Dylan Read online

  Dylan

  (Inked Brotherhood, #4)

  Jo Raven

  When you’ve tried your best for years and never managed to please your demanding parents… When you’ve fallen head over heels for someone who keeps ignoring you… When you’ve hit rock bottom.

  Tessa is this close to giving up – on her authoritative parents and their demands, on her studies, on everything in her life.

  Including Dylan. The one boy she has loved since she can remember. The one who dated her and promised her forever when they were fourteen, and then dumped her without an explanation only to ignore her ever since.

  The one who shows up to save her from violence before the stroke of midnight, who kisses her and holds her close, only to tell her in the course of the same night he doesn’t love her.

  Tessa knows Dylan has gone through some tough times, and they’re only getting tougher - but is he telling the truth about his lack of feelings for her, or is he running from his own demons?

  The way Tessa sees it, she has two options: run away, leaving it all behind - or stay to fight against her controlling family, and win back Dylan. She has a feeling he needs her, and how can she leave when he's the only man who’s ever made her feel alive?

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  Dylan (Inked Brotherhood, #4)

  Jo Raven

  Copyright Jo Raven 2015

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  PART I

  Tessa

  Have you ever felt like you’ve found your other half—a boy who looks at you like you’re his everything, all he ever dreamed of and more? Like he can’t believe his luck that you’re with him?

  When he says he loves you, you believe him—because he’s gorgeous and funny and clever, and he’s your best friend, your everything, all you ever dreamed of and more.

  You allow yourself to believe in love, even though you swore since you were little never to give your heart to a boy, because he’ll just crush it and force you to be someone you’re not.

  But this boy seems different. He’s handsome like a god, and gentle. He holds your hand like he’s afraid to break it, but lets you take the lead. He backs you up against the wall, but waits for you to kiss him first. He kisses you like he’s dying of thirst, and you’re cool water. He whispers you name, as if saying it loud might scare you away.

  And then one day his life is turned upside down. His mom leaves, his dad falls into a depression, and his life goes into a tailspin.

  You think your love is strong enough to weather this storm. You think this will bring you even closer together.

  But you’re wrong.

  What happens is, he breaks up with you, breaks your heart, and never looks back. His grief, his anger, the bad turn his life has taken, tears you apart.

  Chapter One

  Tessa

  My palms are sweating. My heart is pounding. There’s a rushing in my ears.

  I’m scared. Meeting your parents shouldn’t scare you, right? Especially since they aren’t violent or anything. Hell, they don’t even cuss. We sit like civilized people twice a month—they’ve been spending more time in Madison lately, ever since dad and his partner opened a satellite office of their law firm here—and have breakfast together.

  “Like” civilized people. Because on the surface we’re polite. Cordial. A perfect family. My parents want what’s best for me.

  Of course they do. Like they wanted for my sister, Mary, before she bolted, choosing freedom.

  I wipe my hands down my pencil skirt and lick my dry lips. Freedom. The sting of anger at her desertion is sharp in my chest. I mean, I understand why she left. I get it. Nowadays I am angrier at myself for not doing the same.

  Especially since the reason I’ve stayed in town—Dylan—doesn’t even acknowledge my existence. Which makes me so pathetic I can scarcely recognize myself anymore.

  Dylan…

  What would happen if I packed a few things and left, like Mary did? If I left everything and everyone behind to start anew?

  Approval is what I crave from my parents. Appreciation. A kind word. So I tell myself leaving is the cowardly thing to do, and here I am, trying to fill Mary’s shoes, make up for her desertion. Sometimes I wonder if it’ll ever be enough. If I’ll ever be enough. I try, though. I do my best. It’ll be enough.

  That’s what I tell myself every time.

  Swallowing the knot of fear in my throat, I force myself to enter the restaurant. My high heels click on the shiny floor, and I catch sight of myself in the full-length mirrors lining the entrance. My blond hair is twisted in a bun, my ears decorated with small diamond rings. My shirt is white and silken, my skirt charcoal gray, my shoes black. Dad can’t find fault with me today. He simply can’t.

  And yet…

  The usual host comes to take my coat.

  “Hi, Nelson.” I smile at the tall, painfully thin and perfectly groomed man, but he only takes my coat and leads me to the usual table where my parents sit. We’re on the sixth floor, and the view over the lake is breathtaking.

  Not that I take much notice of it. My parents are seated, staring at me disapprovingly.

  Oh God, what did I do now? I glance down at myself. Do I have stains on my clothes? Did I forget to button up my shirt?

  “Oh, honey,” Mom says with a long-suffering sigh. “How can you go out without make-up? You look… sallow. Sick. You know your dad doesn’t like it.” Her mouth presses into a flat line.

  Crap. I clap a hand on my cheek reflexively, as if I can hide my whole face behind it. How could I forget? It’s the stress of what I want to say to them, I realize, and the reaction I know I’ll get.

  “Sit down,” Dad snaps, and it’s a good thing Nelson has drawn back a chair because my knees fold automatically, his command going straight to my muscles, bypassing my brain.

