depending on how I’m feeling the day I’m beating myself up.”
Milly’s expression twisted with sympathy. It made Dylan sick. He’d seen the same expression on countless faces over the last couple years. To know that all their empathy was based on a lie told by horrible people made him want to put his fist through a wall. So much sadness, so much grief, and it was all for nothing.
Dylan shook his head. “It was a long time ago.”
Milly looked as though she wanted to say something, but after a moment, she gave him a short nod, acknowledging the conversation was over. “Well, do you want to go over anything specific, or shall we start with the standard regimen?”
Dylan eased into the desk chair and folded his hands in front of him. “Actually, I was wondering if you could tell me why some of the doors are missing patient charts.”
Milly’s lips turned up into a half smile. “You don’t miss much, do you?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Those are Dr. Sanders’s patients. The thing is, Dr. Sanders isn’t employed by the facility per se. He has a contract with the hospital, whereby he remains the sole physician for any patient admitted under his care. He doesn’t rotate with the other doctors, and he doesn’t treat any of the other patients. He has an office here, but other than drug information and vitals, all of his patient files are kept off site.”
Dylan couldn’t hide his shock. “How is that possible or even legal? What happens if a patient needs help and there are no files for reference?”
Milly exhaled. “They are to be transferred to Grace, and Dr. Sanders is to be notified immediately.”
Dylan shoved his hands into his hair and shook his head in disbelief. “That’s insane.”
“Money talks. His patients are very high-profile in one manner or another. They pay an extraordinary amount of money to keep information restricted and confidential.” Milly stood and walked over to Dylan, patting his hand before grabbing a chart. “Don’t fret. Even though the arrangement seems a bit unorthodox, nothing bad has happened to a patient under his care here.”
Not physically, Dylan thought as he swallowed around the lump in his throat and stood. “Are we ready for checks?”
“We are. Come on, I’ll fill you in on the less stressful parts of the job as we walk.”
Dylan followed behind Milly, his head once again swimming from the things he’d learned. It was going to be nearly impossible to get his hands on Presley’s file, but he’d find a way. There was no other option.
Triazolam: schizophrenia, mania associated with bipolar disorder, mental disorder with loss of normal personality & reality, feeling of apprehension, combative and explosive behavior
Fluoxetine: depression, panic disorder
Haloperidol: schizophrenia, acute psychosis, mania, delirium, agitation, and severe anxiety.
“Fuck.” Dylan rubbed his eyes and blinked at the computer screen. For the last two weeks, he’d read every possible condition that would require someone to ingest Presley’s cocktail of medication, and over and over, he came to the same conclusion.
There wasn’t one.
Each pill was given to treat the side effects of another. It was the way of the world. Have a headache, take an aspirin. If it causes stomach pain, take a pill for that. It was a never-ending cycle that sickened Dylan. He knew the only way to reach her was to wean her off the medications, but without having access to her file, without seeing the full scope of her medications, he could kill her.
Dylan swore when the alarm on his phone sounded. He closed his laptop and grabbed his keys. Today was his first day shift at Hilltop, and he wanted to get there early. He wanted to be there for morning medications.
Driving faster than he should have, Dylan pulled into the parking lot of Hilltop nearly a half hour before his shift. Swiping his security card, he hurried down the hall toward the nurse’s station in the lounge. He rolled his neck and slowed his pace as he approached Katherine. Her look was the same as before, her long brown hair pulled into a ponytail and draped over her shoulder, but this time her scrubs were a deep red with white polka dots. He noticed a wedding band on her left hand and the hint of a tattoo on her wrist. For some reason, those tiny details made Dylan feel a little more at ease.
“Hi,” he said with a friendly smile.
She looked up, startled, but returned his smile. “Dr. Walker. I see you’re joining the land of the living today.”
Dylan laughed and nodded. “I’m a little off my schedule. Being awake during the day is definitely an adjustment.”
“I don’t know how you do it. Nighttime is for sleeping.” Inclining her head toward the paper in her hands, she spoke. “If you’d like to put your things away and come back here, you’re welcome to help me with morning medications. I understand Cody’s taken a liking to you.”
Dylan smiled. “He’s a good kid.”
Katherine sighed. “He is. He’s the same age as my son. My heart breaks for him.”
