Chapter Two
Cheyenne
“So, this is it?” Garrett surveys Dylan’s backyard. He’s got that familiar look of mild disdain—the one that says everything around him is slightly beneath his standards. “I expected something a little more ... impressive from a hockey star.”
I bite my tongue. Dylan’s backyard is gorgeous. He’s got a spacious patio, comfortable outdoor furniture, and some type of lighting that makes the massive pool glow under the night sky. Not to mention, he’s got a view of the Atlanta skyline that probably cost him more than Garrett’s entire condo.
“It’s nice,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. “Dylan’s always had good taste.”
Garrett presses his fingers a little harder into my back, a silent reminder that complimenting other men—even the ones I’ve known since I was twelve—isn’t something he appreciates.
I wrap my cardigan tighter around my shoulders.
The Atlanta evening air is crisp, but the heat lamps placed strategically around Dylan’s patio provide enough comfort to fight off the chill.
I take a moment to survey the small groups gathered—mostly Dylan’s teammates and their partners—sharing laughs and drinks.
I spot Cameron Hastens, the center for the Glaciers and notorious grump of the group.
A couple years ago, the guy went viral after punching a fan in the stands after a game.
He’s sitting near the outdoor fireplace next to his wife, Nila, whom I’ve never met before.
I’m pretty sure she was the social media manager who got him out of the PR mess.
Cam’s expression softens as Nila whispers something in his ear, and I find myself smiling at their easy intimacy.
“Let’s go say hi,” I suggest.
Cam notices us approaching and stands, his tall frame unfolding from the chair. His blond hair catches the firelight. “Hey, Cheyenne. Good to see you. It’s been a while.”
I wave. “Nice to see you, too.”
“You must be Cheyenne’s boyfriend.” Cam extends a hand to Garrett. The way he says it—not as a question, but as a statement—makes me wonder what Dylan’s told him.
“Garrett Mitchell,” he replies with his professional handshake. “And you are...”
“Cameron. Cam. This is my wife, Nila.”
Nila smiles warmly at me, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She looks effortlessly gorgeous in jeans and an oversized sweater, her red hair cascading past her shoulders. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Cheyenne.”
I smile back. “It’s nice to meet you too.”
“Dylan’s mentioned you a lot. Says you’re practically family.”
I feel a rush of unexpected warmth.
Dylan talks about me?
“Yeah, his sister Genna and I have been best friends forever. I’ve spent more holidays with the Williamstons than my own family, I think.”
“That explains the pranking rivalry thing he mentioned,” Cam says with a hint of a smile.
“Oh, gosh.” I laugh. “Did he tell you about the spider incident last Thanksgiving?”
“He said something about making you scream so loud that his mom dropped the turkey.”
“It wasn’t the turkey, it was the gravy boat. And in my defense, who puts a realistic spider in someone’s mashed potatoes?” I’m grinning now, remembering how I’d gotten him back by replacing all his protein powder with powdered sugar.
“It’s childish,” Garrett cuts in. “Some people never outgrow that high school humor.”
My smile freezes on my face. My stomach knots.
Cam and Nila exchange a quick glance that speaks volumes.
“I think having traditions like that is fun,” Nila offers kindly.
Garrett ignores her comment entirely. “I was just telling Dylan about my new position at iTech. We’re developing an algorithm that’s going to revolutionize how social media platforms target advertising.”
And just like that, he’s off. I’ve heard this speech so many times I could recite it in my sleep. The groundbreaking technology. The genius team he’s leading. The millions they stand to make. I watch Cam’s eyes glaze over slightly as Garrett explains technical details no one asked to hear.
“...which is why they fast-tracked my promotion,” Garrett continues. “I’m the youngest team lead in my company’s history. My boss says I’m on the executive track now.”
“That’s impressive,” Nila says politely during a rare pause in Garrett’s monologue.
“It is,” Garrett agrees. “All part of the five-year plan. Career first, then maybe I’ll finally get around to making things official with this one.” He squeezes my shoulder. “If she can learn to be a bit more serious, of course.”
