Chapter Twenty-Two
Dylan
A box of condoms is tucked into the side pocket of my suitcase, which makes concentrating on my kinesiology exam nearly impossible. The thought of several uninterrupted days with Lucy keeps dragging me away from muscular contractions and neural activation.
Not that I expect anything to happen. This trip is about introducing her to my family and showing her she can trust me outside the familiar rhythm of campus. Anything beyond that happens only if we both want it.
Four questions left. Then Lucy. Then Dallas.
I’ve never been good at wanting things slowly. Football taught me to take the lane the second it opens—commit, drive, finish.
Lucy has taught me that not every important moment needs to be rushed. She knows herself better than people assume, and she trusts me enough to tell me when she’s ready.
That’s what I admire most about her.
My body doesn’t care about my principles. It remembers her mouth, her breath, the way she looked at me like I was safe. Like she trusted me with something tender.
I grip the pencil harder.
Finish the test. Then I get to be with her. No rushing. No taking. Just being the guy she can count on.
I tap my pencil against the desk and force my eyes back to the kinesiology test in front of me.
My mind doesn’t cooperate.
Lucy keeps slipping in anyway.
Almost free.
I finish the last answer and skim my work quickly. It’s solid. Even distracted, I know this stuff. I check that my name is at the top, close the exam booklet, and stand. My chair scrapes loudly against the floor, but I don’t care.
“Done already?” the professor asks as I hand it in.
“Yeah,” I say with a quick grin. “Ready to get out of here.”
She nods, already turning back to her desk.
The hallway outside is buzzing with post-exam chatter, but I barely register it. My phone is already in my hand. Lucy’s probably waiting. I smile just thinking about it.
“Yo, Dylan!”
I turn to see Darnell and Marcus heading toward me, both looking just as relieved.
“Heading out of town?” Darnell asks, grinning like a fool.
“Yeah,” I say. “Gotta grab my bag and pick up Lucy.”
Marcus raises an eyebrow. “Can’t believe she’s meeting your family already. Never thought I’d see the day.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “What can I say?”
Darnell claps me on the shoulder. “Have fun, man. Don’t forget us when you’re living the dream.”
“I won’t,” I say, already backing away. “And no, you’re not getting details.”
They laugh as we part ways.
Twenty minutes later, I’m grabbing my suitcase, sliding into a cab, and watching the campus fade past the window. Every mile puts me closer to Lucy, closer to a weekend that feels like more than just a trip.
It feels like a turning point.
I try not to overthink their first meeting. I know it will go well. Mom is always raving about Lucy. But there’s a difference between emailing with someone and meeting them in person. The only concern is that Mom’s expectations might be too high.
And then there’s Dad.
He’s stopping by at some point, which sounds normal until you remember my parents aren’t normal. Mom and Dad can be civil in short conversations, as long as the rest of their lives remain carefully separate. Put them under the same roof, though, and every old fracture becomes visible.
Lucy knows my parents are divorced. She doesn’t know how quickly old tension returns when they share a room.
I don’t want this holiday to be the one where she learns my family comes with history. With lines. With edges.
I want her to feel welcomed, not tested.
The cab pulls up in front of her house, and she’s already outside with a suitcase at her feet.
“There’s my girl,” I say as I step out of the car.
“Hey,” she breathes, and when I pull her into my arms, she fits against me like she always does. I kiss her, quick but meaningful, then take her suitcase.
“Ready for Dallas?” I murmur near her ear.
She nods, though her smile wobbles just a little. “A little anxious to fly. But… ready.”
“We’ll take it one step at a time,” I tell her.
Her cheeks flush pink, and she ducks her head in that shy way that still undoes me.
We load her bag into the trunk, then slide into the backseat. I lace my fingers through hers immediately. The ride is quiet and comfortable.
By the time we pull up to the airport, Lucy’s palm is warm and damp in mine.
I step out first and grab our bags.
I pull her close before we head inside. “Still with me?”
“Still with you,” she says.
I kiss her once, then take the handle of her suitcase.
The terminal opens around us in layers of sound and motion.
