His breathing changes slightly, and he makes a sleepy noise. For a second, I want to run, scared he’s going to ask me to leave anyway, so I should try to save my dignity and be the first one to go. But instead of telling me to get out, he pulls me into his arms. His eyes are still closed, but I can just make out the peaceful smile on his face.
“Hi there,” he whispers, tucking me into his side, which is kind of a feat since I’m a little bigger and taller than he is. But he never fails to make me feel safe and protected. He plants a kiss on my temple. “I’m so glad you’re here, baby,” he murmurs softly. He pulls me closer still so that my head is pillowed on his shoulder. He laces his fingers together with mine as they rest on his chest. A feeling of peace settles over me, and I slip back into the soft darkness with a smile on my face.
Chapter 26
REED
Openingmyeyesslowly,I reach for Dylan lying beside me, except all I get is a handful of soft, cool sheets. I have to think for a moment to make sure I wasn’t dreaming last night when he came and slid into bed beside me. The relief I felt when he snuggled into my arms was overwhelming, and I thought he’d felt it too. The tension he was holding inside seemed to drain right out of his body, and it felt so right. This is where he belongs. It’s where I belong. Where we belong, together. We still need to talk about what happened last night, not because I need an explanation, but because I need to know how to support him. I want to be able to help.
As soon as he was back in control last night, I could see he was utterly humiliated. He’s probably still struggling with those feelings, and it’s that thought that makes me haul my ass out of bed to find him.
He’s in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast bar, drinking coffee. His three dogs are lying in various poses on the floor around the kitchen, the whole scene looking pretty domestic and making my heart do a funny little skip in my chest.
“Morning,” I say, grabbing a mug from the cabinet. I fiddle with the single-cup machine for a minute, turning to face him and leaning my hips back against the counter once it’s brewing.
“How are you feeling?” I ask. I don’t want to push him too hard, but I also really need us to talk.
“Morning,” Dylan says flatly, keeping his eyes down like there’s something fascinating happening in his coffee mug.
Okay, I guess I’m going to be the one starting the conversation. I can do that. “So, Dyl, I don’t need a lot of detail, but we need to talk about what happened at the pub last night.”
He nods without a word; his eyes still haven’t even flicked up to meet mine. I let my words hang in the air for a few moments while I fix my coffee how I like it, smiling when I realize that at some point, Dylan has bought a big bottle of the sugary vanilla-flavored creamer I love that he can’t stand.
As tempting as it is to pretend it didn’t happen and let ourselves slide back into the comfort of being together, we can’t avoid talking about this. It’s too important.
“Dylan.” I cross the kitchen until I’m standing directly across from him, the breakfast bar separating us. I feel like I’m trying to get a little squirrel to come and eat out of my hand, so I need to avoid any big, sudden gestures. I open my mouth to say something else, but he beats me to the punch.
“It’s called a meltdown,” he says in that flat tone. “A lot of autistics get them. It can be triggered by different things, but I think last night was because of stress and overstimulation from the noise of the baby screaming and Grace screaming and all the tension. But it’s not something I can control, and it’s not going away. Ever.” He raises his eyes to look at me, and what I see in them scares me.
His eyes are cold and disconnected, almost blank. It’s like he packed all his feelings and put them in some dark corner where no one can see them. Before he looks away, I realize the armor Dylan uses to protect himself might be stronger and more impenetrable than even my own.
The determined set of his jaw leaves no doubt whatever he’s thinking, his mind isn’t going to be changed right now, so there’s no point in trying.
He doesn’t say anything else, so I start asking questions, but I don’t get far.
“I don’t want to talk any more about it,” he interrupts me. “It’s over and done with.” He gets up from the barstool, going to make himself another cup of coffee even though the one he’s drinking is still half-full.
“But Dylan, I need to know how to support you when that happens. I’m not—”
He holds up his hand. “I said, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s finished. Over. The damage has been done.”
“Dylan, we absolutely need to talk about it. It’s important. I’m not embarrassed—I only need to know what to do to help if this happens when we’re together.”
He turns back to me, his jaw still clenched. “I said I wasn’t talking about it. I mean it, Reed. You have no right to try and make me divulge information about my condition. You’re not my doctor. You’re not my employer. You’re not even—” He cuts himself off sharply.
My own temper flares as I try unsuccessfully to keep my voice calm. “You’re not what? What were you going to say, Dylan?” I ask angrily. “I’m not your doctor. I’m not your boss, what’s next? I’m not your boyfriend? Or maybe I’m not even your friend. Is that how you were going to finish that sentence?”
He slams his mouth shut, not answering me, his dark eyes flashing with anger.
Struggling to keep my temper in check, I take a deep breath before speaking.
“Look, I want to be with you, Dylan. So fucking much you have no idea. I have no goddamn clue what I’m doing here—this relationship stuff is just as new to me as it is to you. But I know for sure, if we have any hope of being together, you need to trust me enough to tell me what’s happening and how I can help.”
“You can’t.” His expressionless monotone is back. “Once a meltdown starts, there’s nothing that will stop it. I just need to get out of the situation as soon as possible.”
“Okay,” I say, grasping onto that piece of information like a life raft. “That’s a start. I shouldn’t try to talk to you; I just need to work on getting you away from the stressors. I can do that,” I say. “That’s the kind of thing I need to know so—”
“Reed. Stop,” he says, his voice cold. Strangely, I find myself grateful for his aversion to eye contact at the moment. I don’t want to see the walls he’s already put up because I don’t know whether I’ll be able to get past them.