Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
The fire burned lower as the night stretched on, the clearing settling into smaller pockets of conversation.
Parents with toddlers bundled in blankets had slipped off toward cabins, voices fading into the dark.
Clusters of people leaned close on the benches, laughing over old stories—most lighthearted, some personal.
Dean’s name wove in and out of the chatter mostly for my benefit.
Stories about him fixing the broken dock one summer, with logs he’d cut down himself.
Of him literally running to his cousin’s wedding because his car hadn’t started that morning when he was eighteen.
But one thing I noticed: every story started later.
After his grandmother and Mr. McHenry had adopted him.
It was as if the years before his parents died had been quietly erased, the whole family determined to keep his past sealed away.
Mason eventually pulled out his guitar, strumming warm chords into the cool night. A handful of voices rose in song, people swaying together, smoke from the fire curling upward toward the stars.
I slipped away, needing space, my feet carrying me down the slope toward the lake.
The night air was cooler here, and the reflection of the moon rippled faintly on the dark water.
I hugged my arms around myself, letting everything I’d heard tonight tumble over in my mind—the stories, the laughter, the silences between it all.
I heard him before I saw him. Footsteps soft on the sand, the quiet shift of his weight. Then the warmth of a blanket settled around my shoulders, his hands lingering just long enough that I felt them, even after they dropped away.
“Do you always run away from campfires,” he asked me, his voice low and close to my ear, “or just mine?”
I grinned, glancing at him over my shoulder. “Just yours.”
He laughed, the sound breaking easily in the dark. “My family can be a lot.”
I didn’t deny it. Instead, I whispered, “You’re lucky to have them.”
Something shifted in the air, and his gaze lingered on mine, thoughtful and heavy. He came to stand by my side, where the reflection of the moon caught in the darkness of his eyes, making them flicker with gold.
The mood wasn’t casual anymore—it was heavy, as though he wanted to see past my walls and get to know me in a way no one else had ever bothered to.
“John,” he said quietly. “Is he really your brother?”
I shook my head. “Not by blood. But he’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to one.”
He nodded, his eyes unrelenting. “And what you said about your parents earlier—was that true?”
The question unraveled me more than I cared to admit. I could have laughed it off, told him I’d made it up, anything other than the truth—but for some reason, I didn’t want to lie to Dean. Maybe because all the stories I’d heard this evening made me feel like I really knew him.
They’d cracked something open in me—something I couldn’t seem to close again.
“Yeah,” I whispered, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. “My mom decided I was too much work. Gave me a handful of quarters and told me I could buy anything I wanted.”
He didn’t flinch. But something shifted in his eyes—pain, maybe. Or grief on my behalf. He stepped closer, his thumb brushing gently along the side of my neck.
“She didn’t deserve you,” he said softly.
The words were simple. That was what made them hurt. They pressed straight into my chest, knocking the air from my lungs.
I closed my eyes, my body reacting like it was yesterday instead of twenty-five years ago.
“Damn it,” I breathed, the curse slipping out without permission. I shook my head once, like that might steady me.
He leaned in then, resting his forehead against mine—not asking, not rushing—just there, solid and warm, like he was silently asking me to trust him.
“She never came back,” I said, the words rushing out before I could stop them.
His grip tightened—not possessive but grounding me in a way that made it impossible to drift. “I can’t even imagine.” He said softly. And for a moment he was right there with me, sitting in the pain instead of shying away from it.
Thunder rolled low in the distance, a warning rumble over the lake. I let the sound settle, let the weight of what I’d admitted hang between us before I swallowed hard and forced myself to meet his gaze.
“What about your parents?” I asked quietly.
“What were they like?” My heart was beating like a drum.
Not only because of our closeness, but also because of my question—and the fact that everyone around us seemed to gloss over his parents’ existence.
It was as if that entire part of his life had been erased, edited out of the family stories I’d heard tonight.
I wondered if there was a reason. If it was just too painful for them to bring up…
or if silence had simply become their way of protecting him and his sister.
