Chapter Nineteen – Dylan #2
Game on. I part my lips, ready to go with whatever this . . . thing we have is. But she stops me. “Anyway, no flirting around the elders. They’ll totally notice. And then we’ll be hearing about it forever.”
I catch the grin before it can get away from me. Fuck, I was just warming up.
“Guess,” I say softly, leaning in, “we can always continue this at the rink?”
She hums softly. Her voice drops. “Torin told me . . . I, uh, may have called you two attractive last night. And that I might have checked out your profiles to see if you were single.”
No, princess.
She didn’t say we were attractive. No, she said we were hot and sexy, but now her attitude outside makes more sense. Fuck, I was so tempted to pick her up like a cute, wiggly puppy and tell her to calm down, but I think she would have tried to swat me with her tiny hands.
“Yeahhh.” I stretch out the word. “Well, that explains why you were yelling at me. You know, you’re so cute when you’re mad. Your nostrils flare.”
“My nostrils don’t flare. I just need extra airflow,” she jokingly snaps back, twitching her button nose.
“I genuinely thought you and Torin were up to something. Plus, I was in a rush to get here on time.” Her foot starts a small, restless tap against the floor.
“And I can’t believe I admitted to checking out if you were single. I was mortified, alright?”
Extra airflow. This woman.
Trying my hardest, I hold back a laugh; her nostrils just flared as she overexplained herself. “Don’t be.” I bump her knee with mine. “If it makes you feel better, I asked Coach if you were single. He basically told me to keep my head in the game, not on the girls.”
Her head whips around. “Oh, really . . . That’s interesting.”
Instead of continuing, she goes quiet, like something had just grabbed her attention.
“The coach—” she starts, then pauses. “I couldn’t help but notice after the Ranger game that little thing between you two on the ice.”
Damn it. She saw that. Everyone thinks Coach is some crabby asshole, but they have no clue what he really means to me.
My fingers rake through my hair. “Yeah, I look up to him. He’s like the closest thing to a dad I’ve ever had.
” My throat works against itself, my eyes anchored to Mom as she dances.
“Even after I got adopted — and don’t get me wrong, my mom is fucking incredible — I was still a handful, a real angry kid for years.
I met Coach at fifteen; he took me under his wing, let me join a team, taught me how not to, you know .
. . lose it all the time.” A breath leaves me and I’m unguarded in a way I wasn’t ready for. “Guess I’m still a lit woo-woo.”
Fawn keeps her amber eyes on me, and for once, I don’t feel like running from my crazy mind. It’s like she calms me.
“You’re not woo-woo,” she says simply. “You’re just . . . you, and don’t ever change.”
I couldn’t even if I tried, and trust me, I have. I find myself annoying sometimes.
Her smile turns warm. “Your mom and the coach must’ve done something right. You turned out okay and not bad at all.”
Something between a laugh and a sigh leaves me.
Not bad at all.
Yeah, I guess not. I could have gone down a bunch of different roads — I almost did, but I somehow landed here — a bit of a smart-mouth, a total mess, but not . . . broken.
After a beat, I find the courage to look her way.
Her eyes give my ribs a funny feeling — like they’re loosening and squeezing at the same time.
I let myself sink into that feeling for a second.
“The truth is . . .” I manage, hands busy with a thread unraveling on my jeans. “He wasn’t just around for me—”
Fawn cocks her head.
“He was there for Torin too.” The memories start tugging at me. “He, uh, saved us, I guess, in his own, you know, crabby way. I’ll always look up to him.”
Her face softens, angelic, and damn, it makes me want to keep going, but I don’t want to scare her away.
“Anyway, enough about me,” I announce, bringing my hands together. “Want a donut?”
She looks at me, puzzled, like I’m hinting at some sexual innuendo. “Donut? Oh!” She giggles, a tiny sound escaping her heart-shaped lips. “I thought you were . . . I have no clue what I thought.”
Her cheeks flush a cute pink as she nervously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She reaches into the bag, slow and hesitant, as if the donuts might jump up and bite her hand. I get the urge to jump scare her, but the gentleman in me decides not to.
I pull out the last one and act like the sugar coating my fingers is the center of my world right now. “I get them for my mom every week,” I say. “She complains, says they will make her fat, but she still manages to eat most of them.”
The quiet between us is easy as we work through our donuts. I lick the sugar from my fingertips until my gaze snags on Fawn. For a second, she holds it, but she looks away too fast, clearing her throat.
I’ve let her see a little more of me, and now, I find myself hoping she’ll let me in too. Because the truth is, I want to know her more than I probably should.
“So,” I say, trying to keep it light, “your grandpa’s the reason you moved to Ivywood?”
Fawn swallows the last bite of her donut, swiping her hand across her mouth.
“Yeah.” Her voice is quiet. She fidgets, her shoulders bunching like she wasn’t expecting the question.
“My grandma passed away when I was in school, and my father years later. Then, my grandpa was diagnosed with early onset dementia.” She stops talking for a moment to catch her breath.
I stay quiet and let her continue. “That’s when my amazing mom decided to go globetrotting.
I lived with Grandpa for a while, and then he started to get worse, a couple of violent moments.
Back where we lived, the nursing homes were awful.
So, I looked around, and Ivywood seemed to be the nicest with the best facilities. Of course, it costs a fortune.”
