Page 21

CHAPTER 21

DIXON

T he living room in my house is my favorite spot, even if it’s got one glaring anachronism: the ancient VHS player I hooked up for Nan. I’d found it at a thrift shop last year, along with a box of her beloved tapes, and you’d have thought I’d handed her the keys to a new car. Now it’s permanently parked beneath the flat-screen, clunky and completely out of place.

Today, it’s playing a grainy old Jane Fonda workout video. Nan’s in the middle of the living room, decked out in her vivid neon pink bodysuit with bright purple leggings underneath, a pair of light weights in her hands, moving along to the beat like it’s 1985.

I’m sprawled on the couch icing my knee, a book resting on my lap, pretending to read but mostly watching her. I’m worried she’ll fall, but I shouldn’t be. She’s a force of nature. Gray-haired, sharp-tongued, and absolutely unrelenting. The woman survived raising four boys and one daughter—my mother—and she helped with raising me.

“Come on, Nan,” I say, wincing as she lunges to the left with surprising energy. “You’re going to pull something.”

“Please,” she shoots back, not missing a beat. “You couldn’t keep up with me on my worst day, Dixon.”

That tracks. “You’re probably right.”

“This is how I got these arms, you know.” She grins, the weights in her hands shaking as she holds them up, air-kissing her bicep. “I used to be able to crack a walnut with these babies.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I say, cringing and flipping a page for appearances’ sake.

She finishes the set and turns to face me, resting the weights on her hips. “You should do this with me, Dix. Might help with your game.”

“My game’s just fine,” I reply in a sing-song voice, not looking up, while Jane’s voice comes over the speaker, reminding anyone watching this “don’t forget to breathe.”

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, clearly not convinced. I can feel her eyes on me as she heads over to the couch, plopping down beside me with a satisfied sigh. “I’m telling you, Jane knows what she’s doing.”

“I’ll consider it,” I say, closing the book and setting it on my lap. “How are the knees holding up?”

“Better than yours,” she quips, patting my leg.

“So, I found someone to start next week,” I begin, hoping that Nan will be open to receiving this news. Hayden’s been awesome with helping out when I’ve needed her help, but we can’t rely on her forever.

“I’m fine with Hayden,” Nan mutters.

“I know, but just because she can juggle her homeschooling with helping you doesn’t mean it’s what’s best for her. Or you,” I add.

Nan stares at the credits as they roll on the screen. “Fine. What’s this person’s name?”

“Ryan.”

Nan grins. “You got me a manny?”

“No, her name is Ryan.” I want to shake my head, but I feel like it’s all I do with her. She’s going to keep me guessing until the end of days. “She’s studying nursing and was one of three applicants we had to pick from, so please, Nan. Let’s make it work, okay?”

“I’ll be nice and I’ll make it work.” She elbows me in the ribs as she holds up a hand, like she’s swearing on a bible in court. “Scout’s honor.”

She sits back into the couch, and leans against me. We stay here, in companionable silence for a moment, the hum of the VHS tape rewinding filling the room.

“You know,” she starts, her tone lighter but deliberate, “I like that Elle.”

My stomach flips, and I glance over at her. “Where did that come from?”

“I may be old, honey, but I ain’t blind,” she says with a giggle. “I can sense your mood shift when her name comes up.”

My cheeks flush with heat. “Maybe a little.”

She scoffs. “A little?”

I don’t respond; I pick the book back up and stick my nose right back into it, flipping another page for looks.

“Okay. I see. You don’t want to talk about it.” She nods, folding her hands in her lap. “But I do. And I like her. She’s sharp. No nonsense. Reminds me a little of myself.”

“She’d love to hear that,” I say, chuckling.

“I’m serious,” Nan says, her eyes narrowing. “She’s good for you, Dixon. Don’t mess it up.”

“That’s new,” I say, raising an eyebrow and closing the book with some finality, like I’m reading it anyway. “Usually, you’re telling me to stay out of trouble.”

“Just because you assume something doesn’t make it so,” she counters, her voice laced with that signature Nan wisdom.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter. “Remember what assume means?”

She leans closer, her eyes sparkling. “Makes an ass outta you.”

“And me?” I ask, grinning.

“Never me,” she says smugly, sitting back with a satisfied grin.

I shake my head, a laugh rumbling in my chest. “You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I’ve had years of experience on this planet and don’t you forget it,” she says, giving me a pointed look.

There’s a knock on the door, sharp and impatient. I groan, leaning my head back against the couch.

“Who would that be?” Nan asks, already halfway to the door.

“It’s Campbell and Sawyer,” I say, pushing myself off the couch and trailing behind her. “We’re supposed to go running today.”

“Well, don’t keep them waiting,” she says, opening the door wide.

Campbell stands there, grinning as always, while Sawyer leans casually against the doorframe, looking every bit the laid-back counterpart to Campbell’s workout energy.

