Stealing Home by Tara Wyatt

Sixteen

Adrenaline surged through Dylan as he stood in front of the massive double doors of his father’s house. The house he’d grown up in. The house he’d left at eighteen and hadn’t missed even for a second. Despite the beauty of the property—weathered gray brick, large windows, each wing of the sprawling mansion punctuated with a turret-like bookend—a feeling of utter and complete revulsion crawled over Dylan, making his skin itch. The wrought-iron gate at the end of the driveway had been locked when he’d first pulled up, but thankfully some things never changed, including the entry code. He’d punched it in and then wound his way down the curving concrete driveway lined with live oaks.

It was ten in the morning; he’d driven the half hour out to Ivy Hills as soon as he’d managed to pull his ass out of bed after getting in from the road late last night. It didn’t matter if his father wasn’t home right now. Dylan had an off day today, and he could wait. This conversation was happening today. He’d put it off long enough.

Taking a breath and squaring his shoulders, he pressed on the doorbell, listening as the delicate chimes peeled and echoed through the ten-thousand-square foot house. A soft wind blew, chasing away some of the heat hovering in the air, making the leaves sigh as the branches swayed. Dylan wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be feeling right now. He was about to cut his father out of his life, and he just felt impatient, like he wanted to get this over with. Maybe because this moment felt inevitable, in a way.

Footsteps echoed through the foyer and the front door swung open, revealing a woman Dylan didn’t know wearing a light yellow polo shirt and a pair of khakis. Around her waist was a tool belt filled with cleaning supplies.

“Yes?” she asked, blinking at Dylan.

“I’m here to see my dad. Is he home?”

The woman blinked at him again and then recognition dawned in her eyes. “Oh, you’re Dylan. Yes, come in. Mr. McCormick is working from home today. I’ll let him know you’re here. Why don’t you have a seat in the front room?” she suggested, gesturing him into the house.

He shook his head. “Thank you, but I’ll just go up to his office.”

“Oh, but he doesn’t like to be disturbed…” She trailed off helplessly as Dylan started mounting the wide, sweeping staircase.

“He’s not going to like any of this,” he said, taking the stairs two at a time. He walked down the hall to the very last door, knocked once and pushed it open.

Here we go.

His father sat behind a garishly big desk, his back to the curved windows looking out onto the three sprawling acres of property surrounding the house. The infinity pool sparkled invitingly below, expensive-looking patio furniture arranged around it, as if waiting for guests. The office itself was masculine and tasteful, with deep blue plush carpeting and light gray walls. But it could’ve been anyone’s office. There were no personal touches, no photos, no mementos decorating the space.

This house wasn’t a home, and it never really had been. Being here now, Dylan realized it felt like a goddamn mausoleum. No wonder his mother had hightailed it out of here.

His father smiled at him, a smug quirk of his lips that twisted his face into something almost like a sneer. “I was wondering when I’d see you.”

Dylan opened his mouth, shocked to find he didn’t want to shout or swear or demand answers. None of that was worth his time or energy; the answers—the twisted lies that they’d be—didn’t matter. So he closed his mouth and slipped a hand into his back pocket, pulling out the cashier’s check he’d picked up from the bank on his way over. The paper was thick and creamy between his fingers. He dropped it onto his father’s desk.

“This is for you. It’s a million dollars. I don’t want to owe you anything. I don’t want you to have a single thing to hold over my head. So here it is—payment for pretty much everything you gave me, not out of parental duty, but some fucked up chess game I could never seem to win because the rules were always changing.”

His father slowly picked up the check with a frown. “I don’t want this.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care if you cash it or rip it up or use it as toilet paper. This is me tipping the scales back to zero. I don’t owe you anything and you can’t jerk me around and fuck with my life anymore. We’re done. Do you understand? Consider the loan repaid, the game over, our relationship in the past.” With every single word, Dylan felt lighter and lighter, the weight of years of forced gratitude and manipulation lifting from his shoulders.