A breath slips out of her. “The decision was made to sell Grandpa’s house, and it’s covered the nursing cost for years, but I think his money might be drying up. So I’m helping.” There’s this mixture of exhaustion and pride in her eyes, like she’s daring me to judge her but hoping I won’t.
My hands find my jeans and brush across them, sending crumbs skittering. “You’ve been carrying a lot, way more than most people our age ever have to. You’re doing so well.”
She shrugs a little, like, yeah, I know, but she doesn’t want to make a thing out of it.
It feels like a peek inside — a window she didn’t mean to open — and I don’t want to miss the chance. “I’m glad you felt like you could tell me,” I say. “I . . . I want to get to know you, Fawn.”
Her surprised eyes settle into something softer. “Really?”
“Yeah . . . really.”
A ghost of a smile dances on her face as she fiddles with the donut bag, lost in thought. “To be honest, it’s kinda nice to just talk to someone who understands what I’m going through.”
“I get it. Taking care of someone with dementia . . . it changes everything. My mom was the same way. In the end, I couldn’t leave her side — she was a danger to herself, and I couldn’t bear the thought of a nursing home.
But eventually, it was the right call. She has been here for six years now, and just celebrated her sixty-ninth birthday a few weeks ago.
” Something makes me pause — the memories flooding before I can stop them.
“Coach and Torin supported me through everything. After I brought her here, Torin moved in.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a solid support network.
Dee’s been amazing. When me and my ex broke up, I moved in with her.
I had nothing but my car and a suitcase .
. .” Her words trail off and she reaches up, scratching her chin.
“Thing is, once Grandpa’s money runs out, I know he’s gonna need my help, so that’s why I’m writing my second book already. Plus, my agent has been on me.”
“Is that why you started writing in the first place . . . for the money?” The question leaves me before I can pull it back.
She shakes her head quickly. “Nah, I was stuck at home, answering customer service calls all day. Plus, I was still with Jason, my ex, when I started writing. Let’s just say our relationship was . . . something.”
I let her decide how much she wants to share.
“I was living out of motels when I first came to Ivywood. All I cared about was that Grandpa was okay in the nursing home. I met Jason and moved in with him after just two weeks.” A dry laugh escapes her, the kind that carries something heavier underneath.
“I know. I was an idiot. It was too quick, and I was love-bombed. After a couple months, he started showing his true colors. So, after some time, I just needed to let off some steam,” she goes on.
“Something just for me. So, I started writing when I had a free moment. I even put the book out there when I was done, just as a joke to myself, and somehow . . . it did really well. I ended up quitting my regular job and writing full-time.” The words come out like she’s still trying to convince herself they’re true.
She’s an inspiration.
Fawn’s story is incredible. Arriving in Ivywood with next to nothing, she was practically without a home. Yet, against all odds, she didn’t just survive — she thrived. She carved out a life, a reputation, and made something of herself when she easily could have given up.
“You should be proud of yourself. I hardly know you, but I’m proud. You’re amazing, princess,” I state, her nickname rolling off the tip of my tongue.
Without stopping to think, I reach over and rest my hand gently on her knee. She doesn’t pull away. Her eyes fill slowly, the tears rising before she can stop them. Then, she leans in a little — just enough for me to feel it and know it means something.
“Thanks, Dylan,” she breathes.
I never thought I’d feel any kind of connection this fast — not with anyone, and sure as fuck not today. Something’s changed between us; quiet but there. I know my brain is usually a total mess, thoughts bouncing all over the place, but sitting here with her, everything feels simple and right.
Still, I need to break the mood. “So, uh, this means we’re stuck with each other for life, right?”
Fawn raises her head, brows tugging toward each other, lips pressing into a thin, uncertain line. “Are we? Why?”
“My mom and your grandpa . . .” I say, pausing to make sure she knows I’m serious. “I think they’re totally smitten with each other. We can’t break them up.”
Her lips twitch before she chomps down on the lower one to conceal her smile. “It’s nice to see him so happy.”
I can’t look away and apparently neither can Fawn. Edmunds spins my mom, and then their lips find each other — wrinkled and completely unexpected.
“Oh my God . . . they’re kissing,” Fawn exclaims, leaping to her feet.
I can only stand there, dumbfounded. But to be honest, quite impressed. Bird Man has confidence. In a split second, nurses scramble to wrench them apart.
“I think it’s time for you two to move on to your next activity,” one of the nurses says in that everything-is-fine voice all healthcare professionals seem to employ.
One look at Fawn is enough — we dissolve into laughter together.
Considering we’d just shared some deep things, everything suddenly feels lighter.
I watch her for a second — laughing, eyes bright.
I feel better now, knowing she’s a little happier than she was earlier, but underneath that, there’s still a tug in me .
. . because watching Edmund not recognize her, seeing that tiny flicker of hurt cross her face, that fucking got to me more than I expected. I wish there was a cure for dementia.
The nurse begins to lead Edmund toward the hallway, and Fawn falls into step behind them.
“I’ll catch you soon, Dylan,” she says over her shoulder with a soft, angelic smile.
I open my mouth — this is the moment to give her my number, but for some reason, I fumble.
Where the fuck has all my confidence gone? I’m a fucking donkey. She’s already out of the hall, disappearing before I can move.
Finally exhaling, I turn to my mom, looming over her frail body. She grins at me like she knows something I’m not aware of.
“Son,” she says, patting my arm. “She’s so beautiful . . .”
A soft laugh escapes me, catching me off guard. “She is, isn’t she?”