Page 61 of Reality With You (Arden Beach #1)

SIX YEARS AGO

Amber streetlights throwing shadows on the slick pavement. Wet soil and car fumes heavy in the air. Distance sirens punctuating heavy footfalls on metal stairs.

D ylan hadn’t intended to stay more than an hour at Craig’s party.

Just long enough to make an appearance, congratulate him on getting called up to the Tidebreakers’ major league team, and then dip out.

Every Tidebreaker—minor and major—was there.

He heard his father’s voice echoing in his head.

“The best team building happens off the field. You want in, then you show up. Show ’em you care. ”

Even Dylan’s downtime was about baseball.

It was only supposed to be an hour, but time had a way of disappearing at Craig’s parties.

Especially after Dylan had a shitty day, and the first drink took the edge off.

Anything serious, anything important, was criminal in those walls.

They were all blowing off steam. Blocking out the real world for a night.

And it felt good.

He’d figured out the drinks that quickly numbed him and let him coast through the evening. The guilt when he came home to her was the one thing it couldn’t numb.

It gnawed at him, ripping through the fog. Dylan wanted to be home with Lennon. He ached for it. But he couldn’t sit still, and he couldn’t talk to her about what was bothering him.

To complain about it would be too fucking selfish.

Lennon was grinding—with school, work, her music. She’d turned down NYU to stay in Arden Beach with him so he could play on the Tidebreakers. How could he complain about the pressures of his job while she was fighting to pursue her own dreams?

Dylan had no clue how to be around her unless they were making love or playing video games or keeping busy some other way—all of which they rarely had time for anymore.

The quiet moments, which used to be his favorite, were the ones he now dreaded.

He sensed her waiting for him to open up when they lay together in bed. Ate takeout. Walked along the beach.

It was easier to hide from Erin. She didn’t live with him. He could tell her to leave him alone, and she’d put up a fight and call him an idiot, but she’d eventually relent. But with Lennon … he’d bared his soul to her in ways he never had with another person. It was what she expected from him.

But Dylan couldn’t give it to her now. Just thinking about it made his body lock up. Like he couldn’t breathe. He needed to push on.

4:00 a.m. and a cab was finally dropping him off at their apartment complex.

A night owl, Lennon was likely awake or had just gone to bed.

The alcohol was wearing off, the memories of the day steadily crowding him again.

With every step, his legs grew heavier, dreading the silence of a dark room for hours of fighting off his demons and losing the battle.

When Dylan walked into the apartment, the light was on that she always left for him, but she wasn’t on the sofa next to it. The television was off. The coffee table was clear. He sighed with both relief and disappointment.

Mouth dry and foul with the taste of liquor, he tossed his keys on the table by the door and headed toward the kitchen. A suitcase standing upright at the end of the counter stopped him dead in his tracks.

Lennon’s suitcase.

A figure appeared in his peripheral. He looked up at his wife standing between the threshold of their bedroom, dressed in ripped jeans and a sweatshirt. And sneakers.

She crossed her arms, staring at Dylan with a coldness that sucked the air from his lungs.

“Where are you going?” was the only question his sluggish brain could come up with. They’d barely seen each other that week, but he would’ve remembered her telling him something like that.

“Erin’s.”

“Oh. Why? Is she OK?”

A small sound exited her nose, almost a laugh. “She’s fine.” The words were quiet but thick with contempt.

Dylan wasn’t drunk enough to miss that she was pissed off—at him.

Not that he could really blame her. “Look, I’m sorry,” he told her with sincerity.

He grabbed the back of one of the bar stools, leaning into it to steady himself.

“I wasn’t planning on staying, but the whole team was there.

Time got away from me. I had a rough day and I needed to forget about it for a while. ”

“You do that a lot,” Lennon noted, emotionless.

Dylan clenched his jaw. “Yeah, well. I have a lot of rough days.”

Lennon pulled in her lower lip, dropping her gaze to the floor. She didn’t say anything. Instead, she walked back into the bedroom, returning a few seconds later with a manila folder. She dropped it on the counter with a loud thud .