Dylan licked his lips and leaned down, pushing his bag under the desk next to him. Hard as he’d tried, he hadn’t been able to get Milly to give him any details about why Cody was there. In the absence of the boy’s file, Dylan was completely in the dark. However, whereas Milly was reluctant to talk about Cody, that did not seem to be the case with Katherine. Dylan refused to miss the opportunity.
“I’ll just leave my bag here if that’s okay.”
Katherine raised her brow and grinned. “You young ones are always so eager.” She handed him the medication list and pulled the tray of labeled cups in front of her. “You call out the names and medications, and I’ll fill them.”
“Sounds good.” Dylan relaxed back in his chair and started calling out medications down the list. While Katherine set about filling the first cup, Dylan cleared his throat. “Did Milly tell you I’ve been bringing books in for Cody and Maverick?”
Katherine smiled. “She did, so did he. That was very kind of you.”
Dylan shrugged and read off the next name and medication. “Like I said, he’s a good kid. It’s why I can’t figure out what could have happened for him to end up here for the past three years.”
Katherine looked at Dylan, her expression colored with surprise. “You don’t know?”
Dylan shook his head. “As you know, Dr. Sanders keeps minimal patient information on site, and I haven’t wanted to bring it up with Cody. I didn’t want to risk potentially upsetting him.”
“He killed his mother,” Katherine whispered. “His father found him standing over her with a blood-covered knife. Cody’s father was stabbed in the process of trying to wrestle the knife away. While he only suffered minor injuries, Cody’s mother wasn’t so lucky. She died before the paramedics arrived.”
Dylan stared at her, wide-eyed. “I don’t understand. Cody wouldn’t hurt a fly. What was he, nine, ten?”
“Cody wouldn’t hurt a fly. The same can’t be said for Zach.”
Dylan pushed his hand through his hair, his mind swimming. “Why is he here? Why isn’t he in a state hospital or some kind of juvenile facility?” If Zach killed his mother and stabbed his father, how could he be allowed in the general population with others? Something was missing.
“A technicality,” Katherine answered. “Cody’s aunt is some big-time corporate lawyer. She hired a team of very successful defense attorneys, and they did just enough to keep him from spending the rest of his life behind bars.” She let out a soft sigh and shrugged. “They convinced the judge to allow him to come here. His father hired Dr. Sanders to be his physician, and the rest is history. He’ll likely be here until the day he dies.”
“Is he not considered a danger to the other patients?”
“For the first year, he remained in relative solitude. During that time, he underwent intensive therapy. Once Dr. Sanders found the correct balance of medication, Cody was slowly acclimated to being around the other patients.”
“What about Zach? Aren’t you concerned he might snap and attack someone?”
Katherine shook her head. “Not my call, obviously. But other than the occasional bit of mischief, Zach rarely makes an appearance. Over time, he’s become less and less of a presence. As a matter of fact, no one has heard from Zach in months.”
“Wow,” Dylan exhaled. “That’s a lot to take in.”
“Everyone here has a story, some are just more traumatic than others. Who’s next?” Katherine asked, her eyes flickering to the paper clutched in Dylan’s hands, effectively ending the conversation.
In a daze, Dylan continued down the list, trying his best to remain focused on the task at hand. When he got to Cody’s cocktail of medications, his head spun. He wasn’t sure how the kid remained upright throughout the day. He just couldn’t reconcile how the boy he’d spent so much time reading to and talking to could be capable of such a monstrous act. Could Zach’s personality really be that much stronger?
All thoughts of Cody abruptly came to an end when he reached Presley’s name on the list. More Fluoxetine. More Haloperidol. And a low dosage of Valium. His heart sank. The time passed like quicksand as they finished doling out medications. Dylan could hardly wait to get to Presley. Grabbing a tray, he placed Cody’s and Presley’s meds on it, along with Heather’s, Adam’s, and a few others before walking out of the nurse’s station into the lounge.
The room always felt different with the early morning sunlight filtering through the windows. The large trees and perfectly manicured lawn reminded him more of a resort than a hospital. The sunlight bestowed a bright warmth that made the air seem lighter, less oppressive. Hopeful, almost. He wondered how much that optimism had to do with how the sunlight made Presley’s usually dull hair look more like the golden halo he remembered. His jaw tightened as well as his grip on the tray as he shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to reminisce.