Caleb paled a little, his hand shaking as he dropped the check back down to the desk. “I see.”

Disappointment jabbed Dylan right in the heart. A part of him had hoped his father would fight with him, or for him, or something. That he wouldn’t just calmly take the money and accept that he’d probably never see his son again. Dylan vowed right then and there that it would be the last time his father would ever disappoint him.

“This is my fresh start, my clean slate. You provided a hell of a lot for me, but you also messed me up. If I want to be a better person, I can’t do that with you in my life.” He blew out a breath, meeting his father’s eyes. “You’re a cancer, and I’m cutting you out because I just wanna be happy.”

“So dramatic,” Caleb said quietly. He picked up the check and folded it in half, slipping it effortlessly into his shirt pocket.

Dylan smiled sadly and rocked once on his heels. “Goodbye, Dad.” His father said nothing, simply turned around in his desk chair to face the window, and Dylan left. As he made his way down the stairs, he waited for the sadness, the grief, the loss to hit. But all he felt was a freedom unlike any he’d ever felt before.

He got back into his car, and as he drove, he dialed his agent Aerin through the car’s BlueTooth system. She answered on the first ring, as always.

“What’s up?” she asked. Her breath came in fast little pants, and he could hear the whir of a treadmill in the background.

“I have a favor to ask, and it’s gonna sound a little weird.”

“Okay, hit me.”

“I need you to work your connections to find me someone who administers private lie detector tests.”

She scoffed out a surprised little laugh. “That’s a new one.”

“Can you do it?” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, anxious to get the next step of his plan in motion.

“Pfft. Of course I can. Give me a couple of hours.”

“Perfect. Thanks, Aerin. You’re the best.”

“I know. That’s why you pay me so much.”

* * *

It had been two weeks since Maggie had gotten fired and broken up with Dylan, and for the first time in those two weeks, she didn’t wake up feeling miserable and confused and alone. She’d given herself an appropriate amount of time to wallow, but she was done with that now. Enough was enough. Time to pull on her big girl panties and start getting her life back together. So, she flung the covers back, tugged on her neglected workout clothes, laced up her running shoes, and headed for the park.

It was just after 7:30 in the morning, but the sun was already well above the horizon and heating up the morning air. As Maggie jogged, her blood pumping through her veins, she cranked up the volume of her music, letting Beyonce spur her on through her workout. She hadn’t run since before everything had gone to shit, and she needed the little extra push. She was already dripping with sweat by the time she got to the park, but it felt good. Cathartic and cleansing and energizing to do something other than sit on her couch and feel sorry for herself. Inhaling deeply, she joined her favorite trail and found an easy rhythm, taking in the scenery, trying to ground herself and stay out of her head. A small group of sailboats clustered together on the lake, their sails flapping gently in the morning breeze. Herons soared and dived into the water, fishing for breakfast. A pair of cyclists whizzed by on the trail, their bells chiming happily. The leaves above her moved hypnotically, casting fluttering, delicate shadows on the pavement beneath her feet. The air was warm, but fresh, and all around her, life was happening, one second at a time. Peaceful and vibrant all at once.

When Mama had died, Maggie hadn’t understood how she was supposed to go on. She’d felt rooted to the spot, unable to take a single step in any direction without falling apart. Without feeling as though loss and grief and loneliness were consuming her from the inside out, eating her up like a virus. But slowly, with time, and patience, and strength she hadn’t known she’d had, she’d realized that life was going to go on with or without her, and it was up to her if she wanted to be a participant or an observer. And she’d known Mama would be so disappointed if Maggie had chosen the sidelines. So she’d gone on, putting one foot in front of the other until it got easier and easier. Until living didn’t take some kind of momentous effort every single day. Easing her way back into life.

