Die for You Read online

  Dillon is one of those annoyingly healthy people who don’t just talk about eating right; he actually does it. Except for his one vice, candy, and not just any kind—Junior Mints. It’s become a challenge to get him to try something different.

  “This could be your new favorite,” I say. “Chocolate. Fruit. What’s not to love?”

  He fishes a Junior Mint out of his box. “I know what I like. Why mess with perfection?” His gaze drops to the curve of my breasts and his lips part in a slow smile. He slides the mint in my mouth. I roll the chocolate around and let the icy center melt on my tongue.

  “Mmm,” he says in a low voice. “Do that again.”

  I shake my head. “Your turn.” I dance the Raisinet across the smoothness of his chest. “Come on. I tried yours. You try mine.”

  He stares at the brown blob in my fingers and makes the sign of the cross.

  I laugh. “You’re such a candy snob.”

  “I am not. I’ve been known to have the occasional M&M. But as the former owner of a rabbit, I can never eat a Raisinet.”

  “You had a rabbit?”

  “Mr. Big Ears. He pooped Raisinets all day long.”

  “It’s chocolate.”

  “It’s chocolate-covered rabbit poop.”

  “What if my life was at stake?” I demand. “And the only way to save me was to eat a Raisinet?”

  He blinks sadly as he slides his hand down my side and squeezes my butt. “I’ll miss you.”

  I gasp in mock horror. “That’s it,” I say. “You are going to eat this.”

  His eyes glitter black in the dim light. “Never.”

  I raise my eyebrows and slide up his body, trailing one hand along his thigh. His body stiffens and a spark flares in his midnight-blue eyes.

  I kiss the fullness of his bottom lip and then twist so I’m lying beside him, my head on my pillow. I set the Raisinet inside my belly button.

  He groans. “That’s not fair.” He rises onto one elbow, his black hair falling over his forehead. He kisses my shoulder and then the hollow between my breasts. His head drops and my breath catches. I feel his tongue dip into my navel, and then he looks up, the Raisinet in his teeth.

  He bites down on it and a look of horror paints his face. His lips pucker. He’s like a five-year-old trying Brussels sprouts for the first time. “That’s awful!”

  I burst out laughing as he buries his head in my stomach. He wraps his arms around me and we lie like that, shaking enough to make the mattress squeak until our laughter fades into a sigh.

  “I don’t want to go,” he says into my ribs. “A week is too long.”

  “I’m the one who’s going to be miserable. You’ll be on a cruise, distracted by all the girls in bikinis.”

  “I don’t even see other girls. Don’t you know that by now?” He looks up, the candle flickering warm light on one smooth cheek, the straight slope of his nose, the barest trace of stubble that grows in patches along his jaw. “I wish you were coming with me.”

  “Even if your mom wanted me along, I’m meeting my sister early tomorrow.”

  He slides up beside me and squeezes my shoulder. He knows it’s going to be a hard morning. Lauren is driving up from the University of Arizona and we’re going to meet at Mom’s to pack up her old bedroom. But really it’s a last goodbye to the house we grew up in.

  “I hate that I won’t be here for you.”

  I press a kiss on the curve of his collarbone. “I’ll be okay. I’ll have Lauren there, and then I’m going to hang out with Marissa.”

  “I won’t even be able to call.”

  “I’m trying not to think about that.”

  His chest rises and then falls with a long exhale. “I don’t think we’ve ever gone more than a day without talking.”

  I smile, thinking of all the times my phone buzzed with one of Dillon’s late-night calls. Usually it was just a quick good night. A sleepy, “I love you, Em.” And then there were the nights when I couldn’t sleep and I’d call him and say, “Watch a show with me?” And he’d turn on his TV and I’d turn on mine and we’d watch the same show, not talking but just feeling—needing—the connection.

  “I’m going to miss you so much, Em,” he murmurs.

  I tense. It’s been such a wonderful night. I haven’t wanted to spoil it with Rome, but now his words remind me. I have to tell him.

