Chapter 39 Superman
Superman
Dylan
Dylan adjusted the backwards ball cap on his head and shoved his phone into his pocket, trying not to smile too hard.
He was still riding the high from that early morning FaceTime—Ali in bed, sleepy and beautiful, whispering love you like it wasn’t the most important thing he’d heard in years.
His chest hadn’t stopped buzzing since.
“Bro,” Rocky said, bumping his shoulder as they stepped through the hospital’s glass doors. “You’ve got that I just got a love letter or a lap dance face. Which was it?”
Dylan rolled his eyes. “Neither. Shut up.”
Rocky just laughed, holding the door for a nurse as they made their way down the brightly colored hallway.
The Orlando Tritons had done regular visits with the children’s hospital for years—selfies, high fives, autographs, stuffed mascots.
Dylan never missed a chance to show up. Not just because it mattered to the team, but because it mattered to him.
And this morning, it mattered even more. He was grounded. Clearheaded. Still wearing the warmth of Ali’s voice like armor.
A tiny hand tugged at his hoodie before they made it to the playroom.
He looked down.
A girl in purple princess pajamas grinned up at him, cheeks still round with baby fat and one of those IV stands rolling at her side.
“Are you the football guy?” she asked, eyes wide.
Dylan crouched down to her level. “I might be. Depends who’s asking.”
She giggled, hugging her IV pole closer. “I saw you on TV. You jumped over that guy like whoooosh!” She lifted one arm like she was flying. “That was awesome.”
Rocky barked out a laugh behind them. “He practices that in front of mirrors.”
“I do not,” Dylan muttered, then turned back to her. “What’s your name?”
“Emma,” she said proudly. “And this is Tempest.” She patted the IV stand lovingly. “She helps me feel better. She’s also the Tritons’ dragon, but I let her live here now.”
Dylan blinked, then grinned so wide it hurt. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.”
Emma beamed. “She used to be named Sparkle Bug, but then I saw Tempest on your team’s coloring book.”
“Smart call. Tempest is way tougher.”
“She breathes lightning,” Emma whispered like it was a secret.
Rocky leaned over. “So do I after team chili night.”
“Gross,” Emma said, wrinkling her nose.
“Exactly,” Dylan said, tossing Rocky a glare. “You’re gonna traumatize the poor girl.”
Emma just laughed—bright, loud, full of life—and Dylan felt something loosen in his chest. This was why they came. This was the good stuff. Forget the interviews and the cameras. This? This mattered more than any highlight reel.
They were almost to the end of the hallway when a voice called out from one of the rooms.
“Hey—hey, McKenzie!”
Dylan turned, and Rocky followed his gaze to a lanky teen propped up in a hospital bed.
He wore a beanie over a bald head and a worn Magnolia Bluff University hoodie that looked two sizes too big.
His IV drip was slow, steady, and hooked behind him like a shadow, but the grin on his face was electric.
“Man, no way,” Dylan said as he stepped inside. “You a Shark?”
The kid’s smile stretched wider. “Will be soon, if chemo doesn’t slow me down.”
Dylan blinked hard and stepped up to the side of the bed. “Hell yeah. What’s your name?”
“DeShawn,” the teen said, pride swelling in his voice. “My uncle went there. I’ve got Shark Nation in my blood. Can’t wait to see a game at The Reef.”
Rocky whistled low. “You’re aiming for the big leagues, huh?”
“Damn right I am,” DeShawn said, adjusting the IV line without missing a beat. “I already know what dorm I want, and I’ve got a playlist for my move-in day.”
Dylan couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re more prepared than I was.”
DeShawn tilted his head, studying him. “You still keep in touch with Coach Busby?”
Dylan nodded. “Every few weeks. He still cusses like a sailor and calls me Prime Time but yeah.”
“That’s so sick.” DeShawn’s voice lowered, more serious now. “I watched that old clip the other day. The final drive against Gulf Coast. You hurdled that safety and threw the ball to the ref like a mic drop.”
Dylan barked out a laugh. “You did not just call it a mic drop.”
“It was though,” DeShawn said, eyes sparkling. “That’s the moment I knew I wanted to go there.”
Something shifted in Dylan’s chest. That game felt like a lifetime ago—but somehow it still lived in people. In kids like DeShawn, who were already dreaming bigger than the room they were stuck in.
Dylan reached out, offered a fist bump. “We’ll save you a seat in Shark Nation, alright?”
DeShawn bumped his fist back, grin returning. “Make sure it’s on the fifty.”
The Mexican restaurant sat on a quiet corner in downtown Celebration, all colorful tilework and string lights, with a menu laminated against spilled juice and queso drips.
Dylan slid into the booth across from Rocky and Naomi just as their youngest plopped a tablet on the table and immediately opened a Paw Patrol game at full volume.
“Volume, Zo,” Naomi said without looking, nudging a paper cup of apple juice toward her daughter. Zoey turned it down to a merciful level and stuck her tongue out before focusing on her screen.
Rocky raised a chip like a toast. “To hospital visits and children who name their IV poles after mascots.”
Dylan grinned, still riding the high from earlier. “Tempest had a big morning.”
Naomi laughed softly, but her eyes flicked toward him with that quiet perceptiveness Dylan had never quite learned how to dodge. She handed their older son a set of headphones before reaching for her sweet tea.
“So…” she said, too casually. “Ali.”
Dylan’s hand paused halfway to the chip basket.
Rocky just leaned back with a satisfied smirk. “Here we go.”
Naomi ignored him. “You’ve looked like a man permanently texting someone for four weeks straight. Either it’s her or you’ve got a secret Candy Crush addiction.”
Dylan snorted. “It’s her.”
“And?” Naomi pressed, stirring her drink like she wasn’t watching his every micro-expression.
He glanced down at his plate, then back up—shoulders easing in that slow, quiet way he rarely allowed outside of his own house.
“She told me she loves me,” he said.
Naomi blinked. “She did?”
“She didn’t mean to.” He scratched the back of his neck, voice softer now. “It just…happened at the end of a text. She was tired. Distracted. Didn’t even catch it at first. But when I told her, she didn’t backpedal. She meant it. Sent it in writing, too.”
Naomi’s face shifted, something gentle in her smile. “And how are you feeling about it?”
He didn’t answer right away. His gaze moved to Zoey, still laser-focused on her tablet, and then to the sidewalk outside the big front window—families strolling past boutique shops and a bubble machine sputtering in the town square.
Celebration had a way of feeling like a snow globe town, charming and surreal.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” he said finally. “Not in my whole damn life.”
Rocky let out a quiet breath. “Well, damn.”
Naomi reached across the table and gave Dylan’s hand a light squeeze. “Good. She’s good for you. You’ve been lighter lately. Softer.”
Dylan smirked. “Don’t let the team hear that.”
“They already know,” Rocky muttered. “You’ve been humming in the locker room. I thought you had a head injury.”
Naomi rolled her eyes. “Ignore him. I’m happy for you.”
Dylan nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Thanks. I think I’m finally where I’m supposed to be.”