Under the Orange Moon Read online

  He said nothing as he moved off of her suddenly. He refused to look at her face as she sat up and stared at him with a confused glare. It was dark in Dylan’s room, but he didn’t need the guidance of light to know there was an unforgiving amount of pain flowing from her eyes. He pulled his shirt over his head and fled like the gutless dog he knew that he was. That was the last time he would see her for five long years.

  Now, in a symmetrical realm of irony, there he was again. Dylan felt his body slide to hers beneath the blankets. She wasn’t confused if she was dreaming. She knew he was there and she wasn’t the least bit surprised.

  His arms wrapped around her torso and he pressed himself to her. His open hands moved down along her skin, causing her still body to shudder against him as he pulled her closer by her hips.

  He wasn’t trying to be gentle like he didn’t want to wake her. This was different. Like his looks, the mannerisms in his late night bed invasions had matured into a masculine surprise.

  She didn’t tense up, push him away, or even turn to face him. She only lay perfectly still, knowing if she made any controlling moves he would leave instantly.

  He nuzzled his face to her hair, inhaling as he pressed his lips to the skin of her neck. He whispered through a gust of alcohol, “I know we’ve never kissed, Dylan.”

  Her lips formed a smile that she would not dare allow him to see. She knew him well enough to know that this would be the extent of his admissions for one evening. Ben always left her wanting more. Tonight, however, that quiet statement was enough for her and now she could sleep.

  Chapter Three

  Dylan awoke to the sound of Ben leaving. She opened her eyes just in time to see the bare back of him sneaking out her door. She imagined him fearfully looking around to make sure that not a soul would see his secret departure. If he were to get caught, she was sure he would hope for it to be Hugh out of them all. Hugh would give him less grief.

  No one would guess that nothing happened while Ben slept in her bed, spooning her body in such a way. It was difficult for even Dylan to understand. Even with his hands all over her, his discipline was something she couldn’t comprehend. She could feel him against her and she was well aware of his arousal, but not even then would he act on it.

  She rolled over and sighed as she looked out her window. The sun had not risen and her day was far from beginning. Despite the fact that it was still early, she could not manage to make herself go back to sleep.

  She stood to her feet and slid on a pair of oversized pajama bottoms. She slipped a sweatshirt over her head and walked out of her bedroom, making her way down the stairs.

  In the kitchen, the lights were all off, but the dawn sky was just enough light for Dylan to see. She stood over the sink and watched as Ben disappeared over the wall, and headed for his mother’s house.

  He was still shirtless. His body seemed to improve over the years, not that it needed to. There was a more chiseled appearance in his chest now. His muscles and tone were sharp, perfectly forming the angles that put his body together. His pelvic bone made a faultless V as it traveled down into his pants, driving her mad as she tried not to look at him.

  “Morning,” Linda called from behind Dylan. “What are you looking at?”

  Dylan nearly jumped out of her skin. “Nothing. I’m just looking.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’m going to make a big breakfast in honor of your brothers being home. Did you see Hugh and Brandon last night?”

  “Yes. Hugh only stayed a few minutes and Brandon brought me home. I have no idea where Charlie went.”

  “Charlie’s here. Why did Brandon drive you home?” Linda poured her coffee and raised an eyebrow at Dylan. “What was wrong with your car?”

  “I did too many shots.”

  “Oh, Dylan,” Linda said, shaking her head.

  “Jonah left his car there. Are you going to be angry at him?”

  “I’m not angry. I just don’t understand how you can go to work and come home drunk,” Linda answered, unprepared for her daughter’s snap.

  “No one was drunk, Mom.”

  Linda lifted her hands in peace. “Alright, I’m sorry.” She quickly changed the subject. “Do you think Ben will have breakfast?”

  “How should I know what Ben will have?” Dylan felt attacked even though she wasn’t.

  “Well, isn’t he here?”

  “No. Stop asking me questions.”

