Chapter 50
CHAPTER FIFTY
MIA
The morning sunlight wakes me as it sneaks through the gap in my curtains, stretching across the bed, warming my face. I blink awake, muscles heavy, mind still hazy with leftover happiness.
My arms are wrapped tight around the stupid giant pink unicorn Dylan won for me yesterday, the one I swore I’d pretend I hated. I smile like an idiot into the pillow.
The day feels unreal, perfect in the kind of way that makes you suspicious.
Like you’re waiting for the catch. But for now, I let myself have it.
Let myself hold onto the warmth in my chest. The way Dylan kissed me in the car last night, slow and sweet, like he wasn’t afraid anymore. Like I wasn’t either.
My phone lights up on the nightstand. I reach for it blindly, already knowing who it’ll be.
Sophie: I know you’re awake. Spill. EVERYTHING.
I laugh softly and fire back a response.
Mia: Coffee first. Then I’ll call.
Sophie: Make it a strong one. I’m living through you, Clarke.
Dragging myself out of bed, I shuffle to the kitchen, flick the kettle on, and dump instant coffee into a mug like my life depends on it.
Ten minutes later, I’m curled up on the sofa, legs tucked under me, pink unicorn propped at my side, phone pressed to my ear.
Sophie picks up on the first ring. “Finally,” she says dramatically. “I was about two seconds away from calling Dylan myself.”
I snort. “You don’t have his number.”
“Details,” she says breezily. “Now spill. Start from the top. Was it everything? Was it more? Did he say those three little words?”
I grin, remembering the way Dylan held my hand on the beach like it was the most natural thing in the world. How he kissed me when I was half asleep, like he couldn’t help himself.
“It was a lovely day, just the two of us and no prying eyes. Couldn’t have been better.” I trail off, searching for the right words. I’m not giving up any private details, Dylan told me he loves me days ago but that’s mine to keep. I’m not sharing that with anyone.
Sophie squeals so loudly I have to yank the phone away from my ear. “Knew it,” she says smugly. “I knew you were a goner.”
“I am not,” I start, but she cuts me off.
“Don’t even lie. You are. You’re toast, Clarke. Absolutely toasted.” I laugh helplessly. Because she’s right, I am toast. Charred, smitten, head over heels toast.
“And you know what?” Sophie says, voice softening. “You deserve it. After everything with your dad, you deserve some good, Mia.”
I swallow hard. The mention of Dad tugs at the happy bubble I’d been floating in.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice quieter. “I just I don’t want to mess it up.”
“You won’t,” Sophie says firmly. “Because you’re smart. And because he sounds like he’s completely and totally in love with you.”
I bury my face in my hands. “He is,” I mumble.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Uh huh.” Sophie lets the silence hang for a second, then pounces. “Speaking of being smart,” she says, shifting gears. “Carly got back to me about your contract.”
My stomach knots. “And?”
She clears her throat theatrically. “So, the no fraternisation policy is definitely there,” she says. “Very clear. Blah blah professionalism, maintain integrity of team dynamics, yada yada.”
“Yada yada?” I echo dryly.
“Legal term,” she says solemnly. “Anyway, here’s the thing; it specifies direct supervisory roles. As in, you can’t date someone you directly manage or who directly manages you.”
I frown. “But I’m the team physio.”
“Exactly,” Sophie says. “You’re not managing Dylan. You’re providing medical support. It’s a service, not a supervisory position.”
I blink.
“Which means,” she continues, “that the rule technically doesn’t apply, unless someone can prove that your relationship is compromising your professional judgment.”
I sit back, heart pounding. “So there’s a loophole.”
“A tiny one,” she says. “But it’s there. You’d have to be very careful. No public displays. No behaviour at work that anyone could claim affected your work or Dylan’s play.”
I chew my bottom lip. “Murphy saw us,” I admit.
Sophie whistles low. “Shit.”
“Yeah.”
I rub a hand over my face. Yesterday’s high feels fragile now. Like a soap bubble about to pop.
“But he warned Dylan,” I add. “He’s not going to rat us out. They’re friends.”
“For now,” Sophie says cautiously. “But you’re playing with fire, babe.”
“I know.”
“You still want to do this?”
I close my eyes, picturing Dylan’s smile, the way he brushed my hair back from my face on the beach, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing he wanted in the world.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I do.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Then you do it,” Sophie says fiercely. “You go all in. But you be smart. You protect yourself. You don’t let anyone make you feel guilty for choosing happiness.”
Tears prick the back of my eyes. “I love you,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.
“I know,” she says smugly. “Now go kick some ass.”
We hang up, and I sit there for a long moment, staring at nothing.
The risk is real and the fallout could be messy. My career, my reputation; they’re on the line. But so is Dylan’s. And for the first time in a long time, I’m not willing to play it safe. Not when it comes to him.
Once I’ve eaten and cleaned away everything in the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher, I drag out my contract, highlighter in hand, and start marking up every vague word, every technicality. Because if I’m doing this, I’m doing it properly.
I’m protecting us both.
By the time I finish, the sun’s high overhead, and my stomach’s rumbling again.
I shoot Dylan a text.
Mia: “You around later?”
The reply comes almost instantly.
Dylan: Always. You okay?
My heart gives a little kick.
Mia: Better now.
Dylan: Come over. Bring that ridiculous unicorn. I miss it.
I laugh out loud. And for the first time in days, the weight on my chest feels a little lighter. Maybe love isn’t about being fearless and more about being scared shitless, but still choosing to stay anyway.