He turned toward the lake, gazing out over it, shoulders rising with a breath that seemed to catch halfway through. “My dad…” The words dragged from him like something heavy. “He was an engineer.”
His voice went quiet, but his eyes seemed far away, as though rifling through a photo album only he could see. “Smart. Good-looking. Good with the ladies.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile, then he looked at me again, his eyes searching mine, as though willing me to see his mental image.
“My mom… she was beautiful. A runner in college.” His lips tugged into a faint smile before softening again.
“She and my dad met junior year—fell in love, got married, had me. All before they were twenty-one.”
“Sounds like a fairytale,” I whispered.
His arm tightened, pulling me in closer—as though using me to ground himself somehow.
“She put her career on hold to stay home with me. Never went back. Then—when I was nine—she got pregnant with Blair. She was over the moon about it.” His voice cracked slightly.
“She loved being a mom. She had the patience of a saint, and it kills me that Blair doesn’t have a single memory of her. ”
I rested my head against his chest, letting his heartbeat drum through my ear. For a moment, I could almost see them too—his parents, full of life and laughter, suspended in some golden moment before everything went dark.
His voice dropped. “The day of the accident still feels like a dream I can’t wake up from.
We were driving home from a barbecue at my grandmother’s house.
I had just gotten one of those toy helicopters—the kind with the plastic propeller you twist until it launches into the air.
I wouldn’t put it down.” His jaw worked as though the memory pressed against his teeth.
“My dad told me to stop—more than once. I remember him glancing over his shoulder. And then—”
He broke off, swallowing hard. “Then it’s nothing. Just a blur. And the next thing I knew, I was standing on the side of the road holding Blair. I don’t even remember how I got out of the car. One moment I was inside, the next…” His breath shuddered. “We were just there. Alone.”
His arms locked tight around me, so firm, it nearly hurt. But I didn’t pull away.
“Dean…”
His voice was flat and raw. “The other driver was drunk. Crossed into our lane. Hit us head-on. But I’ve always wondered—if I’d listened the first time… if I hadn’t been messing around…”
I pressed my hand against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath my palm. My throat was so tight the words nearly choked out of me. “You were just a kid.”
Our eyes caught, and for a beat it felt like something between us finally snapped loose—the space we’d been holding, the walls we’d both kept so carefully in place.
His expression was unguarded, raw with grief, and something else that gripped me just as hard.
Then his hand lifted, fingers brushing softly against my cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
“I’ve never shared that story with anyone else,” he said, voice rough with truth, and maybe a little surprise.
I swallowed, my chin wobbling under the weight of what that meant. “You and I… we’re more alike than I realized. We carry our guilt like armor, convincing ourselves we should have done something different—when really, we were kids. Thrown into battles that we were much too young to handle.”
He nodded once, the motion tight, his jaw flexing as if words wanted to follow but couldn’t quite make it past his throat. So instead, he just held me with his eyes, and in the silence, it was enough.
The moment hung fragile between us, tender in a way that made my chest ache. His gaze held mine, steady and searching, before it dipped—slowly—to my mouth. My breath caught, because this time there was no chorus of voices pushing him forward, no teasing audience in the shadows. Just him. Just me.
He leaned closer, careful, almost hesitant, like he was afraid the smallest misstep would shatter what was hanging between us.
My heart hammered so hard I thought he must feel it in his own chest. His hand slid higher at the nape of my neck, warm and sure, his eyes locked on mine, holding for a final beat.
“I was thinking about our first kiss,” he murmured, his voice roughened by something deeper. “And it bothers me.”
I blinked, my breath catching. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t have your permission. And that goes against our contract.”
A sound broke from me—half laugh, half ache. “Dean… That was…a special circumstance.”
His mouth curved, the smallest flicker of humor breaking through the gravity. “A good lawyer would tell you never to admit that on the record.”
My chest tightened, the ache and the warmth colliding all at once. “Maybe I’m not worried about the record.”
His smile faded, replaced by something far more dangerous. His thumb traced lightly against my skin, and his gaze burned into me. “Then how about a do-over?” His voice dropped, a whisper that felt like a vow. “Can I kiss you?”