My cheeks burn. Four years together, and he’s still dangling the possibility of “maybe someday” in front of me like I’m a dog chasing a treat. And now he’s doing it publicly, which is new and somehow worse.
“I’m plenty serious,” I say lightly. “Just not all the time. Life’s too short.”
“Yeah, well, adult relationships require maturity, not pranks and jokes.” Garrett says.
I look away, focusing on the pool to avoid Cam and Nila’s pitying expressions.
This is just how Garrett is, I remind myself.
Ambitious. Focused. He knows what he wants from life and isn’t afraid to push for it.
That’s what attracted me to him in the first place, right? That confidence. That certainty.
Sure, Garrett’s not perfect—he can be a little judgmental at times .
.. maybe even self-absorbed—but he cares about me.
We’ve been together for years, even with the occasional break when things get rocky.
The Halloween break-up last month lasted all of two weeks before he showed up at my door with flowers.
We have high highs and low lows. It’s just how we work.
It’s normal. Or at least ... I think it is.
Hard to know for sure since I grew up with a single mom who worked double shifts and a “dad” who was nothing more than a name on my birth certificate—a ghost of mom’s past who vanished before I took my first breath.
I’ve never had a blueprint for relationships.
“I think everyone needs a little humor in their lives,” Cam says, his voice carrying an unexpected edge. “Especially adults. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
Garrett just shrugs, his eyes already scanning the patio for more valuable connections.
He turns away mid-conversation, drifting toward a cluster of men in expensive watches and tailored blazers.
I watch his practiced smile appear—the one he reserves for people he thinks can expand his career—as he extends his hand to someone I don’t recognize.
I exhale slowly, my shoulders dropping a full inch as the knot in my stomach loosens for the first time since we came out to the patio. I catch Nila’s eye. She’s watching me kindly, not with pity but with genuine curiosity.
“So, Cheyenne,” she says, “what do you do for work?”
“Oh, I’m a market research analyst.” I glance at Garrett, half-expecting him to reappear and correct me. “For a big marketing firm.”
Nila’s eyebrows lift. “That’s cool! What kind of research do you do?”
“Mostly brand analytics. Consumer behavior and trend projection.” I give a little shrug, trying to sound breezy. “It’s a lot of spreadsheets and focus groups. Sometimes we get to try out beta products before anyone else, which is ... fun, I guess.”
“Sounds like a good gig,” Cam says.
“I mean, it’s not exactly saving lives. But it pays the bills, and I get to be creative now and then...”
Before I can continue any small talk, the patio door slides open and Dylan steps out, balancing a tray of drinks with ease.
His tall frame exudes the effortless confidence of an athlete as he weaves through the scattered guests.
When he spots us, his lips break into that familiar troublemaker smile that instantly lightens the mood.
“I see you’ve been enjoying the company of the grumpiest man on the team,” Dylan calls out, nodding toward Cam. “Don’t let him fool you, though. He’s actually a teddy bear.”
“Shut up, Williamston,” Cam growls, but there’s no heat behind it.
Dylan sets the tray down on a nearby table and slides in beside me. “I brought reinforcements,” he says, handing me a drink that I know without asking is a gin and tonic with extra lime—just the way I like it.
“You remembered!” I exclaim.
“Of course I did. It’s the same thing you’ve been drinking since you snuck into my parents’ liquor cabinet at seventeen.”
I gasp in mock outrage. “Don’t you dare tell that story! Your mom still thinks I’m a perfect angel.”
“She also thinks I didn’t know about the time you and Genna borrowed her car to drive to that concert downtown, so maybe her judgment isn’t the best.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“You’re lucky I covered for you two troublemakers.” Dylan’s eyes dance with mischief as he takes a step closer to the pool. He glances back at me. “You know, Chey, I know it’s November, but that pool is heated...”
I immediately realize what he’s implying. “Don’t you dare.”
“Dare what?” His feigned innocence doesn’t fool me for a second.
“I know exactly what you’re thinking, and if you try it, I swear I’ll drag you in with me.”
He moves another step closer. I back up and point a finger at him in warning. “I’m serious, Dylan. I’m wearing a white top.”
