Chapter Twenty-Eight – Fawn
I’m grinning like the Cheshire Cat, and I don’t care.
I feel amazing. The world appears brighter, as if the world suddenly came into focus, like the haze had been cleared from a window.
I drive the long way home, taking a route through the forest. All the windows are rolled down, and the warm, sweet scent of pine floods inside.
The sunbeams flicker through the trees, shining on my skin and the dashboard. I feel like I am finally free.
Yes, I am wearing the dress without my panties, and I seriously need to wash my hair the minute I get home. For the first time . . . I feel wanted, not half-loved.
I assumed Jason loved me. I thought what we had was what a relationship was supposed to be — quiet and dull, in that suffocating way where you convince yourself you’re fine.
Hell, Jason never made me orgasm; it was always about him. He refused to eat me out, said it wasn’t his style. Why the fuck did I stay so long?
Nevertheless, during all those years I was with him, I never experienced the same kind of emotions I’ve felt from Dylan and Torin in only a few days.
Just thinking of them, of Dylan’s chaotic affection and Torin’s comforting heat, makes something warm thrum against my ribs.
Sunlight floods through the windshield and my hands clutch tighter around the wheel.
They kissed my stretch marks like they were something beautiful. Like they weren’t the same marks Jason used to poke at — subtle comments meant to shrink me down, make me feel small, imperfect, less.
Torin’s mouth traced them as if he were reading a map, and then Dylan pressed a kiss to them, as if he’d discovered gold. Just thinking of it makes my heart jump to my throat.
I stop the car at a red light. My phone is buzzing inside the holder.
Are they texting me already?
Torin: Message us when you get home safely.
Of course, he’s the practical one — the protector.
Another buzz.
Dylan: Miss you already, princess.
A smile spreads across my entire face, goofy and bright. I can hear their voices, the combination of flirting, completely energetic, alongside Torin’s sternness.
The light turns green, and I start rolling, turning up the music even louder.
I can’t help it; I start singing.
The breeze rushes through the open windows, warm and unrestrained, lifting my hair.
I’m riding so high on this sensation, this care, this desire, this reckoning shift inside me, that the tree-lined road looks completely surreal.
****
Quietly, I shut the door behind me, and I hardly have a chance to breathe before hearing Delilah’s voice explode. “You dirty girl! You got laid!”
Hello to you too, Dee . . .
I freeze, my hand still on the doorknob. How the hell — do I have ‘I had sex’ written across my back? Branded on my back like a Starbucks order?
Slowly, I turn around, and Delilah’s standing there, hands on her hips, wide-eyed, mouth agape. She looks like she’s going to start speaking in tongues. I make a valiant effort not to smile and achieve absolutely nothing.
Her eyes widen even further.
“And how would you even know?” I ask, though I’m already bracing for her answer.
She steps closer, squinting like an investigator examining crime scene evidence.
“Well, your hair is frizzy as hell, meaning you had a shower . . . or you jumped into some body of water, which we both know isn’t true, because you hate deep water.”
She narrows her eyes then continues, waving her hand in a circle at my face. “Plus, your makeup looks melted . . . but in the ‘I was ruined’ way.”
What the actual fuck, is she, Sherlock? A psychic?
A scoff escapes my lips, though, because she’s not wrong.
Her hands fly to her mouth. “Oh my God. Who?”
I look down at my feet, inhale, exhale, and prepare for detonation. “Both.”
She blinks once, then twice. “. . . Both?”
“Both.”
There is a beat — a silent, suspended moment.
Then, she completely loses her cool. “OH MY GOD! Both of them?” She jumps on the spot, squealing. “YES, QUEEN! I NEED DETAILS! IMMEDIATELY! I WANT THE DIRECTOR’S CUT! GIVE ME EVERYTHING!”
We land on the couch like two kids on the brink of unlocking the world’s greatest mystery.
I cross my legs, so my pussy isn’t on display, and Delilah sits, knees up to her chest, vibrating with excitement.
I begin to deliver the unfiltered version of what happened last night.
The whole time, she beams, as if she’s the proudest friend ever.
By the time I’m done, she’s clutching a cushion to her chest like she needs emotional support.
She tilts her head. “So . . . was it just a one-night thing or . . . ?”
Slowly, I shake my head. “No . . .” My brows knit together, because saying it out loud makes it feel even more real. “Us three are . . . kind of a thing.”
“A thing?”
“Yeah.” I scratch my arm, suddenly shy. “We, uh . . . made rules. And they put me in a group chat.”
Delilah slaps her own knee so loudly, I jump. “Bitch. Two men.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “What. The actual. Fuck. This is great.”
“I like them, Dee. They make me feel . . . wanted.” I swallow, feeling my chest warm. “Really wanted.”
Her face softens, no jokes, no drama, just her; my best friend, really seeing me.
That’s the best thing about her: she never judges, and that’s why I love her.
“Oh, Fawn, after Jason . . .” she says, laying her hand on mine.
“That’s just what you need now, because in the past, you didn’t lose a man.
You lost someone who never did the bare minimum, and by the sounds of it, Dylan and Torin are treating you right, and I am happy for you.
” Then, she smiles. “But what about your one-year rule?”
My tongue drags across my teeth and I let out a huff.
“Well, that’s out the window.” I shrug dramatically.
She cackles, grabs a pillow, and smacks me with it. “Good! Fuck that rule. Dylan and Torin clearly did!”
For a second, I bury my face in my hands, but I’m smiling so hard, my cheeks hurt.
“So I’ve got something to tell you too . . .” Delilah excitedly bounces her shoulders. “Cal got me and him last-minute tickets for Sabrina Carpenter . . . in Texas!”
My jaw drops to the floor. “Oh, wow.”
She lifts a finger. “Wait. The best part . . . We’re staying there for two and a half weeks. We’re going sightseeing.”
“That sounds amazing. When are you going?”
“Tomorrow.” She blows air through her teeth, as if the words are hurtful.
“So soon?” I blink. “What am I gonna do without you for two and a half weeks?”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “From what I hear, fuck your new guys.”
I laugh and shake my head. I am genuinely happy for her, I am, but a two-and-a-half-week vacation with Cal already? That’s quick.
And then again, look at me. To judge her pace after the last twenty-four hours would be the height of hypocrisy.
“Oh, some mail came for you,” she says and reaches back for the side table, handing me a cream-colored envelope. “Right! I’m gonna pack. I wanna be prepared.”
Waving her off, I smile, but as soon as the door to her room swings shut, the space seems far too quiet. I slide my finger inside the flap and extract the letter.
My stomach drops instantly.
It’s from Grandpa’s nursing home. I skim the lines once, twice, a third time to make sure I’m not reading it wrong.
His funds are running out. Fees are increasing very soon. We need to discuss payment options.
Shit! An icy tightness creeps into my chest. I wasn’t expecting it to be this soon. I thought I had at least a year left before anything changed. My book earns enough for me to live but not enough to cover care costs, and certainly not on short notice. I swallow, taking my knuckles to my mouth.
I’ve got to phone my agent and sort something out. Perhaps we can arrange some kind of advance, perhaps extend some deadlines, perhaps—
The happy hum from before evaporates like smoke, and the knot of dread begins twisting inside me.
First things first: I need to let Dylan and Torin know I got home safe.