Chapter 8 — What the Heart Remembers
Erica had never been good at silence. She could fill any room with her chatter — random, bright, sometimes nervous — but that night, the quiet between her and Dylan was deafening.
The storm had passed, leaving behind the faint smell of wet earth. They sat on the wooden porch of Dylan's cabin, two mugs of untouched coffee cooling between them.
Dylan hadn't said a word since they got back from the hospital. Not since the doctor told them his father would need more surgery. Erica wanted to reach for his hand, to pull him back from the darkness creeping into his eyes, but she didn't. Not yet.
"I'm sorry," she finally said, her voice a whisper. "I shouldn't have pushed you to leave town in the first place."
He turned to her slowly, his expression unreadable. "Erica… this isn't your fault."
She almost laughed — bitterly. "Everything feels like it is. You left because of me. You fought with your dad because of me. You—"
"Stop." His tone was low but steady, the kind that made her chest tighten. "You didn't make me do any of that. I made my choices. And right now, I just… don't know how to feel."
Erica's throat ached. "Then let me feel it with you."
For the first time that night, his eyes met hers. The porch light flickered over his face, casting shadows across the angles she knew too well. He looked exhausted — not just from the day, but from everything that had led them here.
When he finally spoke, his voice broke just a little. "Do you ever wish we'd never met?"
The question hit her like rain on open skin. She blinked, taken aback. "No," she said softly. "Never. Even if it hurts like this, I wouldn't trade it."
Dylan looked away, his jaw clenching. "You should. You deserve easy, Erica. You deserve someone who doesn't come with a storm attached."
She shook her head. "Maybe I don't want easy. Maybe I just want you."
The confession hung between them, fragile and dangerous. The sound of crickets filled the silence that followed.
Dylan exhaled, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "You're crazy, you know that?"
She smiled faintly. "That's what makes me perfect for you."
He didn't smile back, but his shoulders relaxed — just slightly. And when she rested her head on his shoulder, he didn't move away this time.
The night deepened. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled again, like a warning or a promise. But neither of them flinched.
For once, the silence didn't hurt. It healed.