“I was hoping to. I already talked to Kallie about apartment listings. Just something small and affordable. Close to the office.”
His heart thudded once. “When were you going to tell me?”
“I’m telling you now.”
“No, you’re telling me after the fact,” he said, his tone flat. “You already had the interview, started looking for places, called Kallie. You were making moves without me.”
Ali bristled. “Because I didn’t want to get your hopes up if it didn’t work out. And I didn’t want to make you feel like I was just following you like some lost puppy.”
“Ali, come on. You think I’d feel that way?”
“I think you don’t realize how hard it was for me to make this decision. To move. To start over again.”
He ran a hand over his jaw, tension humming through his chest. “And I could’ve helped you with all of it. If you’d let me in.”
“Iamletting you in—now.”
His phone buzzed once on the counter.Daisy. He ignored it.
“You always do this,” he said. “You protect me from things that don’t even need protecting. I’ve never asked you to prove your independence to me.”
“I’m not proving anything,” she shot back. “I’m trying to build something for myself. Something stable.”
Buzz.
Daisy again.
“And what—we’re just supposed to figure out logistics later? You’re going to live across town and text me when it’s convenient? Pretend this is some casual long-distance thing when we’re five miles apart?”
She stared at him, wounded. “You’re twisting this.”
Buzz.
Daisy. Third call.
He let out a growl of frustration and grabbed the phone. “Daisy, now’s not a good time—”
Her voice came fast and broken. “Dylan.” She was crying, frantic. “It’s Dad— he had a heart attack. They rushed him to Bellamy Memorial. It’s bad. Please—please come.”
Silence hit the room like a crash.
Ali stepped forward. “What happened?”
Dylan’s jaw clenched. “I’m coming,” he said into the phone. “I’ll be there soon.”
He ended the call without waiting for a response, then looked up—numb and hollow.
Ali was already moving. Grabbing her keys. Her shoes. Her purse. “Let’s go.”
He didn’t argue. He couldn’t.
Soon You’ll Get Better
Dylan
Ali hadn’t said much for the last hundred miles—not since he told her Daisy had been crying when she called. Not since the moment her knuckles turned white on the steering wheel, and she floored it to 90 on I-95 like the road might dissolve beneath them if she slowed down.
She didn’t even flinch when he begged her to slow down. Just whispered, “I’ve got you,” and kept going.
