Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

“Dahlia,” Dermot said my name quietly, drawing my attention from the door to his. His expression turned pleading. “I didn’t know.”

I nodded.

“She’s…” His gaze darted to the door. “I’ve never seen her like that … She’s … she’s not … that’s fucked up.”

My brother looked crushed. Alone, sad, and totally crushed.

Without thinking about it, I crossed the room and drew him into my arms.

Dermot didn’t hesitate. He buried his head in my neck and held on for dear life.

Before he had to leave for work, Dermot asked me to tell him everything from my side of the story. When I was done, he’d looked at me in weary defeat. “I still think you should have come home. But I get it now why you didn’t.”

I’d hesitated over my own question. “She never … In all these years, she never talked about how she blamed me for Dillon’s death? How she felt about it?”

Dermot had shaken his head. “She never talked about you at all. When we tried, she would walk out of the room. I thought it was because you left and would only tell Dad where you were. I didn’t realize it was because she’d poisoned her own fuckin’ mind against you.”

“Maybe if I had come home sooner, it wouldn’t have gotten this bad. She would have had to deal with her grief rather than letting it fester like this.”

“Maybe.” He’d agreed impatiently as he stood up to leave. “You don’t actually blame yourself for Dillon’s death, do you?”

“I changed the course of her future, Dermot. There’s no getting around that fact.”

“Jesus fuck,” he’d sneered. “One’s crazy, and the other’s a martyr. I can’t … I can’t deal with this shit right now. I’ve got work.”

He’d taken off without saying goodbye, and it left me unsure of where I stood with him.

For a while, I’d sat in silence going over the last hour in my head. Every part of me seemed to ache. “Well, this trip home has been super fun,” I muttered.

The urge to pack my bags and leave was strong. Back home in Hartwell, I didn’t have to deal with all this stuff. My life was simple and peaceful.

However, I couldn’t leave Dad. Especially not now, knowing how bad Mom had gotten. Hands shaking, I crossed the room to where I’d left my phone on the side table and swiped left, bringing up my main contacts. My finger hovered over the B button. I didn’t want to keep calling Bailey when I was feeling lousy because then she’d worry. However, she was my person now.

Before Hartwell, it had been Michael. I sighed, slumping down on the couch, remembering the first time I ever went to him because of my mom. It was before he dated Dillon. It was before I suspected Gary of cheating …

Stepping out of my bedroom, I caught sight of Dermot preening in the bathroom mirror as he reached for his bottle of cologne.

“Don’t,” I warned him.

He whipped around. “Don’t what?”

“Put more cologne on.”

Dermot gestured with the bottle. “Too much?”

“Yes. Unless you want to suffocate the poor girl.”

He flashed me a wide grin. “I like this one so that would be a no.”

“You like them all,” I teased.

“But this one is spicy. I like her smart mouth.” He stepped out of the bathroom. “She reminds me of you, without the icky sister factor.”

“It’s still icky,” I grumbled, even though I thought it was kind of sweet. “Also, I think the police academy would frown on you using the word icky at your age. You ever going to grow up, Derm?” I followed him downstairs.

Darragh and Davina had both moved out, but Dermot couldn’t afford to yet. As a scholarship student at MassArt (Massachusetts College of Art & Design), I couldn’t afford student housing, and as a student at a beauty academy in the city, my nineteen-year-old sister Dillon definitely still lived at home too.

“It’s all relative,” Dermot answered breezily. “I’ll be mature as a cop.”