  “I think you should go back to bed, Dylan. You’re being really snippy.” Linda narrowed her eyes and stared. “What’s wrong?”

  “I just want you to let me breathe without hovering over my life every five seconds,” Dylan hissed. “Get a boyfriend or something.”

  “Oh yes, I’m the one who needs a boyfriend,” Linda snapped. “I’m not the one flipping out on people for no reason.”

  Immediately Dylan felt the strong, stinging feeling of guilt consume her chest. Her mother, wife turned widow when Carl Mathews lost his battle with cancer more than nine years before, planned to never replace her husband.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I just want you to stop hovering.”

  “I wasn’t trying to hover,” Linda replied. “I don’t even know what I said wrong.”

  “Nothing. You said nothing.”

  Linda put her arms around Dylan’s shoulders and surrendered. “I’m sorry. I just love you.” She waited for Dylan’s inevitable smile. “Help me with breakfast?”

  “Fine,” Dylan answered, attempting to cover her childish grin.

  Ben stepped in through the sliding glass door just in time for breakfast. He was showered and dressed in clean clothes. His brown hair was still wet and looked towel dried with no trace of evidence that a comb had gone through it yet.

  “Where’d you go?” Jonah asked.

  Ben smiled. “You were snoring, so I left.”

  Dylan felt her cheeks flush with red. She refused to look at his face while he stood above her, grinning mischievously. She was angry that he snuck in her bed but, mostly, she was even more furious at him for leaving. She thought about tying him up next time.

  He was back now and standing over her, nibbling on sausage and glancing her way with a satisfied smile, daring to remind her that he had been in her bed. The sausage was enough to send her over the edge, though. He despised bacon, the Mathews’ breakfast side of choice. Linda always made sure to appease Ben with food he loved. Ridiculous, Dylan thought.

  True to their constant battling and bickering, Ben would challenge her like this regularly. As much as she felt unworthy in his presence, she would always accept his dares in the hope that one day she would feel more like his equal. Nevertheless, that day never came.

  Dylan could still clearly recall the way she overcame her transition from training wheels to two wheels. She was five and just couldn’t seem to get the hang of balancing on only two wheels. Oh, she did try to accomplish such an act, but it seemed her self-consciousness would always hold her back. Ben teased her relentlessly one day, zooming past her like a pro and even skidding to a stop to splash a puddle in her face. Call it will, women’s liberation, or just plain old bravery, she finally ripped his bike from his hands and took off with a speedy grace. It wasn’t her brothers cheering, her mother’s happy tears, or her father’s proud smile that day that made her pat herself on the back. It was overcoming Ben’s taunting and proving him wrong. Little did she know then, that earned no points from him and never would.

  Ben sat in the chair beside Dylan and picked up her juice. She could feel the anger rising inside her. She knew this was all to irritate her and the part that made her the angriest was the fact that it was working.

  Dylan stood up to retrieve a new glass of juice. She took her time pouring it into her glass, listening to the boys’ conversation around the table. It was as if no one had left and their lives were exactly how they always were. The quiet mornings she spent with her mother were always pleasant, but extremely em
pty. There was a void at the table and, despite the fact that only two sat around it regularly, it still held its leaf as if there were six. Linda and Dylan both did not need to say out loud that they were delighted to fill the empty chairs.

  “Did Dylan tell you the news, boys?” Linda began, smiling behind her coffee mug.

  “What news?” Brandon asked.

  “No news,” Dylan snapped from the refrigerator. For whatever reason, Ben was not invited to share in this moment.

  “Why are you being so modest?” Linda asked.

  Dylan huffed loudly and rolled her eyes. “It’s really not a big deal.”

  “Of course it is!” Linda sounded irritated and thrilled all at the same time. “What has gotten into you today?”

  “What do you mean?” Charlie asked. “What’s wrong with her today?”

  “She has been so crabby all morning,” Linda complained. “Honey, you need a nap. You must not have slept well last night.”