“Hello, Heather,” he greeted with a smile.
Heather looked up, her blue eyes wild. “Five. Five, nine, six, three. Five, nine, six, three. Two bats in a tree.”
Dylan smiled. “Two bats in a tree,” he repeated, handing Heather her medicine. He paused for a minute, the cup suspended in midair as he thought about the medications he’d put in her cup. She was another one of Dr. Sanders’s patients who was on Haloperidol. He looked from Presley to Heather. Outwardly, they couldn't have been more different, yet both were taking medication for schizophrenia.
Heather pushed her short red hair away from her face and quickly plucked the cup from Dylan’s hand. “Bats in a tree. Bats in a tree. Five, nine, six, three.”
Grabbing her empty cup, he turned away from Heather and made his way to the next name on his list. Now wasn’t the time to get lost in his head with questions he had no answers to. He worked his way around the room, smiling and speaking briefly with the other patients until he stood in front of Presley.
“Good morning,” he whispered, handing her the small cup.
“Not today,” Presley mumbled, not bothering to look up.
Dylan gave her a sad smile. “Rough morning?”
Presley shook her head. “I don’t want the pills today.”
Dylan’s brows furrowed, and he kneeled in front of her. “Are you not feeling well?”
Tears pooled in Presley’s eyes as she met his gaze. “They’re back.”
A shiver ran up Dylan’s spine as he leaned closer, his heart hammering in his chest. “Who’s back?”
“The dreams.”
“Good morning, Presley,” a voice called from behind Dylan, causing him to jerk to his feet. He spun around, his eyes still wide as he took in the man before him. He had dark brown hair and eyes, his height and build similar to Dylan’s. The man’s gaze moved over Dylan’s face before he plastered on a smile and extended his hand. “I’m Dr. Sanders.”
Dylan clasped his hand and gave a firm shake. “I’m Dr. Walker.”
“Ah,” Dr. Sanders said, his eyes lighting with recognition. “Cody speaks very highly of you.”
“I’m glad he enjoys the time we’ve spent together.”
Dr. Sanders looked around Dylan to Presley, his smile slipping. “I see you’ve met Miss Cooper as well.” Stepping around Dylan, Dr. Sanders crouched in front of her and placed his hand gently on her knee. The contact made Dylan’s spine stiffen.
“Did I hear you say something about dreams, Presley?” Dr. Sanders asked.
Dylan couldn’t help but notice how Presley’s grip tightened around the blanket in her arms and her eyes fell to her lap. “No. Everything’s fine.”
Dr. Sanders tsked. “We’ve talked about this. I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me.”
Presley began to rock in her chair, but she remained silent. After a few tense moments, Dr. Sanders sighed and stood. “Very well, then.” He motioned to a couple of orderlies who stood by the door. “Please escort Miss Cooper to my office. I’ll be there shortly.”
Dylan’s hands balled into fists as the two men moved to either side of Presley and lifted her from the chair. They weren’t rough or unkind, but he felt as though they were dragging her kicking and screaming from the room. The truth was, Presley didn’t even flinch. She stood without protest. Just as she turned to leave, she looked at Dylan once more, and what he saw in her eyes nearly caused his knees to buckle. It wasn’t recognition or even fear; it was resignation. There was no fight, just hopeless emptiness.
“Are you all right, Dr. Walker? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
Dylan choked on a gasp of air, his eyes flying to Dr. Sanders, who wore a perplexed expression. “I’m fine,” Dylan coughed. Dr. Sanders opened his mouth to speak but snapped it shut when Katherine moved to Dylan’s side.
“He’s fine,” Katherine said with a smile as she patted Dylan’s shoulder. “You know how the new ones are. They want to save the world.”
Dr. Sanders eyed Dylan for a moment before giving a sharp nod. “It gets easier,” he said in a flat tone that made Dylan’s blood boil.
“Will you be adjusting Presley’s medication again?” Katherine asked, grabbing the cup she’d left there.
Dr. Sanders sighed and let his eyes fall shut for a moment before he looked back at Katherine. “It would seem so. If she’s not sleeping, then something’s stopped working. I’ll send over the new instructions later today. If you’ll excuse me.” He nodded at Dylan, flashing a quick smile at Katherine before turning and walking out of the room. Dylan remained frozen even after the door buzzed and fell shut behind Dr. Sanders.