  Just a few minutes more…

  He shifts and pulls me onto his chest. I sigh into the ridge of muscle beneath my cheek. I can hear the steady beat of his heart, slow now and strong, like everything about Dillon. He isn’t much taller than I am, but he’s solid muscle everywhere. He pushes my hair back behind my ear, trailing a finger over the sapphire earring he gave me at Christmas. “She thinks it’ll be good for us. She told me that yesterday.”

  I don’t have to ask who. Dillon’s mom has wanted us to take a break ever since he brought me home to meet her last June. I glance toward the window as if I’ll see her standing there. But it’s dark outside; even the landscape lights in Dillon’s backyard have clicked off, which they do every night at eleven-thirty. The guesthouse is tucked in the back corner of his yard, surrounded by trees that block most of the view from the two-story house. She never comes out, never checks up on Dillon, but I see the blinds move sometimes and I know she’s there. There’s something a little creepy about how much she watches over him, but Dillon is all she’s got now. And he’s careful of her feelings. How can I fault him for that—it’s one of the things I most admire about Dillon. He takes care of the people he loves.

  “She’s afraid of losing you,” I murmur. Even though she won’t.

  Dillon and I are both registered at ASU next year. We’re going to live in the dorms, so he’ll only be ten miles away. I know she was hoping he’d stay in the guesthouse, but he’s promised he’ll come home some weekends and live here over summer breaks. He almost lives here now.

  Dillon used to have trouble sleeping. He says he’s always been a night owl, but Jace, who’s known him longer than anyone, told me it got worse after Dillon’s dad died three years ago. That’s when he started going for late-night runs, but that scared Mrs. Hobbs, so they came up with this—a gym in the guesthouse. She bought Dillon a weight bench and a treadmill with a TV mounted to the wall. When he got restless at night, he could work out and run until he got tired. Of course, I didn’t know any of this when we started dating. Not until one hot night in June when we were watching a movie in the guesthouse and he fell asleep.

  We’d been officially dating for four weeks, but he’d never drifted off like that before, even though he spent long hours in the sun as a lifeguard. I remember watching him sleep, how everything about him seemed perfect to me. The slight wing of his eyebrows. The way his spiky black lashes curled the tiniest bit at the tip. The feel of his calloused fingers laced through mine. Even asleep—with his breathing deep and regular—he still held my hand. I wanted to freeze time so the moment would never end, but Dad was still drinking too much then and I really needed to get home. I turned off the TV and slowly wiggled my fingers free. When I did, he woke up.

  “I have to leave,” I whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

  He blinked dazedly. “I fell asleep?”

  “It’s okay. It’s late, and the movie was terrible.”

  “No,” he murmured. “You don’t understand.”

  I thought he must be embarrassed that he’d dozed off, but his lips parted in a sweet grin—a boyishly beautiful grin. He found my fingers again, wrapping them in his. “I never fall sleep like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like…peacefully.”

  I blushed, ridiculously happy. I felt like I’d just discovered a superpower. My lips still fighting a smile, I pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I have to go.”

  He squeezed my fingers tighter. “What if I don’t ever want you to go?”

  There was something new in his voice. Something that made my heart flutter at the base of
my throat. “That would be okay with me.”

  His voice was rough with sleep and some deeper emotion. “Be my girlfriend, Em? I feel like you already are.”

  I nodded, the blood fizzing in my veins as I looked at our clasped hands. “I feel that way, too.”

  He lifted my hand to his face and rubbed his cheek in my palm. “I was dreaming about you,” he said.

  “You were?”

  He nodded as his eyes lifted to mine, the hypnotic blue of deep waters. “I think I have been my whole life.”

  He started sleeping better after that but he didn’t tell his mom. He had other reasons now for wanting the privacy of the guesthouse. It’s a nice place, and we’re lucky to have it, but it also makes me feel claustrophobic. I glance toward the living room curtains I can’t see except in my mind.

