“You did good, Matthew. We couldn’t have done it without you,” Dylan smiles.
“Thanks, baby. I’m still so fucking proud of you.”
“Did you see Patrick’s face when Kitty hit that shot?” Ford snickers.
“Oh yeah,” Jacob replies. “Dude looked like someone kicked his puppy.”
Dylan chuckles softly. “Told you all I had it,” she says, tilting her head like she’s daring us to disagree.
“We never doubted you,” I say, grinning.
Ford smirks. “Yeah, never us. We know you’re a bad bitch.”
Dylan rolls her eyes, and shoots me a knowing look—the kind that makes my heart trip over itself, even after all this time.
Then my phone buzzes from the counter, interrupting us. I frown as it ruins the moment we were having.
“Hold on,” I mutter, standing to grab it.
When I see the name flashing on the screen, my stomach drops.Dad.
Shit.
The room quiets behind me, everyone sensing the shift in my mood. My thumb hovers over the screen, and for a second, I debate letting it go to voicemail. But avoiding him won’t solve anything. It never does.
I swipe to answer. “Hey.”
“Where are you?” My dad’s voice is concerned, almost panicked.
“At home,” I say, trying to keep my voice even.
“That’s funny,” he replies. “Because I’m standing outside your house right now.”
I close my eyes, exhaling through my nose. “I moved, Dad.”
There’s a pause on his end, like he’s trying to wrap his head around the fact that I didn’t tell him. “When?”
“Weeks ago.” I rub the back of my neck, feeling the weight of his unspoken disapproval. “What do you want, Dad?”
“I want to see you,” he says, and his voice softens.
I glance back at the table. Ford and Jacob are watching me with quiet concern, and Dylan is sitting up straighter, her expression unreadable.
I cover the mic with my hand. “He wants to come over.”
Ford raises a brow. “You okay with that?”
I shrug, unsure. The idea of him and Holly barging into this part of our life feels… complicated. Like inviting a tornado into a place that’s finally starting to feel like home.
“Is Holly with you?” I ask into the phone, bracing myself for the answer.
“No,” Dad replies quickly. “She’s not.”
I shake my head showing Dylan my dad’s answer.
Dylan relaxes, just a little. I know how much she’s been dreading the possibility of her mom showing up out of nowhere. It’s a wound that hasn’t healed yet—and maybe never will.
I mute the phone again and look at Dylan. “What do you want me to do?”
