Under the Orange Moon Read online

  When he stepped into the empty kitchen, he sighed a bit in relief, knowing from there he could say he was in Jonah’s room. He reached the sliding glass door and opened it slowly, ready for his quick escape.

  “You know,” a voice said from behind him, “they may not see it, but I do.”

  Ben turned to face Meredith, who stood in the laundry room with a shoebox in one hand and a wedding planner in the other. She had obviously just come in from the garage, and stood like a statue to stare at him with a disapproving glare.

  “See what?” Ben asked, rolling his eyes. He didn’t really care for her to elaborate, but he figured she would, with or without an invitation.

  She smirked and stepped closer to him. She placed her belongings down on the table and rested her hands on her hips in a scolding manner. “What you’re doing to Dylan. You do know what you’re doing, right?”

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

  “Absolutely.” She grinned sarcastically and continued. “Because I don’t care about you like everyone else in this house does. I care about Dylan.”

  “Could you get to the point?”

  “Gladly.”

  Ben raised his eyebrows and waited for her to continue. He heard what she was saying to him but, during her irritating nagging, he also tried to see what Charlie saw in her and silently pitied him for being stuck with her forever.

  “For a minute there I thought they were wrong about you, but I see now that I was the one who was wrong. You obviously can’t handle love.” Meredith moved closer and spoke quietly. “You’re only going to hurt her, Ben. I know you don’t want that.”

  He nodded slowly. His gut turned, knowing she was right. His mother had been right; he was poison to anyone that loved him. More importantly, he was lethal to anyone that he loved in return.

  “If you care about her, or her family, you’ll let her go.”

  “Don’t talk to me about this family. Who the hell are you, anyway? You’ve been here for what, ten seconds?” he asked sharply. He stopped himself from going on, keeping his respect for Charlie in the back of his mind.

  Meredith smiled and rolled her eyes. “Ben, I could care less if you don’t like me. I don’t really like you, to be honest. I want you to think about Dylan. You know I’m right.”

  “Thanks for the chat,” he said, and slipped out the door.

  Meredith watched him leave and was well aware of the line she had crossed. The love that Charlie and his family had for Ben ran deep in very different ways for all of them. The boys loved him like a brother, Linda as a son. They didn’t understand the depth it went for Dylan, though. Sure they teased her, but that just made sense. They didn’t really believe the extent of it and they surely wouldn’t support it now. In Meredith’s mind, she was protecting them all, including Ben.

  Michael watched sympathetically as Dylan made multiple shots and wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. She was slammed and exhausted, but there was no way she would admit defeat during an NBA rush. Countless orders came in, one after another. Dylan raced around robotically as if her mind was on nothing else. She was a machine.

  As she stood at the register, closing out her cash tabs, Michael came to her from behind and placed two hands on her small shoulders. “Take a break, Dylan,” he demanded gently.

  “I don’t need a break,” Dylan answered with a fake smile.

  “Yes, you do. Everyone needs a break.” Michael’s lips pursed. “That’s not a request. Go outside and get some air.”

  Dylan threw her bar towel at his chest and pushed past him. She walked through the kitchen and swung the back door open. As she walked outside, she kicked a bucket over and collapsed onto an orange crate that was setting just outside the back entrance to the bar.

  She wanted to scream. She wanted to punch someone. She wanted Ben to appear, but not slip out while she was sleeping. Why didn’t he want her? When her father died, Ben was what she wanted. Ben was all she needed. She cried into his lap and couldn’t have felt better with his hands stroking her hair.

  She cried into her hands. She sobbed and shook as she tried to catch her breath. It was so unlike her to weep uncontrollably. It made her feel so weak.

  A hand rubbed her shoulder. Dylan looked up and met Michael’s compassionate eyes. He half smiled as he continued to stroke her shoulder.

  “I don’t know what’s going on, Dylan,” he began gently, “but, I’m here if you want to talk.”

  Without thinking, Dylan stood up and fell into his chest. She sobbed, soaking his shirt through, she was positive. She let her arms fall limp at her sides as Michael held her there, resting his chin on her head and swaying gently.

