Chapter Thirty-Seven – Fawn
Dylan is hanging on for dear life in the truck’s bed; he’s being tossed around while we’re speeding down the country roads. I can see him through the back window. Every time the suspension hits hard, he lets out a goofy yelp, as if he’s on some kind of carnival ride.
Torin leans out the open window, a smile pulling at his voice. “This is what you get for blasting Shakira every morning!”
“Fuuuckkk yooouuu!” Dylan hollers back, his voice wavering and morphing again as the truck jerks; the words are lost in laughter and the music playing on the stereo.
I completely lose it; my ribs hurt from all the laughing.
I have tears itching the corners of my eyes, every new bump bringing another loud outburst from Dylan.
I don’t think I’ve laughed this hard in years, and in this moment, with the music blaring and the road ahead of us with chaos in our wake, everything feels perfect.
The sun dips lower, pouring warmer hues over Ivywood, and my excitement grows with every corner.
“My ass hurts!” Dylan exclaims. “Slow down!”
“Don’t worry,” Torin answers readily. “Just around this corner, and we’ll be there.”
“You know you’re mean for this,” I say, shaking my head. “But . . . I guess it’s payback. But why this song?”
“The kids always ask for it at the rink. It’s so overplayed, and he hates it,” he replies with a grin.
“You’re evil, Mr. Anderson.”
“I love it when you use your formal voice; it does something to me.”
Torin’s hand finds my thigh, his fingers pressing in. “Sure you’re okay? You know . . . after what James said at the rink.”
For one fleeting moment, I almost blurt out the truth.
How being called Ivywood’s slut hurt more than I care to admit.
How Harper’s words made me feel inadequate.
If I were to tell Torin, he would go ballistic — he’d take on anyone who ever made me feel small.
And given what happened this afternoon with him vanishing, I don’t want to risk that happening again.
I clear my throat instead, and bury the rest of it somewhere deep. “I’m fine. I’ve been called worse.”
His grip firms in an instant, fingers pressing in without hesitation. “Who’s called you worse? Give me their names.”
“Torin, you can’t go after everyone who hurts my feelings or looks at me the wrong way.”
There’s a pause, long enough for me to think I’ve gotten through to him. Then, a little bit above the music, I hear him mutter in his stubborn, protective way, “Wanna bet?”
Dylan knocks on the glass, his face a picture of mock suffering as he bounces up and down. “I bet it’s real fucking nice sitting on a soft chair!” he shouts.
I clamp my mouth shut, lips working against the laughter.
Torin then corners the truck a little too heavily. I’m yanked sideways, my head barely missing his lap.
“Whoa! Easy,” he teases lightly. “We can save that for later, baby.”
Playfully, I smack his thigh and laugh as I haul myself back up. And then—
I see it. The lake.
It stretches out before us, seemingly endless, the surface reflecting the sun.
The water twinkles, each ripple aglow, each movement echoing the oranges and pinks of the sky.
The air surrounding us feels different, as if I have entered an untouched realm.
The conifer trees tower along the shore, tall and verdant, their dark green leaves whispering to one another as a warm breeze weaves between them.
They serve as sentinels, encircling the lake, while gentle hills rise on either side, their curves smooth.
I’m breathless in ways that make me forget how to speak. I am caught completely still inside myself — this perfect silence — as if the world has slowed down enough for me to grasp it fully.
Clearly, I was too busy admiring the scenery to realize Torin got out of the truck. He holds the door open, and I climb down slowly, my eyes still locked on the lake. If I blink, it might disappear.
Behind me, I can hear Dylan. He makes a showy sound of pain as he lands alongside me, and I don’t want to be the one to shatter the spell the lake has put me under. However, I manage to turn my attention to him. He’s rubbing the back of his thigh, wincing slightly.
“You okay?” I ask, placing a hand on his back.
“I’ve never been tossed around so much,” he moans. “Despite my ass being battered and bruised, it was fucking fun.”
“Oh yeah, I think you’re saying that to get a massage out of me later.”
“Hell, I won’t say no, princess,” he replies with a wink.
We share a light, easy laugh. Torin walks to the back of the truck to start unloading, though I barely notice.
Again, I let my gaze wander back to the water, this time to the wooden dock extending out, as if inviting me to come closer.