  The light from the clock catches my eye. It’s nearly midnight. Dad will be asleep, but I really should go. I have to tell Dillon. He’ll be upset at first, but all afternoon I’ve been imagining us together in Rome over the holidays and now it feels real. If I can just paint the picture for him…

  I pull the sheet with me as I scoot up straighter and sit back against the pillow. “So I never told you about my meeting with Mrs. Lyght.”

  “I thought it was something to do with your dad?”

  “Not exactly.”

  His eyes watch me, a line just visible between his brows.

  “It turns out Mrs. Lyght has a friend who runs a museum. He has a grant to bring in an intern every year and the person he had lined up for next year just bailed. He needs someone else but doesn’t have time to go through the application process. He asked Mrs. Lyght if she had any students to recommend.”

  “She recommended you?”

  “I still have to apply,” I say. “But…”

  He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “But you’re amazing.”

  “Here’s the amazing part.” I pause. “The museum is in Rome.”

  “Italy?” He stiffens, the muscles in his arms flexing.

  “I know. I can hardly believe it myself.”

  “For the summer?” He goes still. It’s not as if he was moving before, but something about him coils as tight as a rattlesnake. It’s how Dillon absorbs bad news. As if he’s steadying himself.

  But this isn’t bad news.

  I work to keep the smile on my lips as my hands press the sheet to my chest. I can feel my heart thumping. “The year,” I say. “I’d leave in August, come home in May. But you’ll come out for the holidays. Just think about it, Dillon. Christmas in Rome. We’ll watch the sun set over St. Peter’s Basilica. Who knows. Maybe the pope will be in residence.” I smile wider, wanting to make him smile, too. “And we’ll sit at little cafes and eat pasta and drink Italian wine.”

  It’s like he doesn’t hear any of that. “The year?” he repeats. A nerve twitches by the side of his eye and a strange look transforms his features into someone I hardly recognize. I’ve seen flashes of it this spring—almost a look of panic, as though he’s just realized his wallet is missing.

  I shift uneasily. It’s his fear of everything changing—that’s what’s thrown him off. Dillon arranges his life the same way he’s arranged his collection of miniature cars. Each one is in a special place. One time I picked up a car and he took it from me before I could put it back, carefully setting it in the exact same spot, at the exact same angle. He’s like that during a baseball game, too, always signaling the number of outs, pointing to the fielder where he expects the ball to be hit, calling each pitch of the game. It’s his way of controlling a world that felt beyond his control growing up. I get that. But now his friends are splintering off. Spence is going to San Diego for college, and lately Jace—his closest friend since fourth grade—is acting strange whenever next year comes up, as though he’s changed his mind about ASU. I don’t want Dillon to think I’m a splinter, too.

  “The time would go fast,” I say. “You’ll be busy with classes, and we can Skype every day.”

  “But you’re already registered for ASU. We’re applying for the same dorm. You wouldn’t…you…you’re not really…” He licks his lips, and I know he’s waiting. For what? For me to make this all go away?

  I feel like there’s a fist in my throat. It’s hard to breathe. “I know there’s a lot to figure out.” I find myself talking faster, covering up his silence. “I’m not sure, but I think I’d get transfer credits. I’d attend a university in Rome, and probably take classes in the mornings and work at the museum in the afternoons. Think how much I’d learn—how much I’d see! Just walking the streets I’d be in the middle of this incredible archaeological site. I mean, the Pantheon. The Forum. The Colosseum.” I pause, out of breath. “Dillon, don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” he asks.

  “Don’t be upset about this. I know it means we’ll be apart, but only for nine months and it’s Rome.”

  “So you want to go?” His gaze flashes up, pain slashing across his features in the candlelight. “You want to leave me?”

  “Of course not,” I say. “I’m not leaving you.”

  “If we’re not together, we’re apart.”

  I shake my head. “There might be distance between us, but I love you, Dillon. You know that.”

  “And you made me swear we’d always be together,” he says. “Forever. Remember that night? You said it was a sacred promise.”

  “It was. It is.”

  How could I ever forget?

