47. Dylan

Chapter 47

Dylan

I t's been a few weeks since everything came out, and things are slowly starting to feel normal again. Matthew has been reconnecting with Gideon, and it's been good for him—I can see that. It's hard to stay angry when he's making an effort. I've even talked to Gideon a couple of times when he's come over, though I'm still not ready to talk to my mom yet. I know I should. I know I'll have to, eventually. But there's just this wall between us, and I'm not sure how to break it down. Or if I even want to.

For now, I'm focusing on the here and now, on the people who've been there for me—Matthew, Ford, and Jacob. They've been my rock through everything, grounding me when I felt like I was unraveling.

We're all sprawled out on the couch, watching some mindless show that none of us are really paying attention to. Ford's got his arm around my shoulder, his fingers lazily playing with my hair. Jacob is sitting on the floor in front of me, leaning back against my legs. Matthew is stretched out on the other side of me, his head on my thigh and one hand resting on my ankle, his touch reassuring and steady.

It's moments like this that remind me why I've fought so hard to move forward. To let go of the past. To focus on the life I've built, and the love I have.

But then, as the news rolls on to the next segment, something catches my attention. Brock Johnson. His name flashes across the screen in bold letters, followed by his mugshot. My breath catches in my throat, and I sit up straighter, my heart hammering in my chest.

"Turn it up," I say, my voice barely a whisper. Ford grabs the remote and does as I ask, and the room fills with the sound of the news anchor's voice.

"Brock Johnson, an early front-runner for Summerview's lacrosse team, has been arrested on multiple charges of rape and sexual assault. Several women have come forward with allegations, claiming that Johnson assaulted them over the past four years. Authorities say more victims are expected to come forward as the investigation continues."

I feel like the air has been sucked out of the room. My stomach churns, and my hands begin to tremble. I knew he was capable of horrible things—he tried to assault me, after all. But hearing that other women had suffered because of him… It's like a punch to the gut.

For a moment, I can't breathe—can't think. All I can do is stare at the screen, at the image of Brock's face, smug and defiant even in his mugshot.

I should have said something. I should have stopped him when I had the chance.

"Dylan?" Ford's voice is soft, concerned, and it pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts. I look at him, my eyes wide, panic building in my chest.

"I… I could have stopped him," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "If I had said something back then, maybe those girls wouldn't have had to go through this."

"Hey, hey, no," Jacob says, turning around to face me, his hands gripping my knees. "This is not your fault. You were a kid. You did what you had to do to survive."

"But I knew what he was like," I say, the guilt gnawing at me. "I knew, and I stayed quiet. I let him get away with it."

Matthew shifts beside me, his voice low but firm. "You didn't let him get away with anything, Dylan. You were scared. You were trying to protect yourself. That's all you could have done back then."

I shake my head, tears stinging my eyes. "But maybe if I had said something, those girls wouldn't have—"

"No," Matthew interrupts, his hand squeezing my ankle. "This isn't on you. Brock is the one responsible for what he did. Not you."

I want to believe him. I want to believe that none of this is my fault. But deep down, there's this tiny voice telling me that I could have done more. That I could have stopped him from hurting anyone else.

The news continues in the background, more details about Brock's arrest, more statements from the victims. It's like a nightmare I can't wake up from.

"I need to do something," I say suddenly, my voice shaky but determined.

Ford frowns, his hand still resting on my shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"I need to go to the police station," I say, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I can fully process them. "I need to make a statement. If I come forward, it'll help the case against him. It'll give those other girls more credibility."

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Jacob asks, his brow furrowed with concern. "You don't owe anyone anything, Dylan. You've moved on."

"I know," I say, my heart pounding. "But I can't just sit here and do nothing. I can't keep pretending that what he did didn't happen. If my statement can help those girls… I have to do it."

The room falls silent, everyone processing what I've just said.

"We'll all go," Matthew says, his voice steady. "You don't have to face this by yourself, Dylan."

I nod, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. I'm not alone. I've never been alone, not since I found my way to these three amazing men, to this life.

I look around at the faces of the men I love—Ford, Jacob, Matthew. They're here for me, in a way I never thought anyone would be. They don't just stand beside me; they lift me up when I feel like I'm falling apart.

"Okay," I say, my voice quiet but resolute. "Let's do this."

We walk into the police station, and the fluorescent lights hum overhead, making the sterile air feel even colder. I clutch Ford's hand tighter, feeling the warmth of his steady fingers grounding me as we step closer to the front desk.

