Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dylan
I slam my gym bag onto the bench, not caring that it slides off and hits the floor with a dull thud.
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, too bright, too harsh for the storm brewing inside me.
I’ve been walking around with this knot in my chest for two days now—ever since Christmas, ever since I opened my stupid mouth and told everyone that Cheyenne and I are “just friends.”
Just friends.
The two most damaging words I’ve ever spoken.
And now I can’t stop picturing her face when I said that to them, the way something in her eyes just ... dimmed.
I pace between the weight racks and run my hand through my hair for the millionth time today. It’s probably standing up in all directions by now, but I couldn’t care less. My appearance is the last thing on my mind.
“You don’t miss your friend like this,” I say aloud, the truth of it settling heavy and undeniable in my chest.
Friends don’t occupy your every waking thought.
Friends don’t make your heart race just by existing.
Friends don’t leave you staring at your phone at midnight, drafting and deleting messages because you can’t find the right words to tell them how completely they’ve turned your world upside down.
“You look like crap, Williamston.”
I turn to see Cam bench pressing what looks like the weight of a small car, his face red with exertion. I hadn’t even noticed him when I walked in.
A quick scan of the gym reveals I’m not as alone as I thought.
Blaze is on a mat in the corner, stretching through what looks like a mobility routine. Kade sits on a bench nearby, methodically organizing the contents of his gym bag like he’s preparing for some kind of inspection.
Great. An audience for my meltdown.
“Thanks,” I mutter, forcing myself to walk over instead of just turning around and leaving. “You always know just what to say to make a guy feel better.”
Cam grunts as he completes another rep. “So, what’s going on?”
I grab a free weight from the rack, then set it back down without doing anything with it. My movements feel jerky, disconnected, like my body and brain aren’t quite in sync.
“I messed up,” I admit. “With Cheyenne.”
That gets everyone’s attention. Blaze pauses mid-stretch, looking over with raised eyebrows. Kade stops his meticulous organizing. Even Cam sets the barbell back on its rack and sits up.
“What happened?” Blaze asks, abandoning his mat to join us. “I thought things were going well after you gave her that bracelet.”
I drop onto a bench, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor.
“They were. I think. And then at breakfast on Christmas morning, my dad made some joke about that stupid article, about us shopping for rings, and everyone was looking at us, and I just...” I trail off, the shame of it washing over me again.
“You just what?” Kade asks.
“I panicked. Told everyone we were ‘just friends.’” I make air quotes around the words, hating them more each time I repeat them. “And then later, when I tried to talk to her about it, her ex kept texting her. Garrett’s trying to get her back.”
“The tech bro?” Cam asks, wiping his face with a towel.
“Yeah. That one.” I stand up again, too restless to stay seated. “And when I saw his text, I froze. Again. Told her she was important to me ‘as a friend.’ A really good friend.” I smack the side of a weight rack, the metal clanging loudly in the quiet gym. “What is wrong with me?”
“You’re scared,” Kade says simply.
I look at him, ready to deny it, but the words die in my throat. He’s right.
“You’ve never had to work for it before,” Cam adds. “Women usually fall at your feet. You post a shirtless pic on Instagram and get a thousand marriage proposals. But this one matters—and you don’t know what to do with that.”
“It’s not that simple,” I argue, but it sounds weak even to my own ears.
“You’re Dylan Williamston,” Cam continues, “the guy who dates models and walks away without looking back. Except now you can’t walk away, and it’s freaking you out.”
He’s right again.
“But she might go back to him,” I say, my voice cracking on the last word. “To Garrett. They always get back together.”
“So, you’re just going to give up on her?” Blaze asks. “Without even trying? That’s not the Dylan I know.”
“I tried,” I protest. “I gave her the bracelet. The book. I almost kissed her on Christmas Eve, but then—”
“Almost doesn’t count,” Cam interrupts. “Did you tell her how you feel about her? In actual words? Or did you just expect her to read your mind?”
I fidget with a resistance band hanging nearby, twisting it between my fingers. “I wrote an inscription in the book. About finding out how our story ends.”
Kade rolls his eyes. “That sounds a little cryptic. Women aren’t mind readers, Dylan. Sometimes they need to hear the words, explicitly.”
“What if she doesn’t feel the same way I do?” The question comes out more vulnerable than I’ve allowed myself to be in front of my teammates. Maybe ever.
“What if she does?” Kade counters. “Sometimes you gotta risk a little pain for something real.”
The word hits harder than I expect.
I stare at the floor, anywhere but at my teammates’ faces. “There’s something I’ve never told anyone on the team,” I let out. “Something that happened in high school.”