That’s what it felt like she was doing now. Merging back onto the freeway after spending some time pulled over to the side of the road, unsure where to go. But here she was, out in the world, running, listening to music, savoring the sun on her skin. Life happened in the small moments, and she was living it, despite the heartbreak of losing Dylan, and the humiliation of getting fired.

It was almost an hour later by the time she got back to her apartment, and even though her legs were heavy and her skin was coated with sweat, she felt energized. She passed by the mirror hanging in her front hall and smiled at herself.

“I’m going to be just fine,” she said to her reflection, and for the first time in two weeks, she felt like just maybe it was true. Losing Dylan hurt, but she knew she had the strength to move past it. If she’d survived losing Mama, she could survive anything.

She took her time over a leisurely breakfast, savoring her food, and then luxuriating in the shower, letting the hot water work its magic on her muscles. After a cup of coffee, she set about cleaning her apartment, which had gotten messy over the past two weeks. Like the work out, the cleaning felt liberating. It was a small part of her life over which she had complete control, and it felt good to tidy and dust and scrub. By the time she was finished, the entire place smelled like lemons and fresh air, and she rewarded herself with some time on the couch with her ereader.

After lunch, she settled herself at the kitchen table with her laptop and a notebook, and began her job search in earnest. She spent the entire afternoon updating her resume and LinkedIn page, reaching out to contacts, and scouring the web for open jobs in her field in the Dallas area. It had been a while since she’d immersed herself in a project, and the hours disappeared. Before she knew it, it was nearly five in the afternoon. Feeling immensely proud of herself for all that she’d accomplished that day, she closed her laptop and poured herself a glass of wine to enjoy as she threw something together for dinner.

“I’m kicking ass today,” she said aloud to herself, a warm satisfaction simmering through her bones. “I don’t need Dylan.” Everything was going to be fine. She was going to be fine. She’d wallowed, and then pulled herself back together. She was doing fine. Not just fine. Awesome.

After dinner, she snuggled up on the couch and turned the TV on, flipping through the channels and looking for something to watch. As she scrolled past NBC Sports, she noticed that the Longhorns were playing, and decided it was perfectly normal to be curious as she turned to the game. Dylan’s face filled the screen, the camera focused on him as the announcers talked about a catch he’d just made.

The sense of satisfaction, of thinking everything would be just fine, that she was moving on and healing, vanished completely, leaving her feeling as though her heart had just been carved out of her chest. An aching loneliness barreled into her, making it hard to breathe. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears. She’d promised herself she wasn’t going to cry over Dylan anymore. She’d already given him enough of her tears during her lifetime.

She might not need Dylan, but she still wanted him. Despite the truth he’d hidden, despite the hurt and humiliation he’d caused her. It was pathetic. She’d been fooling herself all day. She wasn’t any closer to being over him than she’d been the night she’d walked out of his apartment after confronting him about his lies. She missed him and needed him and felt his absence in her life more than she cared to admit. She wanted to talk to him, to tell him about her day, to hear that warm, masculine laugh, to feel his arms around her.

Her mama would be so disappointed in her.

He’d promised her that if it ever came down to it, he’d choose her over his father. It had been another lie, apparently, because he’d kept the man’s secrets at her expense. She shuddered and reached for the blanket tossed over the back of the couch, wrapping it around her legs. Knowing that she’d gone to school on Caleb McCormick’s dime made her feel slimy. The fact that Dylan had manipulated her into doing so made her feel even worse. What was worse than slime?

A cockroach. She felt like a cockroach.

He’d taken away things she thought she’d known about herself, like that she was smart enough to earn a scholarship to college. She’d never know if she would’ve managed to make the same life for herself without Caleb’s bribe. For the rest of her life, she’d always wonder, because he’d stolen a truth from her. He’d upended her sense of self, and it would take a long time to recover. To re-learn who she was, and what she was capable of.

And yet…she missed him. Still wanted him. But how could she ever trust him again? She wanted the impossible. And she had no idea what to do about that.