Page 28 of Reality With You (Arden Beach #1)

A s the sun set the following evening, Dylan picked up Lennon from her apartment and they rode together to his father’s house. She anxiously tapped her fingers on the plastic container holding peanut butter snickerdoodles—a favorite of Rhett’s—she’d baked that afternoon.

It was just dinner. She needed to get a grip.

At least Marcos, Dylan’s trainer, would also be there to make it slightly less awkward. He was hired shortly after their divorce, so Lennon had never met him, but she’d heard plenty about him as he became a family friend over the years.

Dylan drove his SUV through the gate of a sprawling traditional-style manor, its cedar shingle cladding, black shutters, and carriage house garage doors reminiscent of homes in the Hamptons.

After parking, he jogged around to open Lennon’s door.

She barely made it up the walkway before Erin swung open one of the tall front doors, barefoot in loose jeans and a white tie-front cropped top.

Lennon jogged to meet her halfway and collided with her in a bear hug. After Erin finished squeezing Lennon, she lunged at her brother. Dylan expelled an exaggerated groan, feigning pain until she smacked him. He laughed as he returned her embrace, rocking her back and forth.

Lennon’s heart leapt at the sight of them, struck by a mix of joy and heartache at the same time.

“ Qué pasó, hermano? You're late,” a deep, softly accented voice called from the doorway. A muscular man—Marcos, Lennon presumed—emerged from the house. His jet-black hair flowed freely over thick, broad shoulders, and though his tone was reprimanding, his dark eyes crinkled in a teasing smile.

Erin released Dylan from her grasp. Dylan and Marcos clasped each other’s forearms in greeting.

“Seems to be becoming a habit,” Marcos remarked. They exchanged a loaded look. Dylan appeared halfway between laughing and killing Marcos, who peered past him. “You must be Lennon.”

“You must be Marcos.”

“Tell me—” Still holding Dylan’s forearm, he jerked his head toward him. “You got any good dirt on this guy?”

“You kidding?” Lennon arched a brow. “I know things you wouldn’t believe.”

Marcos grinned. “Good thing we have all night, then.” He patted Dylan on the shoulder before releasing his arm.

“Getting you two together was a terrible idea,” Dylan remarked regretfully as Marcos led Lennon to the door.

“This is going to be great ,” Erin crooned with delight.

Inside, they met Rhett as he walked in from the patio, several floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors pushed open to the backyard, creating one sprawling indoor-outdoor space.

The mouth-watering scent of a wood-fired grill wafted through the house as he carried in a platter of grilled meat.

Erin took the platter from him and put it on the table with the others, filled with grilled vegetables and baked potatoes.

“Hey, Dad,” Dylan said, embracing him.

“Hey, son.” Rhett lovingly slapped him on the back. “Hey, Lennie,” he said over Dylan’s shoulder. He opened his arms to her next.

“Hey, Rhett.” Lennon’s heart trembled a little in her chest at the fatherly presence welcoming her as though she’d never left.

A surge of emotion surprised her. As they embraced, part of her didn’t want to let go.

Pressure built in her sternum. She inhaled his woody scent, keeping it at bay as they parted.

“You look great, kiddo,” Rhett said as he gave her a proud once-over.

“So do you. Opted out of the whole aging thing, huh?”

“Tell that to my knees and back.” Rhett chuckled a deep, gravelly sound.

Lennon always thought Erin favored Rhett more with the light eyes and blonde hair, while Dylan favored their mother’s darker features.

It wasn’t until either man smiled that the charming crookedness of it gave them away as father and son.

“That what I think it is?” He eyed the plastic container in her hands.

“With extra cinnamon,” Lennon confirmed.

“Don’t tell my doctor—or Erin,” Rhett conspired quietly, and Lennon winked in response.

“I heard that.” Erin sent them both an admonishing look. “Where’s Michelle?” she asked Marcos.

“She’s at a spa retreat with her sister ’til tomorrow,” Marcos answered as he helped her set out the food. “She sends her love and asks me to bring home a doggy bag of Rhett’s famous steak. She’s been hungry nonstop since getting pregnant.”

“I’ll put two plates together. One for her and one for the baby she’s eating for.” Rhett smacked Marcos on his back with affection.

They all gathered around the massive, solid wood dining table.

Rhett sat at the head with Lennon and Erin beside each other on one side and Dylan and Marcos across from them.

They all gave brief updates on their lives.

Erin shared how her first semester in her master’s program was going while balancing her job with the team.

Marcos talked about his excitement—and nerves—over the impending arrival of his first child.