  It was October, and Dad and I had been in the new house for about six months by then. I thought he was getting stronger. Steadier. Then the final divorce papers came. By the time I got home, he was sitting in the hallway in a pile of broken glass. Every family picture had been pulled from the wall, smashed on the tile. A stack of legal papers smoked, the edges charred black. I tried to take care of Dad all on my own, but he was beyond drunk. I couldn’t get him off the floor.

  I called Dillon and he came over. He helped me put Dad to bed. I swept up the glass and sprayed air freshener to clear the smell of smoke. Then I let Dillon hold me, and that night when he said he loved me for the first time, I said I needed it to be forever. I made him promise, as though that would solve everything. But in a way it did. I knew that Dillon was there for me, no matter what.

  “This doesn’t change any of that,” I say. “It’s just an internship.”

  “Do you want it more than you want me?”

  His words slap me.

  “Dillon. It’s not a choice.”

  “And if it was? Would you give it up?”

  “Would you want me to?”

  His eyes are black and unreadable. “You’re not answering the question.”

  “I can’t believe you’re even asking it.”

  “How would you feel if it was me?” he says. “If I just decided, last-minute, I was going to move next year. See ya later.”

  My mouth goes dry at the thought. But that’s not what I’m saying.

  “I made a commitment to you,” he adds. “I thought you made the same commitment to me.”

  “It’s an internship.” I’m repeating myself, I know I am, but I can’t think what else to say. It’s like we’re playing charades and I keep giving him the same clue because maybe if I say it enough times he’ll finally get it. It’s an internship. “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation,” I say, trying again. I draw in a long breath and meet his gaze, willing myself to find the words he needs to hear. “It’s a great opportunity for me. Yes, it will be horrible to be apart. I will miss you every day and every night. But if I have a shot to go there, to live a year with my feet on two thousand years of history—how can you not want me to go?”

  “I want you to have opportunities, Em. Of course I do. But there are all kinds of them right here. You’ve told me that yourself.”

  “But they’re not Rome.” I clench my fists in frustration. “You know classical archaeology is going to be my focus. We’ve talked about going to Italy a million
times.”

  “Yeah, and we were always going together.”

  “This is crazy, Dillon. You don’t get to decide this.”

  “And you do?”

  “It’s my life!”

  “I thought it was going to be our life!”

  I shove back my hair with one hand. “You’re twisting everything I say.”

  “Then say the only thing that matters.” His face is set, his eyes burning with emotion.

  “Say what?”

  “Say that you won’t go. Say that you won’t leave me.”

  I want to tear the sheet in my hands. “I’m not leaving you. Not ever. Don’t you believe me when I say I love you?” We’ve never fought like this before, and I can hardly believe it’s us. This is the most exciting thing to ever happen to me. He has to see that. He will. He’ll think about it, and he’ll see. I swallow, the taste of my earlier excitement like chalk in my throat.

  “You know what?” I say. I’m proud at how calm I sound. How controlled. I sound like Dillon. “We’ll talk about this when you get back. We’re both tired now and it’s been a crazy week. And I need to get home.” I whirl around, scooting to the edge of the bed. I reach for my underwear and pull it on. My stomach is a twisted mess, not calm at all. I shake out my jeans with trembling hands and shove a leg in. My toes catch on a frayed hole in the knee and the material rips loudly. It feels like the sound comes from inside of me.

  I hear him dressing, too. He’s waiting for me to say it’s okay, that it doesn’t matter. But this isn’t just about what kind of music is playing on the car radio.

  I can wait, too. I slow my movements, hoping he’ll say something while I tug on my sandals, while I reach for my sweater and my purse. This internship means too much. I can outwait him.

  Please, Dillon. It feels like my heart beats to his name.

  I turn around, wanting him to make this okay. My breath catches. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to me. His jeans are on, but his chest is bare. He’s bent over, his fingers pressed to his temples. The slope of his back is strangely vulnerable. Dillon is only eighteen, but he’s already so much of a man. So strong and steady. It hurts to see him like this.