37. Dylan

Chapter 37

Dylan

Mom struck again.

While I was in the bathroom this morning, she’d put the couch bed away, folded the sheets and quilt, and stacked them next to the couch with my pillow on top.

I’d stayed with Rosie last night until she’d fallen asleep. Her shuddered breathing finally gave way to steady breaths. I carefully disentangled myself from her, not wanting to wake her up, but knowing I was stretching the limits of my self-discipline by spending another night at her side.

It was taking all I could not to confess my feelings for her, and another night in her arms would dissolve my will completely. She’d needed comfort, not me dreaming of all the ways I’d love to kiss her.

I found my dad at his usual spot at the table, his steaming mug in front of him, and his tablet open to the news.

I scrambled a few eggs and sat across from him. He turned his screen off and watched me closely.

I lifted a brow as encouragement for him to say what he needed to say. Things had been better between us, but we were navigating a fragile peace. There was still so much left unsaid.

“I heard you leave Rosie’s room around midnight,” he said.

There was a question in there, but I was obstinate enough to not want to make things easy for him. I took another long sip of my drink.

“Be careful,” Dad continued. “I know she comes across as tough, but that girl has a soft heart.”

I nodded. It stung that Dad didn’t trust me with Rosie. “I know. I won’t do anything to hurt her.”

“We can’t always promise that,” Dad said. “We’re human and we make human mistakes that hurt people.”

Didn’t I know that well? I had hurt so many people. I stared down at my mug, regret battering at me again. Would I ever forgive myself for my mistakes? For letting everyone down—my family, my team, Shiloh. I wasn’t sure, but I was committed to do better. For them and for Rosie.

“Like I did,” Dad continued.

I snapped my head up to stare at him, shocked. Dad was staring at his hands, but looked up at met my gaze. His eyes were filled with regret.

“I’m sorry, Dylan. I never should have let things get so bad between us. I was upset and angry at losing the election, and I let my emotions blind me to what was truly important.”

I leaned against the back of my chair for support, at a complete loss at how to respond.

“You kids, you and Lily, are what’s most important, and if I could go back in time and change things, I would. I regretted what I said to you the last time we saw each other, the moment the words were out of my mouth, but I let my pride convince me it was justified.” Dad stared at me with an expression I’d never seen before. It was soft. Humble. “I don’t blame you if you decide to leave again and never come back, but I hope you’ll stay.”

I couldn’t move as Dad walked his mug to the sink. He came back to the table and stood next to me, his hand on my shoulder. It was the first time we’d touched since I got home, and it shattered my walls.

“I’ve made so many mistakes,” I said through a tight throat.

“It’s how we react after our mistakes that defines who we are. It’s what’s in our hearts.” He squeezed my shoulder. “And yours is one of the best.”

“Not like Shiloh’s.”

“No, not like Shiloh’s,” Dad agreed. “Your heart is uniquely you. Driven, focused, loyal, and so ready to beat yourself up for anything that goes wrong. Proud, like me. Kind, like your mom. You’re a good man.”

Dad’s words hit me like a shoulder block on the ice. They hurt, took the air straight out of my lungs, but they made me feel alive.

“There’s a reason good people are drawn to you.”

“Because I’m a project?” I tried to joke, but my watery tone made it fall flat.

“No. Because light attracts light—even when you can’t see it in yourself. Even when other people try to convince you it doesn’t exist.”

Did Dad really think all that about me? All these years, I’d assumed he was glad I’d gone—that everyone in town was glad I’d gone. Had convinced myself it was better for all of us if I never came back. I stared at his hand on my shoulder and slowly reached up to squeeze it, my heart pounding at my small act of trust. Of accepting that maybe we’d both been wrong, and we wanted to try again.

Dad patted my free shoulder with his other hand, and his voice sounded scratchy when he said, “For whatever my opinion is worth, I think you and Rosie are good for each other.”

With that, he turned and left. I sat there for a long time and let his words take root.