Page 30 of Reality With You (Arden Beach #1)

T he amber glow of streetlights threw the interior of the vehicle in and out of shadow.

Dylan rested his elbow on the windowsill, fingertips bothering his upper lip as his mind wandered.

The ride back to Lennon’s apartment was mostly quiet beside the hum of the motor and rush of the wind between the open windows.

Rhett’s words had taken root, making Dylan question everything.

Was he not doing enough? Training hard enough? Was he not pushing himself as much as he could?

He couldn’t use his injury as an excuse, and this wasn’t the time to be holding back.

The headlights lit up the street sign leading to Lennon’s place. Guilt pulled at him for ruining her night. She was probably desperate for it to end.

“Want to take a walk on the beach?” Lennon asked.

Dylan surfaced from his daze, meeting her eyes with gentle surprise at the question. And relief.

They found a quiet place to park and headed down the moonlit boardwalk. They kicked off their shoes, letting their bare feet sink into the sand, and then strolled along the edge where the cool foam grazed their ankles.

After a long walk down the mostly deserted beach, where lights from private homes and the moon provided a soft glow for their journey, they returned to the boardwalk.

They stood along the railing, enjoying the comforting sound of the ocean and the simplicity of the dark, endless expanse stretching before them.

The ocean had a way of creating space for complicated emotions and thoughts to roll in and out like waves, applying a balm to the soul in a way only nature could.

Lennon gave Dylan that same space with her silent but steady presence.

Leaning on her forearms, she hung her hands over the railing with her sandals dangling from her fingers.

Dylan stood beside her, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his shoes on the wood slats next to him. Pensive again, lost in thought.

“I’m sorry about dinner,” he finally said after a while.

A little crease formed between her eyebrows. “What do you have to be sorry about?”

“It was pretty awkward.” Wry humor poorly masked his embarrassment, a heavy weight sitting in his chest. “And the way I reacted …”

Lennon studied him. He felt naked under her stare, like she could see everything. Every weakness. Every fear. “You were fine. Your dad is the one who should be embarrassed.”

“He’s under a lot of stress. It can’t be easy from his position, having the enormous responsibility of the team weighing on him. And dealing with a son like me.”

A pained expression struck her, and for a moment, the idea of her pitying him knocked a wave of aggravation through him. The only thing he hated more than being shamed was being pitied.

He regretted saying anything. He tore his gaze from her, rubbing the back of his head.

“My mom never made an effort to hide her disappointment in having someone like me as a daughter, and I swallowed the pain of it—accepted it—because I understood what a burden it must be for us to be so fundamentally different.” Lennon was facing the ocean when he looked at her, his frustration ebbing.

Sorrow and a pang of guilt mellowed him as he realized her sorrowful expression hadn’t been from pity.

It was empathy.

A storm turned in her eyes. “I’m sure it hasn’t been easy watching you go through what you’ve been going through, and I know his job is stressful,” Lennon said, as if it burned on the way out, “but a lot of peoples’ jobs are.

That’s no excuse to talk to you like that.

To berate you. He should be supportive, now more than ever. ”

A muscle in his jaw ticked, Dylan’s gaze sharpening on the black horizon.

“There are some problems that my situation has made worse.” He braced his palms on the rough, weathered railing.

“The team has been steadily losing money for the past few years. Between losing key players to other teams that offered them more money and others sustaining injuries, it’s been a string of bad luck.

We keep making it to the postseason but can’t cinch a championship.

I was supposed to help turn the tide when they drafted me, but we’ve had a lot working against us.

And now … Eddie’s worried he won’t be able to keep the team.

There are already buyers circling. One in particular.

” His name was bitter on his tongue. “Nolan Pierce.”

Lennon’s brows pinched together as it appeared to trip something in her brain. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“Nolan’s named after his father, who goes by Lan. They’re both entrepreneurs. Nolan’s a tech billionaire who doesn’t know shit about actually playing baseball but thinks he knows what’s best for the team just because he owns the world’s largest sports streaming network.”

It took a second, but her eyes expanded slightly as recognition clicked. “He recently bought Rhythmi,” Lennon said, referring to the most prominent music streaming platform in the world. “They pay artists peanuts to stream their music.”

