Chapter Forty-Eight – Dylan
The past couple of days have been fucking tough, but getting on the ice today provided a necessary release. The rush always seems to engulf me: adrenaline, speed, control. At least for a couple of hours, I almost feel like myself again. Almost.
Maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s Torin filling my head with hope, telling me over and over again that we’ll get her back. And the stupid part is, I believe him. I don’t know why, but I do.
It’s business as usual in the locker room, someone blasting music through a small speaker.
Some guys are chirping at each other, towels snapping the backs of legs, laughter ricocheting off the walls as if everything is fine.
Torin is stretched out on the bench in the corner, fucking silent.
He hasn’t chimed in once. Elbows on his knees, hands laced in his lap.
He’s not challenging anyone’s gaze but periodically gives side glances whenever anyone gets too close.
Someone starts laughing way too loudly, and Torin looks up, his eyes fixed on him, causing the volume in the room to dip slightly. Torin doesn’t have to say anything to be heard.
I’ve got to maintain a good mental state. Yes, I joke when I’m meant to, and I nod at conversations I’m not paying attention to. I remind myself this is only temporary; tomorrow is a new day, and I’ve got a plan.
Tomorrow, I’m going to visit my mom. Of course, I haven’t told Torin yet, but I will.
Maybe I’ll accidentally bump into Fawn. She’s bound to visit her grandfather at some point.
The thought sits in my chest like a fragile little spark. I don’t let myself think about it too hard in case it burns out.
But fuck, do I hope.
As I begin to pull my shirt on, Torin follows suit beside me. I attempt not to peek, but naturally, I do. His six-pack is still wet from the shower, his skin glinting under the bright lights in the locker room.
Dude’s looking like a whole damn snack.
His eyes find mine. Something shifts at the corner of his mouth — not quite a smile yet, but getting there.
With all the courage I have, I finally check my phone. I texted Fawn when I got off the ice, and I haven’t checked since. My thumb lingers on the screen.
I know she hasn’t been reading the group chat, but something feels different today.
And there it is.
Read.
Something jolts through me and won’t stop moving. I find myself up on my toes, bouncing slightly.
Fuck! She’s okay. Yes. Yes!
Relief floods me so fast, it makes my eyes sting. I scroll, already imagining her reply—
Then, I see it.
Gray text, small and final.
Fawn Higgins has left the chat.
The hum of the locker room fades out, and all I hear is my pulse thumping in my head.
There must be a glitch with the phone, so I refresh the chat.
Again.
Again.
And again.
Nothing changes.
My blood runs warm, my nostrils flare as panic turns into rage. I don’t think, I simply act. My phone flies out of my hand as I slam it on the floor.
It shatters, glass flying everywhere.
“Shit!” I yell out.
The locker room falls silent. I can feel the eyes of every player on me, but I don’t care. If the world ended right now, it wouldn’t matter.
Torin places his hand on my shoulder. “Dylan, what’s happened?”
My breathing’s too heavy, too fast, like my chest is caving in. My hands are shaking.
“Crawley, you alright?” someone asks, but the words barely register.
Torin searches my face; he can tell I’m not in my right mind. He straightens, his voice cutting sharply through the room. “Right! Everyone out. Now.”
No one moves fast enough.
“I said now!”
The music stops, lockers bang closed, and feet scatter. In a matter of minutes, the room is emptied, leaving only the sound of breathing and the pieces of my phone scattered across the cement.
I press my forehead against the cold locker in front of me. Sweat trickles down my spine, and my hands dig into the steel as if it’s the only thing holding me upright.
“Talk to me, Dylan,” Torin says in a firm tone.
I don’t want to admit the truth; I know it’s going to kill him. I swallow hard, and my throat burns. “Fawn’s . . .” I drag in a breath that barely works. “Fawn’s left the group chat.”
He blinks slowly, already pulling out his phone, his thumb flying across it. His face changes as soon as he reads it — his brows furrow, and he digs his fingers into the bridge of his nose.
“Why?” I snap. “Why would she do that?!”
Torin doesn’t answer. He simply freezes, his mind a million miles away.
His silence sets me off.
“Guess what!” I say, pacing now, breath still uneven. “I’m gonna go confront her at the nursing home. She’s bound to visit her grandpa.”
Torin finally looks at me, his hands on his hips. “Then what? Scare her? Abduct her? Make her talk?”
I stop short and step into his space. “Well, you tell me a fucking better plan! Because this—” I gesture wildly between us, “this is unfair to both of us!”
He turns away as if he can’t bear hearing it. He knows I’m right. It hurts too much.
My hand finds his wrist and he turns. And there it is, that look.
His eyes are glassy and red-rimmed. I haven’t seen him cry since the day I discovered him beneath the tree.
“The truth’s finally hit you, hasn’t it? For once, you’re scared we won’t get her back,” I say, my voice dropping, raw. “Aren’t you?”
He attempts to walk away, but I’m still holding him, which he does not like, not one bit.
“She’s afraid, and so are we. That’s the truth,” he replies.
His breath stutters; mine does too as I let go of him and step back. The space between us suddenly feels heavy with everything we’re not saying.
He suddenly loses it. He whirls around and slams his fist against my locker, the metal screeching with a brutal clang. “Fuck!” he bellows, his voice tearing out like something has broken free at last.
It’s not just anger. It’s acceptance. The kind that hurts worse than denial ever did.
He gazes at his hand, his knuckles split and bleeding. At first, he doesn’t even flinch; he just stares at it like he deserves the pain. Then, he picks up a towel from the bench and wraps his knuckles tightly as a hiss escapes his teeth.
“There’s more to it. I know there is, and I’m gonna figure it out,” he says finally, voice low but solid. Another wince, but he doesn’t loosen his grip. “While I’m still walking and breathing, I ain’t giving up on her. “
I stand there, throat locked, not knowing what the fuck to say.
Hell, I hope he’s right. There has to be another reason; maybe we’re missing something. There’s no way she could go from looking at us like we were her whole world to ghosting us. Those kinds of feelings don’t vanish overnight.
What I do know is that this is breaking us.