Chapter Thirty-Nine – Dylan
It’s been two days, and every time I see Fawn’s name on my phone screen, my heart does this silly little jump before I even open the message. Torin and I have been on her case, and every message is met with the same response: Did you finish the chapter?
We told her we wouldn’t go out to dinner with her until that first chapter is finished.
No exceptions.
She just laughed about it, sending us voice notes, trying to be cutesy, but I’m serious.
This morning, finally, my phone buzzed with something new. Not a message, but a picture. Her computer screen, a messy desk in the background, a coffee stain on the corner of the notebook, and right in the middle, Chapter One — finished.
Just seeing it made me grin like an idiot; my thumb hovered over the phone screen, re-reading the title for what felt like the hundredth time, though I knew it by heart. I’m so proud of her.
Torin’s been busy all day in the garage, the radio playing some classic rock station as he tries to work on the customer’s car. Occasionally, I catch the sound of a loud crash and a curse, then nothing. Maybe it’s just me, but I keep thinking about us kissing.
I’m out on the porch, staring down the end of the driveway like a kid who knows something good is coming.
I ordered something beautiful for Fawn. I keep imagining her face as she opens it.
I know she’ll try to play it cool and fail just a little, but she’s earned it.
The chapter, the dinner, the celebration, everything.
A mail truck comes into view at last, stark white and box-like, moving way too slow for my liking.
I’m off the porch before the truck even comes to a stop.
Gravel scrapes at my shoes as I make my way down the driveway.
A glimpse of the mailman’s face registers before I feel the tiniest twinge of guilt.
His eyes go wide, as if ready for impact.
“Sorry, buddy,” I say, breathless and grinning like a maniac. “You’ve made me a very happy man.”
He hands over the package, which is as light as a feather, and that’s all I need. My feet carry me back inside, the door slamming behind me so hard the frame groans with it.
No sooner have I taken two steps into the kitchen does Torin appear, as if the sound summons him. He’s drying his hands with a tattered cloth, grease seeping into the creases of his knuckles. He glances at my face, then my hands. “It came then?” he asks.
My head dips once and my hands are already at the cardboard, pulling it apart. “Yup. Paid for special delivery.”
I manage to extract the smaller box, my heart thumping loudly in my ears. I hesitate for a second then meet his gaze. “Do you think she’ll like it?”
Torin edges a little closer, interest on his face, as I slide the lid off to show him a little red jewelry box.
As soon as I open the lid, a gold locket catches the light. It is heart-shaped, warm, and a little heavier than it looks. There are two swallows engraved on the front, facing each other, their beaks almost touching as they clasp a single pink flower between them. It is delicate and so beautiful.
“It symbolizes the three of us,” I whisper, my words barely audible.
“I read online that swallows represent love, loyalty, and new beginnings. We are the swallows, and she is the flower.” My eyes flick up to Torin, then the necklace.
“I want her to always wear it so if there’s ever a moment we’re not beside her, at least we’ll always be near her heart. ”
My fingers turn it over, once, twice, I feel the click of the smooth hinge as I open the locket. For a moment, I look at the space inside.
Torin doesn’t need an explanation. He rummages through his jeans pocket and produces the small photo of us I printed earlier, its edges perfectly cropped.
He hands me the photo without saying a thing.
It’s me, Fawn, and him on the dock: the sunset in my eyes, her laughing mid-sentence as we kiss her cheeks.
With delicate fingers, I slide the photo inside. Pressing it flat with my thumb, I make sure it is secure before I close the locket. With every bit of my heart, I really hope she likes it.
I pass the box to Torin; he looks at it then back at me. “She’s gonna love it, Dyl. You’ve done well.”
My shoulder meets the fridge and I let it take my weight, arms crossing, the corners of my mouth tugging upward. The gift for Fawn is perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect.
Torin is standing in front of me, his broad back against the kitchen counter. This silence is not exactly uncomfortable, but it feels weighty, as if there is something yet to be said between us.
I can tell he wants to say something. He’s practically vibrating with it.
So, I bite the bullet.
“Uhh, so are we gonna talk about, uhhh . . .” I start, the words clumsy in my mouth.
He doesn’t let me finish. “The kiss?”