  Mom sends me a sympathetic glance, which I ignore. When she’s with my dad—which is almost always—she’s his little lapdog, and she’s even more aggressive than he is.

  This meeting isn’t going well, and I’ve yet to open my mouth.

  A waiter in a crisp dark suit materializes by my side, startling me, and asks what I would like.

  “She’ll have the same as us,” my dad says before I have a chance to speak and gives me a hard look, daring me to contradict him.

  Stirring the waters before I say my piece isn’t a good idea. So I clench my jaw and swallow the words that want to surface. “That’s fine.”

  Silence spreads as the waiter leaves us to our own devices.

  Torture devices, I think morosely, staring out the huge window at the gray sky. My stomach is in such a knot I doubt I’ll be able to swallow anything, not that that’s unusual, especially with what my father had ordered for me.

  “So.” Dad takes a bite of his smoked-salmon-on-a-fluffy-bun and washes it down with a sip of French champagne. “I expect college is going well.”

  Of course he expects that. He has a lot of expectations.

  “It’s fine.” I place my hands on the table, notice I also forgot to renew my manicure and hastily withdraw them and hide them under the table. “The topics are interesting.”

  “Have you decided on a direction yet?” Mom inquires, and realizes her mistake too late.

  “A direction?” Dad puts his wine glass down so hard it’s a miracle the slim stem doesn
’t break. “Her direction in life is set.”

  The firm. Leon & Perez. Law experts. My ticket to a rich husband who’ll control my life.

  “Of course,” Mom mumbles. She grabs her own glass and downs the contents in one big gulp.

  Christ. My throat is dry. This is ridiculous. These are my parents, not executioners. I think. “About that…I wanted to talk to you about—”

  “The service here is terrible.” Dad lifts his big hand, waves at the waiter. “More coffee,” he calls. “And rolls. Would you like more cream, Karen?”

  My mother shakes her head, her eyes sad.

  Yeah. My hands fist under the table. “I want to talk to you about college and my studies—”

  “There’s nothing to discuss. We have agreed on the best course of action.”

  My fists tighten. “But I’d like to—”

  “Enough, Tessa. Where is… ah, finally.” My dad shakes out his white napkin and dabs at his mouth as the waiter brings my breakfast. “That took a while.”

  “Apologies, sir,” the poor waiter says as he sets a plate with salmon, cream cheese, butter and rolls in front of me.

  I hate fish. My parents know it. It’s an aversion that stems from my childhood, when Dad took me fishing. Seeing the fish flop on the shore, suffocating, dying… Bile rises in my throat.

  “Eat,” Dad says. “You’re thin like a rail. No curves at all. Don’t you eat anything except crap with those college kids you insist on hanging out with?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Do you want to have an argument in here, Tessa? Seriously?” He leans forward, and it takes all I have in me not to flinch away.

  He’s never laid a hand on me. Never had to. When I was little, locking me up in in my room was more his style, intimidating me, pushing me into a corner while telling me how stupid I was to think I could outwit or escape him…

  Yeah, that’s more his style.

  But I’m not a little girl anymore. I try to remember that, even as my body seems to have forgotten it, so I sit up a little straighter and say, “Do you?”

  The air temperature drops, like, ten degrees. Imaginary frost spreads over the table. Metaphorical icicles hang over the edge. An ice age has begun.

  “Honey…” my mom begins, her eyes wide.

  “No, let her say her piece.” My dad’s face is hard. “Let’s see what this new little tantrum is all about.”

  And of course now he’s the one in control, the one allowing me to speak. As if I need his permission. What am I doing? Why am I still here, still trying?

  “I want to study something I like,” I say, ignoring the sweat trickling down my back. Funny that, it’s not that warm in here… “And I want to drop out of those clubs I hate. Sailing and chess aren’t for me, Dad.”

  “Oh, stop being childish, Tessa.”

  “I want to help with a charity, and I want to study anthropology,” I say in one breath, knowing my time is limited. This is my pitch. “There are many career options with such a degree. I can be an archaeologist, or I can be a museum curator, or even get involved in social care. I’d love to—”

  “You don’t need a damn career.” My father leans toward me, eyes narrowing, and automatically I lean back. “Like your mother, you need a real man to take care of you.”

  My hands clench. “That’s not what I need.”

  “Sure it is. Who’s been putting ideas into your pretty little head? Those good-for-nothing buddies of yours, those tattooed bums who don’t even step foot in class, who hang around smoking pot and drinking? You think they know better than me what’s best for you?”

  My throat closes. “Come on, Dad, I—”

  “Don’t. Dad. Me.” His fist knocks into his plate, and it smashes into the wine glass, throwing it over. Champagne spills into my plate and over the tablecloth on my skirt. I gasp and push away, my chair scraping on the floor.

  I stare at them, my breathing ragged, my limbs shaking.

  Mom busies herself with her roll, buttering it with a trembling hand. At the periphery of my vision, I see the waiter inching away.

  “Honestly…” A vein ticks in Dad’s jaw. “I pay for your school, your apartment, your perfumes, your hairdresser and your damn jewelry. I pay,” he jabs a finger at me, “for your every breath. My decisions aren’t good enough for you? Like hell they aren’t.”

  “Jonas…” Mother is growing pale.

  Jesus.

  That’s it, I think. This is when I say goodbye and walk away, gather my stuff and leave this goddamn place.

  “Honey, please.” My mother’s voice is a low whine. “Don’t hurt us like your sister did.”

  Talk about a low blow. I grit my teeth and resist the painful urge to stand and turn my back to them. Seriously? I just wanted to discuss what I want for once. Not for the first time, I think that best would be to leave college, leave everything and…

  “Let’s not argue,” my mom says.

  “I’m not the one arguing,” I mutter.

  “Your father loves you and wants you to be happy,” she goes on, in the face of all evidence to the contrary. I mean, Jesus, the wine is soaking through my skirt, dripping down my legs, and his voice still echoes in my ears. “In fact,” she sends him a quick look, “he could be persuaded to discuss what you want to do if you come to the Autumn Glitter gala the Jensons are organizing next week, the one we told you about.”

  Strangely, my father remains silent, his gaze darting from my mother to me. What the hell is going on?

  “Really?” Suspicion tightens my insides, but if that means any sort of real talk, any sort of compromise, meeting half-way… Making my parents happy and also doing what I want… “Fine.”

  “You’re coming to the gala?” My father’s look is every ounce as suspicious as mine has to be.

  “I’ll come.” I focus on my drenched plate and poke at one of the rolls. “If it means so much to you.”

  “It does. I’m glad you changed your mind about it,” he says, grabs his fork and spears a slice of smoked salmon.

  I say nothing to that. Like every time, I hope he’ll take a step, too, try to understand me, accept me. Let me be. So I’m going to this damn gala, giving in to his demands like every single time, giving hope a chance.

  And like every single time, I fear I’ll be proven wrong.

  ***

  “So, what did your parents say?” Audrey plops her tray on the table in the college cafeteria and slides into her seat, her big green eyes narrowed at me. “How did they take it?”

  What to say to that? I swallow a sigh as I take my seat across from her and carefully put my tray down. I stare at the salad, the pasta and dessert I got, and have no idea if I can ever eat all that food. “Do you think I’m too skinny?”

  Audrey’s brows shoot up to her hairline. “Sorry, what?”

  “Skinny,” I repeat, eyeing my Alfredo pasta as if it’s to blame for everything wrong in my life. “As in, no curves. Ugly skeletal appearance. Maybe I should eat more. Maybe—”

  “Tess.” Audrey’s cinnamon brows are now drawn together over her eyes, and her mouth is pressed tight.

  “What?”

  “You do realize you’re the most beautiful woman I know, right?”

  I smile, but it’s half-hearted. “Are you coming on to me, Aud?”

  “Nah, I’ve known you for too long. It’d be like incest.”

  That makes me laugh, but then I think of Dylan whom I’ve known for just as long, and my throat closes. Because there’s nothing sisterly about my feelings for him.

  “In any case,” I croak, “that doesn’t mean I couldn’t do with more generous curves, or bigger boobs.”

  “Tess, come on. We’ve talked about this.” Her voice softens. “Your parents… they aren’t you. They try to control you in every way. Don’t let them.”

  I shake my head. “But what if they’re right? What if I should eat more?”

  “Girl, you eat like a guy, I swear. I mean, just compare ou
r trays!”

  I glance at hers. It contains a sandwich with light turkey ham and cheese, and a bottle of water. Mine has the pasta, salad, a cheesecake cup and a Coke.

  “Okay, fine. But I have a high metabolism. Maybe I am skinny, and I have no curves. Not like yours.”

  She grimaces. “God. Your parents really did a number on you, didn’t they?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I lift my fork and stab a lettuce leaf.

  “Yes, you do. You’re perfect, and changing your looks won’t give you what you need. Stop looking for excuses.”

  “But maybe if I was curvier…”

  “Tess.” Audrey’s eyes are too bright. Crap. She looks like she’s about to cry. “Let go.”

  “What? I’m only saying maybe I should eat more.”

  “Let him go, Tess.” Audrey bites her lip and looks down at her plate. “Jesus, don’t you see what you’re doing? Dressing up for your parents and studying what they want, then trying to change yourself to please Dylan, and neither your parents nor Dylan give a fuck!”

  My fork drops from my fingers and clatters on the tray. I gape at Audrey. She never talks like that. Never.

  In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so angry before.

  “Stop chasing him,” she continues. “Stop expecting your parents to take notice of your efforts and accept you as you are. People don’t change.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” I whisper. “Your mom loves you as you are. Ash can’t look anywhere but at you when you’re close by. Is it wrong to wish that, too?”

  Now she looks stricken. “I’m sorry.” She grabs her water bottle and unscrews the lid, not looking at me. “I’ve no right to tell you what to do.”

  “No, Aud.” I reach across the table and put my hand over hers. “You’re right.” I nod, and my eyes burn. “You’re absolutely right, and I’ll try harder, okay?”

  “No. Dammit.” She jerks away, her cheeks so red her freckles look like ink dots. “Not for me, too, okay? You don’t get to do it to please me, too. You need to do it for yourself.”