Chapter 43 You’re Losing Me
You’re Losing Me
Dylan
Onscreen, Bianca Stratford hauled off and decked Joey Donner across the jaw, and the crowd erupted—both in the movie and in a few parked cars nearby. Dylan grinned, but his focus had already drifted.
Ali was curled up beside him in the passenger seat, legs tucked under her, one bare foot pressed against his thigh. Her flip-flops had been abandoned within the first five minutes of them pulling in. She was leaning in closer as the movie went on, her cheek practically on his shoulder.
He could feel the rise and fall of her breath. The warmth of her body. The faint scent of whatever lotion she used—coconut, or something like it. He wanted to bottle it. Bury his face in it.
She shifted slightly. “I have to pee,” she whispered.
He turned, brows lifting. “Now?”
She gave a sheepish little smile. “I didn’t want to interrupt the movie, but I can’t hold it.”
Dylan gave her a look. “You want me to walk you?”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’m walking you.”
She rolled her eyes affectionately, but she was already gathering herself up.
He slipped out of the Grand Cherokee and came around to her side just as she was stepping down, shoes back on, her dress brushing against her legs.
She tucked her hair behind one ear, fingers catching on a knot from the wind.
They rounded the corner past the concession stand and dim porch light, where the restrooms sat quietly, a few couples milling nearby with sodas and candy.
“I didn’t want to miss the poem,” she added softly, slowing as they reached the wall.
Dylan leaned against the stucco, hands in his pockets. “You’ve got time. Movie magic’s on our side.”
She glanced at him, eyes soft. “Wait here?”
“Always.”
She gave him one of those crooked little smiles—the kind that made his chest tighten—and disappeared through the bathroom door, leaving him with the echo of her steps and the scent of coconut.
He let his head fall back against the wall and blew out a breath. Something about this night felt like closure and beginnings all at once. The kind of night he’d once dreamed about when everything had gone to hell. And now?
He was here. She was here. And it was better than he ever imagined.
The quiet buzz of the drive-in faded beneath the soft music from the movie and the occasional rustle of popcorn bags. Dylan leaned against the stucco wall just outside the women’s restroom, scrolling his phone aimlessly—Ali had been inside for less than two minutes.
That’s when he heard it.
“Mac? Mac McKenzie, is that you?!”
His head jerked up.
Fuck.
Walking toward him, stilettos clacking across the concrete like some kind of omen, was Jenna Hawthorne—one of Daisy’s old sorority sisters. Bleach blonde, way too tan, and still wearing that same glossy-lipped smile he remembered from Magnolia Bluff.
He hadn’t seen her in a decade. And he could’ve gone another ten without fixing that.
“Jenna,” he said, straightening up, trying to keep his voice even. Calm. Not draw attention.
But she was already closing the gap, squealing as she threw her arms around his neck in a full-body launch that left him stunned and stumbling half a step back.
“Oh my God, it is you! You look exactly the same,” she purred, still hanging off him like she had a claim.
Dylan stiffened, jaw clenched. “Hey, uh…yeah. Hi.”
She pulled back, eyes raking him with open appreciation. “God, Daisy used to brag about you all the time. I haven’t seen you since the Tau Delt formal—remember that night? I still have the pics.”
Before he could reply, she spun toward the guy waiting nearby—some dude in boat shoes and a neon polo. “Babe! This is Mac McKenzie. Daisy’s brother. Played at Bluff, now he’s in the NFL!”
The guy blinked, eyes widening with immediate recognition. “No way. The Tritons, right?”
Dylan gave him a tight nod, trying not to look like a cornered animal. “Yeah. That’s me.”
And then his stomach dropped.
Ali.
Any second now, she was going to walk out that door and see this. This sorority reunion clinging to him like it was 2013 again. And there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell he was letting Jenna’s presence ruin their night. Not when Ali had come so far. Not when he finally had her back.
He shifted slightly, forcing a smile. “Hey, it’s great seeing you guys. Really. But I’m here with someone and—”
“Oh come on, just one selfie?” Jenna was already digging in her purse, gloss catching the light. “Daisy will die when she sees this.”
His jaw ticked. “Not a good time, Jenna.”
She blinked, thrown by the shift in tone. “Jeez. Still intense, huh?”
He didn’t answer. Just glanced at the bathroom door, praying for a few more seconds before Ali came out and saw this trainwreck unfolding.
He needed to get this girl away. Now
Too late.
Dylan’s stomach dropped as the bathroom door swung open and Ali stepped out, still tugging down the hem of her oversized T-shirt dress, flip-flops popping.