  Ben choked on his stolen juice and all interest moved to him. Realizing that he had acquired the attention of the room, he slammed on his chest with his fist, and announced, “Wrong tube.”

  “Uh-huh,” Brandon said with his brow raised at Ben. He slowly turned his attention to Dylan, and asked, “Weed, what’s the news?”

  Dylan said nothing while she stared at her mother, waiting for her to jump in and tell them for her. It was inevitable, so she thought she would just let her take it from her to begin with.

  Linda impatiently waved her hands at Dylan and began. “She has been asked to do a gallery showing her work.”

  “What?” Jonah asked, shocked. “How long ago? You never said anything.”

  “It happened only a month ago.” Dylan felt her face blush when she realized that Ben’s face looked pleased and, in a way, proud. “I don’t even know the man that wants to hold it. His name is Norman…something. He’s seen my work and asked if I had enough pieces that I would be willing to sell in a gallery.”

  “That’s awesome, little sister.” Brandon winked at Dylan and gave a satisfying grin before taking in a heaping mound of eggs. “When is it?” he asked with a full mouth.

  “June. The gallery is in Lower Manhattan,” Linda answered for Dylan, surprising no one. “He has a store in Greenwich Village, which I hear is super trendy!”

  “We’ll all have to come. Ben, do you think you can spare a weekend in June?” Jonah asked. His face gave the answer for him, knowing that Ben would never spare any of his time willingly.

  “We’ll have to see. I’d buy a painting, regardless,” Ben answered, before stealing a dramatic drink from Dylan’s new glass of juice.

  Dylan ripped the glass from his hand. “You couldn’t afford me,” she snapped.

  Ben climbed the rugged, brown trails of Papago Park. He grew up exploring the many holes and twists of Phoenix’s paths and hills, but he found in this particular moment that five years had given his feet just the right amount of time to forget which way to move along the rocks.

  He wouldn’t admit to a soul that the desert sun on his face was calming and had somehow quieted the stresses that constantly plagued his overworked mind. He enjoyed being home, but knew he would be quite ready to go back to Cambridge when his three weeks was up.

  He stopped when he saw her. She stood on the edge of the giant rock and looked out over the zoo. Ben almost winced in pain at how much of her beauty she allowed to be seen now. Why did she have to be wearing another dress?

  As the breeze whipped up, it lifted the ends of her dress and flapped against her legs. She bent to the side, a paintbrush in her mouth, one behind her ear and another between her fingers. She pressed the bristles to the canvas and brought a long, black line down all the way to the bottom.

  Ben couldn’t tell what her painting was going to end up as, but since he knew the talent within the artist, he was very aware that it would eventually be a masterpiece. He watched quietly and took much satisfaction in how perfect she looked when she did what she loved most.

  He took a seat on the first boulder he could find and watched as Dylan continued to paint. He looked around and realized where they were. He remembered this place very well, like it was yesterday.

  Carl Mathews, Jonah and Dylan’s father, seemed to go quickly, but painfully, when he died of cancer. He went in for constant headaches and left with grim, unexpected news: three to six months to live. When he died, after the funeral, Dylan closed up to the world around her. She ran around the house, only thirteen years old, picking up and cleaning for her mother. She made sure that there was enough food for the guests that came back for the wake and she handled everything else that went along with it. She didn’t cry and she wouldn’t allow anyone but her mother to cry to her. She was a rock.

  After the wake was over and the guests all left, Ben found her weeping on the very rock he sat on now, which wasn’t a surprise; she could see the giraffes from there. He was only thirteen at the time, but he did understand even then how Dylan worked. Not even her twin brother knew how to help her or soothe her held in anger. Ben sat beside her in silence and didn’t say a word as she sobbed into her hands, eventually falling into his lap. He rubbed his fingers through her hair and continued to say nothing as he quietly comforted his Dylan. In that moment, he truly felt as though she was his Dylan.

