46. Matthew

Chapter 46

Matthew

I grip my phone, staring at the screen like it holds all the answers. But there are no answers. Not yet. Just questions. A million fucking questions that won't leave me alone. My thumb hovers over my dad's name in my contacts, and I hesitate. I don't know if I even want to hear what he has to say, but I need to. I need to know the truth.

Dylan's words still echo in my head, that calm, steady way she told us about Brock, about what happened. She said she didn't want to press charges, didn't want to drag it out. She wants to move on. And I get it. I do. But the thought of her going through that alone, of her facing him today, looking him in the eyes after all this time… it makes me sick.

I hit the call button, and it feels like the longest five seconds of my life before I hear the click on the other end.

"Matthew?" My dad's voice is gruff, like he's been busy with something, but I don't care. I don't even know how to ease into this conversation. I'm too angry. Too fucking lost.

"Dad, did you know about Brock and Dylan?" I ask, my voice rough, like it's coming from somewhere deep in my chest.

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and I can hear him shift in his chair, like he's getting ready for a serious talk. "What do you mean, ‘did I know?'"

I run a hand through my hair, gripping it tight as if that'll keep me grounded. "Did you know he assaulted her? Did you know about any of it? I need to know if Holly knew."

"Assault?" Dad's voice sharpens. "Matthew, I didn't know. What the hell are you talking about?"

My jaw clenches, and I stand, pacing across the room. I can't sit still with all this anger bubbling up inside me. I feel like I'm going to explode. "Dylan told us today. She ran into him at the game this afternoon, and it all came out. I just… I don't understand how this stayed buried for so long. How the hell didn't anyone know? Did Holly know? Is that what she was hinting at in the kitchen a few months ago?"

Dad's quiet for a long time, and I know he's trying to piece this together as much as I am. He sighs heavily. "I don't think Holly knew Matthew. If she had, she would've told me. No way she would have let something like this slide."

"It was an assault," I say, my voice hard, a raw edge to it. "If she knew, and didn't say anything... that's fucked up, Dad."

"I know," he says quietly, and I can hear the weight in his voice, the uncertainty. "Look, I'm not going to say Holly's perfect, but I don't believe she knew. Let me find out, alright? I'll talk to her."

I take a deep breath, my chest tightening as I try to get a grip on everything spinning out of control in my head. "Yeah. Okay. Call me when you find out."

"I will. I'm sorry you're going through this, son. And I'm sorry Dylan had to deal with that. We'll figure it out."

I end the call and let out a shaky breath, my hand still wrapped tight around the phone like it's some kind of lifeline. But it doesn't feel like enough. I want to fix it, to make sure Brock never comes near her again.

The door to my bedroom creaks open, and Ford steps inside, his eyes finding mine immediately. He looks worried, and it sends a stab of guilt straight through me. We're all so fucking worried.

"You alright?" Ford asks softly, coming over to me.

I nod, even though I'm far from alright. "Called my dad. He's gonna talk to Holly, find out if she knew anything."

Ford's expression darkens slightly, his hand resting on my shoulder. "Do you think she did?"

I shrug, my jaw tight. "I don't know, man. She said some weird shit a few months ago, and now I'm wondering if this is what she was hinting at. But if she knew..."

"You don't want to go there," Ford says, squeezing my shoulder. "Not until we know for sure."

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "It's just fucked up, you know? How could something like this have happened, and none of us knew? How could she keep that to herself?"

"She's strong," Ford murmurs. "Stronger than most people give her credit for."

"She shouldn't have had to be strong like that," I snap, the anger flaring back up. "She shouldn't have had to deal with him."

Ford doesn't argue with me, but he doesn't say anything to fuel the fire either. It's what I love about him. He doesn't panic, doesn't lose his cool, even when everything around him is falling apart. And right now, I feel like I'm about to come apart at the seams.

"Let me know when your dad calls back," Ford says quietly, before stepping out of the room again.

The silence that follows is thick, suffocating. I sit back down on the bed, my hands still trembling, even though I try to hide it. I'm not used to feeling this powerless, this lost. I'm used to being in control, always knowing what to do. But now? Now, all I can do is wait.

An hour drags by, then two, before my phone buzzes on the blanket beside me. I grab it immediately, my heart pounding as I see my dad's name on the screen.

"Yeah?" I answer, not even bothering with pleasantries.

"Holly didn't know," Dad says, his voice strained. "She knew about Brock and Dylan being together but not the assault. She's not taking it well."

I let out a breath but it doesn't feel like relief. It feels... complicated. Because now I don't know who to be angry with, or if I should be angry at all. I don't know where to put all this rage that's been burning in me since Dylan told us about Brock.

"That's not my problem," I say flatly, my chest tightening. "I don't care how she's handling it. It's not about her."

"I know," Dad says quietly. "But I thought you should know. She's... she's upset."

"Good for her," I mutter, my voice cold. "She's not the one who got hurt."

"Matthew," Dad starts, but I cut him off.

"Look, I'm done talking about this."

Dad sighs heavily on the other end of the line. "Just... be careful, alright? I know this is hard, but don't do something you'll regret."

