Chapter 45 Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince
Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince
Dylan
Dylan scrubbed the towel over his hair, water still dripping down his chest as he stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom. He grabbed his phone off the counter, intending to check the time—and maybe shoot his mom a text to tell her about those honey sticks from the farmer’s market.
Instead, a red notification banner caught his eye.
@ali.kat1995 tagged you in a post.
His brows pulled together.
She rarely posted. And if she did, it was usually a dog meme or something about her book club yelling over fantasy fan casts.
He swiped it open.
And froze.
It was a side-by-side.
On the left—a photo from college. One he remembered down to the minute.
He’d just won the homecoming game, and Ali had been waiting by the tunnel, cheeks flushed and hair windblown.
He’d barely let her speak before tugging her into his arms. Someone had caught the kiss—her smile against his mouth, her hand curled into his jersey.
On the right—the photo from this morning. Her in that blue and white sundress, him in his faded Tritons tee. They were both squinting in the sun, smiling, cheeks pressed close together. Her hair was wild and she looked so damn happy.
He didn’t move for a solid five seconds.
Then he exhaled—low and long—his heart thudding like a drum in his chest.
“Shit,” he whispered, a grin tugging at his mouth. He rubbed the towel down his neck and stared at the post again, heart swelling. “She really did it.”
His girl. His Ali.
She hadn’t just said it.
She showed the whole damn world. His heart squeezed tight.
He could hear the girls in the bedroom through the bathroom door—laughter spilling out like a champagne cork had just popped. Ashley’s voice was unmistakable, and Ali’s giggles followed.
His phone buzzed again.
Rocky:
brO. Tell me that post is real and I didn’t hallucinate it mid this Bluey marathon. Naomi is going to have a meltdown when she sees this.
Kallie:
MAC! Pick up your damn phone.
Daisy:
Okay fine, this made me smile. A lot. You look happy, Dyllie. I’m glad. ??
(Replying to Daisy):
Appreciate it, but call me Dyllie one more time and I’m telling the kids you used to eat dry Ramen like chips.
(Replying to Rocky):
She’s it, man. Always was. Now quit grinning like a Hallmark grandma and text me the film schedule for the week.
Incoming call—
Kallie.
He ignored it.
Again—Kallie, calling.
A third time.
Dylan sighed and finally accepted it.
“About damn time,” Kallie’s voice came through, breathless like she’d sprinted through her penthouse. “I’ve been trying to reach you for fifteen minutes. Did you see it? Do you understand what just happened?”
Dylan leaned against the wall, towel slipping a little lower as he scrubbed a hand through his damp hair. “Yeah,” he said, voice thick. “I saw it.”
“You’re tagged, McKenzie. On Instagram. That’s public. That’s not just a soft-launch anymore—that’s a hard commit, babe.”
“I know,” he said. And he did. He felt it in his chest like gravity.
“You okay?” Kallie’s voice softened.
He smiled, small and real. “I’m more than okay.”
“Good,” she said. “Because your entire fanbase is already feral in the comments. But screw them—she did this for you, M. That girl just told the world you’re hers.”
Dylan glanced toward the door again, where the laughter kept bubbling over like it couldn’t be stopped.
“She’s always been mine,” he said quietly. “Now she’s just not hiding it.”
Dylan opened the door to the bedroom just in time to see Ashley kiss Ali on the cheek and bounce off the bed like she’d been launched, the other two girls still squealing through the FaceTime call as she darted out, phone in hand.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Ali blinked up at him, still flushed and glowing, a blanket bunched around her legs.
He didn’t say anything at first.
Just stood there in the soft light of her bedroom, his hair damp, towel riding low,, looking at her like she was his entire world.
She looked nervous and unsure. He wasn’t having that shit.
Dylan held up his phone.
Ali tilted her head.
He didn’t speak—just smirked faintly and tapped the screen, thumb clicking “Share to Story.”
A second later, her phone buzzed.
She looked down at the screen—and there it was.
@mac_mckenzie13 reposted your story.
Her breath caught. When she looked back up, he was already walking toward her. Slow. Intentional.
“You know you broke the internet just now, right?” he said, voice low and teasing as he set his phone down and dropped onto the bed beside her.
She shrugged, eyes soft. “Only the parts I care about.”
Dylan leaned in, pressing a kiss to her jaw. Then lower, to her neck. “You’re dangerous when you’re confident.”
“I’m dangerous anyway,” she murmured, threading her fingers through the ends of his curls. “You’re just now catching up.”
He huffed out a laugh, but it faded as he shifted, gently rolling her onto her back and hovering above her. “I’m staying, by the way,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Until Monday morning.”
Her heart stuttered. “You are?”
He nodded. “I’m not ready to let go of this yet. Of you.”
She reached up, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “You don’t have to let go.”
“I know,” he murmured, brushing his lips over hers. “That’s the whole point.”
He kissed her again, deeper now. Slower. His hand slid beneath her shirt, tracing the curve of her waist, her ribs, like he needed to memorize the map of her all over again.
They didn’t rush. Not this time.
Every movement was a promise—quiet and tender and achingly reverent. The way he kissed down her body like he had all night. The way he whispered her name into her skin like it was a secret just for them.
Ali clung to him, breathless, eyes glassy, her body arching beneath his as they moved together. And when he finally pushed deep and still, holding her gaze with his own, she knew—without question—this was what coming home felt like.
They stayed wrapped in each other afterward, limbs tangled, hearts steady.
She rested her head on his chest, drawing lazy circles on his skin, and smiled. He was here.And for once, so was she.