“You really do look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Katherine commented, bringing Dylan out of his daze. Shaking his head, he gave her a weak smile.
“Sorry. Every interaction I’ve had with Presley has been fairly routine. Seeing her react with any kind of emotion really threw me.”
Katherine nodded. “She’s another one that will break your heart, but that’s a story for another day. I have work to do, and you still have to give Cody his meds.”
“Sure. I’ll do that now.” Grabbing the tray, Dylan walked over to Cody and sat across from him much like he had the first time they’d met. It was odd because even after learning what he had about Cody, he wasn’t afraid. Maybe he was in denial, or maybe it was just intuition telling him there was far more to the story than he’d been told.
“Hi, Cody,” Dylan said with a smile as he handed the boy a book he’d stuck in his lab coat pocket.
Cody smiled meekly and took the book from Dylan’s hand. “Hi, Dr. Walker.”
“How are you feeling today?”
Cody studied Dylan’s face. After a moment, a frown creased the corners of his mouth, and the light seemed to dim from his eyes. “They told you, didn’t they,” he whispered. The pain in his voice caused Dylan’s throat to tighten. Dylan saw no point in pretending. He wanted Cody to trust him, and playing games wouldn’t help in any way.
“They did,” Dylan answered.
“Do you hate me? I would understand if you did.”
Dylan frowned. “Of course I don’t hate you. I won’t pretend to understand how or why such a thing would happen, but I could never hate you.”
Cody’s eyes shimmered, but his face was twisted into a defiant mask. “How do I know I can trust you?”
Dylan wasn’t quite sure why Cody’s question seemed like so much more than wanting assurance he didn’t hate him, but Dylan wanted to make his feelings crystal clear.
“There isn’t anything in the world more important than a man’s word. If what he says can’t be trusted, he has nothing to offer.” Dylan leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I swear to you, Cody, you can trust me. You have my word.”
The sincerity in Dylan’s voice was unmistakable, and it was clear that Cody felt it. “I believe you,” he said. “It’s not me you need to convince.”
Dylan lifted his brows. “Oh? Then, who is?”
“Zach,” Cody answered, his eyes focused on the book in his hands.
Dylan rubbed his hands over the tops of his thighs. “Why would I need to convince Zach?”
“Because he’s the only one who can help you.”
“Help me how?”
“Help you help Presley,” Cody said simply.
Dylan swallowed and pulled in a deep breath as a wave of apprehension washed over him. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“You do. Zach knows.”
“Maybe it’s time for Zach and me to meet,” Dylan suggested, barely concealing the tremble in his voice.
Cody shrugged and flipped through the pages, his eyes downcast. “He’s waiting.”
A chill ran up Dylan’s spine at the flat, robotic tone of Cody’s voice. He shifted his weight and cleared his throat. “For what?”
Cody stilled, the book in his hands splayed open. For a moment, he said nothing before slowly lifting his chin and meeting Dylan’s eyes. “To see if you’re worth helping.”
Dylan laughed quietly, the sound forced and awkward. He was nervous. For the first time, Cody made him nervous. Not normal Cody, but the Cody in front of him now. The one he turned into whenever Zach was mentioned. “And how exactly is Zach going to help me with Presley?”
“He knows things.”
Dylan's throat tightened, and his heart rate accelerated as he leaned closer to Cody, his nervousness forgotten. “Why does Zach think I need help?”
“Books are dumb.” Cody tossed the book in his lap onto the floor, his face twisted with annoyance. Dylan noticed the change immediately. He was no longer speaking with Cody.
“Maverick?”
Maverick nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. Dylan pulled in a deep breath and released it slowly. He didn’t want to push too hard, but in the two weeks since his first night at Hilltop, he hadn’t made a bit of progress in discovering any new information. Night after night, he had split time between Cody, Maverick, and Presley, and night after night, he’d left the hospital confused, angry, discouraged, and heartbroken.
“What did Cody mean about Zach helping with Presley?” he asked again. “What is he talking about?”
Maverick shook his head. “Zach doesn’t want me to tell you. He said you have to wait.”
