“This isn’t about us.” Apollo made a dismissive gesture. “It’s about you respecting my wishes about my children.”
“Wishes that I might have known about had you actually tried telling me.” Dylan bounced on the balls of his feet. “And this is entirely about us. You’re talking about respect, but you’re not respecting me. I’m not just the babysitter, and we both know it.”
Apollo muttered something indistinguishable.
“What? I do one thing you don’t like, and you’re ready to take back the whole summer? Or is it that you’ve never stopped seeing me as the babysitter?” Forget Apollo’s big fears, Dylan was voicing one of his own now. One he already knew the truth of—Apollo was never going to stop seeing him as the little kid brother of Dustin, too stupid to make adult choices and too young to be trusted.
Apollo’s stony silence was louder than any news briefing. “Look, we’ve all made mistakes,” he said at last.
“A mistake? That’s really all this is to you? A mistake?” Dylan’s voice shook, and he had to lean against the car.
“You knew where this thing was going.” Apollo scrubbed at his face, and even in his anger, Dylan could see how tired the man was with deep lines around his eyes and mouth. “But you had to go and apply for that job in secret—”
“Ah.” Dylan sighed. He’d known this was coming. “That’s really what this is all about, right? My job? It’s not about the girls’ safety—”
“It is. It’s about whether I can trust you. And yes, the job’s part of that. If you’re keeping big secrets from me, how in the hell do I trust you with my kids?”
That stung. Dylan had never been anything other than trustworthy with the girls, and Apollo had to know that. “Look. I get that you’re not happy about the job. If it’s that you don’t want to try to keep this going, just say that. Don’t...” Voice breaking, he trailed off. Don’t hurt me with these cruel words just because you’re scared of a future together. Don’t stomp on me and tell me what you really think.
Dylan hated messy conversations like this. They reminded him too much of his parents before their divorce in his late teens. If Apollo didn’t want a future together, fine. Dylan didn’t want a future with a guy who had so little respect for him either, a guy who was always going to see him as the babysitter.
“I don’t. I can’t. We can’t.”
“We could. You just won’t let us.” Dylan pushed away from the car, pacing in front of Apollo. “You don’t want to admit what we have—”
“Baba?” Chloe called from inside the house. “The TV went weebly wonky again?”
“Be right there,” Apollo called, eyes still shooting darts at Dylan even as his voice softened. He waited until they heard footsteps racing away to speak again. “I’ll deal with you later—”
“Apollo.” Dylan kept his voice down, but still urgent. “I am not a pesky problem to be dealt with later.”
“I need to go help the girls.” Apollo shook his head, looking skyward like he needed strength to deal with Dylan. And that was the last straw for Dylan.
“And I need to get out of here for bit.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Not permanently. Even I wouldn’t leave you in the lurch right now. Text me when you have to head back to base, but right now, yeah, I think we both need some space and to cool down.”
Stop me. Tell me I’m overreacting. Tell me that you do respect me, that you want something together. Don’t let me go.
But of course Apollo didn’t hear a one of Dylan’s silent pleas, only nodding, sending a sliver of glass straight to Dylan’s heart. “That’s probably for the best.”
Chapter Twenty
Apollo didn’t watch Dylan walk away, didn’t watch him head to his little car parked on the street out front, didn’t watch him drive away. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
Instead he headed in, helped the girls get the TV set, all the while his head was roaring. They might have talked to him. He might have replied. He wasn’t sure.
“Baba? You need a nap.” Chloe penetrated his fog, shoving at his arm. “You keep making sleepy sounds.”
“Sleepy sounds?”
“Hmmphf. Harrumph.” Chloe imitated heavy sighing.
“Oh.” Apollo guessed he wasn’t doing such a good job keeping it together after all. “I’m not tired, sweetie. Just... Baba needs...” Dylan. More time. Better control over his temper. A time machine. Might as well wish big as long as he was wishing. “A minute, okay? I’ll be right back. You watch your show.”
They both nodded, attention riveted to the dancing ABCs on the screen. He fled to the hall bath, which was a mistake, one he recognized as soon as he shut the door. Too many memories of Dylan here. Their desperate kissing, the first fumbling touches, the laughing and shoving in the shower...