Matthew, always the calm in my storm, is beside me, his hand reassuringly resting on my back. Jacob stands a step ahead, always ready to protect, his presence an unspoken promise. I never imagined, years ago, that I'd end up here, facing down a nightmare I thought I'd buried. But now, with them, it doesn't feel quite as terrifying. It feels like we're all standing here together, ready to face whatever comes.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but the truth is, my heart feels like it's about to burst out of my chest. How did we even get here? Just weeks ago, I thought I'd left Brock and all the darkness he brought with him in the past. But seeing his face on the news, knowing there were others… it unlocked something I thought I'd bolted shut. Maybe that's what healing looks like—messy, unplanned, dragging you backward so you can finally face what's been haunting you.

"Are you ready?" Matthew's voice is soft, almost a whisper, but I can hear the worry threading through it. He looks at me, his eyes filled with so much love that it makes my chest ache.

"Yeah," I reply, though my voice comes out shakier than I'd like.

Ford leans in, brushing a kiss against my forehead. "Dylan, you are strong. You're doing something most people wouldn't have the courage to do. You don't have to feel ready or brave. Just be here."

I nod, the weight of his words grounding me. I'm here. I'm showing up, and maybe that's enough.

We approach the officer at the desk, and for a moment, I can't find my voice. My mouth opens, but the words stall. It's Jacob who speaks for me, his hand gently squeezing my shoulder. "We're here to make a statement… about Brock Johnson."

The officer nods, guiding us to a quieter room down a corridor. Each step I take feels heavier than the last, as if all the pain and fear of the past are finally surfacing. But then I glance at the guys, each of them a quiet pillar of strength. I'm not alone. I don't have to bear this weight alone.

Once we're seated in the small room, the officer hands me a cup of water. I clutch it tightly, my hands trembling. The room is silent, filled only with the sound of the officer preparing his notes and the quiet, steady breathing of the men beside me.

"Dylan," Matthew whispers, his hand brushing mine. "You've got this."

I take a deep breath and begin to talk. I start with the party, the way his hands felt like iron on my wrists, pinning me in place. How I'd managed to escape, but not without the feeling that he'd marked me, his intentions leaving a scar on my memory.

The officer listens carefully, jotting down notes. The silence in the room is heavy, but the guys don't leave my side. They're all there—Ford's hand still wrapped around mine, Jacob leaning forward protectively, Matthew's fingers tracing calming circles against my back. I feel held together by them, by their unwavering presence.

When I'm done, I feel empty, like I've given away parts of myself I didn't even know were there. The weight is gone, but there's a hollow ache left in its place. For the first time, though, I feel a strange sense of freedom, as if finally giving a voice to the things I kept buried has let me breathe a little easier.

As we leave the station, I look at each of them, feeling something shift inside me. They've been my safety net, my rock, through everything. They're not just my boyfriends, my partners—they're my family.

Outside, the air is crisp, the kind of autumn chill that bites at your skin but feels refreshing after the stifling walls of the station. We stand there, under the wide, open sky, and I take a deep breath, letting the cool air fill my lungs. I'm free. I'm finally free.

Ford's arm slips around my waist, and I lean into him, my head resting on his shoulder. "Thank you," I murmur, my voice barely a whisper.

Jacob smiles softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "For what?"

"For being here. For not letting me do this alone."

Jacob pulls me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me, warm and solid. "You never have to do anything alone, Pickle. Not as long as we're here."

I close my eyes, letting their words sink in. I'm no longer the girl who buried a secret. I'm the woman who faced her demons, who stood up and spoke her truth. And I'm the woman they love. That, more than anything, gives me the strength to keep moving forward.

As we walk back to the car, a strange sense of peace settles over me. I don't know what's going to happen with the case, or with my family, or anything else that feels uncertain. But for now, I'm okay with that. For the first time in a long time, I'm okay with just… being.

We climb into the car, and I find myself in the middle seat, surrounded by them. Matthew leans in, his voice low and soft. "How are you feeling?"

I look at him, at Ford and Jacob beside him, and I smile, feeling a warmth I never thought I'd find again. "Amazing. I feel light. I wasn't letting it affect me, but a hidden weight has been lifted from my shoulder. Now it's time to move forward with us, with school, with lacrosse."

Ford's fingers find mine, his touch gentle. "Then let's go forward together."

And with that, we drive off into the night, a new chapter waiting for us—a chapter where my past doesn't have a hold on me anymore, where love fills the spaces that once held secrets and shame. With them, I know I'm strong enough to face whatever comes next.