Chapter 58
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
DYLAN
It’s past ten when I finally get her to eat something. Just some toast, cut in triangles as she likes it, with peanut butter and banana because she skipped lunch and barely touched dinner, and I’m watching her waste away in real time.
She doesn’t say much. Hasn’t since we got back.
She just sat in the passenger seat of my car, eyes glassy and fixed on some point in the distance the entire drive here. She didn’t argue when I took her keys, didn’t protest when I told her she wasn’t driving home. I don’t think she had the energy to fight me on it.
Now she’s curled up on the end of my sofa, knees tucked under her, still in the black skinny jeans and jumper she wore to work. She hasn’t even changed. Just pulled her hair up into a messy knot and gone quiet. Too quiet.
I lower myself onto the other end of the couch, plate in hand. “Eat this.”
She blinks, eyes dragging to the plate like she’s only just realised I’ve been in the kitchen. “Toast?” she asks faintly.
“Banana peanut butter toast,” I say. “It’s upmarket.”
A tired smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, but it doesn’t stay. She takes the plate, murmurs a “Thanks,” and starts eating slowly, like her brain is working on autopilot. I watch her for a minute, then lean back, stretch out my legs. My head hits the back of the couch, and I close my eyes.
Silence stretches between us again. Heavy. Unforgiving. “I should’ve been more careful,” I say quietly.
She doesn’t answer right away. I open my eyes and look at her. She’s chewing mechanically, her gaze down.
“I knew the rules,” I go on. “I just thought if we kept it private long enough, it wouldn’t matter.”
“It always mattered,” she says, her voice flat. “We just didn’t want it to.”
I nod, my throat tight. “I still don’t.”
She glances at me, then back at her plate.
“You were incredible today,” I tell her. “Held your ground. Said everything I wish I could’ve.”
“Doesn’t feel like it made a difference.”
“It did to me.”
She swallows, slowly sets the plate down on the coffee table, only half-finished. “They might suspend me. Or worse.”
I hate the hollow sound in her voice. Like she’s already accepted it. Like it’s inevitable. “If they do,” I say, “I’ll walk.”
Her head snaps up. “Don’t say that.”
“I’m serious.”
“Dylan,”
“I told them that too. If they come for you, I’m done.”
She sits up straighter, tension rising through her shoulders. “You love hockey. You’ve bled for it.”
“I love you more.”
She flinches like I slapped her. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t say that like it’s that simple.”
“It is that simple.” I shift closer, dropping my voice.
“You think I care about a club that’s ready to kick you to the curb because we made each other better?
” Her eyes shine, but she doesn’t let the tears fall.
She’s too stubborn for that. Too proud. “I care about you,” I say.
“More than any game, any team. That’s not just a line. That’s me. That’s where I’m at.”
She looks away, voice barely audible. “I can’t ask you to give it up.”
“You didn’t. I’m offering. Hell, I’m begging to take the hit if it means you get to keep doing what you love.”
“But it’s not fair,” she whispers.
“No, it’s not.”
There’s silence again. Then, after a long moment, she speaks. “I keep thinking about that photo.”
I already know which one she means.
“The one of us kissing,” she continues. “It’s actually a really beautiful picture.”
I let out a shaky breath, surprised. “Yeah. It is.”
“It’s the first time I’ve ever seen myself look that happy,” she says quietly.
“I didn’t even realise how much I felt until I saw it like that.
Until someone else captured it.” I reach for her hand, and when she lets me take it, I don’t let go.
“I hate that they used it like ammunition,” she says.
“Something real and good, and now it’s evidence. ”
I run my thumb along the inside of her wrist, feeling her pulse thudding fast under her skin.
“I’m scared, Dylan.”
“I know.”
“I worked so hard to get here,” she says, the tears finally breaking loose. “I busted my arse every single day to be taken seriously. To prove I wasn’t just some girl playing at being a physio. And now it’s all falling apart.”
I shift forward, and pull her into me. “It’s not falling apart.”
She buries her face into my chest, and I hold her like I’m trying to keep her together with sheer force.
“You know what I thought when they showed me the photo?” I ask.
She shakes her head against me. “I thought, Fuck, I hope she doesn’t blame herself.
I hoped you’d remember that day, and how good it felt. How easy it was and how happy we were.”
She sniffles. “I do remember.”
“I’d go back and do it all again, Mia. Every second. The sneaking around. The awkward glances. That first night I stayed over and you kept making me peer out the window in case someone saw my car outside your flat.”
She laughs, it’s wet and tired and snotty, but it’s a laugh.
“I’d take ten more Danny complaints and a hundred photo leaks if it meant I still got you.”
“You’re such a sap,” she mumbles.
“Don’t tell the guys,” I whisper into her hair.
She exhales a long shaky breath, then she pulls back enough to look at me. Her eyes are red but clear now, like the storm’s passed. At least for tonight. “Will you still want me,” she says softly, “if I lose everything?”
I cup her jaw. “You’ll still have me. That’s not negotiable.”
She leans into my touch. “I don’t know what happens next.”
“We deal with it. Together.”
I lift her into my lap and we sit like that a while; her head tucked into my shoulder, my arms around her waist, while the world outside keeps spinning and threatening to crush us. But in here, for now, we’re safe. We’re solid. We’re us.
And I know one thing for sure. No matter what they throw at us next, I’m not letting go.