“Lan was my dad’s stepbrother until their parents got divorced. They remained close for a while.” Tension corded through Dylan’s body, his blood heating. “Lan wanted to be a baseball player, but he wasn’t good enough to go pro, and he blamed my dad for not helping him.

“Lan turned on him after that. Spread a bunch of lies.

He ended up getting kicked out of college for running a gambling ring on school grounds and lost all the grant money for a project he had been working on, but he found investors to start his first company the same year my dad almost made it to the Champion Series. Where he got injured in the playoffs.

“After the game, rumors spread that it wasn’t an accident. The player who hurt him had a connection with Lan.”

The energy shifted, as if all the particles in the air had collectively stilled. Lennon’s eyebrows slowly lifted. “You think Lan paid someone to hurt him on purpose?”

Dylan met her horrified expression, his silence affirming her question.

“My dad was humiliated on the field. Their rivals won that game, and then the championship.” His stomach churned at the thought, as though he’d lived it and not only heard about it secondhand his whole life.

“I think it’s why Nolan wants to buy the team.

To finish what his father started. Dad has never been quiet about his dream to take the team to the championship as a manager and win it alongside me. ”

“Damn. Jealousy really is a disease,” Lennon mused with contempt. “That’s fucked up.”

“Yeah. And I paved the way for him to do it.” Dylan pushed off the railing, disgusted with himself. He paced in a circle in the middle of the boardwalk.

“Hey, this isn’t all on you. You’re not responsible for Nolan’s stupid revenge fantasy or an entire baseball team’s success.”

“Well, I’m certainly not helping, am I?”

Lennon twisted to face him. “You’re allowed to make mistakes, Dylan. The important thing is whether you learn from them or not.”

Dylan stared at a distant point on the boardwalk where it trailed into the dark.

“And what if it’s too late?” A hollow pressure built behind his ribs.

“There’s so much on the line. I made a commitment to the team—to my dad—and I let everyone down.

I don’t think he’ll be able to even look at me if he not only loses another chance at the championship but also the entire team because I couldn’t get my shit together. ”

“If your dad’s love for you is conditional on how much time and effort you’ve put into baseball, then it’s not you with the messed-up priorities. It’s him.”

Something glinted between two of the wood slats. Dylan knelt to retrieve the quarter-sized pearlescent seashell. “Baseball’s his life. Our family’s legacy.” He rolled the smooth shell between two fingers. “It’s the most important thing in the world to him.”

“It’s not more important than you.”

Dylan glanced up at her, his heart stumbling over a beat.

That’s what he should have told her before she left. What he should have made sure she knew .

Dylan swallowed thickly and stood. Peering out across the sand, he pulled his arm back and heaved the seashell into the shadows. His shoulder lightly twinged. Like it did every damn time.

“Does it hurt?” Lennon asked.

“Sometimes it aches, especially after a long training session.” Dylan rolled it. “Mostly, it feels a little … off when I use it.”

“Does your dad know?”

The corners of his mouth quirked ruefully.

“He’d tell me to suck it up like he did when he busted his knee.

” Dylan leaned against the railing with a long sigh, the ocean breeze gently blowing through his hair.

“Ever since the suspension, I can feel the shame and disappointment. I see it when he looks at me. Which he can barely do these days.”

Lennon pushed a frustrated sigh through her nose. “The pressure he’s put on you isn’t fair,” she said. “You didn’t ask to be born into this and have all those expectations on you. That would be a lot for anyone to live with.”

“I’ve hurt people because I didn’t handle it well, though.” Dylan pinned her with his gaze, the weight of a stadium on his chest. “That part’s on me.”

Pain briefly flashed in Lennon’s eyes, quick but sharp enough to cut. Her expression turned unreadable after that as she looked away from him.

He didn’t know what that meant. If she was tired of his apologies, or if he was only hurting her again every time he forced her to relive their past. Dylan watched a thin cloud pass in front of the silver moon, the light piercing through it.

Gentle pressure settled over his hand.

He looked down at the little black heart tattooed beside her thumb, her fingers resting on his. A slow, quiet ache spread through him.

It was the first time they’d touched since she’d left. Really touched.