24
Brook s
Then
I park the truck on the shoulder of the road, killing the engine. The headlights cut out, leaving only the moonlight to guide us. The trailhead isn’t much—just a gap in the trees and a sign so faded you can barely make out the words, but it’s one of my favorite spots. Quiet. Out of the way. Exactly what Dylan needs right now.
She steps out of the truck, wobbling slightly on the uneven ground, and looks around, her expression skeptical. “Okay, and where exactly are we?” She tugs at the hem of her dress, glancing down at her heels. “Because I’m not exactly dressed for a nature documentary.”
Her voice has that teasing edge, but I can tell she’s still holding onto everything that happened back there with Beckett. She’s trying, though, and that’s something.
I gesture toward the faint sound of running water. “Just trust me.”
She huffs, crossing her arms. “Famous last words.”
I smirk, taking her hand before she can argue. “Come on, it’s not a hike. The path is mostly paved, you’ll survive, Rivers.”
She lets me lead her, albeit with a dramatic sigh. “If I break and ankle, you’re carrying me back.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
I’ve been working on this for a while now—showing her all the reasons Rockport isn’t as bad as she thinks it is. When she first moved here, she said she wasn’t the outdoorsy type, and yeah, maybe that was true then, but I’ve seen her soften to it. Little by little, she’s letting herself see it, feel it.
The trail opens up after a bit, the night’s glow spilling through the trees in patches. It’s enough to see where we’re going, just barely. I glance at her again, catching that little shift in her expression. She doesn’t say anything, but it’s there—a reluctant kind of appreciation.
“You like it,” I say, nudging her lightly.
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t deny it. “It’s…not terrible.”
I chuckle. “I’ll take it.”
The swimming hole comes into view, the water catching the light just enough to look silver. I motion toward it. “Better than some crowded bonfire, though, don’t you think?”
Her fingers find mine, fitting perfectly as I lead her closer to the bank. The water is so clear it mirrors the night sky, the trees rippling across the surface like they’ve been painted on glass.
After a quiet moment, she looks at me. “So, what’s the real reason we’re here?”
I tilt my chin upward. “The stars.”
Her eyes drift skyward, mirroring my movement. Through the break in the trees, the sky feels bigger somehow, like it’s stretching on forever. She stares, her silence speaking volumes.
“I thought maybe this would help,” I add after a beat. “It’s not just a pretty view, but something for you to keep. Another place you can tuck away when you need to think. A pocket in the sky where you can remember you’re not alone, even in the darkest moments.”
She drops her gaze back to me, her lips tugging into a faint smirk. “And here I thought you were bringing me somewhere secluded for a completely different reason.”
“If that’s what you want, all you gotta do is ask, Rivers.”
She shoots me a glare, but there’s no real heat behind it. She’s deflecting.
I tug lightly on her hand, and after a second, she sits beside me at the water’s edge, knees tucked to her chest. The fabric of her dress gathers around her legs, pooling softly at her feet, blending into the darkened earth. The stream tumbles over smooth stones, its gentle rhythm carrying a sense of calm. It’s the kind of peace that feels earned, like the world is giving you a minute to just be.
She’s still staring up at the sky a few minutes later, her expression softer than it was at the school, like some of the hurt she’s been stewing on has started to lift. That’s what I wanted for her, to give her a second to forget everything.
“Do you think he’s right?” she asks suddenly, her voice tentative.
I know she’s talking about Beckett without her saying it, and I answer honestly. “I think he’s your brother, and that means he’s trying to figure out how to protect you. Even if he gets it wrong.”
She pulls at a flower, its delicate petals forcing their way through the rocks. “It just sucks, you know? That he thought I couldn’t handle it. That I’d be so self absorbed that I wouldn’t want him to have something good in his life because it didn’t include me.”
“He doesn’t think that.” I look at her, trying to catch her eye, but she keeps staring out at the water. “Fear makes people do stupid things. He was just scared of letting you down.”
The water trickles in the background, a comforting rhythm while crickets echo from somewhere far off. The stars feel closer out here, like you could reach out and grab one if you tried to. I want to tell her that everything will work out, that Beckett was just trying to do what he thought was best, but it’s not what she needs right now.
What she needs is to feel like someone’s here, that she doesn’t have to figure all of this out on her own.
“You know,” I say after a while, “whatever happens with Beckett, you’re still going to be okay. You’ve got this, Dylan. You always do.”
She kicks off her heels, one after the other, shedding the night with them. Her bare toes press into the dirt as if daring the earth to pull her in.
Her voice is soft when she thanks me, sliding a ring off and rolling it between her fingers before tucking it back into place. I stay, letting the stars blaze overhead, the water ripple in the distance, as if the world itself is listening.
The drive back to my place is quick, Dylan’s got her feet tucked beneath her on the seat, head resting against the window like she’s somewhere else entirely. I don’t try to pull her back. If she needs space, she can have it.
My dad’s out of town again—some job two states over that probably has him holed up in a motel with my mom. He’s always gone, always working. When I was younger, I used to wonder if he’d ever just stay. If maybe one day, work wouldn’t come first. Now, I don’t waste time thinking about it. It is what it is. Mom left after we stopped by to let her take pictures, then decided to spend the weekend with Dad since he’d been gone the last week or so. The house always feels emptier when they’re gone, but at this point, it doesn’t make much of a difference.
The porch light I left on earlier casts a dull glow as we pull into the driveway. Everything else is dark, but neither of us moves after I cut the engine.
“You good?” I ask eventually. “I can take you home if you’d prefer, Dill.”
Dylan shifts, stretching her legs out before reaching for the handle. “Yeah, I’m good.”
She doesn’t sound convincing, but I know that if she wants to talk, she will.
We step inside, and I flip on a couple of lights to make the place feel less empty. My keys hit the table with an abrupt clatter. Behind me, Dylan hovers in the doorway, arms pulled tight around herself like she’s still deciding whether she wants to be here at all. If I didn’t know what she was dealing with at home, I might’ve asked her again.
It’s not uncomfortable, just uncertain. Her eyes move around the room, like she’s looking for something solid to hold onto.
“You hungry?” I ask, heading for the kitchen. The fridge hums as I pull it open. A couple of sodas, some leftovers, nothing worth eating.
“Um. Not really.”
“Okay. Same.” I shut the fridge, and lean against it. She looks drained, but not in a way that sleep can fix. I can tell what happened tonight is still on her mind, and I just want to help her forget about it, even if it’s only for a little while. She holds onto things too easily, lets them take up space in her head until there’s no room for anything else.
“You can wear some of my clothes if you want,” I offer. “You don’t have to, but if you want to get out of that dress, I can grab something. I’ll probably change too, so we can just hang out.”
She nods. “Yeah, I’d like that. Thanks.”
I rummage through my dresser, pulling out an old hoodie and some well-worn sweats. She doesn’t comment when I hand them to her, just smiles before disappearing into the bathroom.
Quickly, I return to my room, slip off my dress shirt, and change into a Rockport Titans T-shirt and joggers, doing it as fast as I can—just enough time for a brief glance at the TV in the living room before she’s done.
When she returns, my clothes hang on her frame in a way that makes her seem smaller, but not fragile—like they were always meant for her. She tugs the sleeves over her hands, crosses the room, and drops onto the couch next to me, her knee bumping mine.
We put on She’s the Man, but it’s just background noise. After a few minutes, she leans against my shoulder. It’s careful, almost as if she expects I’ll pull away. But I don’t. Of course, I don’t. She exhales, and I feel her start to relax, like she’s letting go—maybe not entirely, but for now, she lets herself rest.
“This is nice. Thanks for inviting me to stay tonight.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, but the word doesn’t come close to capturing the way she makes the night feel endless.
The screen fades to black, and I glance down, memorizing the way she fits against me. Wishing time worked differently. “You want my bed?”
“I’m fine here.”
“Humor me. It’s better than the couch.”
She breathes in like she’s about to argue, but then lets it go. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
I guide her into my room, grabbing an extra blanket from the linen closet and spreading it across my bed. She sits beside me, her fingers slowly removing her rings, each one swirling between her fingertips before she places them gently on my nightstand.
“I just need a break from thinking,” she says, pulling at a loose thread on my duvet.
“Then take one.”
The next breath she takes is different—deeper, like she’s choosing to let it go. And then she moves, climbing over my lap, her hands in my hair as she kisses me. She tastes like cinnamon, and I don’t think, just pull her in. She exhales against my mouth, nails dragging slightly down my neck, and everything else—everything that brought her here—unravels.
My grip tightens at her waist, dragging her flush against me. She doesn’t just take it, she meets me there, wild and unafraid. The kiss turns feverish, all tongues and teeth, and when I pull back to catch my breath, she follows, chasing me like she can’t stand the distance.
“Say the word,” I murmur, my fingers slipping beneath the hem of her shirt. “And I’ll stop.”
Her answer comes in the form of pulling my hair, her lips against mine as she whispers. “I don’t want you to.”
That’s all it takes.
I roll us back, and she follows me down, her body pressing me into the mattress like a force I never want to fight.
Her touch is an ache, a need that spreads inside me, relentless. When she kisses me again, I swear I taste devotion on her lips.
Her fingertips graze my cheek, and I snatch them, pressing them against my racing pulse, needing her to feel what she does to me. “I love you.”
Something in her breaks free, something feral. She tilts her head, her breath shaky, her pupils blown. I feel the second she gives in.
“I love you too.”
The world ceases to exist. I flip us over, pinning her beneath me, and the moment spirals into heat, into surrender, into something neither one of us will walk away from unchanged. If she’s mine, then I am hers—entirely, recklessly, without end.