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36. Matthew

Chapter 36

Matthew

T he smell of fresh brewed coffee fills the kitchen, mixing with the soft morning light slipping through the windows. It's quiet, but not in an awkward way—just peaceful. The kind of peace that comes after something big, like the win my girl got last night.

Said win still feels unreal. Dylan nailed the shot, and the rush of the crowd, the adrenaline, the pride… it's all still buzzing through me. I glance across the table at her, looking too beautiful for someone who barely got any sleep. She's curled into her chair, her legs draped over Ford's lap, sipping her coffee with a satisfied grin that hasn't left her face since last night. She deserves it. Hell, she earned every bit of it.

Jacob's beside me, laughing with Ford about something stupid. I swear these two could turn any conversation into a joke or something dirty. I let their voices wash over as I lean back with my mug, savoring the feeling of everything being right.

"So what did it feel like to coach your first college game and win?" Ford asks.

"Amazing. It was only pre-season, but it was a good starter to take the edge off, ya know?"

"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?"

Her eyes meet mine, steady and unflinching. "Invite him over," she says. "It's time he knows everything."

Her words settle over me, heavy but certain. She's right. If I'm serious about this—about us—then it's time my dad knows. No more hiding. No more bullshit.

Twenty minutes later, there's a knock on the door.

I open it, and there he is—Dad, standing on my front porch, looking every bit like the man I remember. Tall, clean-cut, with that permanent air of approval etched into his features. His eyes sweep over me, then past me, taking in the unfamiliar house.

"This is where you live now?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say evenly. "This is home."

He steps inside, his gaze flicking around the room until it lands on Dylan. His brows lift in surprise, but he masks it quickly. "And you're here," he says, his tone neutral but loaded with unspoken questions.

Dylan doesn't flinch. "I'm here."

Dad looks between the four of us, confusion settling into the lines of his face. "What's going on, Matthew?"

I take a breath, glancing at Dylan, then Ford and Jacob. Their steady presence grounds me.

"This is my life," I say quietly. "They're my life."

His frown deepens. "What do you mean?"

"We're together," Dylan says, cutting through the awkward silence. "All of us."

Dad stares at her, like he's waiting for her to say it's a joke. When she doesn't, he turns back to me. "You're telling me you're... what? In some kind of... relationship with all of them?"

I nod, my jaw tight. "Yeah. That's exactly what I'm telling you."

He looks like he's seen a ghost. "What the hell, Matthew?"

"This is my life," I say again, firmer this time.

His gaze shifts back to Dylan. "Does your mother know about this?"

Dylan's expression hardens. "No. And I don't care if she ever does."

Dad's brow furrows. "You really don't care?"

She shakes her head, and there's a quiet finality to her words. "Not right now. Maybe not ever." She pauses, then adds softly, "Who knows what the future holds? But for now... I'm happy without her in my life."

I see the flicker of something in my dad's expression—understanding, maybe. Or at least acceptance.

He exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Why didn't you tell me you were bisexual?"

"I'm not," I reply.

"But you said–"

Dylan giggles. "I'm with Matthew, Ford, and Jacob. They're just friends. Nothing romantic between them."

"But while the wedding is off for now, we do still plan to get married. You'll be step siblings. You can't be romantically involved with your stepsister."

"Why not? There's no blood shared," Ford interrupts.

"I-I-I… Alright," he mutters, almost to himself. "I'm not upset, just trying to wrap my head around all this. You know I love and accept you no matter what, son, and the same goes for you now too, Dylan."

And just like that, the tension in the room eases, if only slightly. It's not a perfect resolution—hell, it's barely a resolution at all. But it's a start.

Ford shifts beside me, giving me a small, reassuring nudge. "Guess the old man didn't blow a gasket after all," he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

I snort, shaking my head. "Not yet, anyway."

Dad glances between us one last time, something unreadable in his expression. "I'm gonna go. I know I just got here, but I was just passing through for work and well, this is a shock. Can I stop by again on the way back home? Stay longer. Maybe do lunch or dinner."

"I'd like that." He gives me a smile, then heads toward the door.

"Dad," I call after him.

He stops, looking back over his shoulder.

"Thanks for coming," I say, and I mean it.

He nods, a small, almost imperceptible movement. Then he's gone, leaving the door swinging shut behind him.

The silence that follows feels heavy, but not uncomfortable. Just... full.

Dylan leans into me, her head resting on my shoulder. "You okay?" she murmurs.

I nod, exhaling a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "Yeah. I think I am."

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