  In those very few, rare instances of their backwards relationship, he found it interesting that she knew he would be there for her. She didn’t resist crying in his lap like most teenagers may have been shy about doing. She knew that he would allow it, but her confidence in him only scared Ben more.

  Now, watching her in all her beauty, beneath the sun and looking out over the scenery below, he only regretted more the way he acted when her brothers were around. He wondered if she knew how he really saw her: faultless and fascinating in every way. He wondered if it was written all over his forehead like he imagined it was whenever he spoke to her. Even five years later, that spark—that fire—still existed only for her.

  Beauty was not hard to come by. Ben could find it easily wherever he happened to glance. It was all around him on a regular basis. Dylan was more than just beautiful, though. She was resplendently perfect. But he could never have her.

  With each stroke on her canvas, her painting was brought to life. In very little time, it began to take shape and perfect form. The longer he stared, the more he came to recognize his own face on the canvas. He smiled in bewilderment and slowly crept away from her, managing to go unseen and unheard for the entire time he sat behind her, watching as she painted him.

  On Saturday afternoon, Dylan and Meredith walked into the fifth bridal store that they had been to that day. Dylan cleared her entire schedule, so she didn’t mind modeling the endless choices of bridesmaid dresses that her future sister in-law pulled from the racks.

  “That one’s pretty, but not all the girls look good in everything like you,” Meredith pointed out. “My sister is a bit…uh…rounder.”

  Dylan smiled and shook her head. “Then maybe your sister should have come instead of me.”

  “No. That won’t work either. She bothers me and you don’t,” she answered simply. Meredith put her finger to her mouth and looked around the store. “I think I might just have you all wear different styles, but in the same color.”

  Dylan sighed deeply and stared into the mirror. She did enjoy the way the dress fit her. The long, light pink fabric hugged all the right spots and showed off her defined collarbone and shoulders. Although the sparkly accents were something she could have done without, she knew that she looked good in that one and secretly hoped Meredith would agree.

  She stood up on the highest part of the floor, next to the window, and turned halfway to look at her bare back in the reflection.

  A knock on the window startled her. She spun around and felt her face flush when she realized that Michael Olerson was on the other side, grinning at her from ear to ear.

  “Nice,” he yelled through the glass, pointing
up and down with his finger.

  Dylan smiled as she lifted the end of the gown and displayed a sarcastic curtsy for Michael.

  He raised his curled finger and motioned for her to come outside to speak with him. “Just for a minute,” he pleaded loudly when she shook her head and frowned.

  Dylan nodded as she gave in and hopped down the steps that led to the mirrors. As she walked to the dressing room, she unzipped the dress and began to pull it from her body, unaware that Michael was still watching and nearly collapsing from the unintentional show.

  She stepped out from the dressing room and walked outside barefoot.

  “Hey,” Michael said, attempting to regain his composure. “Bridesmaid duties?”

  Dylan glanced back into the store and sighed. “Yep.”

  “I see. I won’t keep you then.” He fiddled around with the bag in his hands. “What are your plans for tonight?”

  Dylan cocked one eyebrow up into her forehead. “Uh, nothing. Why?”

  “I’m not going to ask you to work. Don’t worry.” Michael stammered and fiddled some more. “I told Charlie I may swing by tonight to have a few beers with him. That’s all.”

  “And?”

  “Well, are you going to be there—home, I mean?” he asked, hopeful and humiliated at the same time.

  “Most likely,” Dylan answered carefully. She knew that it was her he was attempting to see, but she felt too awkward to help him out. He was so nice and so right for any girl. She almost hated herself for not returning his feelings.

  “Alright then,” he replied. “Meredith looks like she’s going to go Bridezilla soon. You should get back in there.”

  Dylan glanced back through the window and waved at Meredith’s nagging glare. “Yikes. I have to go,” she said to Michael, before practically sprinting back into the store.

  Back inside, Meredith grinned. “He won’t give up, will he?”

  “He hasn’t even started,” Dylan answered with a smirk. “He’s too shy to even begin.”

  “Would you go out with him?”