  “Dylan,” he whispered as he stroked her long hair. “Shhh, don’t cry.”

  Dylan continued to sob into Michael and, for a moment, pretended his arms were Ben’s. His chest didn’t feel like Ben’s chest, and his scent was off, but his hold would do for now. She couldn’t help it; he was the one that was there.

  Michael placed both hands on her cheeks and just about buried his face into the long locks of her hair, inhaling deep and long. He smelled her hair in the familiar way that Ben always did. He rested his chin back on her head, and whispered, “Everything will be okay.”

  Suddenly, Dylan didn’t feel okay. She realized this might be too comfortable for Michael and decided to pull away. “I’m sorry,” she said through a shaky breath.” I don’t know what came over me.”

  Michael laughed and hung on to her waist. “It’s all right. You seemed to have needed a friendly hug.”

  “Yes, a friend would be nice.”

  “May I ask what happened?” he asked, still with his hands on her.

  Dylan shook her head and stepped out of his hold. She put her hand on the knob of the door and opened it slightly. “It’s nothing,” she insisted, and stepped inside.

  It was something, though. Something she couldn’t say out loud. The days were counting down until Ben left, and he still treated her as if the last several weeks hadn’t happened. Plagued with the sickening feeling, she knew that he was going to leave without her.

  They went back to their busy night and worked side by side. Dylan felt a release she couldn’t describe. She chalked it up to just needing a hug and thought nothing more of it from there. Michael, on the other hand, would think of it for the rest of the night, she was sure.

  Michael and Dylan worked well with one another when they double teamed the bar. When they really got into a groove, it almost looked rehearsed the way she would go under as he went over. He would grab a bottle from a high place he was sure she couldn’t reach, despite the fact she didn’t even ask for it. He worked one end and she the other. They were always in sync as they moved up and down the rail.

  The game ended and the bar pretty much cleared with only a few patrons remaining. The two cleaned up from their rush and decided to reward themselves with a shot while they took a breather.

  Dylan hopped up and sat on top of the bar, just at the end. She folded her legs and popped open a beer to add to her shot.

  “You feeling a bit better?” Michael asked.

  Dylan shook her head and looked down. “Only when I don’t think.”

  “This must be why I’ve been seeing so much of you then?”

  Dylan took a refreshing drink from her bottle. “I suppose,” she answered after. “Work keeps my head on other things.”

  “How’s Ben doing?”

  “Like you care,” Dylan teased.

  Michael’s hands went up in defense and he stepped somewhat closer to her. “Hey, I don’t like the guy, but it sucks what happened to him.”

  Dylan could see that he meant what he said. “Yes, it does suck,” she agreed with her head down.

  She wondered if this conversation and the hug from before was a betrayal. She had stopped it the minute she understood what the embrace meant to Michael. It would always mean more for him.

  “Speak of the devil,” Michael said, a
lmost cringing as he pointed to the door.

  The train of Mathews boys, followed by Ben, stumbled in. To no surprise, they were drunk and followed by a group of unfamiliar girls. Ben, with his arm around a blonde, stared hard as he walked over to the bar where Dylan was sitting. He looked suspicious. His glossy eyes narrowed in on Michael, who was standing way too close to Dylan in that moment.

  “What’s this?” Dylan asked, eyeing her new enemy.

  “Grab us a beer?” he slurred. “Please.”

  Michael quickly set two bottles in front of him. “These are on me,” he said sternly. He patted Dylan’s back gently, attempting to calm her anger at Ben and his new friend.

  Ben’s eyes squinted and his mouth slightly smirked. “Well thanks, Oilie!” he said with such sarcasm in his tone, anyone was sure to pick up on it.

  Charlie managed to get Michael’s attention from the other end of the bar, leaving Dylan alone with Ben and his blonde. It was an unfortunate position, and she desperately wanted out of it.

  “Weed,” Ben began drunkenly, “this is Angela.”