Looking away, I focus on a chip in the tile floor. “Like, it was good,” I admit, the memory of his mouth on mine, “but I’m not, like, sexually—”
He cuts me off, finishing my thought. “Attracted to me?”
“Yup . . . I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re a good-looking dude, but—”
“Dylan, I feel the same. It was a rush, and it just felt right in front of Fawn, I guess.” He shrugs a massive shoulder. “I’ll do anything to make her happy.”
The tightness in my chest eases. “Same. I’d do anything.”
I bring my thumb to my mouth without thinking, and my teeth take over from there. “What if she asks for more?” I stall then force the words through. “I mean, screw it, game on. Right?” I wait to see if he’s having the same thoughts.
He shrugs and repeats. “Right. Game on.”
For some reason, the admission, the power of it, short-circuits something inside me. I move away from the refrigerator and cut the distance between us in two swift steps. Now, we are close enough for me to see the flecks of gray in his eyes.
My voice drops to a husky whisper. “How did it make you feel?”
His gaze shifts down to my lips, lingers for a heartbeat, then flicks back up to my eyes. “I think . . . it was a heat-of-the-moment thing,” he says, but his breath hitches. “But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t get me harder.”
“Yeah . . .” I breathe, our noses almost touching. “I loved fucking her and kissing you at the same time.”
“Same,” he replies, his breath heavy on my lips. “Just thinking about it makes my cock twitch.”
It’s like the snap of a magnet settling into place. Suddenly, we are right up against each other. My hand darts to the back of his head, fingers ensnared in dark hair. His hands are on my waist, massive and heavy, holding me against him. Our mouths meet.
This isn’t like before. Before was for Fawn, a performance. This is . . . something else.
It’s hunger.
Our tongues clash in a scintillating, wet encounter that reeks of coffee, cigarettes, and something exclusively . . . Torin. A low grunt thunders from his chest to mine. I feel the bulge in his jeans press against me, my cock pushing against the confining zipper of my jeans.
My other hand shoots up to grab his bicep, and I feel the hardness of the muscle underneath my palm.
The kiss deepens, becoming much more passionate.
His stubble scratches my chin. One of his hands comes down to my lower back, pulling me up into him, and I press myself into the hardness of his erection, a shameless, desperate grind.
But a strange note lurks behind the cloud of desire. Something doesn’t feel right. It feels like something is missing. We pull away from each other at the same time, chests heaving.
“It doesn’t feel right . . .” I gasp, the truth dawning on me. “I think it’s because Fawn isn’t here, right?”
His dark eyes are wide, pupils blown. “You’re right.” He runs a hand over his mouth, wiping the wetness away. “We can’t do this without our girl.”
The energy is missing its center, its heart.
One step back and a laugh comes out looser than intended. My hand drags through my hair. “Fuck. Okay.”
“So,” Torin says, his voice rough, “we’re on the same page? For her?”
“Always for her.”
Torin slips by me, swings open the fridge and grabs a bottle of water. He takes a long, brazen swig, his eyes roving over my shoulder, as if he isn’t looking directly at me.
“We’ve known each other since we were kids,” he says matter-of-factly. “Something like that was bound to happen . . . I guess.”
“Look, whatever happens between the three of us is alright . . . good . . . great, even. What we just did was . . .” Torin trails off. “It felt . . . Jesus! Okay, it felt nice! But just us two—”
“I agree, dude.” I cut him off before he can spiral it into something bigger than it needs to be. “It’s cool.”
He exhales, the release of the tension radiating from the top of his shoulders, as if he’s been waiting for just that response. He hands me the bottle without looking, and I take it, the chill still lingering from the fridge. I tilt the bottle back and take a few large gulps.
“Do you love her?” he asks.
“Do you?” I fire back instantly.
“I asked first.” He rolls his eyes. “Fuck, this feels like déjà vu . . .”
I tap my fingers against the water bottle, buying myself a second I don’t really have.
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t,” I admit quietly.
“But love is a very strong fucking word, one that doesn’t come with an undo button.
If I’m honest, I’m scared shitless and have never fallen for someone.
Whatever this is, I’d call it . . . love. ”
Torin nods slowly, like my words finally penetrated some deep place inside him. For a split second, he looks surprised. He takes a breath, rolls his shoulders back, and then begins speaking.