Dylan looked at me again.
There was so much restraint in his face I wanted to claw it off him.
“Happy to see you’re okay, Beautiful. Go for Daniel. He makes more sense.”
My eyes stung.
“Don’t call me that if you’re just going to walk away.”
He flinched.
Good.
I wanted him to.
Then I hated myself for wanting it.
Lily stepped closer to me, her shoulder brushing mine.
Dylan saw that too.
He nodded once to her. “Take care of her.”
Lily lifted her chin. “She takes care of herself.”
A flicker of respect crossed his face.
“Good,” he said.
“I hate you Dylan. I’m over you. Over the ‘what if of us’… tis is your last chance!”
He turned.
Just like that.
Walked away from me a second time.
One year of ghosts, one sidewalk rescue, one almost-conversation, and Dylan walked back to his bike like he hadn’t just cracked open every door I had spent months nailing shut.
I stood there while he swung onto the motorcycle.
He put on his helmet.
The engine roared to life.
I hated that sound.
I loved it.
He pulled away from the curb without looking back.
Nate stayed.
Because apparently Dylan had enough honor to send someone else home with me and leave before I could make him feel something he didn’t want to feel.
For a few seconds, no one spoke.
Then Lily turned slowly to Nate.