  “Veronica,” the blonde corrected with her hand out. “I’m Veronica.”

  Ben didn’t seem to care about his mistake. “Whatever,” he said with a callous chuckle.

  Dylan, disregarding the girl’s hand in front of her, shook her head and stared at Ben. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m enjoying Angela’s company,” Ben replied.

  “I said my name was Veronica,” the girl whined.

  “Yes, yes. And I said whatever,” he replied with his hands on her cheeks. He moved closer to Veronica’s face and, to add a final blow to Dylan, he rubbed his nose to hers.

  Dylan hopped down from the bar and headed over to Michael and her brothers. She pushed past Ben with his idiot blonde and tried desperately to hold in her inevitable tears.

  Dylan stepped into the circle of intoxicated men and Michael. “I’m going home,” she yelled over the drunken banter.

  Michael stepped out of the absentminded crowd and moved closer to her. He placed his hand on her back, and whispered into her ear, “Are you going to be okay?”

  Before Dylan could move from his hand, or even answer, Ben’s arm was reaching over her and his fist was crashing its way into Michael’s jaw. The fight ended quickly, with Ben’s arms locked in Charlie and Jonah’s grips. They pulled him back as he tried to break free of their grasps.

  “Get him out of here!” Michael hollered and pointed to the door. He didn’t hit him back and Dylan seriously wondered why. If they had been anywhere else, she was sure it would have been a full-on brawl by now.

  Hugh shook his head in disbelief. “Ben, what the hell?”

  “He’s upset about his mother,” Brandon said. “I’m sorry, Michael.”

  “It’s fine,” Michael said with a towel full of ice pressed to his face, which a thoughtful waitress had given him. “He needs to go, though.”

  “No, he knows what this is about,” Ben growled. “It’s not about my mother, you asshole.”

  Michael snapped. “What’s it about then, Ben?” He waved his hands around the group. “Tell your friends what it’s about.”

  Ben shrugged off Jonah and Charlie’s hold. He pointed his finger and almost fell into a stool. “You touch her again, and I’ll kill you.”

  “Her?” Hugh asked, confused. “Her who?”

  “I’m right here,” Michael urged with open arms. “Dylan’s got you all figured out, anyway. She’ll come to me on her own. It’s only a matter of time.”

  Ben’s rage moved forward and he lunged again. This time, Brandon was ready and caught him on his way to Michael. With quite a scuffle, he pushed him out the door and into the night outside.

  Dylan glared at Michael. This was not the way she wanted her brothers to find out. Michael was the sober one, the responsible one. No matter how badly Ben behaved, he shouldn’t have antagonized, which was exactly what he did.

  Michael sighed regrettably. “Dylan, I’m sorry,” he said. “He just pushes, you know?”

  “I quit,” she said simply, and walked out the door.

  Charlie, Hugh, and Jonah followed, drunk and dumfounded at what had just taken place before them. It was clear in their expressions that they were assessing and replaying everything back in their minds.

  Dylan stepped outside and followed Brandon as he dragged Ben down the sidewalk. When she caught up to them, Ben was finally released and slammed up against a brick wall.

  “You want to explain this?” Brandon asked, angrily. “Are you really this stupid, Dylan? How could you even think getting involved with him was a good idea?”

  “Just go get them,” Dylan answered, pointing behind her.

  “I’m not done with you,” Brandon warned, and stormed away.

  Dylan felt as if she was in trouble, which only irritated her more. Brandon, out of them all, felt that he was her father sometimes, which she felt was stupid seeing how he was only six years older than her.

  “You’re screwing Oilie now?” Ben asked in a belligerent snarl. “I knew it.”

  “You should go,” Dylan said, pulling at his hand. “Let me get you a cab.”

  “No, wait,” he said, and pulled her to him. He made no attempt at discretion and held her like they had been in a normal relationship for years. “I miss you,” he whispered drunkenly.

  Dylan nodded with tears in her eyes. She was hurt and sad; though, mostly confused by his behavior. “Why don’t we talk about it tomorrow?”