“And wouldn’t that just be tragic?” He smirks.
“For you! When I murder you afterward.”
Cam chuckles. “I’d pay good money to see you try to take him down, Cheyenne.”
“She nearly succeeded once,” Dylan admits, rubbing his jaw. “She was in the ninth grade. I put a frog in her sleeping bag during a Williamston family camping trip.”
“You deserved that black eye,” I say, feeling myself relax. This is easy. This is comfortable. This banter with Dylan always feels like coming home.
“Worth it to hear you scream like that,” he counters.
“Maybe save the drowning and the murder for after we’ve all finished our drinks?” Nila interrupts with a laugh
“Fine.” Dylan sighs dramatically. “Temporary truce. But watch your back, Blackwell.”
“Always do around you, Williamston.”
I’m still grinning when I glance over at Garrett. But my smile immediately fades when I notice his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. I hadn’t realized how close Dylan and I had gotten to each other during our playful exchange. We’re a mere foot apart.
I take a deliberate step back in Garrett’s direction, and the tension in the air feels palpable.
“So,” Cam says, “who’s excited for Thanksgiving? I hear Mrs. Williamston makes an amazing pecan pie.”
“The best.” I nod. “Though last year I nearly missed out on it because someone”—I glance pointedly at Dylan—”hid my slice.”
“Payback for the protein powder incident.” Dylan shrugs.
“What protein powder incident?” Nila asks.
As Dylan launches into the story, complete with a dramatic reenactment of his face when he tasted his shake, I find myself laughing freely again.
Cam joins in, and even Nila giggles at Dylan’s expense.
It feels good—normal, even—to be sharing these stories, to be part of this warm circle of friendship.
I almost forget about Garrett until his voice cuts through our laughter like ice. “You two have such a weird relationship.”
The words hang in the air, sharp and accusatory. Dylan’s smile falters as he turns to look at Garrett.
“What do you mean?” I ask, though I already know.
“This.” Garrett gestures between Dylan and me. “The inside jokes. The constant back and forth.”
Dylan’s expression hardens. “We’ve been friends for over a decade, man.”
“It seems like more than friendship sometimes,” Garrett cuts in. “The way you flirt with my girlfriend.”
The word hangs in the air between us. Flirt? Dylan and I don’t flirt. We banter. We tease. We’ve always been like this.
“Whoa, man.” Dylan holds up his hands. “That’s not what this is.”
But is that what it looks like to outsiders?
Are we flirting? The thought is so foreign, it’s almost laughable.
Dylan is ... Dylan. My best friend’s brother.
The guy who put a frog in my sleeping bag when I was fourteen.
The one who knows exactly how to make me laugh and exactly how to drive me crazy. We’re not flirting. We’re just ... us.
“No? Then what would you call it?” Garrett bites back.
“Friendship,” Dylan quips. “Something you might recognize if you weren’t so busy talking about yourself all the time.”
I inhale sharply. Dylan’s never been this direct with Garrett before. Usually, he maintains a cool politeness, keeping his opinions to himself—at least to Garrett’s face.
“Dylan,” I start, not even sure what I’m going to say.
“We’re leaving,” Garrett announces. His eyes remain locked on Dylan. “I have an early meeting tomorrow, anyway.”
The silence that follows feels endless.
Cam and Nila share another one of those looks—the kind married couples have that lets them exchange entire conversations without saying a word.
Dylan’s jaw is set, his eyes narrowed, but he doesn’t argue.
“It was nice meeting you both,” Garrett says to Cam and Nila. “Cheyenne?”
It’s not a question, not really. I look at Dylan, whose expression has shifted from anger to something more complex—concern, maybe? Disappointment? I can’t quite read it.
“I’ll see you at Thanksgiving,” I tell him, trying to sound normal, like my boyfriend isn’t currently dragging me away from a party over a few harmless jokes.
Dylan nods. “Looking forward to it, Chey.”
As Garrett leads me toward the house, I can feel the weight of everyone’s stares boring into my skull. I take a deep breath, straighten my shoulders, and force a smile, convincing myself that this is all fine.
Please let Thanksgiving be better than tonight.