14. Dylan #2
I pull up the navigation to Selene’s address.
The Silver Lake apartment she moved to after leaving me, the address I discovered through the investigator when she suddenly showed up again, and have been studiously avoiding ever since because showing up uninvited felt like it would cross a line.
But she’s told me about it now, described it with a pride that made my heart ache, and I’m grateful to finally see where she’s been building her new life.
The GPS estimates eighteen minutes to her destination.
Eighteen minutes alone with her in the intimate space of my car, her scent surrounding me, her presence warming the seat beside me.
I’ve never been more grateful for LA traffic patterns.
As I merge onto the highway, I reach for the entertainment system and scroll through my playlists until I find the one I’m looking for. It’s labeled simply “S,” and I created it years ago, back when I still paid attention to the small details of her preferences.
The opening notes of a song fill the car, something soft and melodic, the kind of indie folk she’s always loved. Selene’s head turns toward the speakers, her brow furrowing slightly.
“Is this…?”
“Your playlist.” I keep my eyes on the road, but her stare burns into my profile. “I made it. A few years ago. All your favorite artists, the songs you’d put on when you were cooking or reading or just wanted background noise.”
“You remembered.”
“I remember everything about you, Selene.” I let the words hang in the air, honest. “I was just too stupid to realize how much those details mattered until you were gone.”
She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t change the music either.
The playlist continues, cycling through tracks I curated with obsessive attention back when I was still capable of obsessing over something other than my career.
Songs she hummed in the shower. Artists she discovered and shared with me, excited to introduce me to something new.
I reach my hand toward the back of her seat, letting my fingers graze the leather near her shoulder. After a moment, I find a strand of her hair that’s escaped from her ponytail, and I wind it gently around my finger.
She doesn’t pull away.
***
Selene
I should tell him to stop.
His fingers are in my hair, playing with the strands that have come loose throughout the long day, and it feels so good that I can barely breathe.
The touch is light, like he’s not fully conscious of what he’s doing.
But I am. I’m hyper-aware of every brush of his fingertips against my scalp, every slight tug as he winds my hair around his hand.
My favorite playlist fills the car, songs I haven’t listened to in over a year because they reminded me too much of the life I left behind. He kept them. He made a playlist of my favorites and kept it in his car all this time, even when he didn’t know if he’d ever see me again.
The realization makes my chest twist in complicated warmth.
“I can turn it off,” Dylan says, his voice low and careful. “If it’s too much.”
“No.” The word comes out before I can stop it. “No, it’s… it’s fine.”
I stare out the window at the passing city, watching streetlights blur into streaks of gold as we speed toward my apartment. His scent fills the car. It’s cedar and something warmer underneath, distinctly him. It engulfs me completely.
His fingers continue their gentle exploration of my hair, and I let my eyes drift closed.
This is dangerous. I know it’s dangerous. Every moment I spend with him, every boundary I let him blur, brings me closer to the edge of something I swore I’d never fall into again.
But I’m so tired.
Tired of fighting. Tired of maintaining walls. Tired of pretending that his presence doesn’t affect me, that his touch doesn’t make my skin come alive, that his persistent devotion hasn’t been slowly, inexorably wearing down my resistance.
“Can I ask you something?” Dylan’s voice breaks the comfortable silence.
“You can ask. I reserve the right not to answer.”
“Fair enough.” He pauses, his fingers stilling in my hair. “Are you happy? In your new life, I mean. With the film and the company and… everything you’ve built.”
I consider the question, turning it over in my mind.
“Yes.” The answer comes easier than I expected. “I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished. I’m doing work that matters to me. I’m not just… existing in someone else’s shadow anymore.”
“Good.” His voice is rough. “That’s good, Selene. That’s all I ever wanted for you.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.” His fingers resume their movement, gentle and rhythmic.
“I know I didn’t show it. I know I made you feel like you were less important than my work, like your dreams didn’t matter as much as mine.
But I always wanted you to be happy. I was just too selfish and blind to realize I was the one standing in the way of that. ”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I say nothing.
The car slows as we exit the highway, navigating the smaller streets that lead to my neighborhood.
The playlist shifts to a new song, something slower and more intimate, and I recognize it as one I used to play when we were cooking dinner together in our old apartment, back before the mansion, back before everything got complicated.
“I missed you.”
The words slip out before I can stop them, quiet and raw, and I feel Dylan’s entire body go still.
“I missed you too.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Every single day. Every night I fell asleep alone in that empty house, I thought about you. Where you were. Whether you were safe. Whether you were thinking about me at all.”
“I tried not to.” I turn to finally look at him.
His profile is illuminated by passing streetlights.
“Think about you, I mean. I tried so hard to move on, to focus on building something new. But you were always there. In the songs I couldn’t listen to.
In the restaurants I couldn’t visit. In all the empty spaces where you used to be. ”
Dylan pulls the car to a stop in front of my building, but he doesn’t turn off the engine. He just sits there, both hands on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.
“I don’t deserve another chance.” His voice is thick. “I know that. After everything I did, everything I put you through, I don’t deserve to be sitting here with you, listening to your playlist, touching your hair when I no longer have the right.”
“No,” I agree. “You don’t.”
He flinches, but he doesn’t argue.
“But you’re here anyway.” I reach over and rest my hand on his forearm, feeling the muscles tense beneath my fingers. “And I’m letting you be here. So maybe we’re both fools.”
Dylan turns to look at me, and the vulnerability in his expression makes my breath catch.
This isn’t the arrogant director who forgot our anniversary and thanked another woman from the stage.
This is someone softer, rebuilding himself from wreckage, someone who looks at me as if I’m the only thing that matters in his entire world.
“Selene…”
“Don’t.” I pull my hand back before I do something stupid, like lean across the console and kiss him. “Don’t say anything else tonight. I’m too tired and you’re too… you. If we’re going to have this conversation, I need to be fully conscious for it.”
He nods, accepting the boundary without protest. “Can I walk you to your door?”
“It’s twenty steps from the car.”
“Humor me.”
I sigh, but I’m smiling as I open the car door. “Fine. But just to the door. You’re not coming inside.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He rounds the car and offers me his hand, helping me out with an old-fashioned courtesy that makes my heart flutter. “I’m a perfect gentleman.”
“You’re a menace.”
“A gentlemanly menace.” He keeps hold of my hand as we walk toward my building, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. “There’s a difference.”
At my door, I turn to face him, and we stand there for a moment, neither of us quite ready to end the night.
“Thank you for the ride.” I pull my hand free, wrapping my arms around myself. “And for… everything. The food, the flowers, the ridiculous persistence.”
“Anytime.” His hopeful eyes search my face. “Get some sleep, baby. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You’re still planning to show up at my office?”
“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.” He leans in and presses a lingering kiss to my forehead. “Goodnight, wife.”
“I told you not to call me that.”
“I know.” He’s already backing away, grinning. “I’m selectively deaf, remember?”
He walks to his car. I watch him as he pauses and waves. The driver’s door closes. His taillights disappear around the corner, and I’m still standing here.
Then I let myself into my apartment, close the door behind me, and lean against it with my heart pounding.
His blazer is still draped around my shoulders.
I didn’t give it back.
I bury my nose in the fabric, breathing in his scent, and I let myself wonder. Just for a moment, what it would feel like to let him back in.