Hold me [ Dylan Sprayberry Fanfic ]

Chapter 12

Bridget's POV
Dylan stared at me for a long time-or maybe it was a couple seconds, I couldn't tell. There was a worried crease set between his eyebrows, his naturally pink lips set into a disappointed line. I found myself wondering why I hadn't been able to understand people's expressions lately, or maybe it's just Dylan I can't interpret. I noticed quite often how sad he looked all of the time, to think I'd ever mistaken that sadness for something other than what it was.
Dylan was hurting. And I didn't know why. His hand, the one that had been outstretched towards me, hung frozen in the air for a few seconds before awkwardly dropping to his side. A small sad smile tugged at his lips as Dylan's eyes left mine, a faraway look settling somewhere deep in them; and glided over to the open garage door that led into the kitchen. Dylan cleared his throat, wiped sweat from his brow with his forearm, and sighed.
"Where's Tyler?" I asked quickly, biting my lip nervously, had I just considered that I might've possible developed some type of feelings for him? That couldn't be right. Dylan's head snapped in my direction, and a wave of irritation flushed his face.
"Not here. Why do you want to talk to him?" He ordered, as I looked around-I saw that he'd only been here for a short time; there was a black backpack in the corner along with a skateboard for a quick exit if needed.
"No reason," I said guiltily, although-I suddenly did wish I could talk to Tyler; he seemed like he would give me more answers, rather than the questions Dylan seemed to accumulate.

My phone vibrated violently as I began to attempt to assess the conversation we'd previously had, I dug it out and stared at the illuminated screen.
A message from Crystal,
'Where r u?'
Damn, I'd gotten so side-tracked, I'd lost track of time.
"Something the matter?" Dylan asked quizzically, grabbing his wrench and walking back over to the truck.
"I have to go..." I muttered, hurrying to gather up the little I'd carried over.
"Oh right, don't want to keep Cody waiting now do we?" He mused in a sickly sweet tone, thick with bitterness. We could keep him waiting, I wouldn't mind... Dylan grabbed the keys perched on the shelf, and walked over to the motorcycle. He ran a hand through his hair as he revved up the motorcycle's engine, and turned towards me. A wind blew in from the open door pushing his hair away from his face, revealing a tiny otherwise, unnoticeable scar on his forehead. It was a long array of crosses and zigzags, but it didn't look fresh.
"Coming?" His voice rose in curiosity, as if he was really questioning me whether or not I was leaving-to go be with Cody or staying, here, with him.
"I guess I am." Confused, I shuffled over, took the helmet he held out to me, and slid onto the back. I pulled the helmet over my head, and wrapped my arms around his waist. We pulled out of the garage, and then began to make our way out of the neighborhood.

The air was cool on my skin, the sun was beginning to show the first signs of setting in the sky; reddish orange rays streaked across the horizon-and faintly, I could see the ocean way off in the distance, complimenting the canvas the sky had been made out of. At that moment, I swear nothing could've mattered; where I was going, what was happening-it was just, that second, that mattered. Slightly shaken by this change of emotion, I brought my attention to Dylan; his stormy blue eyes were set on the road, his jaw slightly clenched along with his hands gripping the handles of the motorcycle, to the point to where his knuckles were white. We arrived at the diner fairly quickly; Dylan had extended a hand to help me off. His hand had been unexpectedly soft, and warm-encasing fully around my own, smaller one.
I took a step to get over the ledge of the sidewalk, nearly tripped--if it wasn't for him grabbing my arm to prevent me from busting my face open on the sidewalk.
"Can you at least walk without getting hurt?" Dylan breathed, as a small boy pointed at me and laughed as his mother guided him into the diner. "Doubt it." I sighed truthfully, dusting off the knees of my jeans. He smiled uneasily,
"Try to get to the table without impaling yourself, alright?" Dylan held the door open for me as I stepped in.
"Are you sure you don't want to come along?" I said uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact. This time, he didn't hesitate to slap the palm of his hand over my forehead,
"Go have fun, Bridget. Have Cody drive you home." With that, his narrowed eyes swept across the premises, and then he drove away, zooming off down the interstate over the speed limit.