Before I can overthink anything, I am compelled toward it, led by some deep, calm part of me.
The dock creaks under my tread, but it feels sturdy and reliable.
I stop, letting the warmth of the sun seep into my cheeks.
Arms slide around my neck from behind, wide and familiar, wrapping around my front and pulling me back into a solid chest. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?
” Dylan whispers against my ear. My body sinks into him.
“It’s breathtaking, Dylan,” I breathe, my fingers tracing his forearm.
He squeezes his grip ever so slightly. “It isn’t as beautiful as you.”
My eyes dart over my shoulder to his. I feel a ridiculous flutter in my chest whenever they’re around.
Quickly, he kisses me and then looks back at the lake.
My eyes drift back too. “I didn’t know Ivywood could be this stunning,” I whisper to myself, as if I’m seeing the place, or perhaps my life here, for the first time.
“I wish I could stay right here, in this spot, forever.”
Dylan hums in my ear, taking a deep breath. “I’ll build you a cabin on this dock if you want. Us three can live here, just say the word.”
A part of me wants to say yes. For the first time, forever doesn’t feel like a distant idea — it feels like something I could reach out and touch, something that might already be waiting for me here, wrapped in his arms.
The dock creaks as I hear Torin stepping onto it. “Right,” he murmurs, taking stock of what he’s brought along. “Blankets, speaker, beers, food. I just hope we didn’t forget anything.”
Finally, Dylan and I release each other. “As long as I’ve got you two and that sunset, I’m fine,” I say, my eyes shifting between them.
Dylan looks like I’ve just said something that settles deep in his chest. His voice drops. “You don’t even realize how much that means to hear,” he says quietly. “You make everything feel . . . right.”
He doesn’t understand it goes both ways — that they make everything feel right too. Around them, I feel seen in a way I haven’t before, appreciated not for who I try to be, but for who I already am.
Dylan moves in first, sealing a quick kiss on my lips.
I hardly have time to breathe when Torin moves closer and gently pushes a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
Dylan then steps back as Torin presses his lips to mine, the kiss becoming deeper and more consistent. I feel my legs trembling slightly.
Suddenly, the moment is broken when Dylan loudly claps his hands together. “I’m starving,” he says, going for the thermos.
Torin slips his hand into mine and leads me to a light blue blanket he has spread out on the dock.
The wood is warm with residual sunlight when we sit down.
He then rummages in the bag, pulling out a package of hot dog rolls.
He and Dylan work in sync, and before I have time to think, I’m presented with a warm hot dog.
I blink. “That was fast, thank you.” For a second, I examine the bun.
“Don’t worry, I know you don’t like anything poking out,” Dylan says. “Made sure the sausage was the right size for the bun.”
It’s such a small thing, but it settles somewhere deep inside. The way he remembers — in moments like this, I realize it’s never the grand gestures that make me feel seen. It’s the simple, ordinary ones. That’s when I really appreciate them.
“What kind of music do you want, baby?” Torin asks, balancing a hot dog in one hand and fiddling with the Bluetooth speaker in the other.
I pause. A part of me wants to pick something I know they will both love. Something safe. Something we can all vibe off of. But this moment. This feeling. This spot. I want my favorite song.
“Uhh,” I say, chewing a piece of bread. “Could you put on ‘Pocketful of Sunshine’ by Natasha Bedingfield, please?”
Dylan is staring at my face as if he is reading between the lines. “What’s with the worried look? I know it’s not Shakira, but it’s a fantastic song.”
Easing up a little, I grin with the onset of the music.
We lapse into a comfortable silence, the kind that isn’t empty.
We’re here, chowing down on hot dogs and touching shoulders, basking in what little sun is left.
The sound of the water lapping beneath the dock is soft, its steady beat mingling with the music.
I’ve never felt this kind of freedom. Torin finishes the last bite of his hot dog, wipes his hands thoroughly on his jeans, and then nonchalantly strips off his shirt.
The sun catches his tattoos as he stretches.
Dylan somehow manages to whistle while choking down a mouthful of food.
“I’m taking full advantage of the sun,” Torin states, stretching out on his elbows and turning his face to the rays.
Dylan chews the last bite of his dog and pulls his shirt off without a care in the world.
“Well, if you can’t beat him,” he shrugs, tossing his shirt to the side, “might as well join him.”