Chapter Sixteen
Cheyenne
As I stand in Cam and Nila’s packed living room, surrounded by hockey players and their significant others, I can’t help but feel a strange sense of freedom.
For the first time in years, I’m at a Christmas party without Garrett analyzing my every move, without his disapproving glances whenever I laugh too loudly or join in on a silly game.
It’s just me, my ridiculous sweater, and a room full of people who seem genuinely happy to see me.
“More eggnog?” Nila appears at my side, holding a pitcher.
“Yes, please.” I hold out my cup, watching as she pours the creamy mixture inside. “This eggnog is amazing by the way. I think I’ve had three cups already.”
“Secret family recipe.” She winks. “And don’t worry, there’s plenty more where that came from.”
I take a sip, letting the rich, spiced sweetness linger on my tongue. Nila has transformed her and Cam’s home into something straight out of a Christmas movie with garlands draped across every surface and hundreds of twinkling lights reflecting off ornaments.
As I scan the room, my eyes land on Dylan across the crowd. He’s leaning against the wall, drink in hand, nodding at something Kade is saying. But his eyes—his eyes are on me.
When our gazes lock, he doesn’t look away. Instead, he lifts his cup in a small toast, a half-smile playing at the corners of his mouth. I feel a flutter in my stomach that I immediately blame on the eggnog.
Definitely the eggnog. Not Dylan Williamston.
Though I can’t help but smile at his ridiculous “ugly sweater”—a plain black t-shirt with white block letters reading “THIS IS MY UGLY CHRISTMAS SWEATER.” So typical of him to rebel against the theme while technically still following the rules.
I’ve known Dylan long enough to recognize his pattern of walking right up to boundaries without quite crossing them.
“He’s been doing that all night, you know.”
I turn to find Cam’s wife beside me again, her knowing smile making me immediately defensive.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at you like you’re the star on top of the tree.” Nila nods toward Dylan, who’s now fully engaged in conversation with Kade, though his eyes still flick in my direction every few seconds.
“We’re just friends,” I say automatically. “I’ve known him forever. He’s like family.”
Nila hums noncommittally, but her expression as she walks away to greet other guests says she doesn’t believe me for a second.
I take another sip of eggnog, using the moment to observe Dylan more carefully. Has his jaw always been so defined? And have his forearms always had so many visible veins?
Wait.
Why am I staring at Dylan’s arm veins?
I nearly laugh at the absurdity of it all. There must be something in the eggnog.
And yet, I can’t look away from him.
What strikes me most is how everyone around Dylan seems to gravitate in his direction. He has that kind of magnetic confidence that draws people in and makes them want to be in his orbit. But unlike Garrett’s calculated charm, Dylan’s seems effortless, genuine.
When did I start comparing Dylan to Garrett?
I shake the thought away and move toward a group of wives and girlfriends that I’ve met at previous events.
“Chey, it’s so great to see you again,” Addy says, practically bouncing in place. Her energy is infectious as always, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel the compulsion to play myself down or curb my enthusiasm into something more palatable for whoever’s watching.
Instead, I let myself match her grin.
“Me too.” The words come out light. And the realization lands again that I don’t have to check with anyone before making plans.
I don’t have to gauge my wardrobe against Garrett’s standard of presentability or explain why I’d rather stand in a kitchen with girlfriends than rub shoulders with a tech executive at a networking event.
For once, I’m not responsible for anyone’s happiness but my own.
Addy pulls me into the lopsided circle of women, as if I’ve always been a part of it. “You have to try the spinach dip. Blaze made it, but we told him to double the cheese, so it’s basically just cheese now.”
The friend group crowds around the kitchen island, plates in hand, laughing over gossip and failed dessert recipes. And though I’m the only singleton in the lineup, I don’t feel the least bit out of place.
Before long, Addy has us all in stitches, reenacting her failed attempt at making hockey-stick-shaped cookies for Blaze’s college team bake sale.
I laugh so hard I nearly spill my drink.
It’s freeing to be here, surrounded by genuine smiles and easy conversations, without the weight of Garrett’s expectations dragging me down.
I feel more myself than I have in years.
Suddenly, Cam’s voice cuts through the chatter, calling everyone over for a group photo.
The women around me start to shuffle out of the kitchen, their laughter echoing behind them.