Her hair was a little wild from the car ride, her cheeks flushed from laughing just ten minutes ago.
But the second her eyes landed on Jenna—with her arms still draped around Dylan’s shoulders—something in her face shifted.
He moved instinctively, wanting to close the distance, to grab her and walk the hell away from this mess before it got worse.
But Jenna spotted her first.
“Oh my God,” she gasped, eyes lighting up—but not in a nice way. “Wait. Ali Presley? You're still around? We thought you, like, moved out of the country after that night in Myrtle Beach.”
She giggled. Fucking giggled.
Dylan’s blood ran cold. “Don’t start, Jenna.”
But Jenna just smiled sweetly, tilting her head with faux innocence. “Are you two…here together?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but Ali’s voice cut clean and quick across the parking lot.
“No. We just ran into each other earlier,” she said, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “He’s visiting family in Honeyshore.”
Dylan’s heart stopped.
Jenna blinked. “Oh,” she said with a sugary nod. “That makes so much more sense.”
He turned to Ali, trying to catch her eye, trying to understand. But she wouldn’t look at him. Her arms stayed locked in place, like armor.
“Well, that’s adorable,” Jenna added, linking her arm through her boyfriend’s. “Good seeing you, Mac. And…Ali. You look…god you look the same.” The tone made it sound like an insult.
Dylan didn’t say a word as they walked off, Jenna’s laughter still floating on the humid air.
Silence wrapped around them like a fog. Ali’s arms stayed crossed, her lips pressed tight. She didn’t reach for his hand. Didn’t say anything.
And Dylan?
Dylan was wrecked.
His pulse thudded painfully as they walked back to the Jeep. Every step pounded with the same thought: she still didn’t want him.
Not really.
After everything they’d shared. The whispers. The I love yous. The promise of more. The fucking heels.
And yet, when it counted—when someone from their past showed up—she acted like he was a stranger.
She hadn’t just denied him.
She’d erased him.
He gripped the steering wheel as they reached the car, jaw tight, chest hollow. She climbed in without a word. Didn’t even look at him.
Dylan stared out, his fists clenched in his lap.
She still couldn’t claim him.
Worse—she still wouldn’t let herself be claimed.
And fuck if that didn’t break him clean in half.
Dylan didn’t say a word as he pulled out of the drive-in.
Didn’t look at her.
Didn’t ask if she was okay.
Didn’t turn the music on like he normally would, filling the silence with something easy and familiar. The quiet between them stretched thick and suffocating.
She was still curled into the passenger seat, arms crossed, eyes on the window like she was trying to disappear into the trees lining the backroads of Loblolly County.
He gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles bone-white.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to feel. Coming back here with her… it was supposed to be full circle. Sweet. Maybe even healing. Instead, it felt like a fucking rewind button he couldn’t stop hitting.
Dylan let out a slow breath, steadying himself. His voice, when it came, was quiet. “I’m taking you home.”
Ali didn’t answer. Didn’t argue. Just gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
He looked back at the road.
What the hell was he supposed to do now?
Fly back to Orlando and pretend like everything was okay? Like he hadn’t just watched the woman he loved pull away from him like loving him out loud was something to be ashamed of?
Like he hadn’t seen her protect herself first—again—by throwing up walls she swore were gone?
He’d promised himself this time would be different.
She said it would be.
And yet…
Dylan blinked hard, jaw tight. This wasn’t about public validation or some macho claim. It wasn’t about Jenna or Daisy or the past.
It was about her still not believing she was worthy of being loved in the light.
Not just in whispers. Not just in bedsheets and beach kisses and secret texts.
But in front of the world.
And now he was driving her home, back to her safe little bubble, and wondering what the fuck he was supposed to do when she looked at him like a risk instead of a constant.
He didn’t want to leave.
Didn’t want to stop fighting for her.
But damn if he wasn’t tired of waiting for her to believe in what they had the way he did.
They walked in without a word.
The click of the front door shutting echoed louder than it should’ve, like punctuation on the kind of silence that had nothing to do with peace.
Ali hovered by the entryway, arms still wrapped around herself. Dylan didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. Just followed her silently to her bedroom.
He crossed to where he’d dropped his duffle earlier and reached for the handle.
“I think,” he said quietly, eyes on the bag, “It’s probably better if I grab a hotel tonight. We can talk tomorrow.”
She gasped.
It wasn’t dramatic. It was tiny—choked and barely audible—but he heard it like a siren.