"Yeah," I mutter, hanging up before he can say anything else.

Dylan

It's the next day, and I'm soaking in the bathtub, trying to wash away the tension clinging to my body. The warm water surrounds me, and I let my head fall back, closing my eyes. I wish I could stay here forever, floating in this peaceful quiet. The events of last night are still heavy on my mind, like a weight I can't shake. Everything feels raw—Jacob's fury, Matthew's sadness, Ford's protectiveness. I thought I was past it all, that Brock was just a bad memory I'd left behind. But seeing him again had opened a wound I didn't even know was still there.

As I soak in the warmth, my phone buzzes on the edge of the tub. I reach for it, wiping a few drops of water off the screen . Giver of Life. Of course. I stare at her name, feeling that familiar tightening in my chest. Part of me wants to ignore it, let the call go to voicemail, but I know I can't avoid her forever. Especially not after Matthew talked to his dad. Gideon must have told her. There's no escaping this conversation now.

I take a deep breath and hit the green button, bringing the phone to my ear.

"Dylan," she says, her voice sharp and direct, no hesitation. No soft greeting. That's Holly for you—straight to the point. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The frustration in her voice is obvious, but beneath it, there's something else, something that sounds almost like hurt. And it stings. I don't understand why she feels like she's the one that got hurt here.

I swallow, trying to keep my voice steady. "What do you mean?"

"About Brock," she snaps, her tone hardening. "I heard from Gideon. Why didn't you tell me what he did to you?"

"What do you mean, why didn't I tell you? I didn't think you'd care."

Holly pauses on the other end, and for a moment, there's silence. Then, she speaks again, her voice softer but still laced with disbelief. "I thought you were just messing around with him, Dylan. I heard the rumors, but I didn't know it was… that."

I close my eyes, the heat rising in my cheeks. Of course, she heard the rumors. Everyone did. "You knew?" My voice is barely above a whisper, and I can hear the tremble in it. "You heard what people were saying and didn't think to ask me what actually happened?"

"I thought with your dad gone, and our home life spiraling out of control, maybe you were acting out," she says, her words tumbling out quickly, like she's trying to justify it. "I didn't know how bad things were with Brock. I just thought—"

I cut her off, my voice shaking now, anger bubbling up to the surface. "You thought I was acting out? You assumed I was just some high school whore, messing around with some guy for attention?" I can feel my heart pounding as the words spill out of me. "He was my boyfriend, Mom, but that doesn't mean I wanted what happened. You could've asked me. You could've been there for me."

When she finally speaks, her voice is small, almost apologetic. "I'm sorry, Dylan. I… I didn't know."

My grip tightens on the phone, the apology hanging in the air. I've waited years for her to say those words, but now that she has, they don't feel like enough. "It's a little too late for that," I say, my voice flat. "You should've asked me back then. Instead, you just assumed the worst."

"I didn't mean to—" she starts, but I cut her off again.

"Mom, I needed you," I say, my voice breaking, the tears I've been holding back threatening to spill over. "You weren't there for me when I needed you the most. I went through that alone. And now… Now, you're calling because you feel guilty? Because you heard the truth from someone else?" I let out a bitter laugh. "It's too late. You can't just say sorry and expect it all to be okay."

"I know I messed up," she says quietly.

I can hear the emotion in her voice, and part of me wants to believe her, to forgive her. But the other part, the part that still feels raw and wounded, doesn't know if I can. Or if I even want to. "I appreciate the apology," I say, my voice softening slightly. "But it's not going to fix everything. It's not that simple."

"I know," she says. "But I want to try. I want to make things right between us."

I sigh, leaning my head back against the edge of the tub, staring up at the ceiling. Do I want that? Do I want to open that door again, let her back into my life after everything? Part of me does, I think. But the other part… I don't know. "I don't know if I'm ready for that," I admit quietly. "It's going to take more than a phone call to fix things."

"I understand," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "But I'm here. When you're ready, I'm here."

I don't say anything, just let the silence stretch between us. Finally, I exhale, the weight of the conversation pressing down on me. "I have to go," I say, the exhaustion creeping into my voice. "I… I need some time."

"Okay," she says softly. "Take all the time you need. And, Dylan… I really am sorry."

I hang up without saying anything else, letting the phone slip from my hand onto the floor beside the tub. I stare at the ceiling, my heart heavy, my mind racing. I want to believe her. I want to believe that she's trying. But the hurt runs too deep. It's not something that can just be patched up with an apology and a promise to do better.

Maybe I'll be ready one day. I'll want to try to rebuild that relationship. But right now, I just feel… tired. Tired of the past, tired of the hurt, and the way everything seems to keep coming back up when I just want to leave it all behind.

I've moved on. I have Ford, Jacob, and Matthew. I have a life now that's mine, a future that doesn't involve the shadows of my past.

I close my eyes, sinking deeper into the water, letting the warmth soothe me. I just want to live my life without these ghosts haunting me. I came too far to let it all get messed up now.

But as much as I want to move on, I know it won't be that simple.

It never is.