Dylan remained calm on the outside, but on the inside, he felt like his heart was going to break through his rib cage. “I think Zach’s confused. I’m not Presley’s doctor. If he has information that could help her, he should tell Dr. Sanders.”
Maverick leaned forward, his eyes slipping out of focus and the muscles in his face relaxing. When he spoke, Dylan’s breath caught. The voice was rough, like sandpaper on cement. Like someone who’d lived through hell and back. Like how Dylan imagined Zach would sound. “You’re keeping secrets, Dylan,” he whispered. “I’ll tell you mine when you tell me yours.”
Dylan’s heart thundered in his chest as he looked around the room, scanning each face to make sure no one was paying attention to their conversation. When he was certain they weren’t being watched, he leaned closer to Zach. “Even if I was keeping secrets, which I’m not, why on earth would I tell you anything?”
Zach reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. Dylan looked from Zach’s face to his hand, hesitating only a moment before accepting the paper. Dylan’s eyes widened as he read the words written in messy scrawl across the page.
“What is this?” he whispered, already knowing the answer but not understanding how Zach had gotten his hands on it.
“How do you know her?” Zach asked.
Dylan blinked and looked at Zach in a daze. “What?”
“Presley. You know her. Any fool can see that. We knew it the first day you came here. The way you reacted when you saw her.” Zach shook his head and let out a small laugh. “What I want to know is if you’re going to help her. What is she to you?”
All his years of training and the countless hours spent learning about human behavior and dealing with manipulations went out the window in the face of a child. His desire, his need to help Presley, to have her back made everything else fall by the wayside. All he wanted was her. All he wanted was the life they’d been denied. If the only way to get that was to bare his soul to a thirteen-year-old boy who had violently murdered his own mother, then so be it. He would do it without regard for his career or his future. Because now that he knew Presley was alive, without her, all of it was meaningless anyway.
“She’s my everything,” Dylan whispered, his voice trembling. “I thought she was dead. They told me she was dead.”
Zach narrowed his eyes. “And you just believed them?”
Dylan looked away. White-hot shame raced through his veins. He should have asked more questions. He should have demanded answers. Hindsight was like that. It made him question every single decision he’d made. “It wasn’t that simple, but yes. I did. I thought she gave up. So much blood,” he said to himself, images of what he’d seen in her bathroom the day after their prom coming to the forefront of his mind.
When Zach remained silent, Dylan lifted his head. The suspicion and contempt were gone from the younger man’s expression. “So much blood,” he echoed. Somehow Dylan knew he wasn’t talking about Presley. He didn’t want to think about where Zach’s mind had drifted to.
“This is her full list of medications?” Dylan asked, trying to pull Zach back from whatever dark place he’d gone. It took several moments, but Zach finally lifted his head and nodded.
“Yes. Although I’m sure it will change now.”
“How did you get this?”
Zach smiled. “I can get you more than that. I can get her entire file. I only want one thing.”
Dylan leaned forward, his heart hammering in his chest. “What’s that?”
Zach shook his head. “I’m not ready to tell you. Will you be here tomorrow?”
Dylan frowned. “No. I’m not scheduled again for three days.”
“We’re going to need to fix that.”
A look of confusion crossed Dylan’s face. “What?”
“You’ll see.”
The maturity in Zach’s voice, eyes, and his manner of speaking caused Dylan’s brows to furrow. He didn’t sound like a thirteen-year-old child. “How old are you?”
A small, sad smile crossed Zach’s face before he answered. “I’m twenty.”
In the blink of an eye, the hard edge slipped away, and Zach’s eyes softened to the childlike familiarity Dylan had come to associate with Cody. The seamless shift between each personality was something Dylan would never get used to.
“Will you read to me?” Cody asked, his eyes wide, innocent.
Dylan cleared his throat and smiled. “Sure. Of course.” Grabbing the book, he settled in beside Cody and began to read, trying his best to ignore the feeling of unease that settled over him as Zach’s last words played over and over in his mind.
Dylan took a long pull from his beer as he stared at his computer screen. He’d read the article more than a dozen times. Hell, he’d read more than a dozen articles, and still, he couldn’t reconcile the past with the present.
