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17. Matthew

Chapter 17

Matthew

" D ylan?" I finally manage to get her name out, my voice rougher than I expected. "What... what are you doing here?"

She pushes herself up, brushing her hair behind her ear. There's something fragile in the way she's moving, like she's holding herself together by a thread. "I'm sorry for just... showing up. I—I needed to get away. Can we talk? I didn't know where else to go."

"Yeah, of course. Come inside."

I push open the door to my condo my keys clattering against the table as I drop them, barely glancing up at the familiar walls. The place smells like laundry detergent and leftover takeout, the usual mix, and I'm ready to crash after the day I've had.

"Make yourself at home." I turn, watching her as I take the grocery bag to the counter and drop it.

It's her. Dylan.

She looks up from her phone after obviously texting someone, her eyes wide and nervous, her lips parting as if she's unsure of what to say. I blink, still trying to process that she's here, in my apartment unannounced. My heart does this weird leap in my chest, a mix of surprise and something deeper, something that's been simmering between us for months now.

"I hope it's okay that I'm here. I don't want to impose," she whispers, as I start putting away the things I bought.

"You're not imposing," I tell her quietly. "I'm glad you're here. But... what happened? What about Ford and Jacob?"

"They know." Her voice is small, like she's still half-apologizing for being here. "They just asked me to keep them in the loop. Make sure I'm okay since we're states apart." She lets out a bitter laugh, hugging herself. "They think some time away from Momzilla might help."

Dylan's mom is a bitch. She's hell-bent on controlling everything in Dylan's life—including her college choice and major, which I'm guessing is what this is all about. "Did you have another fight with her?" I ask, even though the answer is pretty clear from the way her expression hardens.

Dylan nods, pacing toward the window. "She moved up the wedding date, Matthew. To the same day as the move-in day. She's doing it on purpose. She doesn't want me to go. It's like she's determined to sabotage my plans, like she doesn't believe I'm capable of following my dreams. I'm supposed to be excited about starting at CSU, about studying sports medicine, and all she cares about is some stupid sorority life that I have no interest in."

I feel a sharp pang of anger, wanting to do something—anything—to fix this for her. Dylan doesn't deserve this crap. She's one of the most determined, hard-working people I know, and she's got dreams bigger than some cookie-cutter life her mom's trying to shove her into. I step closer, feeling the urge to comfort her somehow. "That's messed up," I say, my voice low. "She should be proud of you. You're going to crush it here at CSU, Dylan. And if she can't see that, then... that's her problem."

Dylan turns to look at me, her eyes shining with frustration and exhaustion. "I just needed to get away from it all, you know? I didn't want to deal with her guilt trips or passive-aggressive comments. So I came here. I wasn't sure if you'd be okay with it, but... I needed to see you."

I close the gap between us, lightly touching her arm. "You're always welcome here. Always." The words come out softer than I intended, but they're true. Seeing her like this—vulnerable and raw—stirs something in me that I've been trying to ignore for too long. "I'm glad you're here."

Her shoulders relax a little, and she offers a small smile that makes my chest tighten. "Thanks, Matthew. I just... I didn't know what else to do."

"Let's get some food, yeah?" I suggest, trying to lighten the mood. "You look like you haven't eaten all day."

She lets out a small laugh, shaking her head. "I haven't. I was too busy packing and running out of the house like a fugitive."

I grab my phone to order a pizza, something easy since I'm not in the mood to cook. "Pizza okay?" I ask, glancing up at her as I confirm the order.

"Perfect," she says, settling back onto the couch. "I could eat an entire pizza by myself right now."

I chuckle, sitting down beside her, the tension between us easing just a little. As we wait for the food, we start talking about CSU and her plans for the semester. She tells me she's not sure about her course load yet, and that she needs to meet with a counselor to make sure she's taking the right classes for her prerequisites.

"I can help you set that up," I offer. "And I want to introduce you to Coach. He's been asking about you ever since I mentioned you were coming here to visit before school starts. You'll love him."

Her face lights up, that spark returning to her eyes. "Really? I'd love that. I've been so nervous about it all. CSU is a huge step, and I feel like everything's just been one big mess with my mom."

"Don't let her ruin this for you," I say firmly. "You've worked too hard to get here, Dylan. You're going to do amazing things, and CSU is just the beginning."

She looks at me for a long moment, her expression softening. "Thanks for believing in me, Matthew. I don't know what I'd do without you."

The pizza arrives not long after, and we dig in, the conversation flowing easily between bites. We talk about lacrosse, about the upcoming season, and I can see her start to relax more, the weight of everything that happened with her mom slowly fading.

Eventually, the night winds down, and I offer her my bed, telling her I'll sleep on the couch.

"Matthew, no," she protests, standing in the doorway of my room. "I can't kick you out of your bed. I'll take the couch."

I shake my head, crossing my arms. "Not happening. You take the bed. I'll be fine out here."

She argues for a bit, but eventually, she gives in, muttering something about me being too stubborn for my own good. I watch as she heads into my room, leaving the door slightly ajar as she changes. I shouldn't look, but I can't help it.