“You ready, Dix?” Campbell asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Then his eyes land on my hoodie. “Actually, before we go, you got anything lighter? This sweatshirt’s too heavy. I’ll overheat before we hit half a mile.”

“Sure, come over and steal another one of my hoodies,” I say, heading toward my bedroom. “You’re lucky I’m not making you run in that, though. Could slow you down just enough for me to win.”

“I’ll still beat you,” Campbell shoots back.

“Doubt it,” Sawyer adds, stepping inside and giving Nan a polite nod. “Good to see you, Nan.”

“Always nice to have visitors,” Nan says sweetly, though I can hear the teasing undercurrent. “Especially ones who actually knock.”

I return with a lighter hoodie and toss it to Campbell. He peels off his sweatshirt right there in the living room, swapping it out for mine.

That’s when Nan spots the tattoo on Campbell’s forearm. Last year, he’d splurged on his first one, a detailed image of a mountain range with a compass overlay.

“Oh, now that’s nice,” she says, pointing at his arm. “I’ve always wanted a tattoo. Something small but meaningful.”

“Nan, no,” I say, shaking my head firmly.

“What? A little cardinal tattoo on my arm won’t do anyone any harm,” she protests, turning to Sawyer. “You could take me, couldn’t you? You’ve got that nice truck.”

Sawyer smirks, clearly enjoying this way too much. “I mean, I could. Depends on where and when you want to go. I know someone in Washington, D.C. who is a great artist.”

“Don’t encourage her,” I say, glaring at him.

“It’s a free country. I like D.C.,” Nan says, crossing her arms. “If it’s that much of an issue, I won’t get a bird. Maybe I’ll get a compass like Campbell’s. Something to remind me where I’m going.”

“You know where you’re going,” I grumble, tugging my running shoes on. “No tattoo necessary. If anything, we should get you stamped with our address so if someone wants to send you back here, they know where you came from.”

She grins, knowing she’s gotten under my skin. “You’re no fun, Dixon.”

“Somebody has to be the adult around here,” I reply, standing up and stretching. “Let’s go before you have them talked into a road trip or you rope them into something worse.”

“My dating profile could use an update,” she says looking at Sawyer, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Noted,” Sawyer says with a laugh as we head out the door.

Campbell glances back at Nan. “I’ll bring you the name of my tattoo artist next time I’m over.”

“Don’t you dare,” I grumble, but Nan’s cackling as we leave.

* * *

At a park a few blocks from my house, we’re lining up at the beginning of a running trail. The park is usually calm in the late afternoon, the sun dipping low and casting long, golden rays through the trees. The smell of fresh grass fills the air, blending with the rustling of leaves. The trail meanders through the park, passing empty benches and small quiet fields where families have packed up for the day.

I love that this neighborhood is out of town, but did I pick one that’s family-oriented thinking about my future? I sure did. I’ve always seen myself, at some point, settling down with the right person and having some kids. One or two would be great, enough that I could balance giving them attention.

While the Stocktons smack each other’s arms, firing one another up, I glance around grinning. It’s a quiet, sleepy neighborhood, with neatly trimmed lawns, a few stray kids’ bikes tipped over in driveways, and there’s a slight breeze carrying the distant hum of a lawnmower. I look back at these two and smile; I hope we’re always here, finding time to push each other on, in years to come. When I think about what that would look like if we all had families…

“Yo, Dix.” Campbell claps his hands together a few times to get my attention. “Earth to Dixon, you ready?”

I give my legs a shake, nodding. “Always ready to whip you in a sprint.”

“We’ll see.” Campbell crouches like he’s about to run the 100-meter dash at the Olympics, a playful grin on his face. “Alright, on my count. First one to the stop sign at Pine and Rutherford wins, loser buys dinner. Three…two…one—go!”

We take off, sneakers pounding against the pavement. My legs quickly fall into a familiar rhythm as I surge ahead, the houses and manicured hedges blurring into the background. It’s not the same as running on the ice or during a drill, but it’s close enough to remind me of the adrenaline I’ve missed.

The neighborhoods here have a comforting familiarity. White picket fences, American flags hanging on porches, a barking dog or two. I round the first corner, catching a glimpse of Mrs. Kessler in her garden, waving at me with her trowel. I lift a hand in acknowledgment without breaking stride.

The stop sign comes into view, red and bright against the backdrop of towering oak trees lining the street. With one final push, I pick up speed and cross the imaginary finish line, chest heaving, arms loose at my sides.

A minute later, Sawyer jogs up, cool as a cucumber as always. He doesn’t even look winded. “You still take this way too seriously, Dix,” he says, smirking as he slows to a stop.

“Better than being slow,” I shoot back, wiping a bead of sweat from my brow.

“What’s got a fire in your step these days?” Sawyer asks as he leans against the stop sign and quirks an eyebrow at me. “Elle?”

The casualness of his tone catches me off guard and I freeze, my breath catching mid-inhale. “What about Elle?”

“Come on,” he says, his grin widening. “It’s like you think you’re being coy in plain sight.”

