She giggles, then covers her mouth in horror, as if she’s trying to shove the high-pitched sound back inside.
“Dakota,” I sigh.
She finally looks at me. Fiercely. “I’m mad at you.”
“I know you are, kid.” I swallow a lump of shame. I’m such an asshole. I bailed on our skating lessons, didn’t come by to explain. I just disappeared from her life.
Dakota and Robbie are being raised by a single mother. Dakota talks about her often, and she admitted that her dad walked out the door one day and never came back. It makes me sick to my stomach that I might have brought back those painful memories for her.
“My friend died—” I stop abruptly, because I can’t think about Beau without feeling a shooting pain in my heart. Fuck, I miss that big oaf. I miss talking to him, just shooting the shit with him. Who else can I discuss Twilight with and not feel judged?
“I didn’t handle it very well,” I tell Dakota. “I’ve never lost anyone before. Well, Gramps Kendrick, but he died when I was five. Maybe I was more resilient as a kid?”
She’s watching me warily.
“I’m sorry, Koty. I’m really fu—fudging sorry for disappearing without a word. I give you permission to punch me in the face as hard as you can. But quick, do it now, when Coach Ellis isn’t looking.”
She giggles again. Then, proving that kids really are more resilient, she reaches over and pats my arm. “Stop being such a girl, Dean. I like you again.”
I choke down a laugh. “You do?”
“Uh-huh.” She blows a bubble with her gum, then points to her notebook. “I have to write one page about my favorite movie and why I like it.”
“Gotcha. What’s your favorite movie?”
“The Princess Diaries.”
Of course it is.
“Okay then.” I crack my knuckles as if I’m preparing to throw down. “Let’s do this thing.”
DAKOTA ?
I call Joanna Maxwell when I get home, luckily catching her on her dinner break at the theater. I apologize for not coming to the memorial. She forgives me. We talk about Beau for almost an hour before she reluctantly says she has to rehearse. We promise to keep in touch, and there’s a dull ache in my heart as I hang up. I’m not breaking that promise, though. Beau was important to me. Joanna is his big sister. I’m keeping in fucking touch.
JOANNA ?
I have one more phone call to make, and I’m not looking forward to it. A few days ago, I asked Fitzy to track down Miranda O’Shea for me. Fitz illegally gets his hands on video games all the time without buying them, so I figured he might have the skills to track down a phone number. Turns out I was right. I have no idea how he did it, and I don’t plan on asking because I’d rather not go to jail.
I dial the number, then wait. I haven’t seen or spoken to Miranda in years. I don’t have feelings for her anymore, but hoo boy, there’s definitely unresolved shit between us. And there was one thing I never got to say to her. I hope to change that today.
If she picks up the damn phone. It rings and rings, and I’m about to disconnect when a harried voice comes over the line.
“Hello?”
I take a breath. “Miranda?”
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“It’s…ah, Dean.” I pause. “Dean Di Laurentis.”
Shocked silence fills the line.
“I know I’m calling you out-of-the-blue—”
“How did you get my number?” she interrupts, but her voice is soft, not angry. “My dad?”
“No. A friend of mine tracked it down.”
There’s an awkward pause on both our ends.
“I won’t keep you long,” I tell her. “I just had something to say to you. Something I never got to say back then because your dad pulled you out of school.” I exhale in a rush. “I’m sorry.”
She exhales too, sharply.
“I’m sorry for everything that went down between us,” I continue. “For the part I played in your…uh…”
“Breakdown?” she finishes wryly. “It wasn’t your fault, Dean. I was dealing with depression long before we went out.”
“I know. But…we had sex…and afterward…” Jesus, this is uncomfortable. And this whole conversation feels…clinical. Like we’re strangers discussing someone else’s sex life instead of our own.
“We had sex because I seduced you when you were drunk.” She sounds deeply ashamed. “And then I tried to guilt you into staying together when I knew you weren’t happy with me. You have no idea how guilty I felt about it afterward. I wanted to call you, but I was too embarrassed. And my dad told me he’d ship me to Siberia if I ever spoke to you again. So I said nothing. I figured you’d forget about me eventually.” There’s a pause. “Obviously you didn’t.”