Denying Dylan | ✔️

(19) "Your brother is a total douchebag,"

"So," Howie looked between Dylan and I, a form to be filled out in front of us. The longer that neither of us said a word, the more his smile fell and the air became thick with tension. "You. . . You want to sign it?"

I snatched it, the sudden sound of paper being torn filled the otherwise quiet chapel office. Dylan watched me shredding the form up, but I couldn't look at him. How could I? How could I look at the person who I loved and hope that he'd tell me to stop, hope that he'd tell me he wants to remain married.

Right now, life wasn't on my side and I couldn't deal with one more fucking blow to the stomach. I was sick of getting knocked on my ass. This time, I was throwing the first punch. "He's engaged. To another woman."

Howie's eyes went wide right before I spun around and stormed out of the church. To be fair, I wasn't sure if there was truth to what I just said. I had no clue where he and Charlie stood right now. I hadn't seen him texting at all. He'd only called the restaurant or Brecken or his mom since we left.

But that wasn't the point. If I had to put my hope for happiness in someone else's hands one more time, just to have it thrown straight back at me, I wouldn't survive. My heart was being held together with a thin piece of thread and if it occurred one more knock, I wouldn't be getting back up. Right now, the only chance that I had, was to move forward, eliminate the risk of someone snipping my thread and hope that I made it out of this alive.

"Bea?" Dylan caught up to me in the parking lot. "Bea wait."

I made it to the car but it didn't matter because it wasn't unlocked. I had to wait for him to do that and I had a feeling that he was going to go for conversation before he did that. Of course, I was right. He stood in front of me, swallowed and slid his hands into the pockets of his slim fit jeans.

"What's going on? What was that all about?"

"Can we go?"

"Bea? Is someth—"

"I just want to get to Burbank, put my mom to rest and get this stupid trip over with. So can we go?"

His clenched jaw fluttered and his brows knit. "No. Tell me what that tantrum was about and then we can leave."

"Tantrum?" I spat and stepped backward, meeting his burning stare. That was the first mistake. Looking at him. I knew him well enough to know that I was hurting him right now. Even behind his frustration and short tone, he was hurt. "I just want to go, Dylan. I'm about to release my mom's ashes and I have a lot on my mind, alright? It's. . . I'm upset. Can you not make it about yourself?"

He looked at me as if I'd slapped him and I hated myself for it.

"Yeah," he said and turned his back on me, walked around to the driver's side and then slammed the door shut behind him. Exhaling a breath, I blinked back tears and slid into the passenger seat.

Nine years ago.

The world through a lens was a photographer's magic. We could zoom in on a flower to crop out the weeds that surrounded it. We could shoot a building at an angle that made it appear as if it was as tall as the heavens. We could focus on a beautiful face and blur all else in the background so that one smile was made to look like it could change lives.