“Do you even know what coy means?” I toss back.

“Being ‘coy’ is describing someone who is pretending to be shy or reserved,” Sawyer shoots back matter-of-factly. “It’s often used in a playful or flirtatious way.”

My jaw drops in shock and Sawyer grins. He may look like a big oaf, but he’s an insightful one. “I see I’ve stunned you with my knowledge. So, tell me about Elle.”

Before I can answer or deny, Campbell jogs up, hands on his hips, gasping for breath. “Okay,” he wheezes, “next time, no hills. Who picked this route?”

“Blame Dixon,” Sawyer says, not missing a beat.

I roll my eyes, grateful for Campbell’s arrival. “You lost, you pay for dinner.”

Campbell screws his face up. “Whatever. I had a cramp anyway.”

“Well,” Sawyer begins, his eyes sparkling with childish delight, “we were just discussing how he’s got a thing for Elle.”

At her name, Campbell stiffens for a split second before schooling his expression. He doesn’t have to say a word, his cousin can tell from his response or lack thereof.

“It’s true!” Sawyer shouts, pointing at me. “I knew it!”

“Campbell!” I glare at him, my tone sharp.

“What? It’s obvious!” He shrugs like he hasn’t thrown me under the bus a moment ago. “You’re the one who practically turns into a human pretzel every time she’s around.”

“I like it.” Sawyer’s grin widens as he crosses his arms. “You and Elle.”

“Fine. Maybe. But don’t make it a thing.” I groan, rubbing a hand over my face. “And don’t tell anyone. Got it? We’re keeping this quiet for now.”

“Relax, man. I’m not the team gossip,” Sawyer says, holding up a hand in mock solemnity. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Same,” Campbell adds, though the way he smirks makes me question just how safe my secret really is.

Before they can push the conversation any further, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, and a calendar reminder flashes across the screen.

“I gotta go,” I say, shoving the phone back in my pocket and turning back toward my house.

“Where are you off to?” Sawyer calls after me. “Campbell’s paying for dinner.”

“Raincheck. I’ll see you guys later,” I yell over my shoulder, jogging away as fast as I can before they start grilling me again.

* * *

The sound of gravel crunching under the tires fills the air as I pull up outside Elle’s house. It’s a modest, charming place, with a neat porch and a warm glow from the lights inside spilling through the curtains. Sitting on the passenger seat next to me is a small white box tied with a thin ribbon. I glance at it, then take a steadying breath.

“Alright,” I mutter to myself. “I’ll drop it off, say something smooth, and I won’t screw it up.”

Grabbing the box, I step out of the car, the cool evening air biting at my skin. The walk to the door feels shorter than it should. I knock twice, firm but not too loud, and wait.

A moment later, the door swings open to reveal Hayden. Her expression flickers with surprise before settling into something like curiosity. “Dixon? What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Hayden,” I say, adjusting my grip on the box. “Just, uh, thought I’d stop by. No emergencies, promise.”

“Not Nan-related, then?” she asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Nope. Nan’s fine.”

Before I can fumble my way through an explanation, Elle appears behind Hayden. Her hair’s tied back, and she’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt that hugs her curves over her black leggings. She spots me, and her lips turn up into a small surprised smile.

“Dixon,” she says, her voice softer than I expected. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh…” I lift the box slightly, feeling like an idiot. “Brought you both something. If you’re busy, I can?—”

“No, come in,” she interrupts, stepping aside and gesturing for me to enter.

As I step into the foyer, the warmth of the house hits me immediately, a stark contrast to the chill outside. The air feels charged, though, there’s something about being this close to Elle again. Hayden, clearly picking up on it, mutters something about needing to check on something and she disappears down the hall, leaving us alone.

Elle turns to me, her gaze flicking to the box in my hands. “What’s this?”

“Here.” I hand it to her, nerves buzzing in my chest.

She unties the ribbon carefully, lifting the lid to reveal a single red velvet cupcake nestled inside. She glances up at me, her expression unreadable.

“I know you said you were handling this,” I start, my words tumbling over each other. “And you probably already have one to mark your sister’s birthday, but I just thought?—”

“Actually,” she interrupts, her tone warm and a little amused, “the bakery was out when I went earlier. We were going to bake cupcakes instead.”

A grin tugs at the corner of her lips, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I breathe a little easier.

“You want to join us?” she asks, tilting her head toward the kitchen.

“Yeah,” I say, a little too quickly. “Sure. I’d love to.”

Before we can move, there’s another knock at the door.

“I’ve got it,” Hayden calls out from the other room.

Elle shakes her head. “I’m already here.” She steps past me and opens the door.

Standing on the porch, arms casually crossed and a bag resting at his feet, is a man who seems both out of place and perfectly at home.

“Eric?” Elle says, her voice laced with confusion.

My stomach twists, and I feel like the air’s been sucked out of the room.

“Hey, Elle.” He nods his head, his eyes bouncing from Elle to me and back again. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”