Dylan went deathly still. “What is this?”

“Divorce papers.”

His heart stopped—suddenly painfully sober. “Are y—” He stared at her. “You’re serious?”

Lennon tightly folded her arms again, staring at the folder. Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. “We shouldn’t have gotten married,” she said. She sounded like it was a realization that had come too late, now frustrated with herself for the mistake.

Dylan’s brain moved too fast and too slow, like a hummingbird beating its wings through mud. A million thoughts crashed into him while his body buckled from the shock. The first thing he felt as he regained sensation was a stabbing in his chest.

“We weren’t ready,” Lennon continued. “I think we need … time apart.”

“Then, why don’t we try that? Why are you serving me papers already?” He couldn’t believe she’d actually gone to a lawyer. Had actual divorce papers drawn up. She was so fucking impulsive.

Lennon’s eyelashes shuddered as she pressed her lips together, lowering her chin. She took a moment to answer. “Because I don’t think this is something that will just go away,” she said, her voice unsteady. “I’m not part of your life anymore, Dylan. Not really. And I don’t think you want me to be.”

“Lennon, that’s not true—”

She fixed a sharp gaze on him. “Are you going to stop getting drunk and partying with your friends every night? Are you going to actually fucking talk to me?”

An answer died in his throat, Dylan’s voice cracking and dissolving into a strangled sigh.

Lennon shook her head as she looked away from him.

“It’s not—it’s not that simple. I have to spend time with the guys off the field.

And it’s how I unwind. I don’t get much downtime.

When I do, I just want to shut off. I don’t want to talk.

I don’t want to think about anything. I just need—I need to escape. ” His voice had risen, defensive.

Lennon’s brow sunk in, fresh tears rising in her eyes. Fuck . “It’s not you,” Dylan reiterated, lowering his tone. “It has nothing to do with you. I’ve … got a lot on my mind.”

He knew it wasn’t enough. He was frustrated with himself, but he had no idea what else to say. He needed her to let it go.

Lennon turned away from him. He waited with bated breath until she reached for the suitcase and rolled it to her side, facing the door. “Erin will come get the papers from you.”

Dylan’s lips parted, air temporarily gone from his lungs once again.

He let go of the chair, running both hands through his hair.

They slid down his neck, hanging there as he tried to process what was happening.

“So, it’s just … over? Just like that?” He watched her in disbelief. “Is this what you want?”

A tear finally slipped down her cheek as her chin trembled a little. “I can’t keep living like this,” Lennon answered, sounding small. “I’m not happy.”

Those three words crushed him. Grief swept through him, her pain and his failure gutting him.

Dylan’s knee-jerk instinct was to try to fix it. Ask her what he could do—what she needed to make it right. But as quickly as the promise rose, the realization that he couldn’t fulfill it smothered it.

He was already barely keeping his head above water.

The truth cut him at the knees. Lennon deserved better, and he couldn’t give it to her.

Dylan’s chest strained against each breath he took. He pressed his eyes shut. He had no right to ask her to stay, but how the hell could he let her leave?

“Lennon …” He swallowed against a dry throat, looking at her. For the first time in a while, he really looked at her, and what he saw broke him. The light was gone from her eyes.

And he hadn’t noticed it until now.

He’d never forgive himself for being the one who took it.

“I’m sorry.”

Lennon’s jaw tensed, another tear falling.

Dylan dropped his hands and fisted them at his sides, stopping himself from reaching for her.

“Me too,” she said softly, sounding as broken as he felt.

She swiped a hand across her cheeks, tilting her luggage forward onto the wheels.

Dylan dug his teeth into his lower lip as she quickly passed him for the door.

Her name burned in his throat.

The door creaked open, but the wheels and footsteps didn’t continue. For a split second, hope surged that she’d changed her mind. Dylan looked over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t enough,” she said, taking another piece of his heart. Lennon pulled the suitcase over the threshold and let the door swing shut behind her.