Wheels rattle over tile. A child cries near the security ropes while someone farther down the concourse laughs into a phone.
The air smells of coffee, cinnamon, and the clean scent of floor polish.
Beyond the windows, baggage carts weave between parked planes beneath a November sky.
Lucy watches everything with the focused attention she usually gives a page, tracking gate numbers, uniforms, flashing screens, and families gathered around suitcases. Every few seconds, an announcement rolls through the speakers, blurred at the edges by distance.
We stop at the check-in kiosk, and I punch in our flight information. The boarding passes spit out a second later, and I hand hers to her.
She studies every line as though there might be a question about it later.
“First time flying together,” I tease.
“First time flying ever,” she corrects, eyes still scanning the ticket.
Her fingers tighten on the boarding pass like it might float away. She keeps glancing up at the overhead signs, whole place moving too fast for her to feel in control.
I lean closer. “Okay,” I say quietly, counting it off on my fingers. “We go through security. We find the gate. We sit. We board when they call us. That’s it.”
Lucy’s mouth twitches like she’s fighting a smile. “You just made it sound like a training plan.”
“It is,” I say, dead serious. “Step one: don’t panic. Step two: try not to lose your shoes.”
She laughs, and some of that tension leaves her shoulders.
She keeps choosing something new even when the familiar would be easier.
At security, I remind Lucy to have her ID and boarding pass ready. The line takes a while, but not as long as it looks. Lucy slips off her shoes carefully, sets everything in the gray bins, and glances back at me once before stepping into the scanner. I give her a reassuring nod.
A few minutes later, we’re putting our shoes back on, zipping our jackets, and reorganizing our bags.
“We survived,” I say.
She smiles, more relaxed now. “That wasn’t as bad as I thought.”
“See? Professional traveler already.”
We follow the signs to our gate, weaving through the crowd. When we reach ours, I find two empty seats and drop our bags at our feet.
“Hungry?” I ask.
“Maybe just water,” she says.
“I’ll grab it.”
When I come back with two bottles and a couple of snacks, she’s already pulled a book from her bag. I love that she takes books with her everywhere.
I brush my thumb over her knuckles. “My mom’s going to love you.”
Lucy exhales, the nerves still there but softer now.
As I sit beside her, shoulder touching shoulder, watching the planes taxi past the window, the trip suddenly feels larger than a Thanksgiving visit.
It’s about seeing if our worlds can fit together outside of campus.
A plane lifts beyond the window, and Lucy’s book lowers into her lap. For a moment, the nerves leave her face entirely, replaced by quiet wonder.
She turns toward me. There’s a thoughtful look in her eyes.
“So,” she says softly, “what are your family’s Thanksgiving traditions?”
The memories come easily. “My mom goes all out. Like… all out. Every dish you can think of, and probably a few you didn’t know existed. Turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, three kinds of pie. She starts cooking days in advance.”
Lucy laughs, her fingers brushing against mine. “She sounds intense.”
“She is,” I admit, grinning. “But in the best way. And football’s a big thing, too.
My dad and I always try to watch at least one game together.
Even if we’re not in the same place, we’ll text through the whole thing—trash-talking teams we don’t even care about.
It’s kind of our way of staying connected. ”
Her smile softens. “I like that.”
“After dinner, it’s usually board games or cards,” I continue. “Nothing fancy. Just everyone hanging around, talking, arguing over rules. It’s… comfortable.”
“Cozy,” she says, nodding. “That actually sounds really nice.”
“It is.” I squeeze her hand gently. “And you’re going to fit right in.”
Gemma will be home. And Dad’s going to stop by while we’re there. I tell myself Lucy has nothing to worry about.
The intercom crackles overhead, announcing that boarding will begin shortly. I stand, lifting both our carry-ons, and hold my hand out to her.
“Ready?” I ask.
She takes a steadying breath, then places her hand in mine. “Yeah,” she says. “Let’s do this.”
And as we step into line together, I realize this trip isn’t only about introducing Lucy to my family.
It’s the first time we’re discovering whether home can mean more than one place.