The soft glow from the bedside lamp catches on her skin as she pulls off her shirt, revealing the curve of her back and the smooth line of her legs as she steps out of her jeans. My breath hitches in my throat, my body reacting instantly to the sight of her. I have to look away before I lose control.

But it's too late, the image of her is burned into my mind. As I lie down on the couch, closing my eyes, my thoughts spiral. I imagine what it would be like to crawl into bed behind her, to feel her warmth pressed against me. My hands on her soft skin, her body moving under mine, her breathy moans in my ear as she whispers my name.

My hand slides under the waistband of my shorts, and I give myself a long, slow stroke, the fantasy of Dylan consuming me. "Fuck," I whisper, my voice barely audible in the quiet room. If just the thought of her does this to me, I'm going to be a lost cause if I ever actually get to touch her.

I bite back a groan as the pleasure builds, my mind flooded with images of her—her lips, her body, the way she looks at me like I'm the only one who sees her for who she is. I want her so badly, and the thought of being this close, yet so far, is driving me insane.

I have to stop. I have to get control before this gets out of hand. But as I lie there, the tension in my body refuses to fade, and all I can think about is Dylan.

The next morning, I wake up to soft sunlight streaming through the window. I get up and check on Dylan, who's still fast asleep in my bed, her hair a messy halo around her face. She looks peaceful, like the weight of everything hasn't quite hit her yet. But I know better. I've seen the stress in her eyes.

Quietly, I make my way to the kitchen. I figure I can at least make her something to eat—something simple. I pour a bowl of cereal, listening to the clinking of the spoon as I set it on the counter. She's going to need energy for the day ahead, especially with everything going on.

A few minutes later, I hear her stirring. I lean against the counter, waiting for her to wake up fully. She rubs her eyes as she enters the kitchen, blinking at me in the morning light.

"Morning," I say with a small smile. "I made you some cereal."

"Morning. Thanks," she says, taking the bowl from me with a grateful smile. She takes a seat at the kitchen table, pushing her hair out of her face. "What's the plan for today?"

"I don't have any plans," I tell her, sitting down across from her. "We can tour the campus if you want, or just hang out. Whatever you feel up to."

She nods, her expression softening a little. "I'd like a tour. I want to see the campus. I think it'll help... take my mind off things."

Just as she finishes speaking, her phone rings. She glances at the screen, and her face tenses immediately.

"It's my mom," she says, her voice tight. She hesitates for a moment before answering. "Hello?"

"Where are you?" her mom demands, not even bothering with a greeting. Even from where I'm sitting, I can hear the sharpness in her voice before she even puts it on speakerphone.

Dylan takes a deep breath. "Colorado," she answers simply, her fingers gripping the edge of the table.

"Dylan Murphy, how dare you act this way and defy me. You will come back here right this minute. I'll have Gideon send money for a plane ticket."

I can see the tension building in Dylan's body, the way her jaw tightens. She closes her eyes for a second, clearly trying to remain calm. "No," she says firmly, her voice steady. "I want to be here, and you're not listening to me at all. I'm eighteen, Mom. You can't keep trying to control me."

There's a pause on the other end of the line, then her mom's voice becomes cold. "If you don't get on a plane home today, you are not welcome back here ever!"

Dylan's lips press into a thin line, and I can see the pain in her eyes. But she doesn't waver. "Then I guess I'll see you when I see you," she says quietly, and without waiting for a response, she hangs up.

The room is silent for a moment, the weight of the conversation still hanging in the air. Dylan stares down at her phone, her hands shaking just slightly. Then, a tear slips down her cheek.

I stand up and move over to her, wrapping my arms around her without a second thought. "Are you okay?" I ask softly, knowing full well that she's not, but wanting to give her the space to answer however she needs to.

"I will be," she whispers, wiping the tear away quickly as if she doesn't want me to see her cry. But I hold her tighter, letting her know it's okay to let it out.

We stay like that for a few moments, her head resting against my chest, and I can feel the tension slowly starting to leave her body. I press a soft kiss to the top of her head, wanting to take away even a fraction of the pain she's feeling.

"Eat," I say gently, pulling back just enough to look at her. "And then we'll go see the campus and grab some lunch. You can stay here as long as you need to. There's no rush."

Dylan looks up at me, her eyes filled with gratitude. "Okay. Thank you. I appreciate it more than you know."

"You don't have to thank me," I tell her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm here for you. Always."

She nods, managing a small smile, though I can still see the sadness lingering in her eyes. "I should probably call the guys, too. Let them know what's going on."

"I'm gonna shower," I say, giving her space. "You can talk to them in private, and if they want to come here too, that's totally fine."

She nods, her fingers toying with the edge of her phone. "Okay. I'll see what they want to do."

I lean down and kiss her forehead before heading to the bathroom. As I step under the hot water, I let out a long sigh, feeling the tension in my own body start to melt away. Being around Dylan, especially when she's going through something like this, takes a toll on me. Not because I don't want to be there for her—I do, more than anything—but because it's hard to see her hurt and know I can't fix it. Not completely.

But for now, I'll do what I can. And if that means showing her around campus and giving her a place to stay, then that's exactly what I'll do.

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