As I make my way toward the living room, I feel a presence beside me.
I don’t need to turn to know it’s Dylan—I recognize his cologne, a subtle mix of cedar and something distinctly him that I could pick out of a lineup blindfolded.
When did I memorize what Dylan smells like?
“I really like your sweater,” Dylan says, that familiar teasing edge in his delivery. But he’s not making fun of me.
“Thanks.” I glance down at its blinking lights and tinsel that sheds with every step. The reindeer nose protrudes from my chest like some festive tumor. “It’s gotta be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever worn ... and it’s probably a fire hazard. But I love it.”
“You definitely pull it off.” Dylan gently touches my elbow, guiding me toward the center of the room where people are gathering. The brief contact sends an unexpected warmth up my arm.
In the living room, Nila is arranging people in front of the massive Christmas tree. And somehow, I end up right beside Dylan, our arms brushing as we stand shoulder to shoulder. I tense momentarily at the contact, then force myself to relax.
It’s just Dylan. We’ve stood next to each other hundreds of times.
But something feels different tonight. Maybe it’s the way he angles his body slightly toward mine, creating a small bubble of space that feels separate from the crowd around us.
Maybe it’s the warmth radiating from him, a sharp contrast to the chill I always felt standing next to Garrett at these kinds of events.
Garrett would position me like an accessory, his hand on my back more like a controlling grip than a gesture of affection.
Dylan’s presence beside me feels nothing like that.
He’s close but not crowding, attentive but not possessive.
“Say hockey!” Nila calls before triggering the self-timer on the camera that’s propped on a tripod just a few feet away.
Dylan leans down so his head is more level with mine. “Hockeyyy.” His breath is warm against my ear, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.
The flash goes off, capturing whatever expression is on my face, probably something between deer-in-headlights and someone who just touched a live wire.
What’s wrong with me?
“One more!” Nila calls, and this time Dylan’s hand settles lightly on my waist, so gently I could easily step away if I wanted to.
But I don’t.
Instead, I find myself shifting my weight imperceptibly toward him, like a plant bending toward sunlight.
The second flash captures us like this, and I can’t help but wonder what that photo will reveal.
“Perfect!” Nila declares, and the group begins to disperse back to their conversations and drinks.
Dylan’s hand lingers at my waist until the last possible second, his touch finally breaking as the crowd pulls us in opposite directions.
But even once he’s gone, my skin is still tingling where his palm rested.
I need air.
I drift through the crowd toward an empty spot on the couch near the Christmas tree.
My cup of eggnog is nearly empty, but I’m careful not to spill what’s left as I weave through the partygoers.
The lingering warmth from Dylan’s hand on my waist follows me across the room like a ghost, a gentle pressure I can still feel even though he’s nowhere near me now.
I don’t know why I’m so aware of his touch tonight when we’ve had a million casual contacts over the years.
I settle into the corner of the couch, tucking one leg beneath me.
From this vantage point, I can see most of the party—Genna and Paul taking a selfie by the fireplace, Kade and Ella laughing with Blaze and Addy by the kitchen doorway, Cam helping Nila distribute more drinks, and rookies I’ve met at previous gatherings clustered near the food table, looking slightly out of place but trying hard not to show it.
It strikes me how different this feels from parties with Garrett.
With him, I was always performing—laughing at the right moments, standing with perfect posture, making sure my comments were intelligent but not threatening to the men in his tech circle.
I’d return home exhausted from the effort of being Garrett’s girlfriend instead of just being Cheyenne.
Tonight, I’m just ... me.
Suddenly, the couch dips beside me. “This seat taken?” Dylan asks, though he’s already settled in, his knee inches from mine.
I turn to face him, and something flutters in my stomach at how close he is.
“All yours,” I say. “I’m just people-watching.”
“Find anything interesting?” He takes a sip of his drink and follows my gaze across the room.
“Just enjoying how happy everyone is,” I admit. “It’s nice to see.”
“How about you?” He turns his green-gold eyes on me. “Are you having a good time? I know these team things can be a lot when you don’t know everyone.”
“I am, actually.” I nod. “I feel more like myself than I have in ... maybe years.”
“Years?” His eyebrows lift. “That’s a long time to not feel like yourself.”