The trial of a ten-year-old boy charged with the brutal stabbing of his mother began today in Los Angeles County court…
All the articles started and ended the same, with the few exceptions of online tabloids that printed his name in their stories. The case was cut-and-dried, until it wasn’t. Since Cody was a minor, it had been a closed trial, so the details were spotty. Dylan looked at the photos posted on a tabloid site of Cody with his parents. They were always smiling, happy. The perfect family. That was the thing about photographs, they only captured a moment in time. What happened seconds before or after could have been at complete odds with the image portrayed.
A knock on the door caused Dylan to jerk in surprise. He looked from the door to the clock, his brows drawing together in confusion when he realized how late it was. Standing from the table, he looked through the peephole, his shoulders relaxing when he saw Jenny.
“Hey,” he said, opening the door and stepping to the side.
Jenny smiled and walked into the foyer, a large brown paper bag in her hand. “Hi. I’m sorry to drop by without calling first, but you’ve missed our last couple of hangouts, so I thought if I wanted to see you, I’d just have to come here.” Jenny lifted the bag and grinned. “I even brought dinner.”
Dylan cupped the back of his neck and chuckled. “Sorry about that. Things at Hilltop have been pretty draining.”
Jenny shrugged. “I get it.”
“Here, let me get that for you.” Dylan grabbed the bag and led her to the kitchen. He set it down and started pulling out the containers. “There’s beer in the fridge.”
Jenny grabbed two beers and moved to the seat across from Dylan. He looked in one of the containers and smirked. “Cali rolls?”
“Cali rolls are delicious. I got you shrimp tempura. I know you love those.”
A sad smile pulled at the corner of Dylan’s mouth as he opened the container and muttered his thanks. Even though he’d hung out with Jenny several times, it suddenly felt wrong. He was sitting at his house drinking beer and eating sushi, while Presley was locked away in a hospital. His appetite soured.
“Are you okay?” Jenny asked, pulling Dylan back to the present.
“Yeah,” Dylan sighed. “I just have a lot on my mind.”
Jenny leaned forward and covered Dylan’s hand with hers. “You can always talk to me. I’m here for whatever you need.”
Dylan’s stomach dropped as he looked at Jenny. He knew what she was implying. “I know. You’re a good friend.”
Jenny frowned and pulled her hand away. It was clear being called a friend wasn’t exactly what she had been hoping for. Not wanting the awkward moment to linger, Dylan changed the subject. “Have you seen Joel recently? I heard he lost some bet and has to shave his head.”
Jenny laughed, her shoulders relaxing as she popped a piece of sushi into her mouth. “Oh, I know all about it. I’m the one he made the bet with.”
Dylan’s brows lifted in surprise. “What?”
“He thinks because I’m a girl I don’t know anything about sports. My dad spent a fortune betting on sports in Vegas. I know far more than Joel gave me credit for, so when he wanted to make a wager, I agreed. It was sneaky on my part, I’ll admit. But he was in serious need of a haircut. I figured, this way, I could kill two birds with one stone. Get him to cut his hair and school him on betting against me.”
Dylan chuckled and ate another piece of sushi. “You know he’s not going to accept that you bested him, right?”
Jenny winked. “Oh, I know.”
For the next hour, Jenny and Dylan talked about work, sports, and every time he got a chance, Joel. He knew Joel had a thing for Jenny, so maybe he could help things along. When Jenny left, it was with a hug and a promise not to be a stranger.
Exhausted, Dylan wasted no time cleaning up their mess and crawling into bed. The moment the room was washed in darkness, the lighthearted feeling faded, and Dylan was plunged back into thoughts of Cody and formulating a plan to slowly cut Presley’s medications. He knew there would be a change in her dosage the next time he worked at Hilltop, but at least he had an idea of what he was up against.
He’d have to start with the Haloperidol first. He was fairly certain that her other medications had been added as a result of its side effects. He’d have to increase her Valium to keep her withdrawal undetected for as long as possible. His stomach twisted with unease. What he was planning was dangerous, and his uncertainty caused him to second guess his decision over and over. Going to the police or the press was an option he’d considered but dismissed just as quickly. Her parents had already made her disappear once. He wasn’t going to give them the opportunity to do it again. He needed Presley to find her way back first. Then they could fight her parents together, make them pay for every memory they’d robbed from Dylan and Presley the last six years.