They asked about the reality show with no shortage of curiosity, and Lennon and Dylan shared some of the funnier stories that had happened so far.

“They asked me and the other guys to haul these old car parts from the beach. Turns out, the show brought them in to make the clean-up look more dramatic than it was,” Dylan said. “Really got on the nerves of the people hosting it. Carol Anne didn’t make any friends that day.”

“I’m not sure Carol Anne makes friends any day,” Lennon remarked.

They fell into an easy rhythm as if no time had passed since they last shared a meal. Evenings like this had been a regular occurrence when they were kids. Lennon hadn’t realized—or maybe hadn’t let herself realize—how much she’d missed it until now, reliving it again.

A bittersweet ache rolled through her.

Eventually, they slipped into reminiscing about the days when Lennon’s mother worked part-time at the Tidebreakers stadium, where she’d first met the Stricklands.

“I remember when they started calling you the third Strickland kid,” Rhett mused with the faint, crooked smile that reminded her of Dylan.

“We even gave you your own nickname to make it official.” Erin popped a piece of broccoli in her mouth as she glanced at Lennon.

“What is this about nicknames?” Marcos asked, lifting an intrigued brow.

“Oh, no,” Dylan groaned with a drop of his head.

Erin grinned around her broccoli. “Dylan and I made up nicknames for each other when we were little. Lennon wanted one, too.”

“Is that so?” Marcos looked at Dylan. “And what are these nicknames?”

“I’m never going to hear the end of it,” Dylan warned Erin.

“I’m his Emu,” Erin said, ignoring her brother. “And Dylan is my pain in the ass little Dodo.”

Marcos’s lips slowly curled into a smirk. “That is very fitting for you, hermano .”

“I figured you might think so,” Dylan said.

Erin turned back to Lennon. “And she’s our Lynx.”

Lennon smiled at Erin before her eyes flicked to Dylan. He watched her with a soft, easy joy that shot a blast of warmth through her.

“You were always hangin’ around, hidin’ when it was time for your mom to go home.

Drove her nuts,” Rhett shared, lifting his glass of iced tea and shaking the ice around in it.

“I finally told her I’d drive you home at the end of the day if she wanted to leave you there when we practiced late. ” He brought the glass to his lips.

“That was your idea?” Lennon asked.

Releasing a sigh after a few gulps, Rhett lowered the glass.

“You kept Erin company. Though you were a little distracting for Dylan, who was supposed to be watching the team.” He passed his son a sideward glance, who pressed his tongue into his cheek to hide a smile.

Dylan drove his spoon through his sweet potatoes and took a bite.

“I was worried it would be a problem at first when you started coming to his youth league games, but he actually played better when you were there.”

Lennon’s amusement shifted into butterflies. She and Dylan looked at each other simultaneously again. Her heart did a little flip.

“Guess he wanted to impress you,” Rhett continued, cutting into his ribeye. “It worked. For a while, anyway.”

Lennon watched Dylan’s effervescence deflate as though someone had suddenly flipped a switch and snuffed out the light inside him. It startled her.

Everyone went quiet, sensing the energy shift. The only noise was the clatter of metal on ceramic.

“So, what do they have you up to on the show? Been in any catfights yet?” Marcos joked, successfully releasing the tension and lifting the room’s energy back up as Dylan cracked a smile.

“Saving that for the finale,” Dylan retorted.

“Now that I have to see,” Erin said, pointing her fork at him. “Please sneak me onto set that day. Dylan’s the most non-confrontational person I know.”

“It’ll be a very respectful catfight,” Dylan clarified wryly.

“How much time does that take?” Rhett asked. Off Dylan’s questioning look, he specified, “Filming. How many hours a week are you spending on that?”

“Uh, so far about …” Dylan glanced at Lennon as he did the math in his head, inviting her to step in. “Fifteen? Maybe twenty hours a week? Like a part-time job, I guess,” he said.

Lennon nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that’s been the average for me so far. There’s all the prep beforehand—hair, makeup, getting different shots—and the interviews in between.”

Rhett sliced off another piece of meat. “You don’t think it would be better spent working on your game? If that suspension is lifted, you don’t want to get back out there only to embarrass yourself.”

The muscles in Dylan’s jaw flexed with a tight, bitter curve of his lips, the light snuffed out again. This time, the tension in the air became outright uncomfortable. Lennon, Erin, and Marcos exchanged glances. Dylan fixed his gaze on a random spot on the table, zoning out.

A chill passed through Lennon. She knew that look.

She hated that look.