Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Simon leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. His eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Dylan, is Clara happy these days?"

He still hadn't given up on Clara, and every time he said her name, there was something playful—and a little suggestive about it.

Dylan walked right past him without missing a beat.

Simon took a drag, then choked on the smoke, coughing before he could get his next words out. "You know, I brought up that prison on purpose at dinner. Every year, you go to Greenwood Cemetery, but I doubt you're there for Shelly. Are you hiding something from the rest of us?"

That stopped Dylan. He turned, looking over his shoulder at Simon, a half-smile playing at his lips-cold and unreadable.

Simon felt the shift immediately. Dylan's vibe turned dark-like a cold fog creeping up from the floor and settling around him.

Dylan reached out and plucked a leaf from a plant nearby. The sap stained his fingertips green.

"People who know too much," Dylan said quietly, "usually don't last long."

It was the first time Simon had ever been threatened so directly.

But the more Dylan acted like this, the more certain Simon became: the child had to be hidden there.

"Relax, Dylan. I'm sure I'll outlive you. And Clara-she'll be mine."

Dylan let out a low chuckle, tossing the leaf aside. "You know, my father doesn't care how many Fergusons back home die."

Simon's eyebrows knitted together. What was that supposed to mean? Back home?

Dylan turned away, voice low and final. "Your life isn't that important."

Just as he was about to leave, his tone softened, just a hint. "My wife's my responsibility. I know how to take care of her."

He didn't need anyone else's sympathy. That much was obvious.

Simon's expression twisted, the word "wife" hitting him like a punch.

As soon as Dylan slid into the car, his hands started shaking, his face pale as paper.

Aiden was quick, shaking a few pills into Dylan's palm and pressing a bottle of water into his hand.

"Sir, please. You need your medicine."

Dylan scowled, popped three pills, and reached for more.

Aiden hesitated, worry obvious in his voice. "You've been taking too much lately.

The side effects will only get worse."

Dylan gripped the seat, his other hand trembling. "Just drive."

Aiden floored it.

*

Clara was curled up in the living room, half-watching TV when the front door opened.

She turned her head, glanced over, then went back to pretending she was interested in the show.

With nothing else to do and no phone, TV was all she had.

The soft whirr of wheels grew louder. She frowned, but didn't say a word.

It was just the two of them. Dylan got up from his wheelchair and, without asking, slid down right beside her.

Clara took a deep breath. "The whole couch is empty and you have to sit right here?"

The words barely left her mouth

before Dylan suddenly stretched out and laid his head in her lap-smooth and unhurried, like he'd done it a thousand times.

"Dylan!"

She was getting bolder about saying

his

but when she looked, she saw blood at the

corner

of his mouth. Content bell.ne

Her instinct to push him away faded. She frowned, concern slipping into her voice. "What happened to you?"

He opened his eyes and looked up at her, catching her hand and pressing it to his cheek.

His skin was hot and clammy, sweat beading his forehead like he'd just come back from the dead.

He looked barely conscious.

Clara grabbed a tissue, gently wiping his brow. "Aiden says you're healthy, but honestly? You seem made of glass-just one bump and you're falling apart." noveldrama

She tried to focus on cleaning him up, but with his face so close, she couldn't help feeling flustered.

Dylan held onto her hand like a lifeline, refusing to let go.

Clara looked up at the TV, but she couldn't focus on anything.

"Clara."

"Yeah?"

The answer slipped out before she even thought about it.