  “You can come to my house.” He laughed carelessly. “We know for a fact no one’s there, don’t we?”

  “Ben, you’re falling apart,” Dylan whispered compassionately. “You have to try and get a grip on this.”

  “You can’t fix me,” he whispered. “You should give up.”

  The Mathews brothers caught up to them. They all stood quietly, knowing the secret that Ben and Dylan had been hiding for weeks. They stared with confusion in their eyes, waiting for an explanation to come and knowing they wouldn’t be getting it on that particular night.

  “C’mon, man,” Jonah said, pulling at Ben’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Ben yanked his arm from Jonah. He leaned in closer to Dylan’s face, and said, “You should run back in there. Your boyfriend’s waiting.” He turned and walked away, stumbling into the wall as he headed down the sidewalk, and finally disappeared.

  Jonah turned and looked at Dylan with a torn expression. He looked towards Ben’s direction and then at his sister, whom he probably felt needed him the most just then. It was an awful place for him to be in.

  “Jonah, he’ll only talk to you,” Brandon shouted, and pointed down the sidewalk. “We’ll take care of her. You and Hugh go get Ben.”

  They ignored Dylan when she shouted, “I don’t need to be taken care of!”

  Jonah and Hugh raced to catch up to Ben. Dylan wanted them all to go, or she would have much preferred not to be bombarded with questions by Brandon and Charlie, especially Brandon.

  “Weed?” Charlie asked, breathless and confused. “You and Ben?”

  Dylan spun around, dislodging thick tears and sending them down her cheeks from the swift movement. “My name is not Weed!” she screamed, and stormed off into the night.

  Chapter Eleven

  They say that everyone dies alone. When Carl Mathews left, he took a piece of the world with him. The house, the land, all that he touched in his life, seemed less after he was gone.

  On his death bed at home, exactly where he wanted to be, he asked his family members to come to him, one by one. They took their turns, Brandon first, then down along the line by age. Each child left the room in tears, but smiling. He sent them each with something from his heart, something they would keep with them forever.

  It was clear that he had passed the torch onto Brandon, declaring him the man of the house and protector of his baby sister, a job Brandon would commit to with all that he had in him. He would always watch over he
r, something he had always done, but now, more than ever, he felt he needed to do so in his father’s honor.

  Each one of the boys were given a job and told something fatherly and philosophical perhaps, something that Carl had wanted to teach them someday but couldn’t due to his premature death sentence. He sat with them all and joked at the end of his speech, making them laugh through their tears as they left the room and sent the next person in.

  At last, when Dylan’s turn arrived, she walked into his room and wasted nothing getting into the bed and nestling into his safe, fragile arms. She knew time was wearing thin on moments like that particular one, so she couldn’t be bothered with the slow, dramatic walk to his side.

  “You have a button nose,” Carl whispered as he gently poked the tip. “You make buttons beautiful.”

  Dylan stared at her dying father, unaware that she was crying. Not even the pouring tears that ran from her eyes to her cheeks were an indication. In all of her thirteen years of life, this was the moment that made her feel more alive than ever. Call it growing up, an epiphany perhaps. She liked to think of it as the day her father transitioned into the angel he is today. She almost felt pride in the fact that she was able to witness it. Despite the pain his absence caused, she knew he would never really be that far because she watched him leave.

  Carl was weak, but his heart was bigger than ever, open and ready. He looked peaceful with the luminous sunshine from the window beaming on his pale face. The dust particles dancing through the stream of gold added more of a spiritual touch to the feel of the room. Dylan was young, but even then she was so blessed with an eye for creativity that she even seemed to make her father’s deathbed beautiful.

  It was obvious what was approaching. His eyes were red, his hair was gone. He weighed less than Dylan, she was sure. He looked ninety years old, far older than the forty-five year old superhero he had been only five months before.

  “Does it hurt?” she asked innocently.

  Carl shook his head and pointed to Dylan’s heart. “This hurts worse. I hear it breaking.”