Chapter 9 — The Distance Between Us
Morning light crept through the curtains, soft and golden, painting the cabin in quiet warmth. Erica stirred awake to the sound of birds outside and the smell of coffee drifting from the kitchen.
For a moment, she forgot the heaviness of yesterday — the hospital, Dylan's father, the storm. She smiled faintly, stretching under the blanket. But when she looked toward the doorway, she saw Dylan's jacket missing from the chair.
He was gone.
Her chest tightened. She sat up, brushed her tangled hair from her face, and reached for her phone. No messages. No missed calls. Just silence.
Erica rose quickly, slipping on her sweater, and walked outside. The air was cool, still damp from the night rain. Dylan's truck was gone too. Only the sound of the woods surrounded her — peaceful, but suddenly unbearable.
She hated that familiar ache — the one that came every time Dylan pulled away. He never shouted, never argued. He just vanished, like he was afraid to need her too much.
Inside, the kitchen was spotless — too spotless. His coffee mug was washed and turned upside down on the rack. A note lay on the counter.
"Needed some air. Don't wait up."
Just six words, written in his sharp, hurried handwriting.
Erica sank into the chair, the paper trembling in her hand. She could feel the storm brewing again — not outside, but inside her chest.
"Damn it, Dylan," she whispered.
By afternoon, she couldn't take it anymore. She grabbed her keys, climbed into her old sedan, and started driving. She didn't know exactly where he'd gone, but her heart seemed to — straight down the narrow road toward the lake.
That lake had always been their place. Where they used to meet as teenagers, hiding from the world. Where Dylan first told her he loved her. Where he always went when he didn't want to face anyone.
When she arrived, his truck was there — parked beneath the same old oak tree.
He was sitting on the dock, staring at the rippling water. The wind lifted his hair, and the light reflected off his eyes in a way that made him look both lost and unreachable.
She stood behind him for a long moment before speaking.
"I thought you said you wouldn't run anymore."
He turned slightly, but didn't meet her eyes. "I didn't run."
"Really? Then what do you call disappearing before sunrise?"
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just needed space to think."
"Space from me?"
That question caught him. His jaw tightened. "No. Space from everything."
Erica crossed her arms, the lake breeze tugging at her hair. "You can't keep doing this, Dylan. Every time something hurts, you shut down. You push me out like I'm part of the problem."
His silence was the answer she feared most.
"You're not," he finally said. "You're the only part that ever makes sense. But that's what scares me."
Her anger softened. "Then let it scare you. But stop running from it."
The wind shifted. For a moment, their eyes locked — raw, uncertain, but alive.
And then, without another word, Dylan stood and walked toward her. He reached out, brushed his thumb against her cheek, and whispered, "You deserve better than a man still learning how to stay."
Erica swallowed hard. "Then learn fast. Because I'm not leaving."
The words hung between them, heavy and trembling — the kind that could either save them or break them for good.
The air grew heavier between them, the kind that made every breath feel like a choice. Dylan turned away first, shoving his hands into his pockets as though he could hide the tremor in them.
"Erica…" he began, his voice low, almost raw. "You think I like being this way? That I enjoy pushing you away every time something hurts?"
She didn't answer. She wanted to — but she knew this wasn't the moment to interrupt.
"I grew up watching my dad lose everything," he said quietly. "The business, the house, himself. Every time something went wrong, he'd say, 'Don't depend on anyone but yourself.' He drilled that into me until it was all I knew."
He turned toward her now, eyes dark with emotion. "So, when you showed up… when you started caring about me, it messed me up. You made me want to depend on someone again. And that scared the hell out of me."
Erica's heart clenched. She took a slow step closer. "That's not weakness, Dylan. That's love."
He laughed softly, shaking his head. "Love makes people reckless."
"It makes people alive," she countered.
He looked at her — really looked — and for a moment, the walls he built around himself began to crumble. "You deserve someone who isn't afraid of you," he murmured.
She smiled faintly, eyes glistening. "Then stop being afraid. I'm right here. I'm not walking away unless you push me to."
For a long time, neither spoke. The only sound was the gentle slap of waves against the dock and the rustle of leaves overhead.
Dylan exhaled deeply. "You're too good for me, Erica."
"Stop saying that," she whispered, stepping closer until there was barely space between them. "You make me sound like some saint. I'm not. I'm here because I choose you — even when it hurts, even when you make it hard."
His eyes softened. "Why?"
"Because something in me knows you're worth the fight."
That broke him — quietly, completely. Dylan's hands found her face, rough palms trembling as his forehead rested against hers. "You don't know what that means to me," he whispered.
"I think I do."
The world seemed to hold its breath. The wind eased. The lake shimmered beneath the golden afternoon sun.
And then, slowly, Dylan kissed her — not desperate or rushed, but deep, deliberate, full of everything he'd been too afraid to say. It was an apology, a confession, and a promise all in one.
When they finally pulled apart, Erica smiled through the tears in her eyes. "See? That wasn't so hard."
He gave a small, tired smile. "Don't get used to me being easy."
"I wouldn't dream of it," she said softly.
They both laughed — quiet, real, fragile. For the first time in what felt like forever, the distance between them didn't feel so impossible
To be continued.....