Chapter 53 This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things
This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things
Dylan
“Igot the job.”
Dylan looked up from his protein bar, not fully processing her words at first. Ali was glowing—her cheeks flushed, eyes wild with excitement, bare feet bouncing against the kitchen tile.
One of his old Tritons crewnecks swallowed her frame, the sleeves pushed to her elbows as she waved her phone in the air like it owed her rent.
“What job?” he asked cautiously.
“The one I interviewed for. Vaughn & Ellis. Kallie set it up. It’s official—I start in two weeks.”
He blinked, a grin forming before he even meant it to. “Holy shit, baby. That’s amazing.”
“I know!” she beamed. “It’s full salary, full benefits, and the location is perfect. And it’s small enough that I won’t get swallowed up, but established enough to be taken seriously.”
He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her briefly off the ground before kissing her temple. “I’m so proud of you.”
She melted into him, laughing, but something was off. A beat too long. A hesitation in her shoulders. When she pulled back, she wasn’t meeting his eyes.
“Wait…” He stepped back slowly, hands resting on his hips. “Kallie set it up? Where is it?”
“Here. I mean. Orlando.”
His brows drew together. “You’re moving here?”
“I was hoping to. I already talked to Kallie about apartment listings. Just something small and affordable. Close to the office.”
His heart thudded once. “When were you going to tell me?”
“I’m telling you now.”
“No, you’re telling me after the fact,” he said, his tone flat. “You already had the interview, started looking for places, called Kallie. You were making moves without me.”
Ali bristled. “Because I didn’t want to get your hopes up if it didn’t work out. And I didn’t want to make you feel like I was just following you like some lost puppy.”
“Ali, come on. You think I’d feel that way?”
“I think you don’t realize how hard it was for me to make this decision. To move. To start over again.”
He ran a hand over his jaw, tension humming through his chest. “And I could’ve helped you with all of it. If you’d let me in.”
“I am letting you in—now.”
His phone buzzed once on the counter. Daisy. He ignored it.
“You always do this,” he said. “You protect me from things that don’t even need protecting. I’ve never asked you to prove your independence to me.”
“I’m not proving anything,” she shot back. “I’m trying to build something for myself. Something stable.”
Buzz.
Daisy again.
“And what—we’re just supposed to figure out logistics later? You’re going to live across town and text me when it’s convenient? Pretend this is some casual long-distance thing when we’re five miles apart?”
She stared at him, wounded. “You’re twisting this.”
Buzz.
Daisy. Third call.
He let out a growl of frustration and grabbed the phone. “Daisy, now’s not a good time—”
Her voice came fast and broken. “Dylan.” She was crying, frantic. “It’s Dad— he had a heart attack. They rushed him to Bellamy Memorial. It’s bad. Please—please come.”
Silence hit the room like a crash.
Ali stepped forward. “What happened?”
Dylan’s jaw clenched. “I’m coming,” he said into the phone. “I’ll be there soon.”
He ended the call without waiting for a response, then looked up—numb and hollow.
Ali was already moving. Grabbing her keys. Her shoes. Her purse. “Let’s go.”
He didn’t argue. He couldn’t.