They wait, giving me space to continue.
“There was this girl—Jessica. My first serious girlfriend. We dated for a year. I was completely in love with her. Thought we’d end up together, as crazy as that sounds now.
I was fifteen, what did I know?” I attempt a laugh that falls flat.
“Anyway, I had this whole date night mapped out for our one-year anniversary—I was gonna take her to dinner and then take her stargazing. It was this whole romantic plan to tell her I loved her.”
I swallow hard, the memory still bitter after all these years. “I caught her hooking up with my supposed best friend and teammate the day before. In the locker room. She didn’t even seem that sorry about it. Said she’d been trying to figure out how to break up with me for weeks.”
The gym is silent except for the distant hum of the ventilation system and the muted clanging of weights from somewhere else in the facility.
“After that, I guess I decided it was easier not to get too invested in relationships. To have fun, keep it casual, and always be the one who leaves first.” I look up finally, meeting their pained gazes. “And it’s worked fine until now. Until Cheyenne.”
“So let me get this straight,” Blaze says, sitting down beside me. “You’re letting something that happened when you were fifteen dictate your entire adult life? Preventing you from going after something real with Cheyenne?”
Put that way, it sounds ridiculous. Childish, even. But the fear is real.
“You gotta go after what you want, man,” Blaze continues, his voice earnest. “Life’s too short for maybes.
Take it from someone who wasted years pretending to be ‘just friends’ with the woman I loved.
If I hadn’t finally taken that chance with Addy, I’d still be miserable, watching her from a distance. ”
“He’s right,” Kade says, moving closer. “And if you don’t speak up now, you’ll regret it.
And trust me, you don’t want to live with the type of regrets that I did.
I’m lucky Ella even gave me a second chance, but it took nine long years to find our way back to each other. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”
Cam, who’s been quiet, finally contributes to the conversation. “You’re being an idiot,” he says bluntly. “You’re not fifteen anymore, Dylan. Stop acting like it.” Then, his voice softening slightly, he adds, “But for what it’s worth, I think she’d be lucky to have you.”
Coming from Cam, that’s practically a Hallmark card.
I feel something tighten in my throat.
“What if I’m too late?” I ask.
“Then at least you tried.” Kade shrugs. “At least you were brave enough to be honest with her. That counts for something.”
“And if she chooses that tech tool over you, she’s not as smart as we thought she was,” Cam adds with a snort.
“Which she won’t,” Blaze insists. “Because she likes you too. It’s obvious to everyone except you, apparently.”
The three of them are looking at me with varying expressions of support—Blaze’s enthusiastic optimism, Cam’s gruff certainty, Kade’s steady confidence.
“I don’t know what to say to her,” I admit. “Or how to fix this.”
“The truth is usually a good start,” Kade says, zipping up his now perfectly organized bag. “Just tell her how you feel.”
“Or you can keep sitting here feeling sorry for yourself,” Cam adds, standing up from the bench. “Your choice.”
One by one, they gather their things. Blaze slaps me on the back as he passes, his usual enthusiasm somehow comforting. “You got this, bro. Just be honest with her.”
Cam gives me a gruff nod, which from him is practically equal to a hug. “Don’t overthink it. That’s when you screw up.”
Kade is the last to leave, pausing to squeeze my shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I’ve seen how she looks at you across the room. I don’t think this is one-sided.”
And then they’re gone, and I’m alone in the gym. The place feels emptier now, the occasional clang of weights from somewhere deeper in the facility echoing through the space.
I pull out my phone, ignoring the notifications from Instagram and texts from people who don’t matter right now. My thumb hovers over the message icon. I should text Chey. Call her. Something. But what do I say?
I start typing:
Me: Hey, can we talk about Christmas?
Delete.
Me: I miss you. I didn’t mean what I said.
Delete.
Me: I think I’m falling in love with you, and it scares the heck out of me.
I stare at those words for a long moment, my heart racing so fast I can feel it pounding in my ears. Then, character by character, I delete that too.
My palms are sweaty, my mouth is dry, and my chest is tight.
Is this what panic feels like?
I’ve never panicked before a game, never felt this kind of pressure on the ice. But this—the thought of putting myself out there again, of telling Cheyenne how I really feel, of risking her rejection—is terrifying in a way I don’t know how to handle.
“Please don’t go back to Garrett,” I whisper to the empty gym, the words escaping before I can stop them.
The sound of my voice, raw and unguarded, startles me. I’ve never heard myself sound like that before.
Everything I’ve kept locked away is finally spilling out.
I’m falling in love with Cheyenne.
And I have no idea what to do about it.