“Now we know with the story about Earl Wheeler being your father, we think we can use this to our advantage,” the shorter of the two men says. The fluorescent lights bounce off his bald head and it makes my mind spin.
Advantage?
“We’re thinking this is a great way to triple our profits. Maybe we can even do interviews with you and your father,” the other man says.
I hold up a hand, stopping him before he can say anything further. “Let me just say something first…” I pause waiting for him to fill in his name.
“Mark.”
“Mark, I don’t plan on doing anything with that man. Do you not realize what that does? You’re giving the man who ruined my life a voice.”
They both begin to stutter over their own words, but I can’t just stop and listen. Saying things like, edge, power, and benefit.
This is fucking insane.
“Since you keep dismissing me as if I’m not even here, I’ll say this just once. His book is nothing but a big joke. You want to make the man who killed his wife, and abused his family for years, famous? You want to make him out to be a hero?”
“Now son, calm down. That’s not what we’re trying to do at all.” The shorter man stands up. “We want your story to be told so America knows what you went through as a child. We think you’re entitled to tell your side of the story, America has the right to know it.” He pushes his glasses further up his nose. “We’re actually thinking of turning the book into a movie and you can star as the lead.”
Now I stand as well, towering over the table. “Are you kidding me? What gives you that right? I want to keep my childhood… mine. And I don’t want anyone giving that man credit for anything to do with me. I am entitled to shelter my private life, it’s my life for fuck’s sake.”
Monterey touches my arm and it stops the room from spinning. She doesn’t know it, but she’s my anchor, my lifeline. “Dylan.”
I stare down on her. “I won’t do any fucking movie. And I don’t even think a movie should be made. I think Earl Wheeler should die in prison with no fame from anyone.”
And I walk out the fucking door.
Chapter 38
Monterey
I don’t really know what to say. The two men look at me, waiting for me to explain Danger’s actions to them, but I really have nothing to tell them.
I stand, running a hand down to smooth my suit jacket. “I kind of agree with him.” I race out the door, hoping I can catch up to Danger.
I spot him walking along the sidewalk just outside the building. “Danger, wait up.”
He doesn’t turn around.
“Dylan,” I call out.
He turns, his eyes piercing straight through me.
“Can we talk?”
He smiles, but it isn’t one of happiness. I can see all the pain and hurt he’s had to deal with for years. “Want to grab some coffee?” He jabs his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to a coffee shop not more than a block away.
I nod and fall in step beside him.
We get to the coffee shop and find a booth hidden in a corner at the back of the place. We order from the server, and just utter a few nonchalant pleasantries to each other.
I pour a little cream into my mug, stirring with the thin black stick, waiting for Danger to speak first.
He does the same, fixing his coffee the way he likes it. Two sugars, no cream. He sucks in a deep breath, his eyes glancing up to meet mine. “I don’t like the pity. I see it there sometimes when people know the truth. It makes me feel like I should have figured out what my father was before. It makes me feel like I should have protected my mother more. Like I’m a walking disaster.”
Tears well in my eyes, my heart cracking a little more for this man before me.
His father failed at his attempt to bend his beautiful spirit, and now he’s standing in front of me defending himself. And at the same time he looks so vulnerable.
“You’re not a failure, Dylan. You were just a kid.”
He shakes his head, like I could never understand his past. And yes, I’ll never fully understand what it was like to grow up the way he did, doesn’t mean I won’t be here for him. “I plan on racing. So you and your dad can calm down.”
“Dylan, that’s not even anything I’m worried about right now. I want to help you. I want to be the person to help you deal with all this pain.”
“Pain? What do you know about pain?”
“More than you think.” I grab his hand from across the table. “Sure, maybe I don’t know about your pain. I lost my mother, too. And I know what that void feels like.”