He smiled at the screen, thumb hovering for a second before he finally locked it and tossed the phone into the passenger seat. The pump clicked behind him, the tank full. He returned the nozzle, slapped the gas cap shut, and climbed back into his Bronco, the familiar creak of the leather seat grounding him.
He could’ve flown back from Savannah— everyone asked why he didn’t. But it was only five hours to Orlando. Less if traffic was light. And truthfully, he loved to drive. The rhythm of the interstate, the solitude of his vehicle, the silence between playlists and pit stops— it gave his mind room to settle. Reset.
The sun was high now— hot, relentless. Daytona heat had its own kind of bite, different from the coastal softness of Peach Cove and Honeyshore. He wiped his palm across his brow, cranked the A/C, then reached for his phone again— it felt like a Brantley Gilbert kind of moment.
“More Than Miles.” Of course.
The guitar licks filled the cabin as he pulled back onto I-95, merging into traffic with one hand on the wheel and the other on the gearshift. He popped the sunroof open, letting the sky pour in. A long stretch of I-4 still lay ahead, but the road didn’t feel heavy.
Ali’s words—I’m still getting used to letting myself believe that— kept looping in his head. He wasn’t going to rush her. But he wasn’t going to let her go again, either.
The wind whipped through the open roof as he sped south, Orlando-bound, the chorus bleeding through the speakers and his chest.
By the time Dylan hit the outskirts of Orlando, the late afternoon sun had dipped into that golden stretch that made everything look a little cinematic. He turned off Brantley, letting the silence settle again as downtown came into view through the windshield. Home.
He pulled into his garage just after six, the Bronco rumbling to a stop. The house was cool and quiet inside— just the way he liked it after a few days of constant conversation. He tossed his bag on the entry bench, grabbed a sports drink from the fridge, and dropped down onto the couch. A few unread texts blinked on his screen, but he bypassed them and dialed the one number he knew would expect a check-in.
“Kallie,” he said when she picked up. “Just got in.”
“You alive?” she teased. “I figured you’d text from the road like a normal human, but I guess we’re doing this the old-fashioned way.”
“I’m a man of tradition,” he deadpanned.
“Uh-huh. So? How’d it go?”
Kallie’s voice was casual, but he heard the edge beneath it. She’d seen him that night. Seen Ali. Seen what it had done to him.
Dylan leaned back into the cushions, letting his head fall against the back of the couch. “It went…” he exhaled. “Better than I expected. Fundraiser went above our projected goal. Everyone clapped. I didn’t trip over the podium. You were there, remember?”
Kallie snorted. “Not what I meant and you know it. I left you alone out there for a reason, Mac. What happened after I covered for you?”
He closed his eyes for a second, fingers tightening around the neck of his water bottle.“She was in the parking lot. Behind someone’s SUV, sitting on the pavement. Could barely breathe.” His voice dropped, almost reverent. “I found her. Talked her down.”
Silence stretched between them, but not uncomfortably.
“And since then?” Kallie asked gently.
“We’ve been… talking.” A pause. “Seeing each other.” Then, a faint smile tugged at his lips. “More than talking, really.”
Kallie’s hum was laced with amusement. “So, she’s not a ghost anymore.”
“No.” That part came out without hesitation. “She’s real. Still the most genuine person I’ve ever met. Still funny. Still gorgeous. And still way too good for me.”
“Dramatic much?” Kallie teased. But then she softened. “I’m glad, Mac. Truly. You were... lost for a long time. I think I forgot what you sounded like when you were grounded.”
He let her words settle. They both knew the version of him that came out of college wasn’t the same one she met when he was a Freshman. Football had saved him. But it hadn’t healed him.
“She’s scared,” he admitted quietly. “Worried about what people would say. About going public.”
Kallie hesitated. “And what doyouwant?”
Dylan didn’t flinch. “Her.” Then softer: “In whatever way she’ll let me have her.”
After the call ended, Dylan tossed his phone onto the coffee table and stretched out on the couch. For all the emotion he’d carried on the drive home, the house now felt… still. Like it was waiting with him.
Eventually, curiosity got the better of him. He leaned forward, grabbed his phone again, and thumbed through his unread texts. One stood out— Rocky, his teammate and longtime friend.
Rocky:
